#oh my god poor boy probably has so many knots in his back and neck

[knox-knocks]

has andrew minyard never not been stressed in his entire life. like. at this point he’s gonna have a stress-induced heart attack

[huenjin]

and they were roommates.

summary — who would have thought that a very naked sight of your best friend and a torn shower curtain in the rainiest of weathers could start romance? or in which you start falling for your childhood best friend, lee minho, unaware that he’s always been in love with you.

pairing — lee minho x reader, ft. binsung.

genre — fluff, smut, crack | roommates!au, bff2l!au

rating — 18+

word count — 11k words.

note — smut warnings under the cut, ofc! i suck at making summary adagafga!! but but but, i promise this story is adorable, okay, minus all that smut, my lame humor and those bit of rushed parts? this took forever and i'm so sorry for all that had to wait, especially the one who requested this uwuwu. 

smut warnings — a lot of kissing, a lot of swearing, mentions of naked exposure, fingering, cunnilingus, riding/reader on top, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it), choking. there isn't a loooot of smut either, ah! so enjoy the fluff ride.

"You idiot," you scream, loud enough for your neighbours to hear. You pull out the keys that hang outside in the key hole and pull open the door. "How could you leave the keys outside, Minho?"

"I mean, what if someone stole it?" You throw your keys and Minho's into the small box on a ledge by the door. Removing your shoes, you put on the pair of your house shoes by the side and walk further into the apartment. "Or what if someone broke in? You could get killed, you dumb hoe! Or worse, our new television could get stolen."

You hear no response and just the loud sound of shower running in the bathroom hits the walls of your shared apartment. You walk to your room, passing by the common bathroom, after throwing your bag on the sofa. You talk on the way, yelling in hopes that he would hear.

"Did you walk back in the rain? There's no other reason as to why I did not see you after college. Jisung was searching for you too, Minho."

You change into a pair of shorts and black camisole, pulling your hair up and knotting it, all while your ears pick up the small humming from the bathroom. You shake your head at the fact that since it's Lee Minho in the shower, he is probably going to take his own time to come out. After all, he is the reason why your water bill is so high. 

"Yah, Lee Minho!" You walk outside and hit the door with your fists to bring at least a little of his attention towards you. "Do you want the leftovers or should I get food delivered?"

"Delivery!" he screams back, hearing the shower sounds lower and you yell back in response, "Okay," and walk back to the living room, falling back and plopping down on the comfortable rexine covered sofa. 

Your phone rings in the next minute and you are pulling it from your pocket quickly all because you are bored out of your mind. It is also because your stupid best friend from the god forbidden age of five to till this date, takes forever to get out from the shower.

It's Jisung. Not that you would have a doubt even if you had picked up without looking at the name on the screen — your friend circle is that small. It has just been you, Minho and Jisung majorly for almost three fourth of your life, the other one fourth of it with you having your parents as your best friends. Jisung had always been the annoying kid in the playground that pushed you off the swing because he wanted to play and Minho had always been the knight in shining armour in your local playground, the defender of all things right as he saved you from Jisung's frustrating taunts. 

And then your mother — oh dear, she is the reason why you are still stuck with Minho's rich arse (mostly because she thought too that this is the finest her very antisocial daughter would ever find in a man) — decides that since Lee Minho was so kind to save her poor damsel-like daughter, he might as well do it forever. Fast forward to present day, and you are still cleaning up after him. 

"Did Minho reach home?" Jisung asks as soon as you answer the call. You roll your eyes and shift your position to one that allows you to stretch your leg against the length of the sofa.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," you fake your tone, mocking Jisung's ignorance. "Did you reach home safely? Did you get caught in the rain? Oh no!" And then quickly changing it back to normalcy, "Yes, Jisung. I reached home safely. The rain did get heavy as I walked back home but nothing to worry. Did you reach home safely?"

Jisung is laughing loudly on the other end. "Sorry, Y/N," he makes a weird kissing sound and you pull your phone away from your ear. "I presume Minho's safe at home, else you would be the one to crash my phone with the endless calls in worry of his safety. Ha!"

"He got caught in the rain," you sigh. "I hope he's okay though. I would have mentioned how he was, had he just come out of that goddamn bathroom but no! It almost seems like he is rebuilding the whole bathroom." Jisung laughs so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear again. 

"Dude, dude, dude," Jisung calls out for you through the line.

"Yeah?" 

"You and Minho are totally like my parents fighting." 

"Do you want to get punched in your face, Han Jisung?" You sit up straight, folding your leg across each other and bending forward, your elbow digging into your thigh as your hand supports your head. 

"And my boyfriend would punch yours if you punched mine," he huffs and you know he is talking about Seo Changbin. At a good five feet and six inches, the shorter male befriended Jisung and then wooed him over in grade eleven with some weird shining universe experiment for a science project and the Han Jisung you had always known, fell for the gesture immediately. They began dating a week after, making Changbin the only other human being you willingly chose to become closer to.

"Like Minho would let that," you click your tongue and Jisung laughs again, mumbling, "How have you guys not slept with each other yet? You guys are roommates."

"I'll kill you, Han Jisung."

"Like you would." The minute Jisung taunts back, you hear a loud noise of something crashing down and the sound is from the bathroom. You jump upwards, quickly hanging up without even telling Jisung that you were leaving as you drop your phone and rush towards the bathroom, taking huge steps to reach before the door in less than a few seconds.

You slam your fist against the door, over and over again, yelling, "Yah," to draw his attention before asking, "Minho, are you okay? I'm coming in," and you pull open the door to the common bathroom. A decision you wish you had not chosen but one you had to take for his safety.

Before a very surprised you lay a very, very naked Lee Minho, groaning with his back against the cold white tiles of the bathroom, neck lifting his head above to instinctively avoid hitting the floor. His hand holds a huge piece of the shower curtain that he must have tried holding onto before falling and as the colour drains from your face, lips wide apart, staring at your naked best friend in shock who is staring back at you, it dawns upon you quickly.

You immediately slap your hand over your eyes and scream as loud as you could possibly, "Fuck, fuck. I just saw your schlong, oh my god!"

"Are you not going to look at me at all now that you saw my dick?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you as a soft groan leaves his lip while he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. This time, he is fully clothed, black shirt over his torso and navy blue shorts. You are sitting on a small chair by his side, Chinese herbal medicinal mix in a white ceramic bowl, a tub filled with warm water and a towel and long white bandages on the table by the bed. The Chinese herbal medicinal mix was something your mother specifically ordered you to prepare for the boy before you.

You hand him a cup of warm water first which he takes and is about to swallow it down when you look at the wooden bedpost behind him and mumble, "But I saw your womb raider." Minho chokes on the water before coughing and you quickly pat his back which leads him to cry softly in pain and you are left apologising over and over again for being reckless.

He places the cup on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at you and questions, "Womb raider? What the fuck?"

"You know, your schlong," you look away, heat rising up to your cheek. "I saw your schlong, a womb raider."

"I can't believe you call a dick that," he groans, rolling his eyes as if he has completely given up on you, "After having your womb raided enough by many womb raiders."

You look away, taking the ceramic bowl in your hand and mumbling, "None of them were long and thick enough to be called a womb raider though."

"Did you say anything, Y/N?" 

"Nothing," you yell and glare at him, cheeks still hot with the image still vivid in your head. "You can't look disappointed in me," you frown at him, "I should be disappointed. You tore the shower curtain."

"It was a mistake!" Minho gasps and tries to sit up but quickly ditches the plan when he feels the spin surge through him. You place the bowl back on the table and push yourself forward to help Minho sit up, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest against his as you slowly pull him up. Minho explains himself, "If I didn't hold onto that, I would have gotten injured worse. I'm almost perfect now. It's just the slight—" You press your palm against his back and he seethes in pain.

"Slight pain, indeed," you scoff and finally let him rest against the bedpost. "This should do the magic though." You lift the ceramic bowl again and wave it before him, shoving the weird smelling green substance right in front of his nose. "My mother totally said it would work. She also said that you would have to be on the bed resting the whole day."

"You'll be my maid the whole day," Minho lights up, face instantly shining and you sigh, "Do I have an option? After this day though, we are going to buy shower curtains and you are going to pay for it because you tore it." You accuse him and he clicks his tongue.

"Fine."

"Remove your shirt now," you order and he looks at you, a teasing glint glistening in his eyes and he smiles, moving slightly closer.

"Why? Are you going to call my abs washboard now? That you could do laundry on them?" He purses his lips and leans forward and you push him back, his aching back hitting the bedpost again and Minho is crying with pain on the soft impact, albeit this time, you worry if it is fake. "Y/N," he cries, clamping down against his lower teeth hard, "Can you go easy on me?"

"Then stop teasing me!"

"Fine!" He huffs and looks away, "Help me out of this shirt now."

"What? Why? You put the shirt on fine. Can't you remove it on your own?" You question him, the ceramic bowl securely on your lap. Minho stares at you for the longest time ever and you stare back.

Has his eyes always been this tender? Has his skin always been this soft? Was Lee Minho always this charming and pretty to look at?

This is all because you saw his stupidly good dick, argh!

Minho finally answers, "It's harder to remove a shirt than to wear it." You shake your head and your eyes narrow to crinkled slits as you watch your best friend for a second more before placing the crucible back on the table and bending yourself forward to hold tightly the ends of his black shirt. You lift the black material up and remove it from his torso, exposing his abdomen and chest to the warm breeze in the air. 

He stares at you and you stare at him back, only till you take the white ceramic bowl again and hopefully the last time and you raise an eyebrow at him, mocking him, "Aren't you going to give me the classic Wattpad naked white male line?"

"What line?" 

He looks confused and you laugh, holding the bowl tightly, "You know, the—" You try to lower the pitch of your voice and to sound as cocky as possible, smirking, "Like what you see, baby girl?"

Minho laughs with you till he calms himself down a little, tilts his head and in the most guttural voice you have ever heard your best friend ever go, he repeats, "Like what you see, my baby girl?"

Your heart should not have sped up. Your fingers should not have tightened against the cold white crucible. You should not have pressed your thighs against each other. You should not have had your throat dried up at his very words. But it did and you are staring at Lee Minho in an angle you had never seen him. 

When did that stupid five year old boy who thought he could save the whole world grow up into this man?

"Uh, Y/N," Minho waves his hand in front of you, trying to bring your attention back. "Are you going to apply the medicine or? I mean, it's cold."

"Oh yeah," you stutter. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to. Can you turn back so that I can apply it on your back?"

"Yeah," he nods and pressing his hands into the mattress, he shifts himself, turning a one hundred and eight degrees away from you so that his back is facing yours. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you agree. You bend your arm forward to take the cloth soaked in warm water and you press it against his back. Minho bites his tongue in pain, eyes watering before he can't take it anymore and he turns back to face you. 

"Minho?"

"Can I do that thing you allowed me to do whenever I was in pain and you had to take care of me?" He asks, unsure, "Am I allowed?"

You nod, softly, smiling warmly at the man before you and you lift the chair up slightly. Minho quickly wraps his arms around your waist, his face buried into your soft chest as he edges closer to you. You place the warm cloth again on his broad back and Minho does what he has always done to combat pain.

He bites into your flesh softly, hard enough to trigger something weird within you at this age but soft enough to not cause any pain. 

Your eyes widen and your thighs tighten a bit but Minho is unaware to all this as he snuggles into your warmth, head fuzzy with the pain that throbs through his entire back. After a few minutes, you place the cloth back on the table and hold the crucible tightly. You dig your forefinger and middle finger into the green mix before applying it on his back, soft circles to calm him down and Minho lets go of your flesh, although he still continues to snuggle into you, his thick arms tightening around your frame.

"You're comfortable to hug," he mumbles as you apply the medicine all over his back, his face occasionally pressing against your breast and you gulp, reminding yourself that this is your best friend, that this is the kid you've seen in all his embarrassments. 

"Of course, I am," you laugh. "It doesn't pain that much, does it?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," and you apply another layer over the existing one. "Because if you say anything else to my mother, I swear to God, Lee Minho, I will—"

You don't complete. Minho laughs — soft, precious laughter that fills the air and engages your ears. He tilts his head to look up at you from his lower angle. You look down only to come in direct vision of his bright, glistening eyes that hold the stars behind them and his oh-so-flawless skin that you are envious of. Your heart beat escalates and you are about one hundred percent sure that Minho is aware. After all, he did have his ear against your chest in this position. 

"Fine, fine," his voice is airy and you could listen to it the whole day. "I'll tell your mother that her daughter took care of me perfectly, alright?"

"Perfect," you smile. "Now sit up straight. I need to bandage you up, just in case." Minho begrudgingly pulls back, a soft whimper leaving his lips before he huffs, folding his arms and sitting straight, looking you in the eyes and you gulp. 

"I'll be fine in a day, Y/N," Minho whines and you shake your head, mumbling, "Just in case." You turn your body to grab hold of the white roll of bandage before you beckon for him to come a little closer as you wrap the bandage over his torso, covering the medicinal herbs sticking to his body now. 

"You, in fact," you chuckle as you tighten the bandage and Minho seethes in pain at having his muscles pressed. You rub his hair affectionately before continuing, "You, Lee Minho, should be ready enough to cash out money for the shower curtain."

"Fine, fine, fine," Minho huffs only to break out into a smile as he looks at you. "We'll go as soon as I don't think I'll die if I stand up and straighten my back, okay?"

"Perfect," you laugh and pull yourself away from your best friend, clipping the bandage in the exact manner. You help him lie back against the soft mattress. You pick up the crucible and the tub of water as you stand up. 

"Y/N," Minho calls out for you and you turn, your head gliding against the joint and your eyebrows rising up in question.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he smiles, eyes closed and face so soft that you do want to hold it.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me, doofus. What would I have done had you not been there? You are my knight in shining armour now."

You laugh but your heart is furiously beating against your chest, thrumming against it so loudly that you can hear the beats. Your cheeks flush with heat and you look away, mumbling, "It's nothing," and walk away. You close the door quickly and fall against the vast wooden door finally, away from his presence and you hold the bowls close to you.

Fuck. When did your heart start beating this hard for the same man that you once knew as the stupid five year old with elephant print trunks? When did your heart start thrumming so loudly against your chest for your only best friend?

Either ways, you are doomed. Inevitably.

Jisung: baby, i think it's about time Changbin: for what? Jisung: you know, how we always said those two should probably fuck Changbin: yeah? Jisung: the sexual tension is too high. can we get it over with already and have them date already? Changbin: you've been trying this forever and you failed. Jisung: don't remind me. you're my boyfriend, support me. Changbin: fine! go, sungie!! i love you either way though.

It is exactly three days after the I-exposed-my-cock incident that Lee Minho agrees to go with you to buy the shower curtains. 

"Can't we just buy it online?" He had whined, arms folding against each other as he scrolled through his phone. You stand by the sofa, head shaking in disappointment as you reason back, frustrated, "The material," and you hit his arm. Minho winces. "The material is important. I won't compromise on that. Plus, you promised that you would come with me to buy something that you tore. Isn't that only fair?"

Minho does so. After bargaining with him for one tub full of mint chocolate ice cream that you will never understand why he loves so much. 

That is exactly how you find yourself here in this shop, shopping cart in your hand and Minho by your side.

"We are only buying the shower curtain," you tell him, staring at the half full shopping cart. "So I don't understand why we need all these."

Minho smiles sheepishly at you. He then points at the two tubs of ice cream and says, "One for you, and one for me. I even chose your favorite flavor!" He continues to point at each article and tell why he needs them very articulately and you stand there in surprise before breaking his speech.

"Fine, fine!" You push the cart ahead. "Now let's just go and get what we came here for." Minho follows you, his one hand on the shopping cart handle to keep pace with you. The two of you stop right in front of the array of curtains in different colours, some on display and some packaged and you smile, whispering under your breath, "Tada." Minho looks at you softly, at the small voice of joy that escapes your lips and he just watches you light up in fascination at something as simple as shower curtains.

Fuck, he loves your domesticity.

"Let's take this," Minho announces as he stretches his arms out to hold onto a pretty blue shower curtain. You hold it in between your fingers feeling the texture before announcing, "No."

"But why?" Minho whines, following your footsteps as you hold onto another shower curtain. 

"Because it's polythene," you frown at your best friend. Minho looks at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowing as they look at you like you have grown another pair of hands and legs.

"And so?"

"You could tear it again!"

"It happened once," he sighs, frustrated. "Once. It's not like I'm waiting to fall in the shower, tear the curtain and have you see my dick all the time, babe."

Your cheeks flush at his announcement and the tag he calls you by, your eyes looking away from his pretty face for a split second. Minho shakes his hand, taking a step forward to check a few other shower curtains out when the two of you hear a very familiar voice from behind, in the most professional manner ever.

"Sir, the one you chose is perfect. It is very durable and doesn't stain on contact with water—"

"Han Jisung?" Minho turns, the words of shock leaving his mouth almost instantly. You turn impulsively, eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"Hey," you narrow your eyes at the other male. "I could file a report for bad customer service about now, Sungie."

He folds his arms and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "What are you guys doing here?" He raises an eyebrow at you, scoffing at you, "Like you would."

"What does it look like we're doing here, Sungie?" You bite back jokingly and Jisung laughs, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms again, his fluorescent yellow uniform crumbling with the shift in his arms. "Is this some sort of a new way to date?"

"We aren't—" You quickly start when Minho pulls a curtain forward and breaks your sentence before you can complete as he asks Jisung, "This isn't polythene, is it?"

"Are you stupid?" Jisung frowns before he laughs. "That's clearly polythene. Minho, dude, you're a chemical engineering student. You have got to be kidding me if you can't identify polythene."

Minho doesn't pay heed to Jisung's words. You, on the other hand, stare at your best friend who walks away from you to examine more shower curtains. Did Lee Minho really ask Jisung, a literature student, whether that was polythene — What in the world?

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" Jisung snaps your attention back to the present. "Are you going to buy shower curtains today?"

"Yeah?"

"But your shower curtains were fine the last time I came home." You understand Jisung's surprise because the last time he did come home was five days back and the shower curtain was in a perfect condition. "What happened?"

You stretch your arms and point at Minho. The very culprit rolls his eyes before raising his eyebrows and sighing, voicing in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard Minho take, "Yes, Y/N. Yes, Ji. It's me. I tore the shower curtain because I fell in the shower."

"Ouch," Jisung acknowledges Minho's injury before walking past the two of you and taking a shower curtain. "Here's one. You might like this, Y/N."

"It's not PVC, Sungie."

Jisung wants to hit your head, terribly. Perhaps it's your adamance that is the reason as to why your friendship is this tight and strong but in moments like these, he likes Minho more. Minho stands by the side, arms folded and back resting against the wall as he trusts your judgement.

"Are you not going to tell her anything?"

"She handles all this at home. Give her what she wants, Ji," he laughs, fiddling with a few more shower curtains by his side. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment before mumbling, a soft frustrated groan leaving his lips as he throws his head back, "Definitely a married couple," and takes a few polyvinyl chloride made shower curtains. 

"Here," he presses his lips. "Don't blame me if the designs aren't that great. You don't get that many good designs in PVC. People go for polythene because it's more available."

"PVC doesn't tear and it's easy to clean!"

"Seconding this as a chemical engineering student," Minho chirps in from behind. You and Jisung turn to look at the man who is on his phone currently and shake your head lightly. "What?"

"He remembers his major now!" Jisung clicks his tongue. "All say, praise the Lord."

"I'm agnostic." You frown.

"More reasons for you to say it easily!"

You find a plain one in the ones he showed you and you take it. Jisung smiles finally, mumbling, "You're a frustrating customer."

"Nah," you scoff. Minho pushes himself off the wall as soon as he sees you done with the selection. "I just know what I want exactly. You, on the other hand, sweetheart," you poke his chest and Jisung chuckles. "You're a pathetic salesperson."

"Of course," he laughs the insult away. "I'm a literature student. I should be working in a publishing company as a part timer."

Minho takes the shower curtain from your hand and puts it in the cart by the side. He comes back, throwing his arm over Jisung's shoulder and frowns, "Apparently publishing companies care a lot more about who your parents are than your resume."

"It's just that publishing company," the other male looks down. "I'll try applying for another one soon."

"Do you want to grab a drink at our place tonight?"

"Can I?"

"Sure," Minho agrees. He drops his arm from Jisung's shoulder and holds the cart handle back, pushing it forward slightly. You take big strides to stand by Minho's side, also holding the handle slightly. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the two of you and with a smile that you don't think twice about, Jisung laughs.

"I'm coming over tonight."

"Sure," you throw your thumbs up at him, stretching your arm. Minho smiles softly at you, his eyes lingering a little longer at your happy figure and he feels his heart beat a little quicker at your sight. Your hair strands framing your face so beautifully, eyes shining the minute you find the exact thing you've had in your mind and your lips curving upwards in joy. 

Lee Minho finds the calmness that spring brings him every year in him all over again with you by his side.

"Bring the soju. Beer is on us!"

Jisung: binnie, binnie!! Changbin: yes, baby? Jisung: i think i have a plan. Changbin: let them be, babe. Jisung: we let them be all these years! they pinned after each other without even knowing and we had to see that painfully! Changbin: i guess you make a valid point there Jisung: is it going to rain today? Changbin: it's been raining for the last few days, sungie. it could. just because i study geography as my minor doesn't mean i can forecast weather. hey! Jisung: fine~ i'm going to get them to confess tonight 👀 Changbin: don't mess up. istg Jisung: trust me 🥺 Changbin: i do. more than ever ❤️

Jisung reaches your doorstep at sharp nine. With two bottles of soju in his hands, you see the stains of the droplets of rain falling onto his shoulder. 

It is drizzling for now and you worry if it is to rain heavily in a few minutes as the forecast mentioned. You hate the thunder. You hate how the weather changes drastically and worsens to a point that it frightens you and makes you anxious. It's a phobia you have managed to hide from everyone for fears of being treated weaker.

Jisung makes himself at home. He always has. He places the soju bottles on the kitchen countertop and Minho smiles to himself as he walks towards the point where Jisung has happily seated himself. Minho and you are on the other end of the counter while Jisung sits on the adjustable chair, swirling in it before stopping and facing you, Minho and the bottles of soju before him.

"Did it finally hit him?"

"I think?" You whisper back.

"I'm right here!" Jisung yells and you smile. Minho pulls the chair from under the counter and sits himself opposite the other male, pressing his lips together and trying to not laugh. He opens the bottle of soju after shaking it and hitting it against his elbow for a while. It clinks open, the metal hitting the glass before falling onto the table and you watch the two, as Minho pours a drink for Jisung.

He downs it in one go, letting out a loud sigh before stretching his arms and demanding a second one.

"Go easy, Sungie. You have the whole night."

"I don't," he huffs. "Now, please."

Minho pours it again before looking at you and you shake your head to indicate that you wouldn't mind a few. You grab hold of one of the empty cups on the counter before stretching your arm too. Minho laughs – a soft chuckle, so airy and light that you find yourself holding your breath for a small second there – and he pours you your drink. 

You twirl your drink, watching the liquid glide against the surface of the cup. Your best friend gets up and walks a little into the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a box of leftovers of fried chicken that you bought a few days ago. He pulls open the microwave to heat it and as he waits, he turns to look back at Jisung and asks him finally.

"Do you want me to drop a word to my uncle?"

"About?"

"He heads the Cheongsam Publication," Minho reveelas, pulling out the chicken from the microwave. He places it before the two of you and almost like you and Jisung were zoomed in, in an American sitcom, both of you gasp dramatically.

"Am I really your best friend?" Jisung yells and you narrow your eyes at Minho. Faking tears in his eyes, he persists in questioning,  "Do I not matter to you, Minho?"

"Why are you rooming with me when you could possibly afford a whole room on your own?"

"Yes, Jisung," Minho sighs and sits back on his chair. You bend forward, arms folded against the table as you stare at your best friend in betrayal. "Also, Y/N, don't you love having me around?"

He laughs and rests his head on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to stiffen them in response. Your eyes drift to the left, trying to not make it overtly obvious that Minho's sudden reaction has taken you by surprise. Your eyes land forward on Jisung who looks at you as if he knew this all along, as if he wanted exactly this. The man has a goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

Jisung downs two more shots and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, mumbling, "Slow the fuck down. No one's chasing you."

"Yeah, my goddamn plan," he mumbles before coughing and taking another. Minho sits up straight, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. He stretches his arm to pat Jisung's shoulder in comfort.

"I'll drop a word."

"Now, don't you dare go and say that you want to earn it and all that bullshit," you sigh. "It's the fucking Republic Of Korea. Nepotism is the norm."

"Not planning on saying that," Jisung glares at you. Clearly, Jisung is slightly tipsy, having been the only person to keep drinking. You and Minho opt to just watch over Jisung for the night. Your best friend puckers his lips in Minho's direction and blowing kisses, he says, "I love you, Minho."

"Changbin wouldn't like you saying that to another man though," you scoff and Jisung flips you the middle finger before downing one more and standing up. The thunder rattles the three of you exactly then and you grip the table, face turning pale instantly. Minho's attention darts to you quickly in concern.

"You okay?" You hum in response, unconvincingly though to Minho whose gaze lingers on you in worry for just a while more. That is, till Jisung rips it away by dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead and playing the damsel in distress as he gasps so loudly, staring at the big window.

"It's raining heavily," he sighs and you shudder, afraid of another thunderstorm as you grip tightly on the side of the table.

"So?" Minho asks, both eyebrows raised at the man before him, looking at the two of you with doe eyes.

"I'm staying over, thanks," he rushes and runs to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and latching it and you and Minho stare at each other. As soon as the realisation of what could happen dawns over you, you rush to your closed bedroom, fists banging against the wooden door.

"Yah, Han Jisung," you turn to look at Minho who watches you in amusement. "Open the fucking door."

"No. I don't want to go back home in the rain. You and Minho can share the bed. I am never opening the door. Good night."

"What the fuck? Yah, Sungie, stop acting like a child. Open the door now." You hear no response. "Sungie? Answer me. Open the door please." Minho walks over to you, and tries knocking too, in vain however because Jisung has no plans to open the door.

You look at Minho, the man slightly towering you as he stands by your side and you gasp. You had to share the bed with the same man you just realised you could, perhaps, have developed feelings for?

"Fuck."

Jisung: it finally seems to be working, binnie! luck's on my side this time. Changbin: oh baby. just please don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out this time either. Jisung: i won't be because it's definitely going to work out. eeeee! i'm so excited! 

Another thunderstorm ripples through the air.

Your heart beats quicker in anxiety, eyes squeezing shut as you grip tightly on the pillow, a light whimper leaving your lips. You feel the mattress shuffling underneath you and in the next minute, your ears are covered by Minho's hands. You stiffen as he edges closer to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as his palm pressed against your pinna, covering your ear completely to protect you from the loud sounds of the thunder.

"Minho, what—"

His hand on your right ear slightly shifts to the side as he bends forward to whisper into your ear, to amplify the sounds enough as a way to distract you.

"You never ever told me you were scared of thunderstorms."

Lee Minho is way too close to you to think straight. You feel his body pressed against your back, heat radiating from him to you through your oversized hoodie. His breath is harsh against your skin as he leans close to whisper into your ear. And all this in an attempt to forget the thunderstorm.

So far, it's working like magic. 

Your voice is almost small when you inform him, "We never happened to be in the same place during one," and Minho swears to God, he could lose it completely. All the self control to not confess and take you there is so ready to be shoved out of the window that all he can do is try and focus on worrying about your fears.

"I'll protect you," he mumbles so softly that you turn around to look at him. His eyes are bright in the soft lights in his room and as he lies by your side, so close that you can hear his heart that beats faster and his breath that is shallow, your lips part and you watch him.

You are fully justified for falling in love with this man. 

A man that tells you he'd protect you from your fears, god alone knows how, but the fact that they don't seem like empty words. A man that you know like the back of your hand and the same man that seems to have protected you all throughout your life, even if you have done the same. It was inevitable. Falling for Lee Minho is inevitable.

And that's why you kiss him. Because you're in love with him so badly that all you can zero in is him, him, him.

Your lips press against his, so softly for a split second. As if you are unsure. As if you know you could be ruining years of friendship over something the two of you could consider a mistake. 

You kiss him and suddenly it's the only thing that matters to you right now. Him, him, him. Your lips are slow and soft against him. It is almost as if you are reminding yourself that there has been nothing more morbidly right than this. To fall in love with your best friend. Minho's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss and with Minho so stiff by your side, you panic, and ramble. "I'm sorry. I should have thought it could be unrequited. I like you and I should have asked—”

Minho crashes his lips on yours, so quickly that it takes your breath away and cuts your sentence in half, but you don't care. He pulls you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your pink ones. You let out a small gasp as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you. It is just you and him in this small room. Just you and him in focus. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute. That it has always been beating for you.

Minho presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth, tongue chasing after yours. Minho kisses you like he has finally achieved the greatest thing ever and he never wants to let it go. Minho kisses like he loves you and you feel it. You feel every ounce of it.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. Playing with the ends of his roots, you suck on his lower lips before he pulls away and finally tells you, "I've always been in love with you, Y/N. Always."

Kissing you again, his thumb digs into the skin by your jaw as he delves deeper, as if he never wants to let you go. The air in the room heats up when your hand moves under his shirt, feeling his muscles under your skin and you moan against his lips. Minho lets go of your lips only to kiss the side of it and then your cheeks and then your jugular before he is littering kisses all over your neck. You moan explicitly, gripping on him and slightly grinding on his thigh. You feel your core heating up, arousal sticking to your panties and all you can think is,

“I want you.”

Minho swears to God that he has always loved confident women but when you shattered right before him and built your confidence right back up — that is the hottest thing he swears he has seen. That, and the fact that you had always been hot before his eyes.

“Really?” Minho lifts himself up and hovers on top of you.

“Really,” you decide to respond before you cup his face and pull his face closer to yours. You don't pull him in for a kiss just yet. Your eyes zero on him, trying to cancel out the loud thunderstorms in the background and just focus on the man before you that you love, that you've been in love unknowingly for a while. 

You just hold his face and learn. You try to remember every single detail of his face that you never focussed on before.

You realise over again that his eyes are your favourite thing. They are black as charcoal and yet still shimmer as if stars are trapped and enclosed beneath them. And when he narrows them to look at you with a daze, your heart throbs and you gulp. They make your heart hurt whenever they fix on you.

You know his skin is soft as you touch. As creamy and velvety as they are, you can't stop touching him. 

His mouth is a pretty shade of coral, plump and pouty and honestly so kissable it hurts to look at it for more than a few seconds. You wonder how you haven't driven yourself to kiss him yet. All these years.

Everything about his face is soft and delicate, that is till he turns a little to the side and angles it perfectly, his head backward and you can clearly see the sharpness of his jawline; the distinct manly cut that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat faster. 

“You are perfect,” you gulp, your eyes back on him and Minho smiles widely. His warm breath caresses your face and his forehead is pressed against yours immediately.

“You know what else is perfect, baby?”

“No,” your voice is airy, even though you already know what he is going to say. You know it and yet the thought causes your heart to skip a bit, and flutter a lot in your chest.

“You and everything you have to offer. You are not average. You are one of the most perfect women I've seen in my whole life, Y/N,” he says. As soon as the words spill from his mouth, your lips are on his, claiming his mouth, the same ones that whispered into your ear that there is nothing to be afraid when he's right there by your side.

He gasps loudly as your hands leave his face and move to his hair to pull him down towards you — you need him so close to you. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to bend a lot forward and gladly welcome the intrusion of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses and those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs. 

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bottom cheeks.

“Minho,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing. You fear getting too addicted to this human – more than you already are – to a point where you need to be attached to him by the hip, to never let go of him.

Minho's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin. 

His hand moves from your clothed arse to under your hoodie, hand pressed against your back as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and god, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smiles widely and you think it's cute. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

You nod your head to signal yes. You hold your breath and your eyes flutter shut, awaiting him and his warmth.

Minho's kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, so much more, that you want to pull him in and suck the life out of him and yet, at the same time, it is precious and laced with not only the passion of the moment but also the tenderness of a first time together.

It makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own. 

Your heart is beating quicker than ever in your chest, against your ribs, and you pull him even closer, so tight your chests have no choice but to heave against each other with every single breath you take. You don’t want to let him go, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

Minho is something you desperately want to hold onto in your life. He knows your secrets, your everything. He knows what you like and how you like it. He seems to know everything and the thought of letting him go aches your heart and constraints your throat with a sob you wouldn't dare to let out. You want him to be completely yours.

And these thoughts turn you desperate. They force you to make the kiss deeper, to lick his lips and bite them down, to gulp down every sigh and whimper that comes out of him and make them your own. To make him yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, taking in the way his mouth moves over yours, arching further into him. You groan into his mouth and his grip on your back tightens instantly.

“I want you so much, Minho,” you whimper against him after your lips part from his. You lick your lips and gaze at him with your partially closed eyes. “So fucking much.”

“Then, have me. Take me,” Minho purrs against your exposed skin. In a minute, he pulls the oversized hoodie over you, leaving you in just your undergarments as he discards it to the side. His mouth moves over the skin above your breasts and his hand traces the bra you are wearing. He gazes at it and mumbles before latching his mouth back on your skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. Always have been.”

You gleam in pride and your body arches at the contact of his mouth on your skin. Your hands are on the side of his face as you pull him away.

“Can I?”

“Have me? Yes. Completely,” he smiles. He wonders if you are confident. That's all that he hopes when you look at him so unsure and so doubtingly. 

You wet your lips again quickly, your breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Your hands immediately rush to his top, roughly pushing it above. Minho helps you out and pulls it completely away. You are blinded by the passion burning inside of you, your hands eager to explore and touch every expanse of his glowing skin. You want to touch, feel, have a complete experience. You want Minho to remind you of everything you are missing out on.

Your lips attack his neck in a hurry, all rough and passionate on his tender, soft skin, blooming red roses that turn purple against it. You repeat your actions till he’s softly moaning out your name, almost purring them out that you feel yourself becoming slicker. His hands on your back pull you closer and into him so that you won’t stop tainting his flesh and slowly, his soul, in the best ways possible.

Minho whines and sighs and grunts for you. He doesn't hold himself back as his lips leave appreciation for who you are. He closes his eyes as he parts his lips to whimper out your name with every new thing you find that excites him and it drives you absolutely insane. 

You know you should not but you can’t stop wondering how he would sound like as you fuck him hard, rock on his cock to milk his orgasm, make him beg not to stop. You desperately want to break him and draw all these nice sounds out of him, but you know it would most probably be the other way round. Minho allows you to take control occasionally but you know he wants the lead. He wants to be the one to break you apart and pull you back together. 

He pulls back from you, his hands leaving your back and resting on either of your sides. Minho's dark hair brushes over his crescent lidded eyes and nearly shields the hungry, desperate gaze of them. His hand plays with the strap of your panties as his gaze flickers between affection and lust. He cocks his head to the side before asking, “You do want this, right?”

You nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would resume.

“I need to hear you say it out loud, baby,” he firmly says and you gulp.

“Yes, yes. Minho, fuck, I want this. I need this,” you whine, your eyes glassy, as you grip his forearm to lift yourself up and grate and move against the evident bulge on his jeans. 

Minho merely needs that verbal confirmation. He pulls away your panties, resting on your hips and you groan. Still hovering above you and his hands over your pubic mound, his fingers trail lower and you tug at your lower lip in anticipation. Easily, he finds your clit, and begins to rub in slow, languid, lazy motion, up and down, waiting for the moan he so loves to hear from you to spill from your mouth. He grins when he hears those little whimpers and you feel your legs lose mobility from the pleasure he brings you with just a flick of his finger. 

Your back slightly arches off the soft mattress upon the bed when his finger leaves your clit to draw a line up your wet slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can before slipping his glistening fingers out to admire them in the light. Your cheeks taint pink in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Minho moans, taking his coated finger into his mouth to suck your juices from it. His eyes flutter shut as if he’s tasting the sweetest aphrodisiac ever known and your lips part at this sight. Lee Minho looks irresistible and you want him, completely.

“God,” he groans. Minho slides himself down your body until he’s in level with your pussy. His eyes gazed at it in sheer adoration and your hand slapped against your mouth. He takes two fingers to spread your lips apart for a better view. “You’re dripping, baby girl.”

You wail as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing your fold, making you whine his name out loud. The way you plead for him, beg for him, grind down on his teasing fingers, all set a fire inside you. This has been what you had been craving for so long. The ability of this man to cloud your thoughts and set your body on fire makes you yearn for him even more.

“Minho,” you cry out, whimpering underneath him. “Fingers. I need you. Please, Minho.”

You gasp, your voice airy, when the tip of his finger tentatively slips into you while your fingers dig at his shoulders between your thighs. “Minho, I want you. I just really want you. I need to feel you. Please.”

He drags his finger out of you before you clutch onto him, feeling the need to be overwhelmed. He presses his thumb on your clit and a whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Minho.” And he slides his digit in again almost as if on cue. He pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb harshly rubs circles on your clit. Your hand leaves your mouth and grabs your hair as the other digs further into his shoulder. 

His mouth leaves hot air against the skin covering your acetabulum and you shudder. His lips graze from there till your thigh before biting on them, sucking them deliriously and leaving you as a whimpering mess.

“Minho, fuck!” You scream, your fingers grabbing your hair to hold control of your body. 

“That's it, baby,” he says against the skin of your thighs. “How I've wanted those beautiful lips to scream out my name from when I've felt them.”

Minho adds another finger and your eyes are screwed shut as he curls them within you and you gasp at the feeling of being widened. You are elated and you feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. He rubs your inside and your clitoris faster and you push your hips towards him, moving with his pace. Minho is also leaving beautiful purple marks in a trail on your thigh and you gape in awe.

You find it all too much. Your emotions are all over the place and your hormones rise up. The movement of his fingers inside you and around your clit, his lips attacking your erogenous spots, kissing, biting and licking short stripes on them. It finally gets to you and you scream his name out in pleasure. Your first orgasm comes crashing down upon you, blinding you. You release all over his fingers and Minho helps you ride out your high as he drags his finger repeatedly but this time, slower than what had been. 

Your head lifts up and hits the pillow slightly as it tilts away. Minho moves upwards, hovering over your face and smiles. You smile back. You are so happy and you do not know how to put it into words.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks?”

“For what?” He looks at you quizzically. 

“That was my first orgasm in months now that wasn't brought about by my own fingers,” you smile wearily and Minho leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

"Should have come to me," he laughs.

"Didn't know if I'd be ruining our friendship."

"Pfft," he scoffs, before kissing you again, his lips gliding against yours and piecing in as if they were always meant to be against yours. "I've been in love with you forever."

"Took me a while to know my own feelings," you mumbles. “Also,” you continue, hoping he listens to your request. “Can I . . . ride you?”

Minho is stunned. There are so many things about you that stuns him and maybe it's the way you try to take control that make you look so much hotter before his eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you plead. “If that is not a bother to you.”

“Why would it? Your wish is my command, but only for this night. Next time, my love, we do this my way,” he teases and winks and your core throbs at his words.

Minho pulls himself away from your body, pulling his shirt over his head and his denim down and away. As he flings his clothes aside and relaxes against the mattress, his cock springs free against his stomach, leaking with milky precum. You sit up beside the space Minho has taken over and watch him and his cock deliriously and lustfully.

You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You’re really doing this. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Minho, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Minho notices.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, sensing your reluctance and worry. He pushes back the stray hair falling over your eyes. “You're doing wonderful, babygirl. You are finally all mine. What a pretty girl and all to myself now."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip, and tugging at it harshly, cheeks heating up at his words, arousal gushing out as you look down before aligning with his cock. You want this. You needed this release.

As your folds, dripping with thick, sticky arousal, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you moaning out his name, gasping and panting for air, “Fuck, Minho.”

You rock your hips into him, trying this as you picture it to be, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick length. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord.

As much as Minho wants to give you complete power over this, it isn't like him and he wishes he could be better. Minho takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Minho,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and you feel sad.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Minho, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. You are glad he is helping you out because you know you could not have done it on your own after having just ridden out your high.

The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you. 

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the second time that night. Minho’s finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge. Minho knows how to make a woman putty in his hands and you are a living witness of this.

“Are you going to come?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, you feel so good, Minho.” You lean forward and the motion causes Minho to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Minho, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

“Then, come.”

Minho moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Babygirl, oh fuck. Come all over my cock.”

Minho’s other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find their place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and his eyes flicker a mischief that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Minho’s cock tightly.

Minho learns that your dirty liking for choking is incredibly hot. Seeing you like this is what he knows would get him to come when you are not around. Your fucked out expression as you gasp for air makes Minho plunge into you harder and you choke harder.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Minho's waist, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him. 

“Hey,” you say and smile. 

Minho kisses your forehead and then, the peak of your nose, and finally, kisses your lips, softly. It isn't lustful or anything. Just plain passion seeping from him to you. You feel his admiration and an emotion you fear to mistake for love. He pulls away and smiles, “Hey, beautiful.”

He comes closer and licks the side of your neck, where he had wrapped his fingers out. The one fantasy that you are so in love with. He peppers soft kisses around it and mumbles an apology. 

“No,” you quickly stop him. “That was everything. I— I really like you." Pausing, the thought crashes your head, post your high and you mumble, "Fuck, I fell in love with my best friend." 

You nuzzle into his chest after he pulls back, your arms wrapping around his body as you calm yourself. Minho chuckles into your ear, "Yes, yes. You clearly did. What do we do now?"

"Take responsibility." You mumble as you slowly find yourself feeling sleepy. Your eyes are slowly drooping and your voice lowers in tone, words drifting away almost, “You better take responsibility for my feelings and take care of me.”

“It'd truly be my honour,” Minho mumbles, lifting you slowly to push his one arm beneath your neck. He uses the other hand to push your hair away from your face. Kissing your forehead, lips lingering for a while, he smiles to himself, laughing slightly as he asks you, "Was the schlong good?”

You laugh softly, snuggling into his chest, fist against it as you try to fall asleep, thunderstorms long forgotten. Kissing his chest, you giggle, "Best ever schlong I have ever had, baby. All mine to keep now."

Jisung: can you pick me up? Changbin: this late? Jisung: i just wanted them to confess. not fuck like bunnies. useless fact i learnt today: they are both loud in bed. Changbin: i'm laughing off the bed literally!!! also!!! Jisung: yeah? Changbin: and they were roommates! Jisung: god, they were roommates. 🙄❤️

[dylanxmin]

painkiller ∣ 3 ∣ J.HS

breakups are habitual, ordinary maybe even easy for some other people, and maybe it could be easy for you, too, if you haven’t been dumped by your boyfriend after finding out that you were pregnant. no, it wasn’t easy even a bit. and a stranger who wants to be your side doesn’t make this all easy for you, at all.

pairing; jung hoseok x reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, pregnancy au, strangers to lovers au, single!mom au, slice of life au,,

warnings; angst, swearings, mention of sexual intercourse, bratty taetae, bratty jimin bc why not:), y/n doesn’t like kids?, sorry but unedited:( 

word count; 11k+

rating; nc17

a/n; e-yooo? yeah, i take a long, loong break even without wanting it. but can I blame my life and all the thing I tried to handle? (and clearly failing lol),, well, i wasn’t suppose to post this episode now, but I pushed myself and tried to give it a chance and luckily, I finished this episode!! yey!! sorry for being the worst writer ever on this site, but pls don’t hate me, lol. sooo maybe feedbacks?,, love y’all, thanks for reading it!! ♡

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taglist; @xxluckydreamsxx​ ,, @parkminhee​

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Jung Hoseok is the man of hope. He and everybody knows it. But are they okay with this? Maybe most of his friends and family members were okay with this but among them, Kim Seokjin didn't like how he always tried to be helpful and all. He wouldn't have any problems with Hoseok being like that unless he wasn't all over you. Hoseok never admits it, but he knows it. Unfortunately, he knew him well enough to understand how he feels from scanning his acts and looks around you. And Seokjin will do the best thing by opening the topic of you in front of his other friends because then, he would have nowhere to hide. 

''Well, I don't know that but I'm saying this. That woman hates me.'' Jungkook let out a big sigh, the sight of the red-haired middle-aged teacher scaring the hell out of him, sending shivers to his neck. He wasn't the smartest one to figure out things easily, but he knew it. Maybe the way she sizes him up bleakly, or the way her mouth crinkles in disgust. Or maybe even the way she calls his name like she was spitting. Jungkook was sure, his teacher was hating him. ''I'll never graduate because of her...'' 

''Okay, first of all, stop being all gloomy about this and think.'' Jimin snaps his fingers before continuing to talk, ''maybe there is one other way to get on well with her,'' 

''Oh my god. Shut that filthy mouth of yours!'' Jungkook covers his ear, physically abhors from what his friend just implied. ''I would never do... that,'' 

''Jungkook you know who is not going to work as a nurse in a hospital?'' Jin tilts his brows, secretly pitying the boy who has red cheeks in front of him. ''perverts like him,'' 

''Oh, c'mon,'' Jimin whined, staring at the pointed finger with a knot between his brows. ''I said what everybody was thinking. Blame me all you want but you were thinking like me!'' 

Hoseok giggles while watching the way his friends tearing each other apart with their stares, enjoying the chaos more than he should. Probably the drinks he had just hit his head. He poured himself another one while Jin got red because of all the yell he did to Jimin, and the poor youngest watching them with rounded doe eyes. 

''I see you are having a great time over there,'' the tone of his friend alarmed Hoseok, he acknowledged that he is the next target of his. So he holds his arms up, his pupils dilated from the fear he feels. ''Hey... what did I do to earn that look?'' 

Jimin's little 'o's filling the room while darting his eyes over Jin and Hoseok, happy to see how tables have turned. The youngest staring his hyungs curiously. 

''So you say that you did nothing wrong?'' Jin crosses arms above his chest, cock his head aside. ''Nothing?'' he asks once again to prevent his friends from attempting to deny him. Light tension fills the room while they stare at each other in silence. 

''He is talking about the patient of his, dummy,'' Jimin can't wait a little longer and talks before Hoseok says something. He lifts an eyebrow, trying to understand what his friend was talking about. His 'o' shaped mouth leaves its place to a pout. ''What patient?'' 

Hoseok asks but deeply knows who Jin was referring to, but he wants to deny all he can. Wouldn't want to believe that he was being that obvious in front of his friend and also his co-worker. His heart race goes high, can't believe how unprofessional he looked. If Hoseok ever wanted to disappear from somewhere, it wasn't the time where his pants decided to leave his body and him staring his first crush in his pink underwear. After memories of the first grade fill his mind, Hoseok's face goes even redder than ever. 

''You know 'what' patient I'm talking about Hoseok,'' the oldest rolls his eyes, his nose crinkles in shame after seeing the useless attempts of his friend. He is the second oldest in this group after Jin, yet he looked like a three years old boy. ''I'm talking about Y/N, saying it in case you try not to understand once again, for god sakes Hoseok...'' Jin lets a big sigh, shaking his head earnestly. 

When a pair of sweat drips occurs in his forehead, Hoseok uses the back of his hand to wipe. Even though he tries hard not to be obvious while dripping anxiety sweats, everyone in the room can regardable as a smart man, plus they were knowing him for a long time so it was useless for Hoseok to try to act cool. He lets a little gasp, pouting, ''Yeah, Y/N. She... she looks like a good person. Yeah..'' 

''Good enough to makes you want to slide in her pants?'' Hoseok gasps dramatically, facing Jimin's big grin with a hand on his chest. He could die from embarrassment. 

''Jimin-ah! Stop talking nonsense.'' Jimin's hand wraps around his shoulder, rubbing the spot where his hyung just put a punch, it hurts enough to make him regret what he said but he can't control his tongue when he is with them and the alcohol in his veins. ''Don't make me yell again. I'm working tomorrow,'' 

Jimin's knitted brows start to ease, while his grin finds its place on his lips. But he shifts from where he sits, abstaining from hyung's punch before saying what he has in his mind. ''Does Y/N have an appointment tomorrow?'' he sizes the man in dark hair, flushed pink cheeks in joy. Hoseok doesn't want to look curious and tries to hold his body stable, not moving a muscle or landing an eye on Jin. But he is burning in curiosity, his fingertips numb with the memory of him touching, patting your arm fills in his mind. 

The heated body, radiating too much agony. And for some reason, he can't quite understand, but he knows that he hates to see you like that. How many times did he see you before, three? In every one of them, you looked burned out, terrified. He doesn't know what he hates the most. The sorrow in your eyes or the way you startled in every situation. He doesn't know, nor he understands, put logic in it. But he wants to make sure of your well being. Not knowing you or you being his friend's patient won't stop him, he knows it for sure. Unless you want him to stop. 

''It's not that scary, right hyung?'' with the poke on his shoulder, Hoseok tears from his thoughts, and you. But little did you know, the image of your bright stare in the hospital exit never leaves Hoseok's mind. Haunts him every minute. 

''R-right, not that scary,'' Hoseok nods while the thought of you being a witch wanders on his mind. He is sure that he got caught up in your spell. 

How many times can a person make mistakes? Does it have any statistics, or it's up to that person's imbecility? If you try to count the mistakes you made, you probably would drown under them like a used chocolate packet. But thinking about past mistakes could not give anything in return. Therefore, you focused on today and the days that were waiting for you. 

Searching on the internet about pregnancy, reading all the comments about it didn't help you the way you want. Moreover, it just turned you into a confused wreck. To be more clear, you were looking at how a pregnant woman feels about it, and if you were making a mistake for not choosing abortion. It didn't help because they all wrote how good to be pregnant and being a mother. How they felt amazing and the special bond between them and their babies.

The one bond you couldn't feel for a particular reason. 

They all wanted to be a mother, thinking about this a lot and then deciding the time they want. And the ones who got pregnant by accident or without wanting at first, get used to all the hardship with their partner unlike you. 

It was useless, and just remembered how lonely you are. So you had to close the laptop before you broke it. Thanks to your pregnancy brain, you never felt this unstable in your life. It was being on a roller coaster with never-ending ups and downs. One second, you were feeling above the clouds, happiest woman ever, and then bam, something just snaps and you can't ease the need to break something. Preferably someone's neck. 

''Yah! From earth to the woman who is drooling,'' when Taehyung snaps his finger on your face, you flinch with the sudden move. Tearing yourself from your thoughts, you size the lovely boys who are staring at your face. ''What were you thinking that deeply?'' 

''And use this. Geez,'' taking the white napkin from Namjoon's hand, you push it to your drooling chin. It was surprising how much saliva your body produces. Almost equal to a Lama. ''It was nothing. Just... just thinking about work and stuff, you know,'' 

Namjoon tsks, lifting his brows in disbelief. ''And I should believe this?'' you shrug one shoulder, throwing the napkin on the table after folding in your palm. You also read about pregnancy drooling. At first, you did not believe it, but as you can see how much you do it was impossible not to believe. ''Believe it or not, it's the truth I'm telling you.'' 

''Aish... stubborn as always,'' Taehyung rolls his eyes at you, pulling his eyes from you to land on Yoongi who sits right beside you. ''Are we watching the movie as we are all together and no work tomorrow?'' he sizes you all, eyes gleaming with expectations. 

''The one you never shut your mouth about?'' Yoongi asks, showing how he got sick of his countless insists to watch a certain movie with them because he was the chicken in the group. ''It's fine by me but is it okay to watch scary movies during pregnancy?'' he continues after Taehyung nods in excitement, but once Yoongi points at the elephant in the room, his mood visibly fades. 

''I don't think so,'' guessed as the elephant in the room, ''They never said anything about it. Both Seokjin and the internet so yeah, why not. Let's get over with it,'' you waved your hand, trying not to turn this into something big. 

When Taehyung wiggles his body in weal, Yoongi scoots over, landing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. ''You can always hug me if you feel too scared, you know?'' he grins, patting you on the shoulder. The daringness of the boy always manages to shock you, leave you speechless. But Namjoon acts before you can say anything, ''If she can't find you, there is always another man who waits for her. Right, Y/N?'' he made the effort to sound sneering. You give the finger as a response, but he finds it amusing. 

''Wait-Who are you talking about? Yourself?'' the ash-blonde haired man's eyes go wide, brows tilted. Pout on the lips looks adoring on him, as cheeks get even more fluffy. You want to laugh but you cover your mouth with your hand before sending menacing eyes at Namjoon. 

''Huh. No, aish... no way. I'm telling this one last time, she is not my type. Sorry, honey but I'm talking about Damian. The man who always tries to get in your pants, remember?'' You shush him off immediately. The level of restraining you had against your anger getting lower by the unabashed smile he sends at you. 

''He is not trying...'' as everyone knew how Damian treated you, always tried to do something for you, you did not feel the need to talk back. Teahyung laughs while Namjoon fills his mouth with the cupcake he bought for you. There is no need to say he ate half of them. 

''That man waits on a leash for you, and don’t even fight me on this. You know that.'' Namjoon said, his voice sounded hoarse because of the cupcake he was rolling in his mouth. 

''I agree with Namjoon-ah on this. I saw it with my bare eyes, he is so whipped for you.'' Taehyung backs up, leaning to steal a cupcake from the plate. Even though you know they were right, you didn't want to talk about him anymore. He had a thing for you or not, either way, you didn't want to think about a man in this circumstance. 

''He can wait all he wants, but we all know this pretty lady only has one man in his heart,'' when he gets sick of the topic and hearing the name of a man his friend's talking about, he decides to step in. Yoongi suppresses you on his chest tighter, wrapping you with his warm arms. ''And that man is me, right?'' 

Humming at his question, you wrap your arms around him and let yourself find comfort in his soothing affection. 

The four of you grow together, got more and more close in time, but contrary to Namjoon and Taehyung friendship it was different with Yoongi. You two met when you both had a bad breakup, and were suffering yourself every day. So, your relationship took a different path after a while, it turned into something more platonic. Neither of you had feelings towards each other but finding comfort and serenity in one another company. It wasn't anything physical if you don't count the comfy hugs, tiny kisses, and holding hands when one of you needed it. 

It happened only when you two felt lonely at the same time, and never crossed the line of friendship. It was a harmless, tiny platonic relationship, and you both loved the way it's going. 

You squish yourself deeper in Yoongi's hold when Taehyung started the scary movie. Between Taehyung's screams and Namjoon's criticisms, you giggled when they started to bicker with each other. And in moments like this, you felt extremely happy. Thankful for having them, the chosen family of yours. It was a great way to have a break from feeling miserable and lifeless. 

‘‘Not right for god sake! I said left, yes, a fucking left!’’ you scream at the man who drives, knowing your words sound harsh, you couldn’t help but not caring a bit as the pain in your inguinal area disturbs you. Yet, your screams and constant curses won’t help the redhead to drive decently, or not miss a turn. Trembling hands help him as much as you while he drips red sweat from his forehead. ‘‘Okay, okay… Can you not shout and leave my eardrum alone. Chill a little woman, geez…’’ 

‘‘Have this burning feeling between your legs, and then try to tell me to shut my mouth. Dickhead!’’ You didn’t know why but you were sure of having a urinal affection that tries to kill you for sure. It started two days ago but it only annoyed you while peeing, but after a while it started ache without even landing your back on the toilet. You could only crawl your legs and press them together to abstain from the pain, yet it was useless. 

Taehyung, the lucky man who is driving you to your appointment, wipes the sweat on his forehead, breathing out from his nostrils in annoyance. ‘‘Sure. I won’t forget that,’’ he snaps back, rolls his eyes at you. His grip on the wheel loose after a while, as he doesn’t want to turn this situation even harder for you. Peeking an eye on you, he decides to melt the ice between you and himself. One hand on the wheel, other reaches out and holds yours tightly, and puts a boxy smile on his face. ‘‘Just hang a little okay? We are almost there.’’ Even though you want to spit on his face one second ago, with the sudden affection your heart decides to melt under his caring gaze. 

You will never get used to these abrupt ups and downs. Not in a million years. 

‘‘Well, I’m not giving birth, don’t I? At least, yet,’’ he giggles, shoulders move a bit with the vibration of his laugh. Thankfully, Taehyung didn’t decline your call when you desperately called him after Yoongi, as you knew you couldn’t handle driving a car in these situations, and taxi drivers always get on your nerves so using them with these hormones wouldn’t end well. Taehyung took the savior role and didn’t lose himself even though he had enough of your filthy mouth, at least he was still driving you to hospital. Not dumping you on the road even though he considered this for a minute. 

‘‘Want to wait for me to park the car or meet you there?’’ he cuts your thoughts while pulling the car in front of the entry. Moving swiftly, you open the door and almost run to the elevators after telling him a simple ‘there’, leaving him behind. Heading to the elevator, you act like you are not having the thought of the man who has a heart-shaped smile. You didn’t even know his name, as you trick yourself into this idea. You press the button after entering the grey elevator with a couple of people, two of them step out with you on the third floor, heading to a different direction. 

While you were walking to your doctor office, for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel heavy on the heart. Not that you were not anxious, but it was different now. The ball of sweats didn’t crept towards your forehead, heart wasn’t beating like it was going to explode, or the way your eyelids stayed dry. Normally they would go puffy from wetness by now. But here you are, standing inches away from Doctor Kim’s door, and not having a slight terror beating on your throat. 

This is a first for you. And probably for your doctor too as he always witnessed your breakdowns. What a pathetic loser, he must think about you, as you did think just like that. 

‘‘Welcome, Y/N,’’ Doctor Kim reacts by standing up after seeing you, holding his hand up to greet you. You couldn’t help not to mirror his smile, squeezing his hand with a pleased smile, happy to see him. ‘‘You look good. Things have been going good, I guess?’’ he asks, pulling his hand to gesture you to sit in your usual place. For a second, you stay silent, not knowing what to say as you didn’t want to lie for some reason. Knowing he is always caring and sweet towards his patients, he still manages to make you feel special in a way. Probably thinking dumbly, but you feel close to this man, and wanted to share the truths. Even though you were not sure if things have been going good, or the total opposite. Well, you were still dealing with pregnancy hormones, morning sickness, and constant urinal issues - ignoring the unwanted pregnancy -, but you can say you were more optimistic these days? You didn’t know, had no idea… 

Sitting on the black couch where he gestured, you bob your head, gathering your thoughts. ‘‘To be honest, I don’t know how I feel. You know about the pregnancy mind and emotions. I think I’m trying to be better,’’ he gives a polite smile, white pearls appear behind his lips. ‘‘Oh, that’s good news. At least we are trying to overcome the negativities, huh?’’ you giggle, nodding while your heart warmed with the way he mentions ‘we’. Not throwing you under the bus, but also counting himself in, easing your anxiety day by day. You found yourself lucky. 

‘‘So, painful urinates.’’ his expression changes in a minute to a professional doctor he is from a friendly one. Eying the papers for a couple of minutes, he holds out a tiny paper to you before adding, ‘‘Let’s have a urine test, first.’’ he smiles again, and informs you about the floor you should go to. 

You already hate taking these tests, have to pee in a cup and all the humiliation you felt after holding it in your hand in the corridor, in front of all those people. Like it wasn’t enough, you couldn’t drop a little drip in a damn cup. Exhaling the air in your lungs, you wipe the sweats from your forehead. Of course, nothing will work in the way you wanted, have to drive you crazy before. ‘‘Why, why, why exactly I can’t pee?’’ you groaned, lifting your pants and pulling the zip before washing your hands two times - because who would wash one time -, and you exit from the toilet to meet with your friend. ‘‘I can’t pee,’’ you sat in defeat, shoulders dropped dead on your body, and you watched your friend’s laughs and snorts that filled the corridor. At least one of you had fun today… 

‘‘You look all pouty and teary just because you can’t pee?’’ he hits his knee with one hand, lips reaching from ear to ear, while you eye him with a crabby gaze. This man wants a punch. ‘‘Ohh… God, you are so cute,’’ he continues to giggle while arms pull you into a hug, one kiss lands on your hair. Then, he informs you to wait for him, and leaves you there to overthink. It’s funny how life treats you sometimes, when you think. You literally wake up every hour to pee from your comfy bed, but when it’s come to an important task, your urinal system decides not to do the thing that it does for a thousand times a day. Hah, funny! Not that you are surprised, though. Looking at your past, nothing came easy, hence, never left without making a big fuss. You did get used to all the trembling mess in your life, but all you wanted was to pee without having a meltdown. Is it too much to ask? Aish… just when you thought everything going alright, not suffocating you with handicaps on your way and such things like-

‘‘For a person who holds a plastic cup, you look very sad.’’ a honeyed giggle interrupts your overthinking, forcing your attention on itself. And with a slight surprised gaze, you had nothing to do other than facing the oh so familiar sound. ‘‘Do you need help?’’ 

‘‘With this?’’ you hold the cup high, now surprised more than before. Watching the man giggle visibly, after seeing your wide open eyes. 

‘‘What! Of course not.’’ he almost shrieks with a mocking attitude. ‘‘It was a way more general question than it’s heard.’’ finally he stops laughing, giggling after sitting right beside you. Brown gaze locked on you after silence takes over your small conversations, but you don’t feel uncomfortable the way you should. The way you thought you should act if you run into him again, but the annoying fondness toys with your heart. After the day you last saw him, you regretted shortly after the way you acted all needy, as a fragile little girl. You still can’t believe how you felt heartbroken when he didn’t find a way to drive you home. What were you? Some girl who can’t control her emotions or hormones? And no, using pregnancy as an excuse won’t work this time. You had strict rules to obey. No man must go near to your heart. 

‘‘Doctor Kim wanted a urine test?’’ Hoseok tried to look cool, asking nonchalantly and tried to trick himself as he only wondered about this as a nurse. Not out of curiosity about your situation or health. Badly wishing you would fool around and not hit him on the head. 

‘‘Hmm. Probably an infection. He wanted a test.’’ you nod, chewing your bottom lip while his chocolate orbs never leaves your face. While your fingers play with the cup, eyes locked on them as you are afraid to look him in the eye, not trusting yourself enough on not blushing all over while eying him. He had some kind of an effect on you, and you hated that. You really did. He leans closer when you scream internally, ‘‘There is something,’’ he murmurs before the touch of his fingertips lick your cheek a bit, feeling the tremble on his hand while he takes a tiny leaf from your hair. It was stupid to feel, but the scene had resemblance with the tv dramas. Both of you stayed dumbfounded as he dared to touch you, of course, you were too close and air left the tiny space. Under the spotlight you two were frozen, waiting for a miracle to move. Something happened soon after, but you may not call it a ‘miracle’ as it was your dumb friend, who yelling at you from across the corridor. 

‘‘Y/N-ahhh!’’ A couple of eyes landed on Taehyung in disbelief, a couple of ‘tsc’s murmured by the older ones, and immediately the young man shut his mouth. Holding his hand above his parted lips, embarrassment turns his cheeks scarlet, heart beating inside of his throat. But all the embarrassment dies after Taehyung spots you and the man right beside you, hand on your hair, the same scarlet on his face. Then Taehyung visibly changes, and you know what is about to happen that you hated so much. Before you could open your mouth to say something, or Hoseok lands his hand, your friend was there. Taking deep breaths, nostrils getting big with every breath. ‘‘I’m Taehyung, and you?’’ wanting to slap your forehead, or his face, you stood up and Hoseok followed your act. 

‘‘H-hey. Hoseok,’’ Hoseok holds his whimper when the red haired man tries to break his hand in the handshake. He doesn’t understand the situation, or why this man looks like he was about to rip his head off, but Hoseok couldn’t help to push his chest up a little bit to show he is not intimidated by the man in front of him. ‘‘Hahaha, how you meet with each other kindly, huh? Hoseok is the best nurse in this hospital as Doctor Kim said,’’ you try to ease the moment, but the words all sound shrill, ‘‘And Taehyung is-’’

‘‘Taehyung,’’ your best friend for life, wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. With dreadful eyes you scan his face, then landing on Hoseok, watching the strain on his jaw. ‘‘Nice to meet you,’’ Taehyung adds, and you want to punch him. Oh gosh, you want to punch him so bad on the balls. Until his know-it-all, stupid face reddened. He was forcing your restraining level, pushing you too much with the protective acts of him. Between your internally crisis, you land an apologetic gaze on Hoseok’s, wishing him not to care of your stupid friend’s attitudes. 

‘‘Yes. Yes, of course, nice to meet you, too,’’ Hoseok bids his goodbye after taking his hand from Taehyung’s grip, as kind as he can manage. Trembling left hand finds a way to ease the act by wandering on his hair, ruining it. He doesn’t know why the burning ball dropped at his chest out of nowhere, or why his breaths become so fast. Wanting to punch himself in the face, he can’t get rid of the image of the arm over your shoulders. Blood almost meets with air when he bites down his lip, a feeling clawing his chest, but he doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t want to learn, either. 

‘‘Ouch!’’ Taehyung voices a hoarse whine, rubbing the skin under his rib cage. An instant ache raised after the touch of your elbow, landing on him with a great aspect. ‘‘Did I play good?’’ he tries to laugh but with the pain he wheezes, playfulness wiped from his face. 

‘‘What was that?’’ slapping him one more time, you raged. Hoseok’s back already lost in the corridor, but remembering how his face dropped down, and a terrible anguish struck your heart. Of course it was only because Taehyung mocked him, that was why you felt this stinging guilt. Yeah, that’s why. ‘‘What was what? I think I played well. Shouldn’t we protect you from the danger going around?’’ he asked like it was the obvious thing. Surprise on the face. 

‘‘Who are ‘we’, exactly?’’ 

‘‘Well, you know. Me, as your best friend, also Namjoon. And Yoongi, not that I can count him as your friend, but yeah… You see, that is we,’’ he points, dropping a quotation mark on the air. Breath, yes just breath and ignore the boiling anger inside of you. It would be the best thing to do. ‘‘And here, drink this bottle. Sure you’ll pee like an elephant in a minute.’’ Before taking the bottle from his grip, you tried to say something, abortively parting your mouth only to close it in a minute as you don’t know what to say. The redhead eyes you as if nothing happened, like he didn’t do anything wrong a minute ago, and you didn’t know which word would shake his mind. Maybe a slap, or even a kick would work but with a living creature inside of your belly, you won’t kick anybody. Even if that anybody boils your blood, inflames your migraine. 

Audibly gulping you drink the water swiftly. Hitting the bottle on his chest, you turn to sit where Hoseok just left. An itchy feeling appeared on your chest, leaning to your fingertips by your arms, and you wanted to do something. Probably it was a dumb idea, but for some reason you had an urge to explain who was Taehyung actually, why he was here and all the question in his mind. Even though some part of you screams at you, writing the sane thing with red color. Why would he have any questions in his mind? Or, why would he want an explanation from you? 

Not knowing exactly if it’s okay to eat diet biscuits, you send another crumb to your mouth, crushing it slowly between your molar teeth. A kid looks at you with wide eyes beside you, she points you to show how scary you look while looking at the floor in a trance to her mother. Which you don’t know what was going on in the world as thinking about nothing was way more entertaining than watching the others. Plain biscuit didn’t put a joy in your mouth, rather it tasted like grass. Not that you knew how grass tasted like, or not that you waited for an explosion in your mouth out of joy. All these useless thoughts wander on your mind, keeping you busy while you wait for your test results. Surprisingly, your dummy friend advised you the reasonable thing, like a broken clock showing the right time twice a day, he used his dusty brain for once. After gulping down a bottle of water, a wave of need had hit you on the inguinal area. All you needed to do was wait for the moment, but you were too impatient to do so. Hitting the table with your fingertips, keeping a broken rhythm, humming to yourself got boring after you started. A ball was going right to the left in your blank head, you were able to hear the sound of emptiness. 

‘‘I don’t want to eat this!’’ in the crowded hospital canteen a voice comes out, beating all the other sounds and tickling your ears. ‘‘No. I said no!’’ when the woman tried to feed the little satan again, he jerked his hand and hit the spoon on the woman's hand. Geez. A cold drop takes a track all the way down your spine, causing you to shiver in shock. The satan in the shape of a little boy started to cry soon after the spoon met with the floor, kicking the table and smacking the food on the ground. You were stunned, speechless for a moment as the scene continued by the little boy having a tantrum right beside you. Calling him with such a bad name didn’t bring you any guilt, moreover, you think it suited him well. Red on the face, constant punch on the air and wobbly screams coming out of the boy made some resemblance with the evil force in him. Not that you knew much about babies or little kids, but this boy looked at least four or five years old, yet he managed to put fear in your gut. 

A bucket of cold water dropped by your head, waking you from the trance you dive into. You had no idea about raising a baby, or taking care. It was hitting you with a wave of truth that you had no ability to look out for a baby, while you can’t even survive from the winter on your own. Never thinking of raising the baby in your belly, you never applied to an adoption foundation, though. What were you thinking? You would get used to this, being pregnant, being a mother? Suddenly you would expect the baby, out of nowhere? 

You were acting foolish, reckless and immature. Always having hard times without a father, how could you think you can raise a baby on your own. And until now, you didn’t know that you had such a dump idea. Did you really want to raise a baby on your own, you weren’t quite sure about it, but you never researched the many ways of adoption. Bitterness floats around your tongue, your grip on the biscuit hardened, until there is nothing but a bunch of crumbs. Cold wet stick on your back, black shirt becoming the second skin while your eyes wander around everywhere. Having multiple panic moments these last weeks, you read much about pregnancy depression, which they mostly said it was okay to feel depressed or down because of the uncertainties of your emotions. They were up and down in a blink, filling your stomach until you threw them out with a retch, waking you up with heavy breaths in the middle of the night. That’s why, you always found yourself thinking if this would be much easier with somebody, with… him. Sticking your tongue between your teeth, you hate yourself for thinking about him, the man who ran away from you with toes hitting his butt. And all these pregnancy hormones were confusing your mind, causing you to barking up the wrong tree. 

While you were feeling under the water, fighting with your thoughts to see clearly, a sweet melody of a laugh interrupted the stinging flood of negativities on your mind. Something snapped, and all the scars started to heal after hearing a simple giggle. 

Holding your head up, letting the soothing tone sail into your skin, kissing all the stitches to heal by soft touches, you eyed him. Growing pains chucked away against the pressure of the thrilling balm, honeyed warmness bloomed in your chest after witnessing the mouth curling a heart-shape. He was close enough for you to see the glowing wriggle in his eyes, and you wanted to curl, cover your body with the thought of its beauty. For a second, you wanted to let yourself find the momentary tranquility under his magic, even though it was black. Even though it was harmful for you, too soothing, too good to be true. 

‘‘H-hi,’’ with a croaky voice popping on your mind, you shake your head to come back to reality. The reality where Hoseok was standing behind the table, a timid smile on his face, feeling uneasy. 

Hands crossing each other's way, you stare him blankly, mouth barely spills the greeting. ‘‘Still waiting for the reports?’’ he asks after coughing to get rid of the hoarse voice, billion reasons wandering inside his mind, telling him not to talk with you after what happened on the second floor, but the unknown reason holds his legs tight. Conversely, the part of him, where the logic was long lost can’t ignore the doleful lines on your face. Hundred promises lost its effect with one glimpse towards your direction. Promising, taking oaths for not talking to you was useless over the way his heart reacted after seeing the way you sit all alone. His guts, senses, brilliant mind were nothing but a bunch of trash when it comes to you, and the more he hated the way he walked over his own promises, the more he found himself in a deep hole, where he can’t think of anything but you. As his friend said before, he was stupid. Hoseok knew this very well. 

‘‘Yeah, still waiting. But, it’ll be over soon,’’ you cracked a tiny smile, scanning his face until a voice cut the moment, but Hoseok’s lips never moved. 

‘‘Hey, it’s Jimin,’’ hand hanging in the air, you stared at the man for a second before reacting. Slightly long dark hair falls on the side of his forehead, a tender smile turns his pupils into half-moons, self-assuredness can easily read. ‘‘The best nurse you can run into,’’ he nods to emphasize his words. But his cockyness fades after Hoseok adds ‘pre’ to his caption, holding your laugh back you cover your palm over your mouth. Hiding your grin back as you don’t want to offend the boy you just met. ‘‘Hi, it’s nice to meet. You can call me Y/N,’’ hearing your name, a light ignites in his half-moons, passing by in satisfaction. 

‘‘You don’t mind if we sit together, right?’’ mischievous glares stare deep in you, like he tries to prevent you from saying no, yet you had no intentions to say that. ‘‘We don-’’

Hoseok eyes you in surprise after you cut his words half, not expecting you to agree on what Jimin just said. The smile on your lips shocks him as well, getting cramps on the heart when you land your eyes on him that softly. ‘‘Of course, that would be good. Having a company sounds good,’’ 

‘‘Where is your…-red haired man?’’ a bizarre tone rises from Hoseok when he takes his place on the chair beside you. Before answering him, the embarrassing scene plays on your mind, sending a bunch of curses to the man who drives himself away from the hospital. You curl an apologetic smile. ‘‘He needed to leave. You know, work calls,’’ allowing yourself to feel stupid, blaring giggle popped out of you. It sounded fake, as you were still ashamed of Taehyung’s behaviours. He only nodded, not adding anything until the black haired one leaves to get something to drink. It was silent between you, but nervousness could cut a wire. Both the way his jaw tenses every other minute, and the way your eyes never land on him more than three seconds, you can sense the awkwardness. Never seeing him like this also disturbed you even though you only run into him for like three times. But as soon as the younger one moved away, chary words spilled by his lips. 

‘‘W-was he the father of the baby?’’ Hoseok asked, knowing he is crossing the line big time, but the vexed part of him clouds his logic. Even though he curses himself being this immature, he can’t help the vain need that grows inside of him to learn the truth. Even before seeing your face getting white, lips parting abruptly with an unexpected question, Hoseok knew he shouldn’t ask the question, but witnessing the way you react, he curses himself one more time. ‘‘Who? Taehyung?’’ As you weren’t waiting for him to ask such a question, he wasn’t expecting you to laugh until your body became involved in your laughter. Stuttering, being unable to complete your word, you hold your finger on the air to ask for a minute to gather yourself. For a moment of thinking Taehyung as the father of the baby in your belly made you giggly mess because of the abruptness of it. You not only want to retch with the thought of it, but also want to laugh until your muscles stop working. ‘‘No! Oh, o-of course, no.’’ forgetting where you were, you burst out. 

‘‘Oh, okay?’’ ignoring the dense relief, Hoseok hesitated. Not knowing what to say in return as you were trying to hold your laugh back. 

‘‘S-sorry but thinking of him as that just wrecked my nerves for a moment.’’ wiping the tears from your eyelids, you continued. ‘‘He is my friend. Best friend to be exact. He did act silly before, sorry for that either. He think he needs to protect me.’’ as you gave too much information at one, Hoseok’s pupils grew bigger, and weren't expecting to receive such a reply. He doesn’t even try to hide his amused smile back, shamelessly showing it out. ‘‘Good,’’ he commented before causing a big, heavy silence between you two. As you eyed him in a moment of confusion glowing in your eyes, weighing the meaning behind the word, you were utterly surprised. Was it just to fill the space, or he meant something else, you never truly understand, but decided to lure yourself into thinking it meant nothing. Otherwise, you were in a state of having no control over your emotions, and god knows what that simple world would do to your mind, playing games until you found yourself curled in your sheets, losing the pitiless game. You had lived that more than once, but in this situation, it would tousle you and throw your parts messily. 

Dropping himself on the chair, Jimin spread the husky mood. ‘‘Here hyung, your latte.’’ He pushed the glass to Hoseok’s direction, smiling sweetly, he didn’t forget you. Putting the scarlet cup in front of you, knowing the pleasant scent devours your nostrils in no time. ‘‘And this is for you. It’s my favorite so I hope you’ll like this,’’ he adds, gaze glowing happily. 

‘‘Ah. Thank you,’’ before taking a sip, you murmur, bowing your head little to show your gratitudes. Risky mood runs away after the hot liquor lingers around your mouth, playing, tickling your tongue over and over until it has lost its ruins. Well, you can say that you liked Jimin without having any lack of sympathy before he even treated you with the oh so familiar taste. It was soothing, alarming your senses to ease kind of a taste, and you remembered how your mother always made a cup of this tea whenever you gave her a tantrum. It never mattered if the tantrum was caused because you wanted a shoe, or rejected by those companies over and over again. And for a split moment your heart jammed between the agonizing longing over seeing her crow's foot while your mother smiles endearingly. ‘‘What is this?’’ 

Seeing how your face lightens with the flush crepting up your face, Jimin waits a second to answer. ‘‘It-it’s my mother's recipe. Why?’’  

‘‘You serious?’’ mouth falling open, having no control over the tone of your voice, you yowled. Without wasting another minute, you gulp down the second sip. Licking the taste out of your lips, a smile beamed to your face.

‘‘W-why?’’ stuttering his words, Hoseok leaned closer. Dramatic dread banged his face in a flash of light, but before he could gather his senses, Jimin’s mischievous eyes caught him. 

‘‘My mother always made this when I felt angry or emotionally sick. Even now,’’ giggling away your embarrassment as you shared much again. Seeing the way Hoseok’s dimple color the side of his upper lips as it gets smaller with the curling smile. His eyes glistened with the dim joy covering over his chest. And it affected you. ‘‘So who made them?’’ you look back as you were able to see the creator of your childish happiness, and attempt stealed a tiny laugh from Jimin’s lips. 

‘‘It’s a secret for now,’’ with a twisted smile curling his face, he swallowed a big sip from his coffee. ‘‘As we need to leave now. Right hyung?’’ Two pairs of eyes land on Hoseok, who was locking his gaze on you with an adoring smile on the corner of his lips. Not wanting to show it on your face, you were heartbroken a little as he just got here. They. They just got here. And you can’t deny that you had fun talking with Jimin, sharing the same recipe from your mother’s was exciting. But you had to gulp down your disappointment after seeing the mealy eyes, you faked a giggle. ‘‘I will be okay if you’re looking at me like that because you think I’m too powerless to be left alone.’’ To be honest, you lied to avoid revealing any kind of negative expression. Including yourself, as you repeat that you don’t need someone to hold your hand and wait by your side. Liar. 

‘‘Did you came here with your car?’’ he was about to turn his back when the idea hit him, and he gestured his body towards you once again. Reminding you of the absence of any vehicles to take you back to your not so lovely, cold home. Whether you were exaggerating the situation of your home, you blamed the loneliness. It made you feel cold in there, like a lost puppy, who can’t find the way back home. ‘‘Uber gonna work for me today,’’ you hinder the unnecessary thoughts of you, smiled naively. Then, ecstasy glowed in his browns. Like he detected something way good to celebrate it with a genuine grin. ‘‘If it’s okay, I’d like to drive you back. I had a semi-promise as I remember?’’ 

This was unexpected. As you stare at him back, lips parted slightly due to the maze you found yourself in, feeling a bit funny. Hoseok felt the urge to continue as you stayed staring as you just swallowed a stick. ‘‘My shift is almost over, so you don’t have to wait too long. But only if you’re comfortable,’’ 

‘‘O-okay.’’ Comfortable? Was he joking or he was that oblivious to the way you move, act like a fool around him. ‘‘It would be fine, I guess..’’ your voice trailed off in the end. Afraid to be a burden on him, you were about to turn down his offer. But a blooming, heart-shaped smile put you back on the place. He wasn’t doing these to look kind, he was kind and really wanted to help you out. Even though you weren’t aware of that. 

Wetting his lips ecstatically, his fingers met with his hair as he didn’t know where to put them. ‘‘Then I’ll be at the front gate in half an hour later?’’ he noted. Waving his goodbye, as you mimicked him back without forgetting Jimin, telling him how glad you are that you met him. His half-moons appeared as he bid his goodbye back, wrapping his arms around you tightly. It surprised you how sincere he was, but you put aside your cold-hearted acts for a second to hug him the same way. Which, it felt nice. Now, you were going to wait for him after seeing Doctor Kim, and get your medicine. You knew he would give you an antibiotica as you were aware of the current situation. Yes, it is good. Think about antibiotics to press down your horror, your anxiety over being driven to your home by Hoseok. That would hold back your mind from whirling around. 

Life was funny. The way it worked amazed everyone in this world as well as you. It was funny because you were a mess not long ago. Agonizing, trembling waves of pain never left your chest for a moment, and you found yourself crying in every possible corner. Opposite to the current emotions howling inside of you. Heart stepped closer to the edge of a skyscraper, almost ready to jump with the non stop thrill pumping out of it. After feeling like ages now, you feel the blooming tiny happiness inside your chest. Besides being a good thing, it was also terrifying as you were broken like a glass, torn into million pieces by the love of your life. At least you thought he was the one. Luckily or not, it came out as a false alarm. He wasn’t the one, and never intent to be. Stop thinking about that imposter you wrecked idiot. There was no way that he could make you sad anymore. Not that you had someone, or thinking about filling his old place. Speaking of the devil’s name, you were not thinking about Hoseok to fill his place, but he helped you in the way he wasn’t aware. You come to your senses, remembering you were still a living, breathing human being. Pregnant or not. It wasn’t the end of the world, and you will figure out what to do. Sooner or later. You always did. 

Maybe this, being all sunshine, a ball of optimism was an effect of Hoseok. Still, you were happy at the moment. Weren’t you?

‘‘Oh. You are here,’’ breathy voice came right beside you, tearing you apart from overthinking. And you made the first mistake by sizing him from head to toe. Seeing him in loose black sweatpants, green sporty jacket and darker shade of green t-shirt keeping a necklace above his chest, cost you. The damn glasses didn’t help you, as well. It tied your tongue how his façade changed with a simple outfit. He looked breathtaking indeed. Landing his beg from his shoulders, he pushed back his glasses on his nose. ‘‘I was anxious a bit that you’d left as it took more than I expected to come here,’’ 

A heavy breath turns into a silent hiccup, hitting you on the chest when his eyelids crinkles with an apologetic smile. This was going to be the biggest mistake you ever made - without counting your pregnancy, of course - and you didn’t pay much attention at the exact moment. It felt warm on the chest, if you had to find an excuse. ‘‘Were you? I just came here, too, so it's okay.’’ Forty minutes wasn’t that long and yes, one can say you just come here. 

‘‘Great then. Shall we?’’ Hoseok gestured to the exit, waiting for you to stand beside him. Both of you ignored the growing awkwardness for as long as you can. He was going to drive you home. It was a long road, and you couldn’t just ditch him without offering him something in return. 

Imitating him, you arrived in his car in the park. Shiny red car awakened your admiration. Not that you get paid poorly, or you knew much about cars, but you were smart enough to understand how expensive this car is. ‘‘Do you want me to open the heater?’’ 

‘‘Huh?’’ staring him like a deer in the headlight, you stopped brushing your hands to your pants. He caught you out of blue. ‘‘No, no. It’s not that cold. Just… just my cold hands, that’s all.’’ sinking deeper in the black leather seat, you gulped. Blinking unaware of how pale your face is, you blurt out a plane smile. Never thought of being a woman who likes his partners in such a power, or in great wealth, butterflies raised inside of you. As witnessing the way he grabbed the wheel like ruling a whole country caught your attraction. Was watching someone while driving count as a kink? You didn’t hope so. Fucking pregnancy hormones. 

‘‘Can you write the address on the navigation?’’ he pleaded, locking his seat belt. As you mirrored him before typing your address with a shaky hand. Since when giving your address stopped becoming a threat, you didn’t care. Finishing the task he gave, you leaned back happily. Anxiety still tried to get away where you pressed it down, wanted to eat your happiness alive and offer you the biggest panic attack you ever had. Fortunately, Hoseok managed to hold you at ease, even without working for it. After ten minutes of silence - and it was long enough for you to have a drip of sweats on your forehead - he broke it with an apology. ‘‘You can take back your apology that you bid for you friend’s behavior, as mine didn’t act very differently,’’ 

Releasing the bottom lip free from your teeth’s torture, you turned your head. ‘‘You don’t have to apologize for Jimin. He was sweet,’’ mentioning of his name, mischievous half-moons came alive in your mind. You smiled with the memory. Which Hoseok catched it with the corner of his eye. ‘‘I almost forgot the taste of that tea my mother made for me. So he did something very good for me,’’ you bobbed your head, continuing to smile. 

With the word ‘mother’, Hoseok’s memory of seeing you on the bench while crying, having a heart-to-heart talk with your mother rouse itself. Rusty weariness still visible in your façade, his heart sank into a familiar ache, remembering how desperate you looked before. Unintentionally he grabbed the wheel tighter, brows snapped together as he had no power to hold back the pain you were feeling. First time in his life, he felt useless and it bothered him so much. ‘‘Is she living far from you?’’ 

‘‘If you call two hours of car ride far, then yes?’’ lifting your brow up, you eyed his genuine smile. Eyes getting thinner with the weight of his cheek, milky teeth appeared. 

‘‘I never thought that you’ll turn out as a lazy person,’’ as your mouth takes the shape of an ‘o’, his giggles suffuse the car. ‘‘C’mon. Beat me if I’m wrong but you are not really thinking its long, right?’’ 

‘‘Well, can’t a woman be lazy in peace?’’ 

‘‘Yep, of course.’ holding his giggle behind, he struggled as you rolled your eyes. ‘‘You are totally. Totally had every right to be lazy. Over a two hours car ride,’’ covering his palm under his lips, honeyed cackles slipped away. He was lucky you found him cute. No. No you didn’t. 

‘‘Rude.’’ you crossed your arms above your chest, shifting your direction out of the car, watching the nearest things disappear in a moment. Cars, trees and buildings fading away until the vehicle slowed down a bit, and then stopped going as the red light blurted out. Knowing it will look childish to put an attitude over something this stupid, but for some reason, you also knew he wouldn’t find this abrupt. You would hold your mind busy with keeping an attitude towards Hoseok if your eyes hadn't caught two girls passing by in front of the car, eating the donut ice cream sandwiches in such a piquant way. You knew it was grilled donut, and you would sell your soul just to have one of them right now. Mouth watered with the sight, and tickling craving increased little by little. Covering every piece. If your lips have been locked together a tiny bit loosely, a drop of saliva would drip to the corner of your chin. You read a lot about pregnancy cravings, but you never had this strongly. Fingertips never itched to grab those sandwiches, tear them apart from the girl’s hand this much. Teeth nibbing the bottom lip, you clawed your palms to hold yourself back. At the verge of crying from the need you feel, shaky breath step in the nostrils. It wasn’t the place for this. Not now. Not in front of him. 

Eventually, the light turned green, car moved far away from the girls. From the ice cream sandwiches. Far away from the sweet, mesmerizing taste. Fuck this shit. You were about to lose your mind, and nothing took your mind from those sinful sweets you craved so much. Bottom lip starts to tremble with the amount of sadness you gather inside, head almost whirl around and you almost give away a big whine. It was so stupid to feel, but nothing was going to change the way you feel as you know about this--

‘‘Here we are!’’ the man on the wheel turned his head to give an eye curling smile. But your reaction confused him. Trembling lip, the tip of the nose got pink. Teary eyes wide open, looking upset. He had no doubt. You were looking like a little girl, and his heart grew soft. ‘‘Is everything ok-’’ 

‘‘Thank you for driving me,’’ the brittle voice came out shaky. First, you think about leaving the car as fast as you can and curl in your sheets and cry as you hold tears back, hardly. But the logical side of you found this cruel. Rude also. So you add before grabbing the door handle, ‘‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Or whatever you want?’’ 

Afraid of avowing his thrill, Hoseok bobbed his head. ‘‘I don’t want to tire you-’’

‘‘Hoseok, you drive me back all the way down. This is much I can do for you, so please?’’ If his heart didn’t explode before witnessing the warming scene, it was about to. As you said his name in such a tone, adding the cutting please at the end. He was about to lose his mind. That’s all. 

‘‘Okay but I have to get something. You go first, okay?’’ eyes flickered with bliss, your nod was enough for him as a response. 

Choosing stairs over the elevator, you breathe out. It was tiring but counting this as an exercise wasn’t the worst thing you had done. Still too burned out from the severe need of the particular dessert, you barely hold yourself on your feet. It was a tiring day. Very, indeed. Throwing your shoes aside, panic bloomed out of sudden. The living room looked like a war scene, and the man you just invited forcefully were about to witness this mess. Standing mortifiedly, you moved swiftly. Gathering the used napkins, dirty t-shirts and socks between your arms, immediately you throw them into your bedroom. He wouldn’t enter here, would he? 

Of course he wouldn’t you horny bastard!

Shaking your head, you turn back to collect the dirty bowls and cups from the table. You only be able to throw them into the sink but at least they belong to the kitchen. ‘‘The thing I get hype for,’’ you mumbled while adding coffee to the filtre on your machine. Pregnancy made your life boring. With these simple events, your heartbeats bobbed over your throat. But boring meant a simple life, and simple didn’t bother you that much. Well, you were going to give birth last than eight months later. Simple days didn’t sound that bad now. Thinking about the pain you will feel… Gosh, it was enough to send shivers to your spine. Opening the oven to boil water, you closed your eyes for a second. 

Knock. Knock. 

Your heart-shaped positivity wasn’t late. It was a bit weird for him to find your apartment right away, as it was his first time. But you didn’t want to bother yourself with such a lame topic, as you opened the door, greeting him with a big grin. He was a guest now. You better act responsible for once. ‘‘Welcome-’’ mouth hanging open, you falter. 

‘‘To be honest, I also love ice cream donuts.’’ your real life angel takes a step inside with a box in his hand. ‘‘But I also know how intense and painful can be the pregnancy cravings.’’ exploring his dimpled smile, you stand still in awe. Knees almost gave away with the piercing glee. 

‘‘How-.. how exactly you understand?’’ stuttering the words, his smile beamed bigger. 

‘‘You were looking at the donuts the same way Mickey stared at my steak. Not to be rude, but it was kinda scary seeing you like that.’’ fingers covering his mouth, lovely giggle slipped once more. And, for the thousand times today, you wanted to cry, but this time it was because of the weight of an armful of happiness. Gratitude. Seeing him all giggly, standing in front of you with a box full of donuts, his thoughtfulness warmed your heart. ‘‘Oh. Did I say do something bad? You look like you were about to cry-’’

‘‘Thank you,’’ words come out in a whisper, husky by the shoulder of him covering your mouth. As you hugged him. Without thinking further. Tightly. Well, when it comes to you, acting unresponsible wasn’t new, but with the new situation made everything even worse. Now, emotions were higher, heavier, wider inside. Plus, he was literally working on breaking your senses, you thought. Even though you sensed he wasn’t a person like that. All calculated and acting sneaky to trick you into something. He was doing all these out of sympathy, and how you didn’t know particularly, but it made everything even more irresistible. Him, to be more specific. 

‘‘S-sorry for…’’ after his hesitant arms letting you off, you gestured to the space between you two. The regret now shaped after your temerity, daring to do something like that whirled your stomach. It felt empty, or about to be empty.

His voice mirrored the caringness he puts out, ‘‘Hugging is not something you should be sorry for Y/N,’’ the taller’s heart fluttered inside his chest, like it had wings to do that. Childish joy filled his guts, seeing you can’t press your smile behind. It gave him a weird satisfaction. ‘‘And don’t want to pressure you or anything but are you going to let me in?’’ he tilted a brow, taunting you with the softest way possible. 

‘‘Oh, shit-..I mean ‘m sorry,’’

‘‘I thought we agreed not to say sorry anymore,’’ finding you while standing, open mouthed, and not knowing what to do, he decided not to push you anymore. It was fun to him, seeing you all going wide-eyes, lips parted in confusing, and the blush covering the fair cheeks. For the sake of your nerves, he pushed back the laughter when you gestured him inside in defeat. Though, you looked so cute, for his eyes. Shyness of you, the way you tried to pick the right words to spill them, or the way you get all high color of red when you revealed your true self, unintentionally, caused his desire to know you get deeper. It was too early to feel, but seeing you sitting in front of him with a cup of tea between your palms, eying the floor amusingly anxious, bloomed something in his upper body. 

‘‘Thanks for the coffee. It's delicious.’’ he gently commanded, pointing the cup in your direction to emphasize. Eyes of him fixed on your face, around your lips. A loud gulp trembling inside of your ears, you blinked. Too much. 

‘‘Do I… something on my face?’’ chewing the bottom lip, tap of your nails filled background with tensed noises. When he nodded and pointed to your face, you were surprised. As you weren’t expecting the blurted question would be real. 

‘‘Yep.’’ he touched his own face, ‘‘Little upper side of the lips,’’ 

Wiping the remains of the ice cream off of your face, you wanted to dive into between the floor and never come back. ‘‘Ahh,’’ you murmured a weak thanks, blank space between you and him getting bigger and bigger as the embarrassment filled your cup. Silence fell down on the space, the pressed worry now peeking its head out of you, while you brushed your palm over the leg. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you invited him over, as you nearly know each other, and maybe nothing in common to talk about. But the stargazer side of you hoped you would find something to talk about, and spontaneously you would come out as the funnest, lively person he met. Bet, you were someone he never met before but you did not think it was something to be happy over. 

‘‘So, you have a dog,’’ What again? This is your best shot to find something to talk with him? What a brilliant mind you had over there. Well, how could you blame him if he decides to leave you right now, right here. 

‘‘Ah, yeah. He is living with my family but yes, I can say that I have,’’ he points out kindly. Probably thinking what was wrong with you as you both looked and sounded dumb and the most boring- ‘‘I see you are living alone? No pet or a roommate.’’ he distracts you from the stressing thoughts that wandered around your mind, tiny uncertainty hanging on his face as he was afraid to pass the line.

‘‘I never thought about having a roommate, or a pet. Even though I like them beyond measure.’’ you continued after a pale smile occurring over your face. ‘‘Maybe in the future? Though, my mother would try to convince me not to, as I’m barely holding myself together,’’ you laughed weirdly as you confessed. He joined you with a wide smile. Mouth taking a shape of a heart, something snapped inside. You licked your lips in need. Something was playing with your air, as you hardly inhaled some. ‘‘Would you do everything your mother said?’’ 

‘‘Uhm… Probably, yes?’’ crinkling your brows, you gave a thought on it. 

‘‘But two hours of car ride still too much?’’ 

‘‘Hey!’’ wide smile turned into laughter when you protested, and soon after, you joined him. It was impossible to do anything else. The tone of the laugh sounded familiar, comfortable, euphoric, and joyful. And wrongly, it made you spill, blurt out the things you kept to yourself, without even thinking much. The mood turned into a gloomy one right after you started to talk. But it didn’t disturbed you the way you thought it would. 

‘‘I know… I know it’s not that long, but, as you know, this pregnancy thing is very new for me, and… and probably you guessed that, but I wasn’t expecting this. And clearly not handling it well. I just can’t confront her before I get used to this, and maybe figure it out what to do?’’ exhaling, heaviness of your chest lessened. ‘‘Unexpectedness of this is already hard and trying to handle this alone is even harder-’’

‘‘Alone?’’ Hoseok couldn’t stop himself before letting the word slip, he regrets it right after. When he cut you off, you realized you shared too much. Eying the cup of tea between your palms, as it had something inside and made you spill all of this. But, without having regrets you continued, worried chuckles jerked out by the lips. ‘‘Well, as it shows, when you aren’t the one who had a growing baby inside, it’s easier to run away.’’ 

‘‘Oh… I’m sorry,’’ Hoseok doesn’t know what to say in return. He is sorry indeed, but mostly angry. Unreasonable rage burning his chest, his eyes, his palms, he stays silent. His logic just can’t put two in two when it's come to think how someone can be this… this relentless. Memories of your broken face, voice, comes alive once again in his mind, now, everything makes sense. The hurt on your face, loneliness of your eyes. Now he understands why your voice always sounded so weak, so crushed. The blue never leaves your façade. It breaks Hoseok’s heart, but he is thankful as you opened your heart. He feels important. Someone you can talk to. And the elder promises not to hurt this trust you showed, innerly. He puts his anger aside, and focuses to make your face wrinkle with laughter. 

And, he does it. 

[sugar-petals]

Your First Time With Yoongi

warnings ⚠️ femdom!reader, bondage, slapping, masturbation, name-calling, cunnilingus, wow yoongi gets NASTY 

word count: 2.6k | hc

↳ ♡ NOTE › for anon who also inspired the ‘first kiss with yoongi’ post. look what you’ve done. writing this made me lose my cool. let’s dive right into it.

you’ll probably be fooling around watching miscellaneous videos from your feed 

and sorting through some clothes for the upcoming friday dinner

at the cozy italian restaurant next door

when you see yoongi come home looking, maybe not concerned, but more lost in thought

it takes a day or more until you ask him about it

brooding yoongi always means he’s weighing the big decisions

that you already know

but how it could possibly be something sexual you didn’t expect at first

because the only thing he says is that your second monthiversary is coming up this sunday

you reply yoongi that’s such a funny term

he says yeah it just made him think

it takes another day until you realize that he’s been unobtrusive letting you read between the lines how you see fit

and make that decision vice versa

it is about time to bring the relationship to a next level

yoongi sees the way you look at him

the last few weeks were proof enough he was worth giving it a go. you both knew what you were in for

as of now, you did make out a little at hoseok’s last halloween party (yoongi was in such a cute ghost costume). and kissed a whole lot during your vacation in london all lovey-dovey. but you didn’t have a chat 

so you nudge him at breakfast. what about friday?

after going out, you’ll have a whole evening to talk things over at home. no stress no pressure

agreed says your boyfriend

friday comes, you get a nice spot at giorgio’s rooftop terrace restaurant

literally it’s perfect to set the tone, the night sky is clear

after splitting the bill on antipasti for you and chili pepper pizza for yoongi the mood is right for some intimate talk and there’s no wine needed

but not in front of giorgio’s other guests alright

you return home flirting

to sit in your tiny courtyard garden with the fairy lights on

as long as no mosquitoes show up you have a long and frank conversation with a lot of surprising turns...

monthiversary sex on sunday it is

three cheers on that!

yoongi is giddy all saturday long and takes ten minutes more in the bathroom than usual, and five more in the shower

as if he isn’t dapper and groomed already

sunday afternoon, you do feel your hands getting a little sweaty yourself

the time has come

this will be exciting

you both prepare the living room for the evening, equip the center table with everything needed, eat some light snacks and drink plenty of water beforehand

the sun sets boom a leonardo dicaprio dvd goes right into the player

you’re both comfy on the sofa, intertwined, it’s fucking cute

you feed yoongi some more pretzel sticks

he makes you laugh

and nuzzles into the nape of your neck cuz cat behavior

the atmosphere slowly changes when the movie does

with leo getting all frisky and sweaty on screen, yoongi’s hands also begin to fumble at your hips, your skirt

and eventually

with you just murmuring just enough hot ideas in his ears

slip down to spend their time caressing between your legs

yep yep

the party is getting started

his hands are only shaky until they find the right spot. 

a pianist is merely on edge until he hits his favorite key indeed. and yoongi is that pianist. 

you can tell by his movements how he considers you music. now let that sink in

you’re his favorite tune 

RIP panties. those huge bony fingers know how to soak them 

phew

they have endurance, too

you already know that this will be a passionate night

leo goes through twenty character arcs on screen while yoongi is still flicking those tips

really. getting. into it. stimulating you with one, two, three fingers at once, curling, rubbing, stroking, dipping

miss clit says thank you

no finger cramps in sight with mister ‘miraculous’ min yoongi

meanwhile, poor leo falls victim to the pause button

you repeat the safeword to each other

‘two’

(because second monthiversary ok)

and here we go

flustered yoongi sits up, you pulling that FG shirt off, him then leaning against the backrest of the couch with legs splayed laxly

you climbing on top face to face

hot hot hot

yoongi wants restraints, he said. restraints he gets. a dozen feet of loose hemp rope are waiting on the table already.

you bind his hands before the chest, mainly knotting the rope around the wrists with an extra simple tie that keeps it foolproof. 

you do have safety shears on the table also

it took some time to remember the knot but it was some interesting stuff to learn

and... we’re talking yoongi’s sexy hands

what won’t you do just to see them tied fuck yes 

a kiss follows

long, deep, and increasingly lewd

only interrupted by you taking off your top and panties. the skirt stays on although it’s getting a little shoved up

yoongi remains seated as he is, starstruck as hell cuz your body has him fucked up

in the meantime you turn around to press your ass right against yoongi’s crotch

with a some more audacity right there

not taking any chances beyond this point

the poor guy

steady ruts and gyrating are sure to fry his brain with you taking all the time in the world to rub your core all over his growing boner

the skirt only provides more friction to the whole game

“you’re so cruel, please, oh my god”

someone’s worried he blows his load way too early

well oops

“take it. lil’ sucker”

you gaze back over your shoulder. sweet, suffering yoongi has his eyes closed and bites right down on his lip. 

he looks more concentrated than when he produces something in the studio i’m telling you

with your every push and rub, the tent in his blue shorts gets more upright, the fabric even more tense

and his voice whinier

and your pussy much wetter 

that’ll be quite a bit of laundry tomorrow

with every new grind you realize

better have mercy and slip a condom on before he does cum in his pants 

regardless you decide that your new favorite hobby is to tease the living hell out of him

by just how stiff he really is you can tell there are in fact two people enjoying that

holy shit when you get his pants off there’s a sight to behold

honey boy loves the cruel girls

it’s no secret yoongi is a fan of all things technology but damn he really is a master with the electric razor those are some pube gardening skills on fire

and he smells so good

and that juicy dick

is just one of a kind

UGH

the lube that’s been waiting on the couch table... will have to keep waiting forever 

hallelujah you’re dripping

“that’s... not going to be a long ride, yoongi”

“i, i know”

(just how much of a han solo is he!)

“should we wait for a minute?”

“probably better”

the boy gets the best of you it seems 

oh, sweet horniness.

a two minute TLC break gets the racing pulse down and the suspense up

admittedly just cuddly stuff with yoongi doesn’t make it any better

he. really. smells. so. good.

sandalwood, jasmine, something herbal, whatever it is, that mix makes your mind implode

“yoongi. i want you.” 

so bad.

just seeing him with his big dark teddy eyes and bound hands is kind of a fucking lot to take in okay

not to mention his voice just getting that extra deep edge when he tells you he wants you too

FUCK

the two minutes are so hard to bear, you just want to get going and ride him and hear all those slutty moans

and corrupt his every inch

as per friday evening you know yoongi doesn’t plan to fall short on the vocal department whatsoever and who can blame him. his raspy baritone is a surefire way to make your thighs tremble

and by virtue of profession, rappers aren’t known for staying silent when it comes to issues they’re passionate about aren’t they

rolling down the rubber you grabbed from the table is challenging enough because good heavens you’re touching him this way for the first time it’s just hard to believe and hard to the touch

his breath accelerates big time

you’re careful but also firm enough to ground him 

“ok, shall we?”

yoongi’s desperate hum in reply comes with two quick nods

slow, slow, slow, take it slow you say to yourself

but your wetness doesn’t lie. 

yoongi’s piano hands were like an open sesame to your walls

they went pop 

let’s get down to business bring that cock

you crave that filling BAD

when you align and slip him in with one not so steady hand cuz jesus christ you’re completely high-strung

those teddy eyes are on you like big brother 

because yoongi monitors hard for any discomfort you might have

he probably realizes that he’s not a desert-dry 9:50 PM tampon on the fifth period day when the backsides of your thighs cushion down on his loins

WHEW, THAT SLIP

better than any conditioner out there 

he’s in

it stuffs you so well, you can’t help but moan out

yoongi’s hypervigilance still hasn’t entirely faded though

“is that okay, does it hurt? is it—”

“shush, bun. watch.” testing, you give yoongi a good first bounce, far up and down, that baywatch slow motion... mother of god, your labia have a sweet time stretching around him. “it’s very okay.”

“a-alright,” he says

oh god yeah

another bounce on that. it’s already an addictive feeling

that’s what yoongi meant by ‘seesaw’

you rest your hands on his shoulders — and they’re made for that, i mean they’re just that broad — and really feel into how he glides in so nicely

with a slick and noisy plunge

gotta make sure to really savor all of those facial expressions from him ‘cause they’re pretty damn intense you have to give him that. never did you even fathom how his eyebrows could just escalate like this

yoonaerys targaryen!

that cock’s too good

so sleek. and comfortable 

advantages of having a perky lil dick 

he fills out your walls so perfectly

this is getting so heated, watching his body become so twitchy, his tied hands

with all those red blotches at his neck. 

it doesn’t take many more movements, no matter how playful the edge

that you have to pull off and enter phase 2 of TLC breaks with yoongi’s dick resting against his stomach all sensitive

this time you french kiss 

that’s how you know yoongi is not just a sucker. he’s a sucker

obsessed with nibbling at your lips and guzzling your saliva like wtf that’s not a break yoongi that’s making your girlfriend cum like new year’s eve fireworks

are all daegu boys freaky like that what is in the groundwater there?

you have to stop his hungry mouth and take a long damn breath

why is yoongi such a sex bomb

though what’s not to love about it

seriously you can’t take it much longer and he sees that 

“you wanna use your fingers, babe?”

“if you allow me,” he licks his lips, which means adding fuel to the fire, he can’t help it.

“say please.”

“please.”

you start to fiddle with the rope knots

yoonaerys targaryen soon has free hands

rope marks suit him so well, that shit just turns you on even more

time to switch it up then the final is around the corner

changing spots on the sofa, you recline, legs apart

yoongi slowly rubs you off with his flat palm to keep the pressure light

and not to overstrain his wrists too soon

then comes the infamous naughty tongue lowering down to your pelvis... nipping, swift and staccato. you have rightfully dreaded this moment because geez he hooks you on it 

next comes

the tip of his cock. i know right, good grief. guided by keen hands, rubbed against your clit, patting it, poking it, glazing it until it’s all coated all wet and pulsing like mad, what the fuck yoongi 

he makes you completely swollen

and repeat

it’s a triple t(h)reat technique adapted straight from the realms of fiery hell

palm, tongue, cock rubbing against you. palm, tongue, cock. palm, tongue, cock.

YOONGI HAS YOU SCREAMING AND WINDING

that demonic trick is guaranteed not to go on for very long 

point of no return says hiya, i’m here to mess you up girl

next turn his curling tongue comes to visit and dips between your labia

you can’t hold back anymore

and blow up in his face

whatever control there has been in your legs has now shut down entirely

yoongi has to deal with the full dose of slowly oozing jizz cuz boy he just buries his face even deeper once he sees the contractions starting

at this point he has solidified his sucker reputation

mister miraculous min just keeps eating and slurping while you cum your soul out. the pleasure is like a current taking over

making you curse

until you’re running of breath

with ‘point of no return’ handing the baton to ‘dizzy overstimulation’ you pull yoongi’s head out from between your thighs by the hair

yoongi kneels before you ruined

man... his face is dripping 

he even got cum in his lashes

“shit, yoongi!”

“please. punish, i want, i, please”

seldom that yoongi’s rapper mind says sorry i’m out like that

looking back it makes sense. who orders a flaming chili pepper pizza for date night but a grade a masochist 

cue friday evening protocol

you fumble off the very slippery condom and grip his cock by the base. hard.

with your other hand just in reach of his face

in comes a ringing slap to his right cheek

“a—ah, ah! more!”

slut yoongi is back in town and his cock really has to stay strong

because holy hell you jerk him off fast

getting greedy and erratic

yoongi cries out his orgasm with a whole white milky mess landing on his stomach, his thighs, your hand, your skirt, who knows he might have shot a constellation into the sky if it wasn’t for the ceiling

with the last drops gushing out, a giant fatigue pulls the plug on him

oh man

his hair goes in all directions. his face is slapped red, his wrists are marked, he came all over himself.

100% sex wreck 

you can barely keep yourself steady either

but you can at least reach for the soon-to-be-dirty-laundry towel on the table 

and clean up your salivating puffy teddy 

only to pull him close to you

two fucks covered in sweat all slack on the sofa, worn out

but happy

yoongi keeps on babbling and breathing hard 

seeking out closeness to your belly

you let him lie down his head on there

time to pull a blanket over the two of you right there once everything cools down

yoongi gazes up at you a bit cheeky even if he’s super tired

“kinda know what you’re thinking”

“that’s what a monthiversary has to be like”

“nothing to add”

“except: repeat tomorrow”

wrapping up the weekend all sloppy is a good luck charm for monday

“my bad. of course”

“you’re just amazing, you know that.”

“i was gonna say that to you”

safe to say that guy has your heart

“so... same time, same place, different movie?”

“sure babe i’m in”

while you both doze off, intertwined just as before  

you can’t help but think

man that was life-changing

[amintyworld]

Chapter 3: Don’t Lose Your Head - Sanders Sides Six AU

First - Last - Next

A/N: It’s finally here. Totaling a freaking 19 PAGES on google docs, this is probably the longest thing I’ve ever written, and I hope all the wait was worth it. I’m sorry it’s so long. The good news is it seems to all fit on one post, so I don’t have to split it! Yay. Also special thanks to @if-i-had-a-spoon for test reading this chapter, please go check their blog if you have the chance, they’re amazing. 

This is gonna go down in my tumblr history, isn’t it?

Summary: Relations with Farwood grow tense as Remy finds new feelings for his best friend. Meanwhile, Daniel’s world is rocked as a new lover moves in. 

TW: Suggestive Themes, Cursing, Murder, Beheading, Forced Romance (Just talking about kissing), Threatening, marriage issues, cheating. (As always, let me know if I missed anything!)

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

Remus sat in front of his vanity, preening himself for the night’s festivities. His father was expecting quite the performance to quench all the thirsty suitors always pounding at his door. He wore his shirt open nearly all the way, pants tight enough to show off his curves. He applied light makeup, adding his signature red lipstick, ready to leave when a servant knocked on the door. 

He sighed. “Come in, if you must.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Remus sir, but these letters just arrived for you. They told me it’s urgent, sir.”

Remus crossed his arms, scowling. “If I had the power you’d have more than regret for disturbing me in my quarters.” The poor maid shivered at his words but made no movements to escape. “But, I am feeling generous today, so consider yourself lucky. I’ll just take the letters, then -  leave it on my desk, and don’t dawdle.”

“Yes sir, right away sir.” The maid said, nodding briskly in thanks as she left the packet of letters and package on Remus’s desk for his work. He was in charge of collecting taxes from the people of Monasia, his father’s protege - wasn’t exactly hard work collecting taxes when he looked as he did. Let’s just say it was easy getting people to do what he wanted when he said what they wanted to hear.

His eyes scanned the sender of the letter and his lips curled up in a smirk. “Oh, dopey, stupid, flirtatious, Lover Boy.”

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

King Thomas drew his rapier as he faced across from his son. With Remy’s birthday and decision day fast approaching, he hadn’t had much time to spend with his son. It had been a while since they’d last talked, and the Prince in question had been quiet. Too quiet.

Remy seemed unfocused as he raised his rapier to meet his fathers’ - every prince of the Sanders Kingdom had been trained in combat - sword training, fencing, hand-to-hand combat - since they were 13. Remy supposed it was a tradition.

Their swords clashed, and Thomas met his sons’ gaze. “I know you still have a lot on your mind, Remy, but-”

“But what-?” Remy huffed.

Remy’s rapier slashed his father’s. It was good to let out a bit of frustration every now and then. His mind still wasn’t made up, and he would admit the pressure was beginning to get to him. He kept reading that book his father had given him, late into the light, until his candle was a small nub, a puddle of cool wax. Part of him thought if he reached the end, he’d find the answers he needed. Hopefully, he’ll finish it before the deadline. 

His father’s gaze seemed unfocused, and Remy quickly used that to his advantage, striking right and left, leaving his father scrambling for the defense. He was taught good form, and to always look for openings or weaknesses to strike. His father was prepared, of course, blocking the attack and turning the tables to attack him. Things turned silent as the two fenced.

Up above, a certain light blue spirit looked on in concern. He’d sensed the growing tension and pressure on his great-grandson, and wished that he could do something, anything, to aid him. Sadly, spirits couldn’t influence emotions, feelings, or thoughts of others - though, Patton wished more than anything at that moment to possess that ability. To be able to put Remy’s thoughts at ease - the poor boy was barely holding himself together as it was. He’d stay up, barely take a break from the book - that was certainly not healthy.

Back when he was alive, he could put others at ease so easily. Now? He could do nothing but watch.

“Room for one more?”

Patton looked up to see his husband, Daniel, leaning on the doorframe. His eyes sparkled with the sun, and his smile, though some would think sinister, Patton always saw it as sweet and timid. He gave a small smile in return, scooting over on the balcony overlooking the two below. “Always.”

Daniel just sat, watching for a few moments as their hands naturally intertwined again. All the sound that could be heard was the small sound of the fall breeze and the clanging of metal swords. It was a type of peaceful paradise, a paradise that was special for the two of them. 

“Alright,” Daniel turned to face Patton, giving his husband a knowing look. “What’s wrong?”

Patton’s eyes were focused in the fight below, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing.”

“Patton Seymour, we’ve been married for 235 years-” Daniel said, crossing his arms and giving what Patton could only describe as a ‘dad look’.

“-and 7 months.” Patton piped up, looking toward his husband shyly, his gaze filled with love.

“... and 7 months,” Daniel repeated. “Point is, I think by this point we’ve been together long enough for me to know when something’s up with you.” Patton sighed, leaning against his husband’s shoulder in defeat.

“Remy just… he’s in so much stress and pain… I-I wish-”

“He’s strong, love. He’ll get through it - we did.” Daniel said, wrapping his arm around Patton’s shoulders and rubbing his thumb gently along his hand. 

“Dani, we didn’t have deadlines and arranged marriages and pending wars,” Patton said softly. “Things are so much more complicated than when we were his age.”

“I know you want to help, Love, but we have to trust that he’ll make the right decision. We shouldn’t interfere, even if it has good intentions.” Daniel said, his heart thumping quicker as Patton buried his face in the crook of his neck, letting out a contented sigh. God, he loved him. 

“I know, Dani,” Patton said. “I just hate feeling so… so useless.”

“Pat, you’re not-” Daniel began to defend when shouts interrupted from below. The two turned their attention to the two royals in combat, their rapiers were thrown aside and forgotten. 

Thomas looked to his son. “Please, Remy. They’re getting restless waiting-”

“So them wait-!” Remy snapped. “As far as I know, I still have four more days, and I don’t intend to waste them on some diplomat charade!” He shouted loudly, not caring who heard.

“Remy, you know Farwood, please I’m begging you-” King Thomas countered, grabbing his son’s wrist. “They’re threatening to storm the kingdom, kill every last man, woman, and child, burn the villages to the ground, and then kill you and me.” Remy shook free of his father’s deathly grasp, stopping at the entrance inside when his father explained the threats. 

“I won’t let that happen,” Remy said. “We’ll arrange an ambush-”

“No, Remy. No.” His father’s voice turned firm. “There is no ambushing Farwood, there is no attacking Farwood, do you understand?!” Thomas’s tone turned soft. “You know there’s no way around this, Remy.”

Remy was quiet, holding his arms around himself. He slowly cleared his throat, looking to the ground, too ashamed to face his father. He felt queasy, cowardly, the pit of his stomach in knots. He couldn’t bear the thought of sucking up, of playing nice to those monsters-

He swallowed his pride, though it felt like he was swallowing fire. “Wh-When… when are they arriving?” 

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

Remus stepped out of the carriage, his fresh red lipstick glistening in the sunlight. His Lover Boy was persistent, he couldn’t deny. Much more persistent than any of his other suitors back home. He was so blinded by his own lust and love, he insisted to make him his new Prince within only a few weeks of letters.

Persistence, stubbornness…

Was this supposed to be love? To be honest, Remus wasn’t sure. He took a deep breath as his face fell into his neutral pursed lips, walking out of the carriage swaying his defined hips side to side. His father’s words rang in his head: Make them want you.

He stood, staring straight ahead, awaiting for those doors to open, to meet his love. So what if Father told him to do it for the money and status? He could have a connection - a spark, that feeling he’d heard about over and over by his many admirers and suitors back home, through every word, letter, and poem. It dripped from their passionate lips and lust-filled gazes, traveled through home to home, from village to village like some kind of infection.

He’d hadn’t felt it yet - but he guessed 135th time’s a charm.

Now, Remus, you could say, was used to staring, especially the stares of others admiring his well-known beauty, but this stare… it felt cold, almost threatening. It made him feel small, and he looked around for the source.

Up on the balcony - a man dressed fancily in a crown, with some kind of face diminishment, it was hard to see from so high up. Remus thought for a second if he was his Lover Boy, but before he had time to figure it out, the figure turned and quickly left teh balcony.

“My darling Remus!”

Remus smiled at the King as he walked toward him, his brown hair waved in the wind as he returned his smile. Remus bowed. “King Benjamin of Salkenshire, it’s truly a honor your highness.”

“No need for formalities, beauty. Call me Ben.”

Remus was shown around the castle as he was swiftly taken to the King’s Quarters to freshen up. Benjamin was being quite flirty, and he’d sighed through pick-up lines and compliments - he’d heard it all before. The castle was huge, and yet Remus hadn’t really seen the figure from the balcony, and he didn’t really want to ask. From their stare, it was clear he wasn’t exactly favored by them. 

The two stopped near the bedroom. “This is our room. You’ll be sleeping with me, if that’s alright?”

“Of course-”

“And who exactly is this? Another toy, Benjamin?” Their tone was sharp and chilling, and Remus turned to meet a very familiar set of eyes. He had messed dirty blonde hair, a formal yellow and black jacket and tie, those same scars, and… a crown? They leaned against the doorframe, sizing Remus up. “You really don’t want the people to worry, honey.” The man spat the last word, now looking toward the King with disgust. 

“Who... are you?” Remus retorted, scanning him up and down. 

“I asked first, so please be patient and wait your turn. Thanks.” The man said, holding his hand up, before looking at Benjamin. Benjamin looked fed up with the mystery man as he was with him. “I’m not doing this anymore, Ben. You have a kingdom to run, you shouldn’t be so selfish to just-”

Benjamin just glared. “If you have any complaints, the door’s behind you Daniel.” The King coldly snapped. “This is Remus Boelyn, my fiance.”

Daniel bit his lip, his arms still crossed, nodding. “Fiance, huh? Well Remus, I’m his husband.”

Wait… what?

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

Prince Remy looked up from the journal with a sigh. “Man, these two REALLY hated each other. Rightfully so, too. Who even tries to marry two people?!”

The yellow spirit of Daniel gritted his teeth. “An idiot, that’s who.” He cursed under his breath. “A bloody bastard murderer tyrant king-!”

“Woah there, Dee.” Remus gave his friend a comforting smile. “That’s too much swearing, even for me.” Daniel returned the smile, but his face fell as he looked back to Remy, a knock on the door grabbing his attention. Emile entered the room with a floured apron, a plate of cookies and a warm smile. The two spirits turned their attention to the new arrival, quickly going quiet - Remus’s arm still around Daniel’s neck. Emile bowed deeply as he entered.

“Your highness.”

“Hey Em.” Remy gave his friend a small smile, sitting up on the soft duvet. “Don’t ‘your highness’ me, you know how much I hate that.”

Emile gave his friend a comforting smile. “Sorry Rem, you know how angry Madame Patrcia gets about formalities. Respect and all. If she hears me call you by your name again, I’ll be toast.” He laughed a bit, awkwardly standing with the plate of cookies, unsure of what to do.

“Yeah, well it’s nice to hear my actual name from someone other than my father. ‘Prince’ never seemed to fit very well with it, you know.” Remy returned his friend’s smile.

“I heard what happened. It’s amazing how fast gossip travels in such a large castle.” Emile said, moving to set the plate on the bed. “Cinnamon Chocolate Chip. I figured you may need a bit of a pick me up.”

Remy picked up one of the warm cookies in his hand, inspecting it. It wasn’t an extremely popular cookie, or even a well-known recipe throughout the kingdom. He remembered how the staff would make some every now and then for the castle, and he’d sneak down late at night to bring up a plate to eat in his room. For some reason, they always reminded him of his mother - he barely knew anything about her, since his father rarely brought her up, but he remembered the scent. A sweet cinnimony vanilla, almost like what warmth would smell like. It burned in his memory, and it clung to the cookies. Remy, as he grew, found himself in times of sadness or stress, with that same cookie in his hand. It was a comfort. Remy took in the scent for a second, closing his eyes. 

It smelled so much like the scent, so close, and his mouth broke into a smile. He took a bite, and let the warmth of the cookie travel through his body. He opened his eyes to look to Emile standing by his desk, smiling and looking towards him with an expression Remy couldn’t exactly place. “Thank you.”

Emile’s smile only grew as silence passed between the two friends, and Remy finished his cookie, reaching for another. “What’re you smiling about?” he said, beginning to laugh as Emile smiled even bigger. 

“Oh nothing.” Emile said, giggling a bit. 

“Aw come on Em, now I’m really curious.” Remy said, turning his attention to his friend. “Do I have chocolate on my face or something?”

“No no… w-well, you do, but…” Emile’s cheeks were lightly dusted pink as he nervously laughed, trying to find the right words. “It’s, uh… a bit hard to explain...heh.”

Remy moved the plate toward his side as he patted the space in front of him. Emile looked so happy, so incredibly happy. Remy had never seen him smile and laugh this much ever. A part of him wanted to see that look on his face for as long as he lived. It made him feel light, happy. He wanted to know what made him so happy so Emile could be this happy forever. “Then don’t explain. Just tell me.”

Emile slowly walked over and sat down, thinking of what to say. He looked at Remy, breaking into a soft fond smile as he used his apron to begin getting chocolate off Remy’s face. “They’re this look in your eye. I… I haven’t seen it before. You just looked content, happy, I… I couldn’t help but smile myself, I guess.”

Remy smiled fondly, his heart beat faster. “Your smile is really pretty, you know.”The two were once again extremely close, and Emile blushed, laughing. Remy quickly joined in, gaining a blush on his own. Emile leaned in, laying a bit on Remy’s shoulder, smiling. 

Remy couldn’t help but think it was the most beautiful thing in the world. All these happy, soft, light feelings were new. He didn’t know if they were always there, but he knew whatever he was feeling was strong, and he knew he liked it. Looking down at Emile once more, he moved closer towards Remy’s chest, and their eyes met. Emile couldn’t stop smiling, and Remy’s heartbeat quickened, looking into his eyes. A faint blush spread across his cheeks.

He really, really, liked it. 

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

King Benjamin was a king, a title which meant two things - power and paperwork. Benjamin loved power, that was for certain. He liked being in control, and he liked controlling others - like making sure a certain thorn in his side was out of his life for good. He’d admit it’d been easier to deal with Daniel’s presence with Remus around. He was truly a work of beauty - Benjamin was sure the gods sculpted his curves and bright dazzling eyes. Only a creation of the gods could pull him to his knees with only a simple stare. Remus was entirely his. 

Benjamin’s mind often wandered during his boring paperwork in his office. Ruling an entire kingdom, though with its fair advantages, was extremely boring at times. He was fantasizing as his quill pen barely touched the paper when a servant walked in. Ben quickly stood at attention. The servant handed him a stack of papers. “Here’s the Official Law Book of Salkenshire, Section 44 as you requested, your highness.”

“At ease.” He said dismissively, and the servant stopped their bow and quickly scurried away. Benjamin looked down at the stack of papers and sighed. Section 44: Marriage Law. 

A rule. A single sentence made sure Daniel stayed. Benjamin saw it as a mistake, a technicality. Mistakes, he reminded himself, can be so easily fixed. If only Daniel had signed the damn divorce papers, he wouldn’t have this problem, would he? Benjamin’s fists clenched slightly in anger. He wanted Remus as his husband and his lover, but without the divorce being official, Benjamin was stuck with him.

He was so focused on his work, scanning and reading, for the first time he didn’t hear someone come in. Remus wrapped his arms around Benjamin from behind, surprising him a little, but when Remus began messaging his chest he began to hum in contentment. “You’re so tense, babe.” Remus said, smooth as honey. “I swear you work so hard you don’t give yourself a break sometimes.”

“Hmm, hello darling,” Benjamin chirped. “How was your morning?”

“It was okay, as usual. Daniel kept critisizing my every move again. He’s lucky I’m so civil.” Remus said, leaning down to kiss Benjamin’s neck. “Watcha reading?”

“Just some boring law.” Benjamin said. “Wish I could just spend the day with you.”

“Hm…” Remus hummed. The two settled into a somewhat comfortable silence for a while. Remus bit his lip after a moment, looking down to Benjamin. “You are still going to marry me, right?”

“Of course my darling, things are just complicated.” Benjamin insisted, looking up from his books to kiss Remus’s hand. “If I could, I would marry you today, my love.”

“Complicated, huh…” Remus just smiled. Complicated. Complicated could mean so many things. So many things he didn’t really like to be true. But, Remus was smart. He knew how to play the game, as his father would say. 

He knew how to get a head. 

Daniel busted into the room, and Remus stared up with an icy glare. Daniel stared back with his own glare that matched Remus’s. Tension began to grow around the three, sitting in tight silence. The air sat thick, and each lover stood completely still, as if at any moment, any step… blood would be shed and splattered across the wooden desk. Daniel’s gaze never shifted from Remus as he spoke. “We’ve been hit with an attack. Millions of innocents are fighting for their lives at the edge of our lands by unknown trespassers. The General insists on an immediate response.”

Benjamin’s voice was extremely calm, looking down at his book. “Hm, what a shame. Please tell me, exactly, how does that affect you, Daniel?”

“Millions are dying in the streets, my King.” He spit the word like poison. “As a member of your treacherous household, it is my duty and responsibility for the people-”

“Ah, I see. You seem to be lacking in knowledge, Daniel.” Benjamin’s eyes flicked above the book, with a sickening grin on his mouth. “You seem to be forgetting your place. According to the Salkenshire Book of Law, a married husband to the King has no power over major decisions, nor any power to order official decrees, or even lead an army.” Benjamin’s gaze was deadly cold. “You serve no one but me, your highness, and even that has been stripped away from you.”

Remus grinned as Daniel’s face grew angerier and angerier with each passing word. It looked like he would hit the King square in the mouth if he could. But the fact was, he couldn’t. Remus felt a possessive fire under his skin, and turned to straddle the King, kissing his neck. He couldn’t deny it now, the King was his, and his alone. 

“You won’t get away with this, you monster.” Daniel spit.

“It seems I already have, my dear. I’m putting in a new law, didn’t you know?” Benjamin just smiled. “Leaving your mark and all that - it’s a new divorce law. With the evidence you just gave me on abusing power, I’m sure the advisors would be willing to listen.” Daniel’s eyes widened. Ben’s words were sharp and to the point. “I suggest you get an early start on packing. Your services are no longer required.” Daniel’s eyes brimmed with tears. He had nothing left to say.

Remus’s kiss was deep and long, and he looked back to the former lover with a smirk. “Oh, are you too dumb to get it, hon? He wants my ass, not yours.” Remus laughed as Daniel cried more, running out the door and slamming it behind him.

Finally. 

Benjamin just looked to Remus in hunger, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “I’m so sorry for that disruption, my love. Now, where were we?” God, he was so hot.

Remus just smirked. “I was getting hungry, my love.”

“Were you?” Benjamin breathed as Remus kissed, sucked and licked the King’s neck, leaving a mark. Their bodies pressed together in the chair, heated passion fueled the air. Benjamin’s heart hammered, smiling. “Come to think of it, honey, so am I.”

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

Daniel was kicked out of the castle the next day, and he stood outside the front gates of the majestic castle, holding the little he owned in a small bag. Benjamin had taken back all the fancy clothing, the jewelry, anything he’d gotten from him in all the years they’d known each other, were married to each other. Benjamin acted like it was a favor to get rid of ‘painful memories’, but Daniel knew the truth - he couldn’t bare giving him any cushion to land on when he kicked him out.

He had a bit of clothing, some essentials, and a bit of money to his name. Daniel looked around at the townsfolk, staring, most of them in shock. The busy marketplace, usually filled with chatter and merchants yelling their wares, is suddenly quiet as Daniel passes. Daniel breathes as he holds back tears, walking through the town with his head held high.

“Is that the Prince?”

“I knew he’d get kicked out, he always seemed like a cheater-”

“Finally coming down from his fancy palace to walk among the common folk, huh…?”

“Another lover, what a gold digger.”

Daniel walked through the crowds with false confidence, quickly ducking into an empty alley, letting the waterfall of tears free. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” He was a stupid idiot. Of course Banjamin didn’t love him, how could he ever think anyone would ever love him? All he had was his looks, now he was worthless. Remus’s words repeated in his mind…

The way his mustache curled as he smirked evily, almost out of pity. How he sat in Benjamin’s lap, practically eating his face whole, only to look to him like he was nothing but a dirty stain that wouldn’t come out. A rat. A mistake.

“Oh are you too dumb to get it, hon?”

Tears stained his cheeks as he tried to quiet his sobs to not attract attention. He was embarrassed. HIs heart felt like it was broken into a million pieces, and it quickly was replaced with a tougher shell. 

“He wants my ass, not yours.”

Daniel wiped away his tears. He’s been in worse before, felt worse before - both his parents died when he was 15, a group raided their village and killed any who stood against their reign. It hadn’t lasted long, yet while others easily forgot, Daniel could never forget. With two bullets, they lay lifeless on the floor, in a pool of their own crimson blood. He’d knelt before them, shaking them, tears blurring his vision. He hadn’t heard the click of the gun, or noticed the point of it towards his own head. Not until he realized they were really dead, that his parents were really gone, that he was an orphan, that he moved his head to look toward the sky, to look for some sort of reasoning in all this.

If it weren’t for that soldier’s arrival, he’d be dead.

His aunt always told him that you needed to do whatever you needed to, to get by. She told him to play the world for all the money it was worth, to pay for the next day’s price of living. But when he was noticed by the Prince, working in the palace, his aunt’s warnings of distancing himself and thinking of money, of security were gone. He stopped thinking about survival, and started thinking of love. 

Daniel stopped listening to his head, and began listening to his heart. It was dumb and stupid. He never should have fallen in love. Love is for suckers. 

“Prince Daniel?”

Daniel stepped back in shock, and a dirtied teenage boy in rags walked into the light. They both looked to each other a moment, silence passing between them. He held himself, studying the boy. Daniel’s eyes narrowed, those brown eyes looked familiar, that ruffed hair…

“You… you tried to kill me, you drove me off a ravine-!” Daniel stammered, stepping backwards. He didn’t want this little assassin to finish the job, his survival instincts kicked in quickly, like old friends. 

The teen grabbed his wrist. “Wait, your highness-!”

Instantly Daniel’s body kicked into fight-or-flight, and within seconds, the attacker from that night he recognized, Alex, was restrained. “Leave me alone. If you think your rebellion is going to win just by killing me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“No! Your highness, I just… I just want to talk!”

Daniel quickly released Alex as he tumbled to the floor. His mind was scrambled. He looked to the teenager, extremely confused, as he stood up. “Talk…?”

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

“Now, when the Farwoods’ arrive, we must be diplomatic. I’ll try to handle the King and Queen, just don’t mess things up with Anne.” Thomas spoke, pacing the room. 

“How… how could I mess things up with her, father?” Remy asked. “It’s not like I’m gonna just slap her or anything.”

“W-well, Anne is extremely close to her parents, and her parents, well… they’re expecting a royal who’s ready to settle down. Any indication of otherwise and they won’t be happy. This night has to go perfectly-”

“Jeez Dad, no pressure or anything.” Remy said jokingly to somehow clear the tension, trying to breathe - he didn’t need more stress than he could handle, and with decision day drawing near, he was certainly at his limit. He was used to not letting things get to him, of course - such was the way of a prince, or any royal for that matter. But his father always lessened the blow of pressure while he grew up, to help him flourish and thrive - as an adult, his father couldn’t shield him from everything.

“Just whatever she wants, do it. Hand holding, kissing…”

“Waitwaitwait… you’re expecting me to kiss her?” Remy could not believe what he was hearing. He’d never even had his first kiss, and his own father is expecting him to kiss this girl he’s rarely interected with?

“Only if she wants.” Thomas looked at his son’s facial expression and sighed. “Look, I’m so sorry you have to deal with this, but I promise to you whatever happens that night, it’s for the good of the kingdom.”

Remy just sighed. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“It sure isn’t, Remy.” The two royals turned their attention to the eldest, Thomas’s father - Logan. His voice was gravely and older, yet somehow still smooth and calming. Wrinkles adorned his soft skin, his deep blue eyes still glimmering with life, curiosity, and wisdom. He shuffled, walking slowly with a wood-carved cane. His hair was completely grey, some even turning white. He coughed suddenly, his older body shaking as he went into a coughing fit. 

Thomas rushed over to his father. “Dad, you really shouldn’t be out of bed, the healer-”

“The healer can tell me off later. I think I’m old enough by now to have the right to walk around my own damn castle, hm?” Logan’s voice was hoarse, and his body clung to the cane as he moved to sit next to Remy. Logan looked to Remy, then to Thomas. “What’s the matter with you two?! You look like it’s someone’s funeral.”

“Farwood got upset with Remy’s indecision, father. They’ve threatened to attack unless Anne and Remy get some more time together.” Thomas solemnly says. He just simply sat, looking down at the folded hands in his lap. “We...we have no choice.”

Logan’s hands rested on the cane, swaying it around. “Farwood’s always been arrogant, it’s their nature. Any wise leader knows the way to deal with a bull is to let it run wild.” Logan’s hand moved to Remy’s shoulder, a calming grounded presence, almost a comfort. “That doesn’t mean it won’t make a mess.” Logan turned to Remy, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “But the thing about bulls is, that eventually, they’ll run into something they can’t break.”

“Thank you, Grandpa.” Remy says, locking eyes with him after just staring at the marble floor. “It’s nice to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, little mousey.” Logan smiles at his grandson. “Do you have the book?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Logan said. “Read it, Remy. Our family has been strong in the darkest of times, and I know you can be too. Be strong, Remy.”

“I will, Grandpa.” Logan’s throat went into another coughing fit. He looked extremely pale, almost like his soul, his heart, is the only thing holding him together. Thomas moved quickly, rubbing his back until the coughing stopped. He picked up his father with ease, which only worried Remy more.

His father looked at him. “It’s late, you should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

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

Remus’s sobs filled the dungeon as he held himself closer, warming himself as a cold winter draft flowed in through the bars. He didn’t want this, he never wanted this. Everything was perfect, everything was so incredibly perfect between them. How could he just… he didn’t - he didn’t mean to do anything wrong. He never meant to hurt anyone. 

How did it get to this?

It started after they quickly eloped, and began their blissful days with passionate kisses and bliss in each other’s arms. Remus would often spend his days on the King’s lap, making him feel good while he worked. The servants and staff eventually got used to the sight, unfazed as they handed the King paperwork or letters. They were so close and so in love their bodies were almost always together, their hearts beating as one. Remus liked the feeling, and got addicted to Benjamin’s breaths close to his ear. 

Remus just got addicted to Benjamin - the way he deepened his kisses, the way his body felt on fire, how he cursed under his breath, his hungry eyes… Remus was addicted to every inch of him, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. This was love. Remus could feel it deep in his heart - that aching feeling. It was finally his, he was finally in love for the first time.

They learned, over time, that they were more in common than they thought. They both were hungry for power and passion, and often fed off each other's energy. 

Controversy sprang up over the new royal couple once a tattletale servant overheard Remus's comment to Daniel. The people questioned their King's choice - it wasn't just about what he wanted, the kingdom mattered too, and Salkenshire didn't want Remus.

But Benjamin didn't care for revolt, and when the people went too far, punishment put them in their place. They'd learn to respect their new crowned prince.

Of course, there were always disadvantages - when Benjamin’s buddies were over and he served drinks and shots over poker, a few would always cop a feel if they thought they’d get away with it, and when his friends were drunk, they’d always practically throw themselves at him, and he’d always push them toward the door, maybe with a little more force than necessary, but what can he say? It got the job done. 

After a few months of fun, Remus noticed something strange about Benjamin - every Friday, he goes out for late meetings at 8, and returns at 2am. He wasn’t exactly an expert at running a country or attending meetings, but he knew they don’t exactly last that long. Something was going on. When he bothered staying up to see what was going on - he was greeted with a discovery. 

Some pink lipstick stains on his collar, abs, and chest. That paired with a massive hangover only led to one conculsion - he was out seeing other lovers. Others would freak out in this situation, maybe break up or confront them, maybe even get even or get revenge. But, Remus was calm. Ben was out with others for a reason, and if this was how their relationship was going to work, he could do the same. 

Make them want you, Remus. 

After his buddies were drunk he made out with one on the fancy sitting room couch. It was scary how easy it was to get them somewhere private. Benjamin walked in, his eyes bulging wide and his face going beet red. He cursed him out, called him names, and Remus just crossed his arms. “Well you know what? At least I have the decency to own it.”

And, that was it. 

His face going ice cold, he ordered the guards to bring him to the dungeon. He was to be beheaded at sunrise. Remus’s eyes had filled with tears as he sat in his knees, clinging to Benjamin and begging for forgiveness. Apologies flowed out of his mouth like running water, and even as he was dragged through the hallways, they never stopped.

Now, red lipstick smeared, clothes wrinkled and ruffed, Remus just sat in the holding cell and cried.

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

Daniel sat on a roof near the castle, his hand wavering near his light sword tight around his back. He pulled up the black mask around his face tighter, looking around and taking in his surroundings. Security was tighter for some reason, but that wouldn’t be a problem for him. He could take down the guards easily, the only obstacle was being spotted. He quickly ran hopped from roof to roof, getting a closer view. 

The stone castle was dimly lit by candlelight, most of it completely consumed in darkness. He recognized the large balcony adorned with those familiar silk curtains he'd seen every morning for what seemed like forever. He sighed painfully at the memory, closing his eyes for a brief moment. His hand reached up to brush the scars adorning his face, the memory burned into the soreness of the scars - 25 years of dopy, stupid happiness.

Daniel quickly retracted his hands. He couldn't get distracted. He looked back to the gigantic balcony.

Well, the balcony was the goal - get in, get out. 

Daniel hopped down from the roof into the dark alleyway, grunting as the force of the ground met his body. Immediately, Daniel was pinned up against the wall, knife to throat, but Daniel wasn't scared. This was routine. 

The dark figure spoke - "The eyes of the enemy…?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "...are the eyes of royalty." Quickly, he was let down as the masked figure unveiled themselves - Alex. "Al, passcodes are cliche. We really need better security."

"Well when you're in the streets it's the best security you have, J." Alex said, leading the way deeper into the darker alley, and both their eyes quickly adjusted to the darker atmosphere. “How’s it look?”

“Place is crawling with guards, but I know we came here to party.” Daniel smirked at Alex’s grin.

“Hell yeah.”

“As long as we get to the balcony, we’re set.” Daniel said, with a wave of his hand that radiated confidence. Two other figures landed in front of them. 

“No one’s tailed us, thankfully. This is the night, gentlemen - don’t piss your pants and we might pull this off.” The figure closer to Daniel spoke, taking off her mask to reveal ebony hair and intense eyes. The other figure’s eyes sparkled, taking in the night sky and the scene. Violet and Squirt - two other elite members of the rebellion, Violet being the leader. When Alex found Daniel on the street 5 months ago, he’d offered a proposition. The rebellion was planning on assasinating the King for years, but needed some knowledge of the castle - hiding spots, quick exits. Alex saw Daniel in the alley and the thought clicked that no one would be better equipped to help than him. 

Violet didn’t trust him right away - after all, he used to be a royal. But, overtime Daniel proved his loyalty to the rebellion and to his people, and Violet let down her guard. She even apologized to him about the accident, but Daniel wasn’t having it. He told her there was no need to apologize, they clearly didn’t mean to go after him personally, it was obviously some plan to get at Benjamin. 

Violet stepped toward Daniel. “Janus, you have us a way in?”

Janus. Daniel had read about him in a book of gods somewhere - a gatekeeper. He was the Roman god who held the key to the door. One night, it came to him - he wasn’t Daniel anymore. Daniel was the naive fool who fell for Benjamin’s trickery, who failed to save his people. So, he decided he’d be Janus, that he’d open the doors for his people to be free, and he’d finally end Benjamin’s tyranny. 

Daniel was dead. Janus was born.

“Balcony. If we can reach that, that leads straight to his bedroom. We can take care of business and split.” Janus looked at his friends. “No harm is to come to the Prince. We tie him up, jail him and take over. No more blood should be spelt than what’s necessary.”

“Aye aye.” Violet said. “Squirt. You and I will take out the guards below while Alex and Janus sneak in. No matter what happens, this ends tonight.”

“Here here.” Squirt said, taking out his throwing knives. “Al, you ready?”

“Let’s do this.” Alex said, pulling out his dagger. He walked over to Squirt, facing the wall and ready to jump back on the roof. “Two whistles, don’t forget.” Janus just nodded in response as the two jumped up on the roof, off to take out the guards. 

“This is it, Jan.” Violet said, before jumping up onto the roof, Janus following behind her. 

“That it is.” Janus responded.  The two were silent, masks up and weapons ready. They jumped across rooftops with ease, landing only with the tiniest of thuds as to not wake or alert anyone of their presence. Janus learned as a Rebel you had to be really good at slipping into the silence, and into the darkness. It’s your safety and your cover, and without it, you’ll be killed all too quickly. 

Janus tapped Violet and pointed to walls, then to his own daggers. Violet nodded. The sun began to peak over the horizon, as the two made their way toward the balcony. Janus shielded his eyes from the bright rays as they chased away the dark night to morning. The whistles sounded and the two began climbing the wall, pushing their daggers into the stone as they shimmied upwards. A bell tolled in the distance, and the two rebels heard the sounds of teh twon come to life as the day began. They needed to get this done quickly before he woke up. 

This was their one perfect chance, they could NOT mess this up. 

That’s when Janus saw him. Remus, clothes ripped, body dirty, makeup staining his face from crying. Remus was crying. Suddenly, everything else just disappeared. He… he knew that face, that feeling… He’d felt that way for months before he’d just grown numb to it. 

“Hereby on June 25th, Remus is sentenced to beheading by order of the Great King Benjamin for cheating and besmirching of His Grace’s good name…”

Janus’s heart burned with sympathy. Dammit. 

“Janus!” Violet yelled and his attention quickly snapped upwards. “Come on, we have to go-!” Janus knew he had to, he knew it was his duty to the country that he failed to serve and protect from danger, he knew all this and yet his heart made him look down once more. Violet looked at his expression and her eyebrows furrowed. “Jan, whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

“Vi you need to get up to the balcony, get it done and I’ll meet you there.”

“Janus…?”

“Just get up there, okay? Save the kingdom… I gotta go save an asshole first.”

“Janus…” Violet’s eyes searched Janus’s. “... why, Janus? He’s just as guilty as him.”

Janus sighed. “Maybe he is, I don’t know. But I promised to protect my kingdom, and that includes him.” Janus looked back down. “Just get up there, okay?” With a quick slide of the daggers, Janus dropped to the ground, and up onto a roof. 

Time to save an asshole.

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

Remus had laid their head upon the wood, savoring his last moments as the sun warmed his face, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the glee of the crowd. His charges were listed, and he heard the axe slice through the air. He tried not to be afraid. He breathed in deep as the axe swung down, and-

Nothing. 

Uh, Remus didn’t think this was exactly how beheadings worked. Where was the blinding pain, the thud of his head falling to the ground?

He was grabbed by his bindings and pulled upward, noticing with wide eyes the executioner lying unconscious on the ground, the person behind them holding them by the bindings pointing the axe at the charge reader, raising his hands in surrender.

“Look, it’s one of the rebels!” Someone shouted in the crowd, making them cheer at the scene. Remus didn’t know what the rebels wanted with him, and his mind was scrambled and more importantly, confused. Wind whistled in his ears as he was dragged upward onto a roof, and their captor began to jump from roof to roof, until they quickly dropped down into a dark alley. Remus was thrown down onto the ground harshly, and he winced for some sort of stab, or pain, but with a whistle of the axe, his bindings were cut. He turned around to the Rebel, face to face. 

As he moved to stand, the axe was quickly pointed at his chest, and he decided moving probably wasn’t the best option. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.” Remus snapped at the Rebel standing over him. “I would have preferred the quick beheading, but I suppose some people would rather kill me themselves.”

The brown eyes scanned Remus, and he swore they looked familiar, but he shook the feeling away. They spoke, muffled through the black mask. “Leave. Go find somewhere to hide before they find you.”

“So you’re… not going to kill me?”

“Think of it as the only mercy you’ll receive in this life. Now move it.” The way they spoke was so familiar, but Remus couldn’t put his finger on it… did he know a Rebel? More importantly, why did the Rebel save him? Remus’s eyes looked at the Rebel, studying them carefully.

“Do I know you?”

“Do you not understand me, Remus?! YOU NEED TO MOVE!” The Rebel yelled, and Remus’s brain clicked. There were only two people who called him by his first name - the attendants were too afraid to address him directly. He slowly stood, looking over the Rebel again, and his eyes widened in shock. 

“Daniel?!”

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

“Come on, we need to move!” Janus grabbed Remus’s wrist as he dragged the former royal through roof after roof, hoisting him up vines until they made it to the balcony. Janus heard scuffling inside and put a finger to Remus’s lips. He whispered harshly. “Quiet. He can’t know you’re here. Just stay outside, I’ve got to handle something.” Remus nodded firmly as Janus pulled out his dagger, and slowly entered the dimly lit room.

The scuffling had stopped. Was it over? It had to be. Violet must have killed him. It was so dark he could barely see a thing, but from the sounds, he was sure there was blood on the floor. He quietly whistled, and was suddenly pushed up against a wall. “How many more of you rats are there?!” 

The King. Oh no… Violet…

He kicked him between the legs and pinned him down to the ground, Ready to slit his throat as planned, until Benjamin decked his throat, making his choke on air as he quickly turned the tables. “Every time I think I’ve killed you all, you keep coming back.”

“You know, I think if... ugh… your Kingdom has a rebellion, something’s wrong with the ruler.”

“Oh, really? Well, thanks for your input, but it’s time for you to die now like your feisty friend…”

Janus grabbed Benjamin’s wrist and twisted it as he screamed out in pain, kicking him square in the face, making him go flying as he headed for the balcony. Oh no.. Remus-

Janus rushed through the doors quickly, but the King already had Remus by the hair with a bloodthirstly gleam in his eye, the axe ready to cut. “Not another step.” He looked down at Remus, his hair messed looking slightly unhinged. “You know, Love, I wanted to behead you myself - Holding you at my mercy, seeing the blood drip from your head as you take your final breaths…”

“You… you motherf-”

With a thud, his head plopped to the ground, eyes wide in shock and pain. Blood splattered the floor, and Remus’s body slumped over, a puddle of blood forming around it. Janus stepped back, upset, growing into complete and utter anger. “You… you monster!”

“I’ve never claimed to be anything else.” The King stepped forward, unhinged look in his eye and axe in hand. “Now it’s your turn, rat.”

Janus remembers him screaming, and yelling. He remembers slicing, pain… stinging… blood. The next vivid vision he had was his hands wrapped tightly around the King’s throat, his body pinning his own down, hatred fuleing his blood, and squeezing.

“D-daniel…?!”

 He remembers choking noises, and blood… so much more blood. The next thing he remembered was looking down at the dead King, his hands covered in red. The way his eyes rolled back, the paleness of his dead corpse. 

Crying. He remembers crying, and fear. He couldn’t stop crying, he couldn’t stop…

“What have I done…?!”

A green translucent arm wrapped around Janus’s back in comfort. The green spirit looked down at the corpse in distaste. “You did what you had to do to survive, Daniel. He would have killed you.” Remus tries to tell his friend. “You saved me from him, Daniel. You saved me… you saved the entire Kingdom.” He looked at his unconsoulable friend. “Please don’t cry.”

Remus looked down at his new form. “I don’t know what this is, Daniel, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you showed me such kindness when I was… so, so horrible to you. But I promise, for as long as I’m able, I’ll be here for you.” 

Remus’s translucent hand fazed through Daniel’s. “My...my friend…”

[mageicalwishes]

A Smashing Summer - Chapter 1

Read on AO3: here

Summary: "I'm egging your house for a dare, but you're parent is a cop and now they're yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you're coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don't want to go to jail" AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho's house, he never thought he'd find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 3,811

Based off of this post! 

Simon

“Okay ... Dare,” I huff, my voice flat with boredom. “But I swear to God, if you guys make me eat any more vile shit, I’m leaving.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t have a hissy fit,” Josh mocks, holding his hands up in a false surrender. “We won’t make you eat anything else. Just lemme think.”

I wait, glancing between the two of them - Both of their faces knotted with concentration. If I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure why I agreed to play. I’ve always hated Truth or Dare. It’s juvenile, and boring, and it only ever leads to me embarrassing myself. But, with Penny and Agatha both on holiday, I don’t exactly have many other options. Unless I want to go downstairs and play Mario Kart with the younger kids - Which I definitely don’t (I always win. It gets pretty boring).

“Okay then,” Nathan says, a wicked grin breaking across his face. God. I’m going to regret picking dare, aren’t I? “I dare you to egg one of those posho houses on Church Lane.”

“Nathan. No,” I groan. “What if I get caught? I could be in serious trouble. Come on! The worst I made you do was steal a bloody biscuit. Egging somebody’s house is hardly the same!”

“Come on, Simon,” Josh drawls. “It’ll be a laugh. Don’t be a chicken.”

I roll my eyes, throwing my head back in frustration.

“Christ. Fine. But you two are coming with me. There is no way I’m going alone.”

“Sure thing. We’ll be right with you - Don’t you worry,” Josh assures, his voice dripping with mischief.

————————————————————————————

I regret every single decision that has led me here - Trudging down some posh twat’s drive, egg carton in hand, with my idiot friends hidden behind a tree a few metres back. I mean, what kind of imbecile agrees to egging a strangers house, just because of a stupid dare. Well, apparently me. But I am definitely regretting it now. This was an undoubtedly terrible idea.

My eyes scan the area nervously, checking for signs of life. There are no cars parked out front, and none of the windows are open (Even though it’s a stupidly hot day) - So, I figure I’m in the clear.

I come to a stop a few metres in front of the house’s porch. Although, thinking about it, it’s not really a house at all - It’s a bloody ginormous, gothic mansion. It’s incredibly intimidating. I mean, it’s got gargoyles and everything, for Christ’s sake! Looking at it up close, I can hardly believe that somebody actually lives here - It's probably some musty, old vampire or something. I swallow anxiously, trying to push that thought to the back of my mind. Not the vampire thing, obviously. I know vampires aren’t real - I’m not scared of that. But, I am scared of whoever does own the property. What are they gonna do when they realise that their precious mansion (Which probably cost them, like, a billion pounds) has been egged. I’d be livid.

Do houses like these have CCTV? Probably. Fuck. Is it illegal to egg someone’s house? Also probably. But it’s definitely illegal to trespass. Although, I don’t know if standing in somebody’s driveway really counts. But if it does, and they do have CCTV, then they’ve already caught me doing that. I really should’ve worn some sort of mask (Even if Josh and Nathan laughed at me) - But, it’s a little late for that now. So, Screw it. I’m already here. And, I’m probably already on tape. So, I may as well do what I came here to do. At least it’ll get Josh and Nathan off of my back.

Hesitantly, I open the carton and pick up an egg. Pulling my hand behind my head, I steal a quick glance backwards to ensure that I haven’t been ditched, and launch it straight into the heavy oak of the front door. A laugh bubbles up inside me, adrenaline surging within my chest. I’m probably a terrible person for finding something that is most-likely an actual, legitimate crime fun - But, the scandal of it all is providing me with an intoxicating rush.

Grinning, I load the final egg into my hand, hurling it towards the front door carelessly. A mere millisecond later, the door swings open, revealing a red-faced, white-haired man, all dressed up in a posh suit. Oh fuck. Powerless to stop the imminent disaster, I watch, horrified, as the egg smashes against his brow bone, splattering yolk across his face. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” He yells, his voice booming.

Petrified, I let out a high-pitched, girlish squeal - Dropping the empty carton on to the floor. I’m completely frozen - My muscles seizing up uselessly, as I stand gawping at him. I whip my head around, watching as Josh and Nathan dash away, leaving me trapped, all alone. Desperately, I turn to run, be he claps a hand around my wrist - Pulling me back into place. Mega fuck. Panicked, I shake my arm wildly, desperately trying to loosen his vice-like grip. 

“Do you know who I am?” he shouts, the veins in his neck bulging. Unable to find my voice, I shake my head. “I’m the Chief Constable!” Mega, mega fuck. Of course, I'd be stupid enough to pick a cop's house. I've really fucked it up this time. “And this,” he continues, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Is vandalism!”

I gulp, trying to shake myself free again, to no avail. He scowls, grabbing onto my shoulder, and tightening his grip further (My wrist will probably be bruised tomorrow, although that’s the least of my worries right now).

“I’m really, really sorry, Mister,” I whimper, my voice wavering pathetically. “This is a huge misunderstanding. I’ll fix it - I swear. Please just - Please don’t arrest me.” 

His jawline tenses as he grits his teeth. “Pray tell me, how this is a 'misunderstanding',” he spits. 

“Uhhh,” I stall, completely stumped. I definitely shouldn’t have said that. How the hell can egging somebody’s house be a misunderstanding? I dart my eyes around, desperately hoping to spot something that can help me out. And that's when I see him.  A tall boy, roughly my own age, leaning against the door-frame nonchalantly, his arms crossed against his chest, and an amused smirk plastered on his face. “My ex lives here,” I sputter out. Stupid moron. Why the fuck would I say that? The boy raises an eyebrow, flashing me a quick toothy grin. “Really shitty breakup, yeah,” I ramble on. “Sent me loads of rude notes, wouldn’t give me back my stuff, kept threatening to spill my secrets. You know how it is.”

The man shakes his head, clearly taken aback. “What on earth are you blathering on about, boy? There is no girl your age living here.”

I chuckle sheepishly, looking down at my trainers, my face flushing with heat. Right, Yeah - I didn't really think that one through. 

“It’s alright, Father,” A deep, velvety voice interjects. “He’s one of mine.” 

I risk glancing upwards. The boy from the doorway is standing beside us now - His grey eyes assessing me coldly. I meet his gaze, furrowing my brow in question. What is he on about? His lips quirk upwards into a knowing smirk, as he runs a hand through his hair (It’s fairly long for a bloke, just brushing the tops of his shoulders. But, unlike mine, it looks really silky - So, I understand why he wouldn’t want to cut it). 

“Basilton,” the man whispers, his tone warning. “I’m not in the mood for your games. Just look at what he did!” 

“It’s no game, Father,” the boy (Basilton) replies, airily. “I left him a particularly scathing voicemail the other day. You know how I can be. I believe ... I likened him to a Neanderthal, actually - Which, as you can see, was clearly an astute judgement. It must've got him all riled up.”

“Either way - That does not excuse the vandalism of our home, Basilton.”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m not saying that it does. Just … Let me handle it. I shattered the poor little lout’s heart - He just wanted a little bit of revenge, that’s all. It's a harmless prank. There is really no need for all this drama. You’re being excessive, Father. Getting so riled up over a petty, little crime is unbecoming of a man of your status, you know.”

I can practically see the tension vibrating between them - The man’s face flushing a violent shade of red. I don’t think it’s embarrassment, though - I think it’s rage. And, to be fair to him, I think that’s understandable. Basilton is awfully cheeky - Adopting a daringly condescending tone. He sounded like he was chastising a toddler, not speaking to his Father.

For a moment, I think there is going to be a scrap, but, to my shock, it actually bloody works! Reluctantly, the man pulls his hands back, finally freeing me from his grasp. I puff out a relieved breath. Thank God for Basilton! 

“I will deal with you later,” he hisses, jabbing a finger into the centre of the boy’s chest. “But if you insist on bringing people like that into our lives, then it’s only fair that you be the one to clean up their messes.” 

“Perfectly fine with me, Father,” he deadpans. 

And wiith that, he turns - Storming over to the door, and slamming it closed behind himself. Leaving me and my merciful stranger alone.

“Thank you so, so, so much,” I gasp out, turning to face him properly. “I am so sorry. My mates dared me to do it, and I’m a complete idiot, so I agreed. I don’t really know why. And I’m just - I’m just so sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin things between you and your Dad. And, I’ll clean it up, I swear! And … I’ll make it up to you. I mean - I don’t know how. But, I will.” 

“Stop bumbling,” he says, gazing down at his nails, bored. “We can agree on the fact that you’re clearly a moron. But, don’t fret about ruining 'things' me and my Father - That was done long before you arrived. Just … Clean up the mess and we can forget that this ever happened.” 

“Right. Okay,” I say, wearily. “But I mean, seriously thank you. For going along with my lie, I mean. Sorry if it - I mean like, sorry if it made you uncomfortable. Or you - You know, felt like you had to. Cause I mean … You didn’t have to”

“Don’t mention it - It’s perfectly fine. It didn’t make me uncomfortable, and I’m well aware that I didn’t have to do anything. I actually rather enjoyed the opportunity to rile my Father up - So, no need to apologise.”

“Right, well … Brilliant,” I say, smiling up at him. “You’re the best, Basilton.”

His face twists into a grimace. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh shit, Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed. “I thought that’s what your Dad said.” 

“It is. I just … Don’t really like being called that,” he murmurs. 

“Oh. Well. Um. What should I call you then?”

“Well you shouldn’t really call me anything. You’re the guy that just egged my house - Not my friend.”

“Yeah. I know that. But, I mean - Can’t you just say, anyway?”

“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated. “If you insist. Just call me Baz.”

“Baz,” I echo, the smile audible in my voice. “I like it. It suits you.” 

“Hmmm,” he hums, noncommittally. “I’ll be sure to tell my Father you said so. I’m sure he will appreciate your approval.” 

“I’m Simon Snow,” I say, ignoring his remark, and sticking my hand out towards him. “And, I promise, I don’t normally vandalise people’s houses. I’m good. I’ve never even got a detention, Honest. Well no, I mean, I got one in Year Seven - But it wasn’t my fault.”

Unimpressed, he glances down at my hand as if it were a personal affront. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to leave me hanging (Which would be totally mortifying. I’ve already made enough of a tit of myself, I don't need him to reject me as well), but then he reaches out, gingerly taking my hand in his, and giving it a curt shake. 

“Charmed,” he deadpans. “Now that all the pleasantries are over, I really think you should get a move on with the whole cleaning thing. I won’t be able to hold Father off forever, you know.”

“Oh right, yeah. Course. I’ll get right on it. Uh … I don’t really have any … Cleaning stuff, though. Sorry. Do you have, like, a bucket or something?”

He glares down at me. “You’re a disaster,” he sighs, rubbing his hands against his temple exaggeratedly. “Vera probably has what you need. Let me go and ask.”

“Okay sure. Brilliant. Thanks,” I chirp. I have no idea who Vera is, but I don’t think Baz would like me asking, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Wait here,” he says, his voice threatening. “If you run away, I will be very angry. I know your name now, Simon Snow. If it comes to it, I can and will hunt you down. So stay put.”

“Aye Aye, Captain,” I tease. He tries to suppress it, but a small, half-smile breaks across his face. It only lasts a second, Baz quickly schooling his face back into a scowl, but it’s enough to calm the anxiety flurrying within my chest slightly. “I won’t move a muscle, promise.” 

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow looks nervous. He’s bouncing his leg anxiously, his face curled into an adorable little pout, and a hand tugging at his unkempt curls roughly. 

“What’s wrong with you?” I tease, placing the bucket down besides his scuffed trainers. 

“Baz!” He breathes. “I have to go. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“What? No!” I protest, outraged. “You said you’d clean it up. That was the whole agreement. I go along with your little hair-brained scheme, and lower myself to fulfilling the role of your ex-boyfriend, and you clean up the mess you made!”

“I know, I know. And I will, I swear! Cross my heart,” he says, tracing an 'X' against his breast. “But, I have to be home by eight.”

“Eight? Really, Snow? How old are you?” 

“Uh ... Seventeen. Why?” 

“You’re seventeen years old, and your parents still won’t let you out after eight?” I ask, disbelieving. 

“Uh yeah. Well, sort of.”

“Why? What happens if you miss your curfew? Do mummy and daddy not read you your bedtime story?” I goad, puffing my lips out into a faux, sympathetic pout. “I’m sorry, but you have to clean this mess up.” 

“I know. But I just … I’m already late. And I seriously can’t be late. Look,” he says, digging around in his back pockets, and pulling out a crumpled receipt. “Uh … Do you have a pen?” 

I roll my eyes, pulling out a fountain pen, and thrusting it towards him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, flashing me a quick smile, and scribbling onto the paper. “Here. This is my number,” he says, holding the receipt out to me. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to clean it. I promise. If I don’t show up, you can just keep calling me till I do. Or … You’ve got my name, too - I’m sure that’s more than enough information to take a hit out on me.” 

“Hmmm,” I hum, unimpressed, snatching the paper from his hand. “Be here eight A.M  sharp. Capishe?” 

“Uh yeah … Capishe?” He drones, clearly confused. 

“Very well then. Run on back home. I’d hate for you to get into any trouble.”

“Okay. Yeah. Uh ... Cheers” he huffs. “You’re the best, Baz. I’ll make this up to you, I swear!”

“Whatever,” I chide, keeping my tone flat. 

“Later then, Lover,” he calls. 

“Don’t call me that,” I spit, aggressively. 

“Okay. Okay,” He chuckles, warm laughter transforming his face - His eyes crinkling up slightly, as a small dimple pops besides his lips. “Later, Ex-Lover, then. That better?” 

“I think you know that it’s not,” I groan, shaking my head. “Just get out of here. Before I change my mind!” 

With a beaming grin, he turns, jogging down the driveway and back out onto the street - Leaving me alone. I glance down at the receipt - His number scratched onto the paper in barely intelligible handwriting, and a small, crude smiley face drawn next to it. Bloody nightmare. Despite myself, I chuckle lightly at the absurdity of it all. Simon Snow … What the hell have I gotten myself into? 

————————————————————————————

This Summer has ticked by unbearably slowly. At first it was fun -  A welcome change from the monotony of term time. But the novelty quickly wore off. Every day is the same - I wake up, I read, I play FIFA with Dev, I study, I eat, and I play with Mordelia. That’s it. Same old, same old. But today - Today was far from usual. As pathetic as it may be, it was probably the most fun I’ve had in weeks.

Which is why, I find myself here - Sat on the end of my bed, phone in hand, deliberating with myself over whether or not to text him. My calamitous little criminal.

I mean, he did give me his number. I doubt he'd be surprised to hear from me. I could message him under the guise of confirming that he hadn't given me a fake one. That would be believable … Surely? I inhale deeply, regaining my composure. It’s just a silly, inconsequential text - Nothing to get worked up about. If he doesn’t answer - So what? It’ll make no difference to my life. 

With my mind made up, I hammer out my message quickly - Hitting send before I have the opportunity to change my mind. 

ME (21:42): Committed any crimes since we last spoke?

I stare down at the screen, anxious. This is definitely weird. Why did I think this was a good idea? What sort of person decides to have a friendly chat with the guy that egged their house, for Christ’s sake? Father would be bitterly disappointed, if he knew. 

Just as I’m starting to spiral, my phone screen flashes up with a reply. And then another. And then another. And then another. It’s him - It has to be him. Nobody I else know texts like such a lunatic (I'd have blocked their number ages ago if they did). 

SS (21:43): Nah. Not yet. 

SS (21:43):  Maybe l8r. 

SS (21:43):  And again … Sorry bout that. 

SS (21:43):  And thnx for covering for me. That was really nice of you :) 

I grin, relieved. 

ME (21:45):  Yes, well. While I appreciate your gratitude, if you don’t show up tomorrow there will be hell to pay. 

ME (21:45):  And do you really have to type like that? 

SS (21:46):  Aha yep :D That’s how everyone texts. Not my fault. 

SS (21:46):  And I know. I know. 

SS (21:46):  Trust me. I’ll be there. 

SS (21:46):  You can count on me :) 

ME (21:47):  Whatever you say, Snow. 

SS (21:47):  Yeh :) 

ME (21:51):  I have a question for you.

SS (21:52):  Oh yeh, really? Shoot. 

ME (21:53):  I was having a little look at the receipt you gave me, and I was just wondering why on earth ONE PERSON would need to purchase SEVEN packets of scones, all in one go? Is one of your friends getting out of juvie, or something? Having a little party?

SS (21:54):  Oh nah lol. 

SS (21:54):  Those are for me. 

SS (21:54):  Whenever I get given my pocket money I always go and get a few packs. 

SS (21:54):  They’re delicious. Trust. 

SS (21:54):  I’ll bring you one tomorrow :) 

ME (21:55):  Right, I see. Fair enough, I suppose. 

SS (21:55):  Aha yeh :) 

I pause, unsure of how to reply. I guess, I could ask him what he’s doing - Although, that would probably be a little strange. It’s almost certainly best to just leave it. I’ll see him tomorrow, anyway - I’d rather not embarrass myself before then. 

But, just as I’m about to put my phone down, it buzzes again. 

SS (22:01):  What’s ur full name? 

I furrow my brow in confusion.

ME (22:03):  Why?

SS (22:03):  Cause I wanna add you as a contact. 

SS (22:03):  And my phone wants a surname. 

SS (22:04):  And also I’m just curious. 

SS (22:04):  Based on “Basilton” it’s probs well posh! 

SS (22:04):  I bet your name is double-barreled. You seem like a double-barreled kinda guy. 

SS (22:05):  Come onnnnnnnn Baz. Spill.

SS (22:05):    I wanna knowwwww. Plz. 

SS (22:06): You know mine. It's only fair!

SS (22:07):    Don’t ignore meeeeeeeeee. Plzzzzz. 

ME (22:09):  You’re an imbecile. 

SS (22:09):  Ahaha. Whatever you say. 

SS (22:09):  Seriously, tho. What’s your name?

ME (22:10):  Will telling you shut you up? 

SS (22:10):  Oh yeh. For sure. 

SS (22:11):  For a bit anyways ;) 

ME (22:12):  Fine. 

ME (22:12):  My full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Happy now? 

SS (22:13):  HOLY SHIT!

SS (22:13):  Yep! I’m very happy now! 

SS (22:13):  I knew it would be posh. 

SS (22:13):  Haha that’s wicked. 

SS (22:14):  Tyrannus. Really? Like the dinosaur? 

SS (22:14):    I’ve never even HEARD of that!

ME (22:14):    No, Snow. Not like the dinosaur. My parents aren’t morons. 

SS (22:15):  Oh lol. Fairs. 

SS (22:15):  Speaking of your parents, your dad is well scary! I thought I was gonna have a heart attack earlier.

ME (22:17):  I’m aware. I grew up with him. 

ME (22:17):  Anyway, I thought you said if I told you, you’d shut up for a bit. You don’t appear to have shut up at all. 

SS (22:18):    Oh yeh lol. Sorry. 

SS (22:18):  I just got excited. 

SS (22:18):  Your name is wicked tho! Seriously.  

ME (22:18):  Whatever you say. 

SS (22:19):    Aha yeh. 

SS (22:19):  Anyways … Imma head off to bed now. No more talking from me! 

SS (22:19):  Lucky you!

SS (22:19):  Early start tomorrow! 

SS (22:19):  Cleaning some posho’s house. 

SS (22:19):  Lol.

SS (22:20):    G’night Baz.

SS (22:20):  See you tomorrow :) 

ME (22:20):  Good night, Snow. See you then. Don’t be late! 

SS (22:21):  Wouldn’t dream of it ;) 

With that, I shift -  Putting my phone on to charge, and laying myself down onto the bed. Helplessly charmed, I find myself smiling up towards the velvet canopy of my bed goofily (Despite my best efforts to suppress it). 

Tomorrow is going to be a good day. 

[emospritelet]

Confession

The first of the three Monsterfuckers’ Ball fics I have planned. I made it Father MacAvoy instead. Hope you don’t mind. 

Have some wholesome demon-on-priest smut *dodges lightning bolt*

AO3 link

x

Father Joseph MacAvoy was aware of three things. One, the church was cold: a bitter, bone-deep cold that had seeped into him and which would take substantially more than a hot cup of tea to drive away. The second was that he had not been paying full attention to the penitent in the confession booth for at least two minutes. The third, and this was by far the dominant thought in his mind, clamouring for his attention like the insistent ringing of the church bell, was that he needed a drink.

There was a bottle of whisky in the rectory behind the church, standing on the desk in his study, waiting for him. He imagined how it would look, the light from the lamps shining through it with a tawny-gold gleam, calling to him with a soothing, calming voice. He could almost smell it, rich and spicy with hints of smoke and peat, and his mouth watered at the thought of that first taste. It would burn on his tongue and in his throat, the heat mellowing with sweetness and a touch of salt, the aroma filling his nose before he swallowed. It would chase away the numbing cold and let his body relax as he drank his way down the bottle until sweet oblivion claimed him for another night. Perhaps it would even drive away the dreams.

“Father?” came a tentative voice from behind the screen, and Joseph started.

“Uh - yes,” he said quickly. “Five Hail Marys and an Act of Contrition.”

“Oh, thank you, Father!”

He listened to the prayers, the penitent speaking fervently. It was old Miss Ginger, he could see that, and while she had confessed to taking the Lord’s name in vain, and to envy over Mrs Lucas’s baking skills, he was well aware that she had other sins she had chosen not to unburden herself of. Perhaps she didn’t see malicious gossip as a sin, or perhaps she didn’t care. He found it hard to feel too strongly either way; the days of his youth, when he had been full of desire to do good, to spread the word of God and help comfort those in need of guidance, were far behind him. He was in his forties now, tired and disillusioned, a short, thin figure with brown hair falling around his face and catching on the stubble on his cheeks where he had neglected to shave that morning. It had been his intention to do so, but he had taken one look at his reflection, hollow-eyed and sweating as his body tried to rid itself of alcohol, and realised that he couldn’t stand to look at himself.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken confession while suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s drinking, and desperately awaiting the next hit of alcohol. Mother Superior often cast disapproving glances at him if she called at the rectory too early. It was something that she did at least twice a week, on the pretext of discussing some minor church matter which could easily have waited for a more civilised hour. He was almost sure she did it on purpose, just so she could give him one of those insincere smiles and make some snide comment about the communion wine, but he found it hard to summon much indignation, going through his days on autopilot until he could pour himself that first glass. The small congregation of Storybrooke deserved better.

He tried to pinpoint when it was that he had lost his way, and found that he couldn’t, only that it was after he had started crawling into the whisky bottle each night, and before the move to Storybrooke. Emigrating to small-town America from Glasgow five years ago had been something of a shock to the system, but the townsfolk were friendly and welcoming. All except for Mother Superior, of course, and the pawnbroker, who had never entered the church and who always seemed to eye him with an air of contempt. Joseph had hoped that a new start would inspire him, would rekindle his religious zeal, but with the passing of each year he seemed to grow more disenchanted with the world, and with himself.

He was relieved when Miss Ginger finally left, and shifted in his seat, hoping she was the last. Cold was sinking into his bones, not helped by either the black cassock or his thin frame, and he wanted to stand up, stretch, and head over to the rectory. He could light a fire and change into something that didn’t make him feel as though his balls were about to turn to icicles and drop off. The assigned time for confession was almost over, and the whisky was calling to him, an insistent prodding deep in his belly.

The sound of soft footsteps in the booth made him want to groan, and he looked through the lattice of carved wood, seeing dark hair and smooth, pale cheeks. The penitent had her head bowed, but he immediately knew who she was. Sister Belle, who had joined the Storybrooke convent less than a week ago. He had seen her the day she arrived, brought to the church by Mother Superior to make the introductions. They had entered with a bitter gust of wind, a flurry of dead leaves cartwheeling by their feet, and Joseph had felt himself shiver. He had told himself it was the cold. October had started out unseasonably chilly, and was getting worse as the month drew to a close.

Sister Belle was beautiful, with large blue eyes and full, pink lips, shining chestnut hair swept neatly into a knot at the back of her head. She had looked him over with surprising directness when they were introduced, the light of curiosity in her eyes, and it had made him nervous. There had been a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth, but when Mother Superior looked back at her it had disappeared, her hands clasped at her waist and her head bowed, the perfect picture of demure humility. That tiny reaction had made him think that she held Mother Superior in a certain amount of contempt, which was as fascinating as it was shocking. He himself had always thought that the head of the Sisters of Saint Meissa was too inclined to be judgemental rather than to practice forgiveness, but he had never imagined any of the nuns would agree with him. Especially a newcomer.

He had seen Sister Belle in the church every day since then. Her slim figure was covered from neck to knees in the plain, dark blue dress that all the nuns wore, with thick tights and stout shoes beneath. The nuns always worked in the church, taking charge of the dusting and flower-arranging, but Sister Belle seemed to be there more than most. Joseph often found her alone after her sisters had gone, her eyes meeting his as she knelt to pray, that tiny smile quirking her lips as she passed him with arms full of flowers.

A scent hung around her, warm and oddly sharp like the smouldering wicks of snuffed-out candles, but he thought it suited her. There was an air of mischief about her too, in the twinkle in her eye and the quirk of her lips, as though she was always thinking of a joke that no one else knew. He couldn’t imagine what it was that amused her so about being in the church each day, but perhaps simply being away from the watchful eye of Mother Superior was enough to make her happy. She greeted him with warm tones, her voice soft, her eyes gleaming. It had made him nervous all over again, and he found himself stammering as he responded to her. He called himself an idiot for doing so, but there it was. The charms of a pretty young woman weren’t completely thwarted by the white collar around his neck, it seemed.

It had been many years since he had been distracted by thoughts of pleasures of the flesh, and he certainly had no intention of ever letting them take shape in his mind, even if she hadn’t been a nun. Yet if he was totally honest with himself, her beauty wasn’t what caused the nerves. It was more a sense of knowing, as though she could see to the heart of him. As though he was naked before her, all his secret shame displayed for her to study. As though she had seen every one of his faults. His weaknesses.

The thought of her knowing all his frailties was disturbing, but given that she had come to him to make her confession, he tried to push away his own feelings and concentrate on whatever she had to tell him. Some petty jealousies towards her new sisters, perhaps. Some uncharitable thoughts towards the less pious citizens of Storybrooke, or towards Mother Superior. Nothing more serious than that, he was sure. He watched as she made the sign of the Cross, and waited.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” she said, her voice clear and melodious. “It has been seven days since my last confession.”

Just before she came here, then. I wonder where she lived before Storybrooke. Why did she leave? Why come here, of all places?

“God is merciful,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “Tell me your sins, child.”

There was a pause.

“I - I have not been chaste, Father,” she said. “I have had - impure thoughts.”

Right. Not impatience or lack of charity. Well, she’s young. Celibacy can be a hard path, for some. Joseph licked his lips nervously, his heart thumping.

“Ah - well - impure thoughts are not uncommon,” he managed. “The Lord understands that it can be hard to overrule your body’s - urges. The important thing is not to act on them.”

She was silent for a moment, and Joseph frowned.

“I take it no one in this town has been bothering you?” he said. “I know that some of the young men here can find it hard to take no for an answer at times, even from the nuns. If you’ve had any difficulties in that respect, the Sheriff takes that sort of thing very seriously. If - if you wanted someone to speak to him on your behalf—”

“Oh no, Father,” she said hastily. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

He sensed that she wanted to speak, but was holding back, no doubt out of some sense of shame.

“Go on,” he said gently.

She sucked in a breath, and he waited patiently for her to gather her courage. Poor girl. Probably mooning over some young pop star. One of those boy bands, or whatever they call themselves now. I doubt Mother Superior would approve, but it’s hardly the crime of the century.

“I’ve had the most terrible dreams, Father,” she said breathlessly. “I think the Devil must send them to me.”

“The Devil is always testing those that God loves,” said Joseph gravely.

“How can God love me, when the Devil has made me his!” she breathed.

Joseph’s head jerked upwards at her words, hissed out through her teeth. His heart began to thump hard, his skin tingling. There was a cold sensation flowing up the back of his neck, a creeping sense that something was very wrong, and he swallowed, his throat dry.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“He comes to me,” she whispered. “At night, when I sleep. He comes to me, Father. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me from the dark.”

A nightmare. Joseph felt himself breathe a little easier. She’s having nightmares. A new town, new sisters around her - hardly surprising. 

“The Devil is cunning,” he said. “But these are only dreams.”

“But it’s so real!”

“He will try to reach you in whatever way he can, to tempt you,” said Joseph, hoping his tone sounded calmer than he felt. “He can take a pleasing form to lure you in.”

“I doubt you would call his form pleasing,” she said. “He has golden eyes and sharp claws, Father, and his skin is covered in scales. Horns grow from his head, and he has a long tail and leathery wings. He wraps them around me, and pulls me to him so I can’t escape.”

“That sounds like a terrifying dream,” said Joseph soothingly. “Rest assured that God is with you, protecting you while you sleep. Say your prayers each night, hold Him in your heart, and you will be safe.”

“I’m afraid, Father,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I’m afraid of the things the Devil does, and - and how they make me feel.”

Joseph cleared his throat nervously.

“Wh-what things?”

She turned towards him, and he heard the soft thump as she pressed her hands against the wooden panel between the booths. The scent of snuffed-out candles was there again, drifting into his nose, and he felt his heart thump hard.

“He tears my nightdress from me,” she said, her voice somewhat breathless and almost eager. “He strips me bare and binds me to the bed by my wrists and ankles. My legs are open, ready for him. Ready to let him inside.”

Joseph swallowed hard, a vision of her leaping into his mind, naked and bound, those blue eyes gazing up at him and that tiny secretive smile curving her lips. He shoved the image away hurriedly, furious with himself, but the image lingered, insistent, inviting. She reached up, fingers sliding slowly over the latticework grill between the booths, slipping over the holes with small, rhythmic thumps of her fingertips against the screen.

“He - he puts his head between my legs, Father, and - and tastes me,” she went on. “He licks me all over, this long, hot tongue sliding all over my flesh as he growls in pleasure. I can feel his tongue inside me. Pushing deep inside me.”

He watched as the tip of her index finger pushed into one of the holes, pink flesh bulging outwards. A shard of arousal pierced him, shooting down his body to his groin, and he could feel his cock start to swell. His mouth fell open in horror.

“I - I understand this must be distressing to recount—” he began.

“Yes, Father, but you haven’t heard the worst part!” she said insistently.

Joseph closed his eyes. There’s worse?

“He - he takes me,” she breathed, her voice low and throaty. “I can feel him between my legs, grown long and hard and thick, and he takes me. So many times. Pushing into me over and over until I scream. I can feel him thrusting inside me, pulsing inside me, filling me with his hot seed, and - and it feels good.”

His erection was causing Joseph a serious problem, and he pressed a hand down on it, willing it to go away. That just seemed to make the situation worse, so he closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“The - ah - the Devil wants to tempt you,” he said thickly, the words seeming to stick on his tongue. “Pleasure is a common temptation, and lust a sin, but God’s grace will protect against the Devil’s wiles. Contrition is what is important.”

Sister Belle let out a low, hollow laugh.

“But that’s the thing,” she said insistently. “When I wake, I don’t feel contrite. I feel as though I want more.”

She moved, the silhouette of her body shifting behind the wooden screen, the gentle scrape of her nails against the wood. He could sense her staring at him, could feel the warm gust of her breath through the lattice work. She was breathing too heavily, and he felt his own breath quicken in response, his cock twitching.

“I put my hand between my legs and I’m so wet, Father,” she breathed. “So wet and hot and ready.”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that this whole encounter was a bad, whisky-fuelled dream and he would wake drooling on his desk with a thumping headache, as he so often did.

“So - so I touch myself,” she whispered. “I slide my fingers deep inside. I rub at that little place where it feels so good, until the pleasure takes me and I cry out with it!”

Joseph cleared his throat, trying to push away the images her words created. What was wrong with him? She had come to him for help, for absolution, not his own forbidden lust unexpectedly rearing its head.

“Do you want to atone?” he asked, his voice unsteady, and she exhaled, long and low, as though she had been waiting for him to ask.

“Oh yes, Father!” she said eagerly. “I know how bad I’ve been! I want to be punished!”

Joseph shook his head tiredly.

“Have you more sins that you want to confess?” he asked. Please God, let her say no. I’m getting too bloody old for this.

“Not today, Father.”

“Very well,” he said, his voice still shaking a little. “Three Our Fathers, three Hail Marys.”

He listened to her go through the prayers, running a shaking hand over his face and feeling the rasp of stubble against his fingers. Once she had finished speaking, he went through the prayer of absolution, and Sister Belle said ‘Amen’ in a soft voice as she pulled back from the wooden screen.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.

Footsteps faded as she walked out, and he heard a low, heavy thump as the church door closed. Joseph sat back with a sigh, feeling drained. At least his cock appeared to be going back to sleep. He was sweating, and he was unsure if it was his newly-awakened lust or his sudden, overwhelming need for whisky. The latter would surely drown out the former; he just needed to get to it. He realised that listening to her recount her lurid nightmares had probably been the longest he had gone in years without thinking about how much he needed a drink. Quite what that said about the state of his soul was something he was trying not to contemplate.

x

Joseph sat at the desk in his office, listening to the slow tick of the clock and tapping his pen against the paper as he tried to get through the first draft of his sermon. It felt as though he had been at it for hours, but the words wouldn’t come, and whenever he glanced down at the notebook in front of him, it was as though the lines he was certain he had written had disappeared, and he needed to start afresh. At least his study was warmer than the church; a fire crackled in the hearth, and he had changed out of his cassock and into plain black pants beneath his black shirt and white collar, his silver crucifix around his neck. He rubbed at the space between his eyes, sitting back and reaching for his whisky, and a knock at the door startled him.

Pushing back his chair, he glanced at the clock, which showed that it was almost midnight. Unease made his skin prickle, and he cast an eye towards the hallway. Who would be calling so late? The knock came again, a heavy, insistent pounding that seemed to echo through him, and his heart thumped hard, his breath catching in his throat. It must be something urgent. Someone hurt or dying.

He stood, grasping at the edge of the desk as he staggered a little, and turned as he heard the front door open on its own and slow, rhythmic footsteps echoing in the hallway. Fear bloomed in the back of his mind, scrabbling with tiny claws, whispering that darkness was coming for him. He tried to speak, but the words seemed to swell in his throat, cleaving his tongue to the roof of his mouth and rendering him mute. Warmth flooded over him, wrapping around him, as though a fire was raging in the next room, and he couldn’t move, his body frozen in place with fear. Helplessly, he watched the study door swing open, and Sister Belle entered with a smooth, graceful stride.

Joseph felt himself relax, relieved at the sight of her, even as he wondered at her being there, and how she had got past what he was sure had been a locked door. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw what she was wearing: a tight black dress that clung to her curves and left her legs bare and pale. She must have been freezing on the walk over from the convent, and his first instinct was to grab a coat to put around her, but then she stepped closer, her lips parting, her chest heaving. He felt his pulse beat in his throat, tracing a throbbing thread of fire down to his groin, and he licked his lips nervously. She looked a little strange, her eyes sparkling with blue light. For a moment that light rippled over her skin, picking out tiny scales, and he told himself the whisky was making him see things. His throat felt dry as dust, but to his surprise, he didn’t want a drink.

“Sister Belle,” he managed. “Wh-what are you doing here so late?”

He still couldn’t move. It was strange, but that warmth was seeping into him, making his muscles relax and his body grow loose, even as his brain called strident warnings at him. She stepped closer, until she was almost touching him, her full lips open and glistening, and he remembered the things she had told him. Her nightmares. Her desires. Long, pale fingers ran over his chest, and he tried to move, tried to step away from her. He needed to tell her to leave, but he didn’t want to. He wanted her to stay.

“I had to come, Father,” she whispered, letting her hands slip down his chest to his waist. “I have a need. There was a choice to be made, and I chose you.”

She tugged at the belt of his pants, and his mouth fell open, his eyes wide and his body frozen in place. His brain was screaming at him to push her away, but he couldn’t move, and she pushed black pants over his hips with his boxers, sinking to her knees as she lifted the hem of his black shirt. Her hand was hot as it wrapped around his cock, and she looked up at him, eyes blazing with blue fire as she took him slowly into her mouth.

x

Joseph jerked awake, his heart thumping, breath coming hard as he lay in the darkness of his bedroom, the pillows cool against his hot skin. Moonlight was shining through the curtains, a dim blue colour outlining the dresser and chair and the wardrobe that contained his clothes. He let out a shuddering sigh, running his hands over his face and relaxing into the sheets as he realised he was alone. The dream had been very real, so real he could remember how she felt. The warmth of her, the wetness of her mouth around him. His cock was hard, pushing against the cotton pants he wore, and he closed his eyes, trying to think of anything but her. Trying to distract himself with his plans for the day ahead, no matter that it was still the middle of the night. An early start would be good for him.

His head was aching from too much whisky, so firstly he would need tea, or perhaps some coffee. He would sit in his study and drink coffee and he would finish writing his sermon for next Sunday’s Mass. He could also go through the preparations for the Christmas fundraiser; he had the preliminary enquiries from potential stallholders to look through, after all. That should be enough to distract him from thoughts of Sister Belle and her blue eyes and tiny smile.

“You’re very restless.”

Her voice made him start, and he pushed up on his elbows with a sharp intake of breath as she seemed to flow out of the darkness, a slender shadow-creature. Her limbs were as pale as milk, her body wrapped in a tight black dress that he was sure no nun in Storybrooke would ever consider wearing. The same dress she had worn in his dream. She crawled onto the bed at his feet, moonlight licking over her skin and shining in her hair as she watched him.

“No need to hide from me, Father,” she said. “I can see into your soul. I can see what you want.”

She grasped the sheets, slowly pulling them down his body, uncovering his naked chest and his thin legs in their loose pants. Her eyes lingered on his groin, where his erection pushed up against the cotton pants, and she smirked as she looked up at him. She walked up the bed a little way on her hands and knees, sitting back on her heels when she reached his knees and reaching for the strings at the waistband of his pants. Joseph shook his head, and realised with sudden, complete clarity that his headache had disappeared, and that he was stone-cold sober, as though his soul had been cleansed. It was oddly exhilarating.

“I’m dreaming again,” he whispered. “This can’t be real. You can’t be real.”

“Oh, I’m very real,” she said softly, and stroked a finger down the hard length of his cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. “As real as this. As filled with need as this. You want me, don’t you?”

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to summon a lie from deep inside him. That smouldering scent was all around her again, drifting into his nose and catching in his throat. Not candles, he realised. More like embers, like coal. She was watching him with those knowing eyes, one finger gently stroking him. It curled under his balls, circling them one by one before drawing up the length of his cock to the head and making him twitch.

“You want me, don’t you?” she repeated.

“Yes!” he gasped. “But I - I shouldn’t. I can’t. It - it wouldn’t be right.”

“But you want to,” she said knowingly, and he swallowed hard, nodding wordlessly.

Pushing up on her knees, she grasped the hem of her tight little dress and tugged it upwards, peeling it over her head and tossing it aside. She was naked beneath except for a thin gold chain around her neck with a dark, round stone like a pool of pure shadow, a hole in the air that seemed to eat the light, hanging between her breasts. His eyes widened at the sight of her, at the pure beauty of her form, pert breasts with small, dark buds at their centres above a tiny waist and long, pale thighs. Silver moonlight shone on the curves of her breasts and hips, streaks of dark blue shadow painting the lines of her ribs and the hollow of her navel. The dark cleft between her thighs glistened with promise, and he felt his mouth water as he shook his head.

“No, no,” he said weakly. “You’re a - a dream. This is a dream.”

She tilted her head to the side, dark hair falling in a shining wave over one pale shoulder, and her eyes gleamed with that blue fire again.

“Would you prefer that?” she asked softly. “Dreams can be powerful. Do you want this to be a dream? A fantasy?”

He shook his head again, abandoning propriety in favour of honesty.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I don’t want that. I want it to be real.”

“Then let it be real,” she breathed, and she leaned forward, hands sliding up his chest as she brushed her nose with his. “Let yourself feel for once, Father.”

The stone between her breasts was resting on his chest, and he was surprised at how heavy and warm it was. As though it burned with its own fire. His eyes flicked up to hers, and she pushed up on her hands, gazing down at him. He tried to find the will to tell her to leave.

“If - if Mother Superior knew you were here—” 

“That self-righteous gnat could find fault in the purest heart,” she said sharply. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks of me.”

“Well, neither do I,” he said impatiently. “But if she catches you, the whole town would turn its back on you. And on me.” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said. “So unless she’s hiding in the bloody wardrobe, I think we’re safe.”

“But - but your vows!” he said. “Your soul! You can’t be here, you should - you should go.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

He bit down on his tongue, but the word had left his mouth almost immediately, and she smiled.

“I thought not,” she said, and bent to kiss his chest. “You’re an honest man. A good man.”

“Apparently bloody not,” he muttered, and she chuckled richly.

“Yes you are,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of churchmen cross my path, Father. Some I sought out, and some sought me, but I do believe you are one of the few I’ve met who is genuinely good. A little - lost - maybe. But good, at your core.”

“I’m not!” he said desperately. “I’m bloody hopeless! I’m - I’m an alcoholic priest who can’t even concentrate in confession because I’m thinking about the next bloody drink!”

“You were listening to my confession,” she said, and the tip of her tongue circled a spot on his neck, making him shiver. “You were listening very intently.”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember the shameful way he had responded to her words. It seemed ridiculous to be embarrassed over that when she was naked in his bedroom, but he had never claimed to be logical. She straightened up, that smile back on her face again.

“I don’t believe you even thought about whisky when I was telling you about my dreams, did you?”

Her voice was lilting, soothing, and he shook his head. Her smile grew, and she shifted on her knees, bending to let her lips graze his chest as she slipped back down the bed a little way.

“You shouldn’t worry about my soul, Father,” she said. “It’s in very, very good hands. And I want this, believe me. As much as you do.”

She grasped the waistband of the pants, tugging them down over his hips and exposing him to the cool night air. His cock bounced upwards, freed of its cotton prison, and she let out a low growl, taking him in hand and bending her head until her lips brushed against him. Joseph let out a cry, throwing his head back as she sucked him in between her lips. Her mouth was almost too hot to bear, and she let out a low moan as she let him sink deep into her, soft flesh yielding. It felt as though her tongue was wrapping around him, twisting and squeezing, and he pushed his hips upwards in response, letting out a deep groan.

He had never believed that something could feel so good, and he let his hands drop to her hair, stroking through it as she slipped him in and out of her mouth, her lips tugging at him as she sucked. Heat was rising up through his body, a heavy swell of pressure from the base of his spine, and he wanted it to spill over, to burst. He wanted to let the pleasure take him, to have her swallow down everything that he had to give. His back arched as he groaned, and she drew back, letting him slip from her mouth with a low hiss.

He raised his head to stare at her, and she held his gaze as her tongue swirled over the head of his cock. A ripple of light seemed to pass over her pale skin, as though a pattern of scales came and went, and for a moment it looked as though her tongue had grown long and tapered, winding around him, squeezing him. He told himself it was the moonlight playing tricks, and then she took him deep once more, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he cried out in pleasure. The air seemed cold when she let him slip out, and she kissed down his length, her tongue swirling over his balls and sending bursts of sensation through him.

“Oh, God!” he whispered desperately, and heard her chuckle again, hot breath bathing the head of his cock.

“Not even close,” she murmured.

She moved up his body, straddling him, her legs sliding against his thin hips, and he jerked at the feel of her skin against his as he reached for her, trembling fingers sliding up her pale thighs. Her skin was soft and smooth, hot despite the cold room, and she hissed in approval as his hands grasped her hips, her fingers stroking up over his belly to his thin chest. Shifting position a little, she pressed her core against the hard ridge of his cock, heat and wetness pulling a shuddering gasp from him.

“There’s no sin in sharing pleasure,” she said, and her hips rocked slowly back and forth, rubbing her wet flesh along his length and making him groan. “Bodies are made to give pleasure. To take pleasure. It reinforces human bonds. It creates life. Where is the sin in letting yourself enjoy it, Father?”

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to think of something that would actually convince himself as well as her. He found it an impossible task, but something told him to make one last empty gesture of protest.

“I took a vow of celibacy…” he said lamely, and she shrugged, a brief rise and fall of one smooth shoulder.

“You told me yourself that your God is merciful,” she said. “That contrition is what’s important.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, that’s true.”

“So in the morning, you can tell Him how sorry you are that you fucked me until I screamed, can’t you?”

Joseph’s eyes flew wide open.

“Sister Belle!” he gasped, and she shook her head.

“I’m not Sister Belle,” she said. “Not anymore. I’m leaving the convent, leaving Storybrooke, and you’ll never see me again.”

Joseph felt a pang, a stab of pain at the thought of her leaving forever, but she smiled at him. For a moment it looked as though her eyes were filled with a strange blue fire, but then she blinked, and it was gone.

“Call me Lacey,” she said softly. “That’s who I truly am, Joseph MacAvoy. I’m Lacey.”

“Lacey,” he whispered, and it seemed to release something deep within his chest. Perhaps the last shred of his self-restraint. Her smile grew, her eyes gleaming.

“Yes!” she said, and took him in hand, raising up on her knees and sinking down onto him in one smooth motion.

Joseph arched upwards with a cry as he entered her. She was burning, scalding like soft, liquid fire. Her hips moved, gently rocking back and forth, letting him slide in and out as her wet flesh tugged at him, The sensation was incredible, making his skin tingle and his body throb with a deep, pulsing need to thrust. He pushed his hips upwards, getting deep inside her, wanting to feel her all around him. She made a noise of approval, hands sliding over his taut belly, and he felt tiny points of pain as her nails dug into his skin.

He raised his head a little, eyes flicking open, and she was undulating against him, breasts rising and falling with every thrusting roll of her hips. It felt incredible, but there was a dull, low-down ache there too, as though sharp hooks had lodged in his soul and were trying to pull it from him. As though there was something deep inside her, calling to him, trying to drag him with her into the dark of the night.

Lacey was moaning, a low purring sound as she circled her hips, and he could feel his cock stirring inside her, rubbing against her. The feel of it was sending ripples of sensation through him, and he could sense his balls drawing up, full and aching. She let out a growl of pleasure, shaking back her hair before fixing him with those strange eyes of hers, and it was as though scales bloomed on her skin, glistening blue in the moonlight before disappearing with a blink of his eyes.

“Touch me!” she gasped.

He reached up with trembling hands, cupping her firm breasts. They fitted perfectly in his palms, her skin soft as silk, the nipples taut peaks beneath his stroking thumbs. Lacey yowled, pushing into his hands as he squeezed, rocking her hips as she rubbed against him. Dimly, he was aware of something brushing his legs behind her, something thin and hot and smooth stroking back and forth over them with a rhythmic heavy slap. Tail! It’s a tail! a shrill, terrified voice gibbered at the back of his mind, but that was impossible, so he ignored it. He silenced that voice, that tiny wail of terror, and focused on Lacey, concentrating on the feel of her against him, the way she clenched around him and the sounds she made as she circled and slipped and fucked.

It was hot where their bodies joined, scalding hot and slippery-wet, and he could feel her body tugging at him, pulling on his soul. He could feel her hunger, her desire, her need. Smooth hands slid up over his chest, sharp nails scraping against his skin as she quickened her pace, and he could feel the bliss rising up inside him like a wave, wanting to crash over him, wanting to pummel him and drown him and spit out his battered body on the shore. Lacey grinned, white teeth shining in the moonlight.

“That’s it!” she whispered. “Come for me! Fill me with it! All of it!”

Joseph groaned as he pushed upwards inside her, ready to burst, and she bucked her hips, rubbing against him with rapid, shallow thrusts, her hands braced on his belly and her head thrown back. A whimper began deep in her throat, growing in pitch until she let out a harsh cry, and he came hard, shouting wordlessly, his cock pulsing and squirting. Lacey let out a shriek of pleasure, her flesh clenching around him, pumping against his cock, milking every drop from him as he jerked and moaned. It was intense and almost terrifying, as though something inside him was tearing at the edges, as though his soul was leaving his body and being pulled into hers, but then it stopped with a sudden, sharp snap as her eyes caught his.

For a moment all he could do was try to pull air into his lungs as Lacey worked her hips, drawing the last of his seed deep inside her with a low growl of pleasure. He eyed her through half-closed lids, her full lips glistening and a satisfied smile on her face. There were no scales on her skin, no heavy thump of a tail stroking over his legs. Of course she doesn’t have a tail! Of course she’s not covered in scales, what the fuck is wrong with you? He let out a shuddering breath, running his hands over his face and listening to the heavy pounding of his pulse. The fell of her rising up off him made him drop his hands to the sides, and Lacey smirked at him, that dark pendant swinging in the air as she leaned on the palms of her hands.

“Thank you, Father,” she said softly. “You’ve given me exactly what I needed.”

She pushed up off the bed, bending to grab her dress, and he missed the heat of her, the night air cold against his skin and his softening cock, still glistening with her fluids. His body was tingling, his heart thumping as he came down from his high, but as she pulled the dress over her head a crawling sense of disappointment began creeping over his skin. She was leaving.

“Wait!” he said hoarsely.

“What is it?” she asked dismissively, as she tugged the dress straight.

“Are you going?” he asked. “Right now?”

“Perfect time, wouldn’t you say?” she said, slipping into her shoes.

Joseph shook his head, even more confused than when he had woken to find her half-naked in his room.

“But - but where will you go?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night. Please, I - I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

Lacey smiled, stroking a hand across her belly.

“See?” she said. “A good man. Really not my usual type. I must be getting old.”

“But it’s not safe for you out there,” he insisted. “It’s bloody freezing, for a start, and - and the Rabbit Hole has some unsavoury types.”

She chuckled at that, her grin widening.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Father,” she said. “I have somewhere to go. And something very important to do.”

Joseph closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he began, and opened his eyes before he cut off, blinking in shock. 

The bedroom was empty, the only sign that she had ever been there a drying sheen of fluid on his lower belly and the lingering sense of pleasure still licking at his skin. Lacey was gone, perhaps forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what they had done. How did one go about atoning when one felt no guilt? He ran his hands over his face before throwing back the sheets. Perhaps he could start by writing that sermon. Coffee, prayer, and preparation. That might do it.

It was four days later, when he was settling down by his fire with a book, that he realised he hadn’t drunk a drop of whisky since the night Lacey left.

[calamitynight]

Yatori week 2018 - Remember Me {Day 6}

@yatori-week-2018

Words: 3660

Notes: It’s funny how I got this idea. My friend and I were having a conversation while we were discussing cosplays... She happened to have had a dream about this a long time ago. So I thought it would be perfect to write it into a story.....Time has passed since Hiyori had forgotten about Yato. He was now busy with Yukine trying to become a god of fortune, spending what seemed to be less time with Hiyori. With great fear she would forget about him again, she slowly starts taking his clothes bit by bit. This was her way of remembering him.

It was a hot summer day, one of those whose heat paralyzed people into staying indoors. The sun was blazing above and the guys were laying on the floor in front of the fans. Their bodies showcased them covered in sweat. They whined, groaned and complained about the hellish heat. No matter what they did nothing seemed to calm down the rays shinning from the sky. Hiyori sat in the corner with a fan hitting her as well. She had draped her body onto the table, her face slammed against the cold surface. She had began to spend every waking moment with the boys, but the weather was killing her. What she would give to be in an air conditioned house. Yet as she turned to look at both Yato and Yukine, she feared leaving their side. Yato had managed to pick himself up and throw his face onto the table. He showed an expression of satisfaction towards the cold surface. She watched and took in every detail of his. How long has it been? Weeks maybe...since she's forgotten about them. She didn't want to be reminded of those times. Yato had gone missing for weeks and she hated that in that small amount of time she had managed to forget about them. She wasn't different at all, she couldn't bare to let them know. They twist and turned in aggravation as if any of that was going to make things better. Then to many surprise Yato's cellphone began to ring. He lifted his arm above his head to read the incoming number. He hesitated but soon put the phone over his ear. He pushed himself up from the table, giving it a little smack as he slammed down his hand. In his palm he held his so called scarf, he could no longer bare it wrapped around his neck. He moved slightly to kick Yukine. The face he received was full of anger, irritation and hate. He seemed to have backed up a little from his response. 

"We have a job to do" He said with all of his might.

"Seriously?" Yukine pushed himself off of the floor. "Let's just hope the place has air conditioning" They both stood up from the floor and stretched. "You know you don't have to be here Hiyori"

"Oh, no it's okay"

"That's right! you have a house with great air conditioning. How about we rest there some time" Yato said happily. That was the first smiled he's let out since she's shown up.

"Don't use her for your comfort, Yato"

"It's not just for me you know!"

         Hiyori watched as they argued while they walked away to their new job. Usually she always went with them on jobs, but she couldn't bring herself to do this heat today. She pushed her face off of the flat table top as something caught her eye. It was that vibrant blue color, so hard to miss. She moved her gaze towards the other side of the table. There it was, his bright blue colored rag. He seemed to have left it behind, and she didn't blame him. She sat there for a moment with a knot in her gut. She didn't understand this urge that was suddenly building up inside of her. For some reason she couldn't take her eyes off it, she couldn't get herself to ignore it. She couldn't fight off the feeling, she had to take it.

The next day had arrived, it was just as hot as the last. It was noon when Yato finally realized that his fluffy fluff scarf was missing. He was ravaging through everything in his line of sight. No matter where he looked he couldn't find it. Finally irritated with him, Yukine began to look too.

"Where could it have gone? I left it on the table" Yato questioned. He scratched the top of his head in means to remembering, it was to no avail.

"If you ask me I think good riddance. The thing was atrocious"

"No! I feel naked without it" He began to tear up.

"Maybe Kofuku took it and put it in the wash or something. She probably smelled how much it stunk when you left it behind"

"That's right! I'll go ask her"

"Her and Diakoku left a couple of minutes ago. They couldn't take it in this heat"

"Ahhh! why why why!? I need my scarf!"

"It's only a rag, it's to hot to have it wrapped around anyway. I'm leaving, this is getting annoying"

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Up to see Kazuma" He began to walk away from his crying god. Leaving him behind as he zapped up to Takamagahara.

         Hiyori walked along side her friends without a care in the world. The school was cool from the heat waves outside as they walked down the hallway. School was almost over and she watched as everyone around dreaded leaving the safety of the a.c. unit. She drifted away from their conversation as she always did. She watched outside the tall windows at the poor people forced to be outside right now. She didn't noticed her friends had stopped until she walked right into them.

"Earth to Hiyori" Yama waved her hand in front of her face.

"Hm? What's up"

"Oh nothing, just that you were spacing out again"

"I was afraid you might have one of your narcoleptic events" Ami admitted.

"You know since you're finally back into the conversation" Hiyori nervously laughed at Yama's comment. "What's with the rag tied onto your bag strap?"

"Oh, ah..." She looked down at Yato's scarf. Honestly she didn't know what to say. She had taken it without thinking and tied up to her school bag this morning. "you see..." She couldn't think of an excuse. "My mom has been complaining lately how I don't really clean, yeah! I don't do much chores, so this is a reminder that I have to start once I get home from school" She wanted to smack herself for telling such an awful lie.

"Could it be, has our Hiyori been slacking at home?"

"Uh, yeah..." She couldn't believe it, did they buy into that?

"That's hard to believe" Ami commented. "Why such a bright color?"

"I don't know, I guess something about this color caught my eye"

"Well we should get going back to class before the bell rings"

        Hiyori has never been so thankful that class was almost starting. She looked down at the rag and flushed in embarrassment. Why did she take this in the first place? As they walked away, she calmly untied it from her strapped and put the rag in her bag. As she grabbed it and folded it neatly, she let out a blush. Just one piece of fabric held onto his smell so strongly. It smelled so good to her, she dreaded putting it into her bag. Still she couldn't wait to see Yato again. She walked into Kofuku's house as she always had. She didn't see Yato downstairs and saw Yukine thrown in front of the fan in the corner. That was the one she was using yesterday, she was certain that it worked better than the others. She smiled as it appeared that Yukine had also figured that out. She took off her shoes and jacket, it was getting way too hot to wear it. She should really change into her spring uniform she thought to herself. Yukine appeared to be in some sort of bliss in front of this fan. It looked like he was asleep, but as she sat down he opened his eyes.

"Hey, Hiyori" he said in a low dried voice. He leaned over to grab the glass of water before him. "You really shouldn't come when it's hot like this"

"I want to hang around you guys, I find it better than being by myself" He had stood up and walked over to the kitchen as she spoke. Seconds later he came back with another cup of water. He set it down in front of her and went back to the fan. "You guys can come over to my place, you know"

"That's true, but with Yato being the way he is right now, well....I think that'll have to wait"

"What do you mean?" 

Steps pounded at the wooden floor as they ran down the stairs. Yato stopped at the entrance and turned to Hiyori. She grabbed a hold of her shoulders and looked at her with worried eyes. Tears soon filled them just as quickly.

"I can't find my fluffy fluff scarf" He cried out. "I looked everywhere, I teared our room apart" snot slowly fell from his nose. She turned back at her bag and then at him. "You don't happen to know what happened to it, do you Hiyori?"

"What? No, not at all" Why did she lie? it just came out before she could think of anything else.

"Kofuku has been really busy with the shop, so we haven't had any time to ask her" Yukine sounded irritated.

"Oh that's right, with it getting warmer more people walk by. Then this heat ended up being good for someone" She laughed nervously.

"Yeah, but with more people out that means more phantoms" Yato responded. "And I can't go out without my fluffy fluff scarf. It's my identity, it's who I am!"

"Oh shut up, you've been stalling all day. We have to go work now Yato. I'm sorry Hiyori, I know you just got here, but he's been slacking off for hours" He pulled on Yato's shirt. "Come on, I don't want Lady Bishamon picking up your slack, don't you know she has better things to do"

As she watched them walk away she took out her planner and wrote down her small note of the day. Both of them are sure starting to keep themselves busy. She was happy to see them, even if it was just for a little while, but was it enough? Something had began to feel off, like everyone was heading forward and she was stuck there. She was afraid if she kept moving she would forget again. Hiyori heard movement towards the kitchen and headed over to check it out. Kofuku seemed to be carrying a box out to the shop. She stopped as she noticed her right away and gave her a smile.

"Hey yori" She greeted happily. "Did Yato and Yukine just leave?"

"Yeah, they left just a second ago"

"Well that sucks. I know it's hot in this house, so I made Daikoku order some extra ice cream. I just put it in the fridge for them"

"That's very considerate, I will let them know" She grabbed a hold of the box in her hand, taking it from her. "Let me help you with that"

"Thanks Hiyori, you're always so nice to me"

"Not at all, it's the least I can do"

As she put the box down at its destination, she felt eyes on her. She turned back to meet with a smiling Kofuku. This smile was different than her usual smile, but it's a smile she's seen before. A smile that show cased that she knew something. Something Hiyori didn't want them knowing about.

"I chose to ignore it, but I heard Yato crying about how his scarf went missing" She commented. "You don't know anything about that?"

"No I don't"

"Then that's really strange, that's the first time anything has gone missing from our house. Well it's not like it belongs to us, but still Yato seemed very upset about it"

"I'll to look for it"

"That's very sweet of you, although you might not have to look very far"

"Oh really?"

"Mhmm, well I have to get to work now before Diakoku scolds me again. Thanks for the help, Hiyori" She pranced away without a care in the world.

        Hiyori stood there in disbelief as she held onto her chest. She knew Kofuku was cunning and she always seemed to know everything, but sometimes she truly could appear scary. Hiyori walked up to the attic where Yato and Yukine slept. As she stood at the door she was surprised how Yato really did destroy the room. The futons were thrown around with their sheets and pillows. Their one table was flipped upside down. Yukine's many outfits were thrown around the room. She let out a sigh as she began to clean up his mess. After picking up the beds and the table she proceeded to fold their clothing. She was preoccupied with Yukine's at first, but it didn't take her long to notice the black track suit on the floor. As she began to fold it, she let her hold on it linger. His smell was stronger coming from the jacket. It crinkled in her hands as she pulled it up to her chest. It took her a minute, but she did notice something off from before. Yato wasn't wearing his jacket when he came downstairs. She refused to let go of the track suit. Shaking her head in disbelief at herself she put the jacket down on the table. It was getting hotter by the day and Yato had began to leave his clothes off more and more. Hiyori had originally come upstairs to put his scarf back. She had failed terribly on that afternoon. 

"YUKINE!" Yato yelled out to his regalia. It was early in the morning, and all he wanted to do was beat the life out of his god. "I can't find my jacket" Yukine was amazed at how Yato continued without a care. "I've looked everywhere"

"What do you need that thing for? It's too hot for that" Yukine finally responded with death glare added to his expression.

"I can't find my scarf and now my jacket, what is happening!?"

"Maybe Kofuku  put that in the wash too. The room was clean when we came back yesterday, she must have picked it up"

"Yeah, that's true, but she's too busy for me to ask" He draped himself in defeat. "Wait! if that's true, wouldn't she had washed them together? And why wouldn't she tell me that she's doing it?"

"Look I really don't care Yato...Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Help me find them Yukine!"

It was a lovely Saturday morning, Hiyori was dressed in her comfortable home attire. She was thinking about giving the guys some space, and spending a day alone to herself. She ate breakfast with her parents, as she did ever morning. She walked them out as they left to head to work. The house was quiet and empty. Something about it made her feel a bit uneasy. Yet she sat down on the couch and watched a morning show. She figured this would distract her for the time being, but it didn't do that at all. She walked up the stairs, it sounded so hollow as her feet walked on their wooden floor. It was nice and cool inside, and she wondered how the guys were doing. Shaking her head she got the thought out of it, she was suppose to give them some space. They were working really hard, and she didn't want to get in the way. For some reason that left an aching feeling in her chest. She was afraid that if she didn't see them everyday she would forget, but that was too much of a burden on them, wasn't it? She headed to her bedroom and jumped on her bed. Her room was filled with a strong smell, her favorite smell. She calmly hummed in satisfaction of it, it was a lovely smell that only she could enjoy. Holding the rag tightly in between her fingers, she thought about the trouble she had caused for Yukine. Thinking back at this, she felt even worst for what she had done. He looked so tired and definitely annoyed with having to deal with Yato. What would say if he found out it was all her fault. She grabbed hold of the fabric beside her, it was thinner than she had imagined, and felt more comfortable than she thought it would. She sat down on her bed and used it as a blanket to put over her knees. She played on her phone for a little while, it was early in the morning, to believe she was already this bored. She hugged at it and wondered if she should just go over to Kofuku's house already. She voted against it, Hiyori stood up to go back downstairs. She draped the thing over her shoulders and as she started to slide her arms in, she heard her door creek. It wasn't long after till the door was fully opened and Yukine was staring right at her. With a panic she dropped everything that was in her hands.

"Hiyori-" He averted his eyes to the floor and back at her. "Those are..." He rubbed his head in disbelief and confusion. "Yato's jacket and his scarf, those are really it?" He said questionably. "But what are you doing with them?"

"I can explain!" she yelled out in a panic, exactly how was she suppose to explain this. "I was going to tell Yato, really"

"But why would you?" he picked the jacket and rag from the floor. 

"I-I don't know" he raised his eyebrow at her. 

"It's not like I don't find this weird or anything, but if there's something bothering you, you can talk to us" Hiyori let out a deep sigh and sat back down on her bed. "You know, I came here to escape from Yato, he was driving me insane looking for these"

"I'm so sorry"

"I didn't expect to find them with you, but maybe now he'll stop waking me up so early in the morning for a stupid track suit and wash cloth" now it was him letting out a sigh. "Why did you take them?"

"You two...you're working so hard and I feel like I barely get to see you"

"Has that been bothering you?"

"No! not at all, I'm happy Yato is working so hard...It's just ever since I forgot about you and Yato that one time, well I've been scared that it'll happen again"

"Why didn't you tell us?" his eyes softened as he looked at her. It gave her comfort, but made her feel worse about forgetting them. "That you forgot about us"

"I thought I as different, I always thought I would never forget. There was just no way I would ever forget you two, but I did. So I visit you everyday, but it hasn't been enough"

"What does this have to do with you taking these?"

"So I won't forget-I took them so I wouldn't forget"

        Yukine was shocked, but pulled her into a hug. It wasn't normal for him to do that, and he still blushed from embarrassment as he did, but he felt like she needed it. Yato sat outside of the window, he had planned to have just hoped in like he always did, but he decided against it. He was just as shocked to have heard where his belonging had ended up. He wanted to go in there, but something told him not to interfere. He didn't want to believe that Hiyori had forgotten about him, but he knew he had put too much pressure on her. He wasn't mad and after a while he wasn't upset either. He had bought a new track suit that day with the same color scarf, and he acted as if none of this ever happened. Hiyori had found comfort in his clothing and who was he to judge her for it. In all honestly a part of that fact made him very happy. 

It was almost Sunday afternoon when Yato decided to drop by her house. He walked in as usual without a care in the world. Hiyori's parents were at the hospital for work as always. So he found Yukine sitting on the couch watching t.v.. 

"Yu-ki-ne" He said in his regalias ear. Yukine jumped as he wasn't expecting it.

"Yato" He called his name angrily. "Don't do that, you idiot"

"Did I scare you?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Hehe, I totally did" Yato snickered out as he bullied him. He heard the sound of footsteps coming down from upstairs. He turned around to watch as Hiyori reached the bottom of the stairs. "Hiyori" He said happily. She looked at him confused as he had the blue rag tied around his neck. She was certain she still had it in her room. He walked up to her and smiled. "I could't find my things, so I just bought myself some new ones"

"O-oh" She obviously looked disturbed. "Actually Yato-" she was taken aback as Yato softly landed his hand on her head.

"Shh" He said softly. Her face flushed red as she blushed at him. "I hope whoever or whatever took my things is happy with them" He commented.

"But..."

"I'll work hard, that way everyone will remember me"

"What?"

"I'll work hard for you" He winked at her like he always did. "Don't you forget that" His teeth shined bright as he smiled at her. 

"Yeah" she responded with a nod of her head and a warm smile. "I won't forget"

She didn't question him as to how he found out. Hiyori didn't mind either, as she kept his scarf on her bed side and his jacket hanging by the door. It seemed strange at first to them all, but what a better way to remember him, than to have a piece of him always with her. Her room had become more peaceful and she had become more confident. She wouldn't forget him, she was certain of that, He was her god of fortune after all.

[lickstynine]

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Twenty-One

written with @ocsickficsideblog

~tw death mention~

At this point, Kit was convinced his biological clock was aware of his birthday. He always woke up feeling heavy as wet cement, with a strange hollowness in his chest. The only thing that got him out of bed was Alistair’s prodding, and it took a good bit of bickering to get breakfast into him. He’d actually been doing well with eating lately, and had gotten a good report when he last checked in with the doctor, but today every bite just tasted like sawdust. Alistair knew it was a tough day for him - pretty much the toughest in the year - and sat by him as he ate, cuddling up.

Kit leaned against his cousin, prodding his food with a fork as he searched for the will to take another bite. He went completely still for a moment, then asked, “When are we going?”

“Whenever you’re ready. Now, if you like.”

Kit hastily shook his head. “No, not yet. I need to get ready.”

“As in, get dressed, or like...mentally?”

“Both.” Kit sat back in his chair, pushing his glasses up to rub his hands over his face.

“Yeah,” Alistair sighed. “I get it.”

“What if I can’t do it?”

“Then that’s okay. We can try again soon.”

Kit sighed, shoving his chair back and standing up. “I want to do it. I just… I don’t know.”

“I know,” Alistair sighed. “Trying it seems a start.”

“I feel stupid for being so scared.” Kit said, staring shamefully at the floor.

“Why is that stupid? It’s fucking tough, Kit. You’re doing fine.”

“I feel stupid for waiting so long to see her. And for being scared when I know nothing there is going to hurt me. It's not like… not like Father has ever been bothered to visit her.” Kit shifted where he stood, anxiously twisting his ring.

Alistair drooped. “Poor Auntie… That’s partly why I hated the idea of going for so long. I didn’t want to think of her under a slab of stone. I liked to picture her as a free moving spirit. Watching over you.”

“It's hard, because I know she was too practical to believe in that, so I feel stupid considering it.”

“I don’t see why not. Besides, your mum liked it when we were fanciful. She always encouraged us to play.”

Kit looked up at Alistair, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “You think?”

“Definitely,” Alistair said. “That’s what she’d want to do. You were her baby…”

Kit nodded, though he had to clench his jaw to quiet a sob. He shuffled off to the bedroom to get dressed and cry in peace. Alistair had a quick weep with his head in the wardrobe too, though he felt a bit of an idiot when Isabelle caught him, looking for a belt to borrow.

Kit was still hiding in “his” room, having spaced out sitting on the edge of the bed. He'd stopped crying only because he ran out of tears, and was still making tiny sobbing noises. Alistair eventually went off and found him, once Isabelle told him Kit was crying and the house was full of crying boys and it was worse than an entire flat of PMS-ing girls.

“Kit…”

He startled at the sound of Alistair’s voice, looking properly fearful for a split second. As soon as his focus latched on his cousin’s face, Kit relaxed, hastily swiping at his eyes. “Sorry, I… I’m trying to get ready. Can’t find an outfit.”

Alistair just sat on the bed with him and wrapped his arms around the older boy. Kit slumped against Alistair’s chest, struck with a new wave of dry sobs. Alistair held him tight, stroking Kit’s hair. It was one of the few times he didn’t feel like he needed to fill the space with conversation. They understood the grief in silence.

When he finally settled a bit, Kit opened his mouth. He wanted to say something, talk about what had been weighing on his mind all morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to start. Eventually, he just sat up, sighing and reaching for the shirts he’d laid out: a delicate blue button-up, with a dark navy jumper over the top. The colour scheme was off from his usual, but Alistair recognized it at once.

“Like Alice..?”

“I have a white sweater somewhere in my bag. I couldn’t find it…” Kit didn’t mention that was what had started him crying.

“I don’t have anything white… You could borrow Isabelle’s. I could ask her?”

Kit nodded. “Please.”

“Isabelle!” Alistair called. “Can Kit wear your white sweater?”

Isabelle came to lounge in the doorway, in the process of dragging a brush through her thick hair. “Yeah, sure. Wear what you like, it’s left in there ‘cause I never use it.”

“Do you think it would fit?” Kit fussed.

“Probably. It used to be my sister’s… She was bigger than me.”

He sighed, but nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

She rummaged in her wardrobe, taking out the sweater. She gave the soft wool a stroke, as if it was a pony, before handing it over. Kit forced a smile, but his eyes were still teary. He traded his blue sweater for the white one, settling instead to put navy slacks and a blazer over top.

Alistair’s eyes were wide. He nudged Kit when Isabelle left. “Kit! That was her sister’s!”

“Al!” Kit mimicked the same urgency. “You’ve never told me why that would matter!”

“She’s dead!” Alistair hissed. “Like, kind of recently too. Only just over two years.”

“Gee! I wonder why I didn’t know? Oh wait. It’s because you never tell people these things, like when you realized you’d never told Julie about my mum!” Though Kit’s voice was a hissy whisper, it wasn’t sharp. He was choking up, struggling to even try to sound harsh.

“Don’t, Kit!” Alistair looked upset. “I wasn’t trying to criticise you. I was just thinking she must like you to lend you her sister’s jumper.”

The older boy deflated at once, hanging his head. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’m such a bloody pain,” he sighed. He wrapped his arms around Kit. “I wish she was here too.”

Kit sniffled, pulling a handkerchief from his blazer. “Not your fault.” He mumbled.

“Do you still want to go?”

Kit nodded right away. “I do. I want to go.”

“Good. Me too,” Alistair said. He squeezed Kit gently. “I’m proud of you.”

“Don't get excited yet. I don't trust myself to not fuck this up.”

“I’ll still be proud of you then.”

Kit smiled weakly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not nice. Just honest.”

“Alright, we… we should go. Where did I leave my coat?” Kit asked.

“God knows, but I bet Jules put it on the stand.”

Kit nodded, going to check the stand, where his coats indeed were. He layered them both on over his blazer - it was only getting colder, and he could barely step outside without getting frostbite. Alistair supervised like Kit was his toddler, throwing him a pair of thick thermal gloves like you’d wear for an expedition in the arctic.

“I can’t read my book with these on.” Kit argued.

“You can take them off for that,” Alistair said, rolling his eyes.

“Fine.” Kit was gathering his Alice book, his journal, and his pen into a bag. Alistair grabbed his sketchbook and art pens, not letting Kit see what he’d drawn just yet. The older boy was slow on the stairs, partly because he’d get winded otherwise, and partly because he was still nervous. Alistair reached out and held his hand like they were both little kids again. Kit squeezed it tight, his shoulder nearly touching Alistair’s as they walked.

It was particularly cold that morning, with faint white glitter on everything - it had been frosty overnight, but not properly snowed. The clouds flew across the icy blue sky, carried by a powerful wind that made Kit shiver even through five layers. Alistair had given his own hat to Kit, and was stuck wearing Julius’s pink furry ear muffs, but at least they did their job. He led Kit across town to the graveyard.

As they drew close, the sun was swallowed in grey clouds, cold wind tickling the back of Kit’s neck. He stopped at the gates, rubbing his hands together nervously. Alistair took a deep breath, his nose red. “You still want to do it?”

Kit’s face was grey under the red of his chilled cheeks. He was still for a long moment, but he nodded. Alistair nodded, his hand resting on the stone wall by the entrance. It was clear it took a lot for him to start walking too. The wind shifted a bit, and Kit forced himself inside, the trees and the stones providing some shelter from the harsh weather. Fox had been buried (to her family’s dismay) with the collection of Raycrafts past, under stones so grand Kit could have spied them without his glasses. They passed Victor’s grave on the way to hers, and Kit paused.

“I haven’t thought about Grandfather in ages…”

“I still have that amber elephant he left me in his will somewhere,” Alistair mumbled.

“I'd forgotten about that.” Kit said. “He was actually rather nice, wasn't he?”

“Yeah. A bit posh and that. But he wasn’t cruel.”

Kit nodded. “He used to share his desserts with you…” His face suddenly lit up. “Do you remember the time he grounded our parents in the middle of a party?”

Alistair snorted hard. “Oh my Lord, yes. He sent them to bed and let me and you stay up.”

“I could hear Father stomping around like an angry child all night.” Kit grinned.

“And Mother ranting. They bickered all night,” Alistair laughed.

“And they both blamed each other for weeks.”

“Nothing new there.”

Kit sighed and shook his head, straightening up from where he’d bent to look at his grandfather’s grave. He looked around the towering tombstones. “How many of my middle names do you think are buried here?”

Alistair snorted, a hand over his mouth. “Don’t, I shouldn’t be giggling in a funeral. Why can’t I ever behave right? Remember Great-Aunt Sophia’s funeral when you were about six? I needed to pee all the way through and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.”

“I try to forget that one.” Kit couldn’t help grinning a bit, his eyes flickering around the graves as they walked deeper.

“God, that was actually painful. Felt like the longest service of my life,” Alistair said. He was trying to sound lighthearted too, but he squeezed Kit’s hand tighter. Kit’s hand squeezed his through the glove. They turned a corner in the path, and suddenly the scene was so familiar, Kit’s chest tightened.

A knotted willow perched on the edge of a tiny pond, the bare, stringy branches dancing in the wind. Nestled next to the trunk was a delicately carved granite headstone, the flecks in the rock catching what little light crept through the clouds. The neat letters in the center of the stone were all too legible even from a distance: Sinéad Dáiríne Raycraft. Kit was overwhelmed with emotions, but a flicker of confusion briefly cut through his grief.

“Al… there are fresh flowers up there.”

Alistair frowned. “Maybe they have a card or something. We can see who left them.”

Kit nodded, but he hesitated as he walked forward, as if it might be a baited trap. The wind made him shiver again, and he paused, nerves getting the better of him. Alistair ventured closer instead, though he was tentative as well, squinting curiously at the flowers.

The bouquet was chiefly made of gladiolus blooms in an array of warm hues, soft pink statice and tufts of Queen Anne's lace surrounding them. Wrapped in a shawl of off-white paper, the flowers were held in place by a wide peach ribbon; tucked into the ribbon was a small card, with gold embossing on the thick white paper. Alistair plucked it out tentatively, peering at the swirly writing.

Happy Birthday was inscribed on the front, and everything inside was handwritten with a pen.

45, huh? You’re really getting along now. I’m sure you would still look better than I do. You always did. I’m doing well enough, I suppose. I visit all the time, I just don’t always leave notes. I don’t really know where you are, but I hope Mum is with you, too. You both deserved the best. I think about you every day, even if I don’t show up for a while. I hope you like the flowers.

Love you always, Máire

Alistair read through it in silence, his shoulders slumping with grief. An image of Máire swam into focus; she’d often come to care for him and Kit if Fox was sick. “They’re from Auntie’s sister, Kit.”

The older boy ran up to see at once, reaching out for the letter. Alistair handed it over, and Kit quickly scanned through the words. He tried to keep his voice steady when he spoke. “I… I haven’t heard from Aunt Máire in years…”

“I doubt the family were too friendly to her. We should message her.”

“How would we do that?” Kit asked.

“She’s probably on Facebook. Technology is really wasted on you, Kit. Didn’t you have any awkward teenage years in your bedroom with internet porn?”

“I… no. No, I didn’t. And don’t talk about that stuff in front of Mum!” Kit huffed.

Alistair blushed. “Sorry, Auntie. But I’m sure you’d laugh anyway.”

“I want to sit down, so I can write.” Kit said. He stepped carefully around the grave, sitting by an exposed side of the tree. Alistair sat beside him.

“Are you leaving a letter?”

“I think I will, yeah.” Kit nodded.

“I will too then. To go with my picture.”

“Do I get to see your drawing yet?” Kit asked.

“If you want.” Alistair flipped through his big fancy sketchbook, shyly flashing the page at Kit.

He must have worked on it all night; it was a portrait of Fox, the scene one from Alistair’s memory, though he’d used photographs to capture her features properly. The lines were soft and gentle, like caresses, and the picture had been ever so painstakingly coloured with paints, the watercolours making Fox appear young and rich and vibrant.

Kit looked stricken; he hadn’t seen a picture of his mother since the night he was flicking through photo albums - the night he put on the dress. Tears filled his eyes, but he smiled weakly, reaching a hand out gently for the sketchbook. “Can I hold it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Alistair said, handing it over.

Kit held the book as carefully as he could, swiping his tears away before they could drip on the paper. “It’s beautiful…”

“You think it’s okay? I didn’t have as much time as I wanted.”

“It’s lovely, Al. She would be honoured.” Kit said quietly.

Alistair bit his lip, closing his eyes. “I hope so.”

Kit handed the sketchbook back to his cousin, leaning on Alistair’s shoulder. “Stay close. It’s cold.” He begged, already shivering as he took off his gloves to write.

“We could sit inside the church to write?” Alistair suggested. “Though it’s always freezing too.”

“I… I don’t want to go in the church.” Kit mumbled.

“Okay,” Alistair said, remembering the funeral. “We’ll do it here.”

Kit nodded, trying to steady his pen as it touched the paper. He was still for a moment, but then started to write.

My Beloved Mother,

It’s our birthday already. It feels so long since I’ve seen you. Al made the most gorgeous painting of you, it was absolutely surreal to look at. Seeing your face only makes me miss you more, but I would rather miss you than forget. I wish I could hear your voice again.

Aunt Máire left you flowers. I haven’t seen her in ages. Al said we should try to find her on Facebook. Part of me wants to, but I’m nervous. I haven’t really amounted to much. I don’t want her to be disappointed. I don’t want to disappoint you, either, but I think it’s a bit late for that, sadly.

Kit paused his writing, sniffling and wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. Alistair peered over and looked at his page. “She wouldn’t be disappointed, Kit.”

The older boy instinctively hid the page with his hand, staring sheepishly at the ground.

“Sorry. But she wouldn’t.”

“I know she would still be kind, but… I can’t help thinking she would’ve thought I could do better.” Kit sighed.

“Auntie would be content so long as you were happy. And it’s not as if you’re sixty, is it? There’s plenty of time to do stuff,” Alistair said.

Kit nodded, but he mostly just wanted to end the conversation. “Yeah, I guess.”

Alistair rolled his eyes, going back to his own letter. Kit stared at the page for a bit before going back to writing.

I wonder sometimes where you are, that is, if you are anywhere. It’s confusing, because I know you didn’t really believe in an afterlife, but I can’t help hoping you were wrong. I can’t stand the idea of you being completely gone. Maybe not in Heaven, per se, but some sort of spirit world where you can watch over us. Actually, I don’t know if you’d want to watch me right now. You’d probably just worry. Sorry. The more I write, the more I’m confusing myself. I’ll get back on topic.

I hope wherever you may be, you’re having a good birthday. I’m going to read Alice in a bit. You can join me, if you want. I’ll try to hold the book steady, but I’m shivering pretty badly out here. It’s freezing, literally. I can’t stand the weather this time of year. I’m glad I came to see you anyway, though.

I think I’ll come back when the weather is better. You’re in a lovely spot, you’ve got a pond and a willow tree. It’s on a slight hill, so you can see all around. Yes, I think I’ll definitely come back.

Have a splendid birthday.

Love, Kit

He set the pen down with a sigh. Alistair smiled at him, but his own eyes were full too as he wrote and scribbled little pictures. “I’ll show you mine if you show yours.”

Kit hesitated for a moment, but he eventually lifted his hand from the paper, handing it to Alistair. The younger boy gave Kit his own in return. Kit forced a smile, but he was shaking from more than just the cold as he took his cousin’s letter to read.

Dear Auntie,

Happy birthday, I guess. Seems a bit churlish to say that now, eh? Although maybe you have ghost parties somewhere. That’d be pretty cool. Anyway, it’s the first time I’ve had Kit over at my place for your birthdays. It’s hard to see him sad, of course, but I’m glad I can be with him. I get worried when he’s on his own. I bet there was a time when you did too, right?

He’d drawn a picture of himself panicking when Kit was just in the other room.

It’s a nice spot here. I bet there’s foxes at night. I’ve tried to come here twice before, but I was always alone and I couldn’t. I suppose I was scared about what I’d find. If you were hovering above, I bet you shook your head and gave me that fond, exasperated smile. Like you used to.

He’d scribbled himself and Kit as kids here, Kit very neat and placid, Alistair roly-poly and dirty, his hair tousled.

I don’t have any blooming money for anything, so I had to draw you a picture for your birthday. It was kind of short notice, but I hope you like it anyway. I miss you. It’s a bit too real, seeing that headstone, the turf. Maybe up until now I could just about kid myself you were on a very long exotic holiday or something. Or went to live up north somewhere, maybe back home in Ireland.

The handwriting grew even worse in the last paragraph.

I’m making myself cry and I don’t want to cry, not when poor Kit is holding it together. I know I’m supposed to be celebrating your life and everything that people say, but it’s not fair. You deserved more life.

Alright, I’d better shut up now - Kit says I babble. But I’ll come back, with Kit too if he wants, and I’ll leave more letters. I won’t leave you lying alone with all these stuffy assholes anymore. I love you.

All my love, Alistair x

Kit sat quietly for a while after he finished. He felt stupid sobbing now that Alistair had said he was staying calm, but the swelling grief in his chest made him want to wail. Eventually he swallowed down the scream building in his throat. “What… what does the X at the end mean?”

“It’s a kiss. You put them on the end of messages,” Alistair said quietly.

“Oh… that makes sense.” Kit actually smiled a little, but his lower lip was wobbling. “Do… do you want to give her our letters now, or… or when we leave?”

“We may as well give them now. I brought those plastic sleeve thingies that go in binders, so they won’t get wet if it rains.”

Kit smiled properly at that. “Really? I would never have thought of that…”

“Leave it to the artist,” Alistair joked, grinning. He handed Kit a plastic sleeve, and slipped his picture and his letter into two separate ones. Kit fumbled for a minute, his fingers half numb from the cold. Eventually, though, he slipped the paper into his own sleeve, setting it carefully by the headstone. Alistair put his beside Kit’s, weighing them down with a few rocks from the footpath.

Kit walked back to sit by the tree, reaching into his bag for his book. He was shivering pretty badly by now, but had no intention of leaving yet. Alistair was looking worried. He took his coat off and wrapped it around Kit. The older boy frowned.

“Al, don’t. You still need that.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got my jumper on,” Alistair said. He was cold, but he’d rather Kit be warm.

Kit sighed. “But… we still… I…” He gave up, unable to argue when he was so cold and miserable. “Stay close to me.”

Alistair cuddled up against Kit, positioning himself like he once had when Kit read to him as a kid. Kit held the book where his cousin could read, but he couldn’t bring himself to read aloud. His hands were shaking as he flipped to the first page, and he had to grip the book firmly to keep from dropping it. As he continued to read, he slumped down the tree, sniffling and fumbling through the pages. It took all of his self-control to keep reading, and at this point he was really just skimming. Tears flooded his cheeks and he didn’t bother to wipe them away, letting the bitter drops collect on his scarf.

Kit was in too much of a mournful stupor to notice, but Alistair had seen the light gradually fading, and he frowned when a white fleck landed on his cheek. Snowflakes drifted gently between the bare branches of the willow, landing in Kit’s hair and lashes. He had stopped turning the pages of his book, just staring blankly at an inky illustration as a delicate layer of frost accumulated on the page.

“We should go, Kit,” Alistair said quietly. “You’re starting to look like the Little Match Girl.”

“I don’t want to leave.” Kit mumbled. He’d drifted off into thought a while back, and now he dared to voice it. “What if she is watching, but she’s tethered here? What if she thinks I haven’t been bothered to visit till now?”

“She’ll understand,” Alistair said. “She’s seen you here now.”

“But I waited so long. What if she waited for ages and stopped watching?” Kit’s voice was wobbling as he tried not to wail.

Alistair put an arm around Kit. He couldn’t feel his own fingers and toes. “She wouldn’t ever give up on you.”

Kit leaned into Alistair, suddenly letting out a proper sob. “Why would she keep caring when even I don’t?”

“You do,” Alistair said, his voice wobbling too. “That’s why you’re here right now.” He hugged Kit tight, looking up through the flurries of snow in a sudden mad hope that his aunt might manifest herself. Kit let his book fall to his lap, clinging to Alistair as he continued to cry. He was shivering again, even with his cousin’s jacket over all of his, and his nose and cheeks were as red as his hair.

“We should go, Kit. You’re going to freeze. We can come back as often as you want.”

Kit didn’t argue, despite how much he didn’t want to leave. He allowed Alistair to pack up his book and writing things and pull him to his feet. For the first few paces, he walked obediently, but he paused in front of Fox’s grave when a fresh wave of guilt hit him.

“I’m sorry…” Kit mumbled, kneeling down in the frosted grass. “I’m sorry I didn’t come more often. I’m sorry I let you go so soon. I’m sorry I’m not the son you wanted…” That seemed like the crux of his rambling, and Alistair was ready to drag Kit on out of the graveyard when the silence was broken by a wretched sob.

“I’m sorry I kept you trapped with him!”

“It wasn’t your fault, Kit,” Alistair said, weeping too. “She loved you.””

“She didn’t deserve it. I wasn’t worth it. She could’ve had a life without me, Al…” Kit was hunched over, practically hugging the tombstone as snow gathered on his shaking shoulders.

“You were her life. She was stuck with him when she married him, you weren’t to blame, Kit,” Alistair said, going to put a hand on Kit’s back. “You were a kid.”

Kit shook his head, shriveling under his cousin’s touch. “But she could’ve left if she didn’t have me. She should’ve just left me with him, like… like I deserved.”

“She’d never do that. You’re worth better than that, Kit! If she was alive, she’d be telling you this too.”

“It’s my fault she’s not alive!” Kit sobbed. “She wasted all of her energy caring for me instead of taking care of herself.”

“Oh come on, you were never any trouble! If we’re going by that logic, I probably killed her more than you,” Alistair said.

Kit might’ve laughed on a better day, but he just sobbed harder. “Don’t say that!”

“Neither of us killed her, Kit! She died, and it’s really fucking horrible and bloody unfair, but it’s not your fault,” Alistair said, holding Kit’s shoulders. The older boy clung to the tombstone, sniffling quietly. It took a long time for him to settle enough to speak again.

“I… I don’t want to leave… to leave her again…” Kit mumbled.

“We can't stay here, Kit. Not tonight. It’s freezing.”

“You can go, then. I can’t.” Kit shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you here to freeze to death. Kit, please, you’re shaking already,” Alistair begged. “You can’t really stay with Auntie. She’s not here, Kit. That’s just her headstone…” He was sobbing too, the tears freezing on his face.

“That’s all I have!” Kit wailed, but his grip on the granite loosened in defeat. Alistair fell to his knees beside Kit in the settling snow, wrapping his cousin in his arms.

“Don’t you have pictures?”

“I… I did. At home. I don’t… I haven’t looked at them… in… in a while.” Kit realized that sounded stupid without context, but he didn’t have the energy, physical or emotional, to elaborate.

“You can hold onto those, can’t you?”

“I suppose, yeah… But they’re… they’re not at your house. They’re at Father’s.” Kit sighed, letting go of the tombstone to cling to Alistair instead. He was barely even shivering anymore, but he was freezing to the touch.

“Fuck, we need to get you inside… Where’s your phone, let me call Taddy…” Alistair sent him a text, his frozen fingers moving laboriously. “And I have a little handful of photos. Only about four or five. Will that do?”

Kit nodded meekly. “You.. you never told me you had pictures.”

“I thought you might be mad. I pinched them out the photo albums when I was little.”

Kit sniffled, actually managing a laugh at that. “I wouldn’t be mad…”

“You can have them if you like. If you don’t want to go back to your father’s place,” Alistair offered.

“No, they… they’re yours.” Kit argued. “I just want to see them.” There was less conviction in his voice now; he didn’t sound desperate, just sad and tired.

Alistair nodded, picking Kit up when he spotted Taddy’s car. “Come on, you’re frozen.”

“You’re warm.” Kit nodded, leaning on his cousin. Alistair was still warmer than him, despite having four less layers on. Taddy waved in greeting as the boys approached, getting out to open the door for them.

“Afternoon, sirs. It’s a bit cold to be out, but I do have the heater on.”

“Thank Christ,” Alistair mumbled, pulling Kit inside and slamming the door. He quickly pulled Kit’s gloves off, rubbing his pale hands between his own. “I can’t feel my fingers and toes…”

“Sorry…” Kit sighed, sinking back in the heated leather seat. He was vaguely aware of the melting snowflakes dampening his hair, but didn’t have the energy to complain.

“Back to your place, then?” Taddy asked Alistair.

“Yes please. I’ll toss you in the bath, Kit,” Alistair said. “Heating the water up slowly. I know what to do, we were taught that in first aid.”

Taddy nodded and drove off down the slick grey road, but Kit whined at his cousin. “I don’t want a bath. I want to sleep.”

“You’re cold! Look, you can doze in the bath while it’s happening. I used to do that when I got a bath before school. Almost bloody overslept all the time.”

“Blankets are warm. I want to go to bed.” Kit pouted.

“You will. Eventually. Look, you might need those fingers and toes some day,” Alistair said.

“Don’t want them. Want to nap.” Kit said, drooping sideways across Alistair’s lap. Taddy snorted from the front seat.

Alistair rolled his eyes, but he was grinning too. He stroked Kit’s damp hair. “We’re soaked…”

“How long were you two outside?” Taddy asked.

“A few hours…”

Taddy looked horrified. “What on earth for?”

“It’s our birthday…” Kit mumbled into Alistair’s legs.

“He wanted to stay,” Alistair said quietly.

“I see.” Taddy shook his head quietly. While he understood the boys’ logic to an extent, he still didn’t think anyone should be sitting out in the snow longer than necessary. He didn’t lecture them, though; he knew it was a rough day. When they reached the block of flats, Taddy pulled up as close to the door as he could. “You two go inside and get properly warm.”

“Thanks, Taddy,” Alistair said, picking Kit up again.

“Of course. Have a good night, sirs.”

[headfirstintothefallout-blog]

Episode One

Enter; Headfirst, into the Fallout!

[An introductory episode setting the story for our sole survivor.]

    There’s something to be said about the symphony of unbridled rage and fear that sprouts from within the soul as your stomach doubles over and knots itself, blood filling your ears with a cacophony of hissing static, throat clenching like a vice as your vision starts to become spotted. An onslaught of memories clamoring to be at the forefront of your mind as if they had missed their cue when the symphony started and were now trying to steal the limelight of the stage as you try in desperation to piece together each specific part of the events that had already unfolded, recording everything in detail to tell if you were blind to it all or if you could never have known, to begin with. Everything else seems to slow down to an insufferable pace, nearly taunting as the world snaps into sharper focus. Questions brandishing torches and burning down the curtains of the theater and setting your mind ablaze with shrieks of anguish and terror, demanding recompense by way of answers but fearing what they may hear as a result. Nails biting into the flesh of your palm, the body’s way of bringing the mind out of itself, the digging pain nearly a comfort; sending a rigid chill throughout your bloodstream and with it, an electricity that threatens to strike down any who stand before you. Copper on the tongue, a bitter taste that drags acknowledgment out of its preoccupied state, the rage has set into a growing crescendo through clenched teeth.      I wish I could say I wasn’t familiar with this song, but truth be told, it was one I had sung many times in my life before. Even now, as my fists slammed against the glass of the cryo-chamber I had been encased in; staring towards the slumped over figure in the pod across from mine, I found the song tearing through me. A scream erupted from my throat but cracked half way through from lack of use, hot tears threatened to fall freely from my eyes but the anger welling inside pushed them back with reminders that there may be hope yet. The lid clicked and I scrambled against it, trying to speed up the process. Panic had me fumbling and as the lid lifted, I fell through and collapsed on the ground in a heap. The pain hardly registered with me, my body was too cold and my heart was beating wildly against my ribcage, urging me forward. My breaths came through in ragged intervals as my eyes flicked up towards Nate’s pod.    Gods....please let him be okay.    A violent cough sputtered its way out of my mouth and I hissed, clenching my eyes shut as I half crawled toward the pod. My shaking hands clambering for a button, a switch, something! There had to be something, some way to open up the damn pod...I bit my lip and slowly rose to my feet, slamming a fist against the controls. I gripped the edge of it, tears threatening once again as I dared to steal a glance at Nate. He hadn’t moved. Hope was dwindling like the dying remnants of a fire.        Fire...memories flashed in my mind of a campfire, the smell of burning wood wafting upwards and with it, floating embers that illuminated the air within the trailing smoke. Nate’s wide grin and bright eyes as he laughed, the sound sparking a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the fire. “Oh come on, that can’t be your biggest fear. You, Miss headstrong soldier girl who isn’t even afraid to look death in the eye, are afraid of a gurgling, giggling, drooling, baby?”     My cheeks flushed red and I cast my vision elsewhere, my hand resting on my swelling belly as a wry smirk tugged at the corner of my lips ever so slightly. “I’m not afraid of the kid, or even the idea of having a kid....it’s more like...I’m afraid I can’t be a good mother. You know? I’m afraid that I won’t be able to love him like I should or care for him like a mom should or....protect him.”    Nate’s hand found my chin and lightly guided my face to meet his attention, his thumb rubbing my cheek gently as he stared at me with a soft smile. “You’re going to be a great mother. I know you are. You are going to love him because he is the embodiment of us, our love.” He shrugged playfully and dropped his hand, tilting his head up with a cocky grin. “I mean, you’ll probably freak out the first time he gets sick or falls over or something and we should probably get one of those Mr. Handy’s just so that you aren’t smothering the poor kid...but,”     He paused and drew his full attention back to me, his smile faded and his eyes genuine. “He will be resilient because he has your blood too. And for those times when you freak out or worry that you’re doing something wrong, you’ll have me there. I can protect you from yourself, just like I always have and you’ll protect us from everything else....but no matter what, we will do it together, because we are a team. We are a family. Always.”     A guttural sound escaped from inside me and I pounded my fist against the glass, hoping that maybe Nate would wake up and tell me that we were going to find who did this, that we were going to get Shaun back...together...that we were going to be a family again.     He didn’t move.    Tears started to fall but my mind refused to think about the what-ifs. I looked back at the controls, my eyes spotting a lever. I nearly tripped over myself as I pulled it, the sound of the Cryopod mechanics clicking their release drew out a breath I wasn’t aware I had been holding.      “Come on....C'mon, c’mon, c’mon....don’t you be dead, damn it.” My words were barely even a whisper as the lid slowly rose.      I rushed forward, a hand immediately going to Nate’s cheek as my vision blurred with more tears that I rapidly blinked away. “Nate? Nate, c’mon....don’t do this to me....don’t leave me here alone...Nate? Open your eyes, come on, open your eyes, I’m right here....I’m right here...please? Nate!” My voice shuddered and I shook him but he was limp with no signs of life. “No....no, no, no, no!”     I was screaming, I didn’t care who heard me, I didn’t care if that man came back, in fact...I wished he would, I wished he would so that I could kill him myself for taking the only things I had left in the world. My hand slipped from Nate’s face and clenched on to the stiff fabric of the vault suit he wore. I couldn’t stop the grotesque shrieks that emanated from me as I sobbed into his neck, hoping beyond hope that he would rest a hand on the back of my head and smooth my hair comfortingly.     But I knew better, I had seen people die before, I was in the war...I knew from the start that he was likely dead...but I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted so desperately to hear him laugh and call me silly because I was crying.    But he wouldn’t, he wasn’t going to, he was never going to do that again...I knew that. And sobbing into his lifeless shell wasn’t going to change that.     My hands loosened and I sluggishly stepped away from his body, tears still falling as I caught my breath. A gold glint caught my eye and drew my attention to his hand.    His wedding ring...    My throat clenched and nausea threatened to make a sudden appearance, my hand reached out to his without me realizing it and I slipped the ring from off his finger with some effort. I stared at it in the palm of my hand, remembering our wedding, the day I gave birth to Shaun, every date we went on before all that, the plans we made for Halloween, every breakdown I had that he consoled me through from PTSD and nightmares, the day that we came to the vault...the moment just as it was descending after passing all out neighbors who were shrieking and begging to be let into the vault....and then, the moment when the bomb fell. The wave that washed over us... Comforting Shaun before getting into the pod, smiling nervously at Nate, hoping that we’d somehow be able to make it through all this together...    I clenched my hand into a fist around it held it close to my heart as I looked up at his lifeless corpse, “I'll find who did this. And I'll get Shaun back. I promise."     Getting out of the vault proved to be a bit more of a task than getting into it, passing pods of long-dead neighbors and fighting off huge mutant cockroaches with a security baton and later, a 10mm pistol. There were moments where I was certain that I was going to start losing it, seeing skeletal remains of the workers and reading the logs on the terminals to try and gain some bearing...nothing quite made sense to me but it was clear that a lot of time had passed since we had first come here...that thought alone made me sick from unanswered questions and worry. Evidentally, we were never meant to live in the vault. We were meant to be part of some sick experiment. The reasoning was unclear but the thought alone made that song of anger start to hum in the back of my mind. I could find no trace of the man who killed Nate and took my son, I had no leads as I kept searching within the vault, somehow calm despite all that had happened.    Having nowhere else to turn, I made my way out of the vault, securing a pip-boy off a lone skeleton near the entrance that I had come through, what felt like maybe a few minutes or even hours earlier. It seemed to come in handy as I used to open the entrance, given the unknown state of the world, I figured I should keep the pip-boy permanently, in order to at least record anything I found and keep track of things while I hunt down whoever did this. I found myself rubbing Nate’s ring in my pocket as the vault platform slowly rose and I braced myself for whatever waited on the surface above. My anger present but dwindling into a controlled fire inside me.    It seemed like an eternity before I could finally see the surface again, the light was blinding and took me a few moments to adjust. Whatever I had been expecting, it could never have prepared me for what I saw. You never really think of the prospect of what the world will look like after a nuclear explosion. The trees, what were left of them, were charred or broken, their colorful leaves long since gone. The ground little more than a desert in comparison to what it used to be... and...Sanctuary. Houses lay in ruins or half collapsed into themselves, some proved to be still standing but as I looked out at it, a sick feeling twisted itself into my stomach.      I couldn’t go back there, not yet...I couldn’t go back to my home and face all the reminders that I had somehow failed to keep my family safe. The odds of Shaun just being at the house were astronomical given that I saw him be carted off by some woman and that man...they had come into the vault on purpose sure, but if they were smart enough to kill Nate in order to take Shaun, surely they were smart enough to leave the area entirely. No, I needed answers...and I wasn’t sure where to look, but I wasn’t quite ready to go back there just yet. U didn’t need to put myself through more of that pain. I had to keep it together, keep going, I had to...do...something! Anything! Anything other than pour over my failures and lament in my sorrow, thereby getting nothing accomplished aside from the world’s most pathetic pity party. There was an odd static coming in from the pip-boy that now adorned my wrist. A signal.    

   For a moment, I half debated even trying to tune into the frequency, but curiosity got the better of me...I would need to know the state of the world I was left in and maybe, just maybe, if I looked around, helped some people, I’d get some answers....at the very least, it was better then sitting in the shell of a home that promised little more than more heartbreak. I would return to Sanctuary someday, but that day was not today. 

                                         To Be Continued [A note: the upcoming stories of our Sole Survivor; Kaeshara Crowe, will deviate from the main storyline for a series of episodes. It should be noted that I am basing this off of one of my playthroughs with one of my oc’s...In which I have the mods ‘Tales from the Commonwealth’ and ‘Wild Wastelands’ along with a few others but those two will alter the storyline for Miss Crowe quite a bit. Companions will also be featured in the episodes to come and as this one was more of an introductory, expect much more in-depth episodes that dive into emotions, thoughts, actions, etc. in the future]

[silvensei]

His brother’s fingers drummed against his palm, and his brother’s palm ran over his neck as his head rolled. “Hooo boy!” his brother’s voice proclaimed. That was the giveaway: the intonation, the tone, was all wrong.

Read it up there on AO3 or right under the cut, or check out more on the AU on @silvervictory​‘s page!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

That’s not him.

That’s not Shigeo.

He was sure he stopped breathing then.

Horrified, Ritsu stared at the being in front of him. Every instinct told him to run, hide, get out of there as fast as he can, but he couldn’t even blink if he wanted to. His stomach a hopeless bunch of knots, a cold sweat prickling his neck, Ritsu stood frozen to the pavement before something disturbingly unnatural.

His brother’s fingers drummed against his palm, and his brother’s palm ran over his neck as his head rolled. “Hooo boy!” his brother’s voice proclaimed. That was the giveaway: the intonation, the tone, was all wrong.

“Isn’t this a development!” the not-Mob continued, beginning to hop lightly on the balls of his feet. The smirk was still present on his brother’s face. “I feel…. Period! I feel! Thank God for that!” It laughed, too loudly and too long. “What a time to be alive, right, Ritsu?”

The foreign cadence behind his name broke his trance. “Wh—” Ritsu’s voice caught. For a moment, he focused only on his pulse pounding in his ears. “You’re not my brother,” was all he managed.

His brother’s eyes narrowed with his grin. “You don’t know that,” it said simply, red eyes shining as it mocked him.

Ritsu tried his best to ignore that. The vigor to his voice was returning, painstakingly slowly. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, you don’t remember me?” it complained, feigning hurt. His brother’s arms crossed, fingers continuing to tap against his sleeve. “It couldn’t’ve been that long ago. And you never did thank me for getting your New Year’s money back, you know.”

The money. The students. The accident. Ritsu was going to throw up.

“Ah, there it is; see, you do remember me!”

This time, though…. It wasn’t a void of energy. It looked too much like…. “What are you?” Ritsu pleaded.

For a while, it just smirked. If he wasn’t already uncomfortable, Shigeo smiling like that for so long would’ve done it.

“‘What,’ you say?” it relented, finally, finally looking away at something other than the disturbed teen. “Hmm. A bit of everything, I suppose. It depends. I think now, I’m feeling like I’m….” His brother’s hand curled into a loose fist. They watched it tighten until Ritsu could see it shake from feet away.

“Animosity,” it declared, stretching out the word as if seeing how it sounded on his tongue. “Animosity. But put simply—” their eyes met again, “—I’m a god.”

“Wha— My brother…a god?”

“No, not him.” His brother’s head tilted back, it looking down his nose at him in an even more pretentious stance. “Me.”

Ritsu stared. This…entity, this self-proclaimed divine being, distinguished itself as being separate from Shigeo, and yet it took the liberty of posing his body against his will like it was expecting praise?

Ritsu could be scared later.

“You? A god?” In a sudden rush of fury, he grabbed a fistful of its stolen uniform, pulling his brother out of that pose. “Not one that I’ll ever acknowledge, you can be damn sure about that! You think you can possess some poor kid, use your power to hurt and destroy, and then hide away behind an unwilling scapegoat? What kind of god is that?! Not one that deserves its powers, I’ll give you that! Shigeo’s a better god than you’ll ever be!” He heard the snap of psychic static throw something behind him, seeping through his control from his seething anger. He focused on his brother’s eyes, trying to look past them at whatever perched there, and growled, “Get the fuck out of him.”

At last, that smirk disappeared, only to be replaced all too quickly with a scowl. Ritsu felt the pressure change and let go, an instant before it was engulfed in black. Pure energy crackled and roared, devoid of the light keeping his brother in view, letting the thing inside him to the forefront. It’s blinding white eyes narrowed.

You want to try that again?

Even though it didn’t speak, Ritsu understood. It was reminding him. The focus of his nightmares since childhood. Adrenaline immediately running dry, he stood frozen to the spot, the realization that his newfound psychic powers still wouldn’t be enough to protect him dashing his bravado.

Ritsu swallowed. He didn’t reply.

The figure glared at him a few seconds more before the darkness dissipated, color melting into view as his brother’s hair settled down into a more ruffled version of its usual form. A couple of masses thumped onto the ground around them, reminding him of the unconscious delinquents still lying about. Briefly, the younger hoped it would actually be his brother there.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” it said as if it were holding back from ripping him apart. It crossed its arms again, fists gripping the fabric of his brother’s sleeves this time. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know, kid.”

Oh, Ritsu didn’t like this one bit. He knew he was nothing compared to Mob, but this—this apparent deity—put Mob to shame. His instincts pleaded with him now to escape and never have to face it again, but he knew for a fact that he would never forgive himself if he did. Even though he was afraid—and shit, was he scared—someone had to do something while Mob was… Mob was….

Not-Mob—this Animosity—sighed vociferously; Ritsu realized they had been glaring at each other during his inner debate. “This is going nowhere,” it grumbled. It threw its arms open. “Hey, ‘kay, I look like Shigeo now. Better?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he hissed. “Why don’t you actually bring Shigeo back now? Where is he?”

His brother’s arms swung down as it rolled its eyes. “God, I don’t know, he just didn’t want to come back, alright?”

“Didn’t want to?” A twinge of panic. “What did you do to him?”

“Kid, stop antagonizing me all the time!” It pinched the bridge of its nose, rubbing under its dark eyes. Was Mob that tired an hour ago? “Look, he’s fine. He’s here. He’s just not on the surface. All of this probably seems like a dream to him right now, and for some reason, he doesn’t want to wake up. Whenever he does decide to spare me from your whining, I’ll be gone.”

“Why can’t you get lost now?”

“Do you really want your brother in a coma?”

Ritsu paused. No, he didn’t want that, but was it really worse than having this asshole of an entity in control? It could cause trouble, but conversely, with the right precautions, it might not, while Mob being in a coma definitely would be an issue….

He sighed. He couldn’t do this alone, at the very least. “If Shigeo has to come back on his own, then we can’t help him if he’s comatose,” he begrudgingly concluded. It started to smirk in victory before Ritsu added, “But if he can wake up whenever, you’re going to continue doing everything he normally does so our family doesn’t catch on.”

The frown was back. “Why the hell would I do that?” it demanded.

“It’s what Shigeo would do,” Ritsu stated, hoping his voice sounded authoritative, or at least steady. “Starting with his shift at Reigen’s office.”

It was going to retort, but it stopped and considered the statement. A smile, smaller this time, twisted his brother’s lips. “Yeah…,” it mused. “Yeah, alright, then. I’ll go pay this Arataka Reigen a visit.”

A new presence made itself known at that point, something they both felt before they saw. Over his brother’s shoulder, Ritsu saw a wisp of bright green whip around the corner toward them. “Oi, what’s up with you two?” Dimple shouted. “You should be at Reigen’s, but instead you’re loitering in the middle of—”

His brother’s body turned. The ghost blanched. A curse was barely out of his lips before he spun on a dime and darted out of Dodge without hesitation. It wasn’t fast enough; he shot back and into its outstretched hand, enveloped in a constricting aura.

“Well, hey there, bucko!” it exclaimed with false glee, eyes open a touch too wide. “Never really got the time to talk, you and I, even though you’ve been by to visit oh so many times. It’s like you think you live here!”

Its hand closed, squeezing its prey more and more like it was trying to pop a balloon. “Except you don’t.” His brother’s voice was low and distorted. “And nobody. Uses my vessel. But me. Got it?”

Dimple squeaked in agreement. Ritsu never thought he would see such a look of pure dread on that ugly face.

Its grip tightened again. “You can drop the whole ‘god’ complex, too. Shigeo doesn’t need that when he’s got me around.”

It let go, watching him immediately disappear behind Ritsu. It’s eyes—Shigeo’s eyes—were dangerous.

That smirk was back as it cracked his brother’s knuckles and walked past them. “Come, then, brother, pal. It seems I’m late for work.”

They watched him walk. For all intents and purposes, from behind, they could almost believe it was Mob in those shoes. For just a moment.

Then its foot hit a particularly heavy chunk of rubble, and the profanity coming out of Mob’s mouth would’ve made him faint.

Dimple laid a hand on Ritsu’s shoulder. “God help us all.”

For once, Ritsu couldn’t agree more.

[what-in-the-diddlyfuck]

Draft of a story that I probably won't get started number 1

Do you ever just feel like everything is wrong in your life and nothing else you do will make everything feel right or okay again? I didn't expect everything to be this horrible. I mean, come on I'm only 18. I guess I still have up to 61 to 63 or so years ahead of me if statistics are to be believed. That and if I actually lived healthy. Could you just imagine, me, a relatively young girl, would be leaving this planet a little too early? It's funny. I haven't even had time to find a boyfriend, or have my first kiss, or ride a car, or find out Victoria's Secret. There's still a lot of possibilities to be explored, things to be done, life to be lived.

But alas, I've had enough. You would think I had a rather easy life, well, then yeah I guess I would expect that too. I mean except for the fact that my father oftentimes beats me senseless whenever he's drunk, the fact that my general appearance warrants me the label of "weak" which would pave the way to "bully this poor fucker because come on she's weak", and that I have no mother to support me or any sisters or brothers to be by my side and hopefully protect me, then yes, i would say that I have a pretty easy life.

I know what you're thinking. Why not just run away, live somewhere. Anywhere. But that's the thing. I can't run away. In a literal sense, I am asthmatic, so any running would immediately make me keel over gasping for air that I can never ever have. Figuratively, I am afraid of going anywhere. Kind of a stupid reason, I know. You would expect that I'd be a total rebel because of the previous shits I had to endure, but no. It actually made me more scared to go anywhere, fearing that my appearance as a small, innocent (very farfetched), and defenseless little girl would open my very being to much more horrible experiences compared to being used as a punching bag.

With those out of the way, one option is very clear to me now. Yep. The coward's way out. To be fair, I've been thinking of killing myself for quite some time now, ever since the accident that took my mother away which in turn made my father to the monster he is currently, but surprisingly I haven't had the nerve to try it yet. I guess it's the fact that I'd never try it again if I might suddenly like the experience. But I guess I was, again, scared of doing it. I'm a scaredy cat if it isn't all that apparent now. Killing myself right now would instantly mean no experiencing love, riding a car, going to new places, meeting new and genuinely good people, trying new things, and just living a wonderful life without all of this things I am currently going through weighing me down. I had this vision of me, an angel, being reborn with wings half my size to take me the fuck out of here, but I guess I was having a one way express trip to below. Or I don't know really. The concept of heaven and hell seems to odd for me. Be good and you go up. Be bad and you'll go down. Well what about the boring ones who don't have any necessary contributions to the planet even after their death? Where do they go? The Purgatory?

Alright, contemplating the constructs of religion aside, let's do this. Now. I've been thinking about it, and I came up with these options. One, I use that old rope I found in the dump last week to hang myself like a piñata (and hope my father doesn't bring a baseball bat to crack my ribs open and feast on my entrails, that monster) but of course I still have no idea where to hang this and if my knot tying would be sufficient to hold my entire body off the ground long enough for air to not get to my lungs. Two is and overdose of seemingly expired antibiotics I found left alone in the refrigirator. And three would be me slicing my wrists open to hopefully cut up one of the veins inside and let me bleed to death. Plus I honestly kind of want to see the insides of my wrists. See where the bones are.

Let's see. I might have a slight problem with the whole hanging thing. If you happen to see me, well you'd actually wonder if my father fucked a tree or something because I am pretty tall, taller than my father in fact. I could have used that in my advantage, but let's be real here we're humans not animals. Size doesn't intimidate in the human world unfortunately. Problem is, our house isn't exactly a mansion, so the ceiling here does not reach to the heavens. It's not like I live in the attic though. It's just that my height would ensure that I can still touch the ground when I hang myself, and that would look pretty stupid. I mean come on, imagine, me, hanging there wanting death to embrace me, and it would just look like I'm doing a mock representation of a real life Hangman. My father would have laughed his head off. Well then. Hanging is out, which leaves either an overdose or live dissection. I can't decide damn it. A dissection could work, but I don't have anything sharp around here. Even I know the knife in the kitchen couldn't halve a tomato even if I tried to sharpen it. Well then. there goes my plan of studying the human anatomy. What a miss. I guess I have no other choice.

I get up from my bed and get the carton from my table across the room. I twirl it around, reading the name of the drug. Duragesic. Fentanyl, a type of opioid, one of the common substances abused by people who have nothing else to do or to lose. I slowly open it, looking at the contents. For a few minutes, I continue to stare at the white tablets. Do I really want to do this? Of course you do. But am I ready for the consequences? Oh so don't tell me you like being spanked. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You know what I mean .No I do not want to get beaten up by my father screw you. Stop it please. I place the bottle back on the table and hold my head. Thinking hurts so much. I wish I could turn this off. Come on Liz. Breathe. In and out, just like Mom taught you. Count to ten. to twenty. A hundred. There you go. I pick up the bottle again. I guess I do have nothing to lose, huh. I tip the bottle in my open palm, the contents spilling out. A handful. Is this enough? God, I hope so. I don't want to get woken up by that pig. I walk back to my bed, getting the bottle of water from the bedside table. Now or never. I place the tablets in my mouth, making the handful fit in my cheeks. I drink some of the water, feeling some of the tablets slide down my throat. I stop drinking and forcefully gulp the remaining ones down my stomach and empty the bottle of water.

I immediately feel weird. Drowsy. I lie down, with a smile on my face, I realized I haven't written any goodbye letters to anyone. But who gives a shit to Freaky Lizzy who lost her mother at a young age and is now stuck with an insecure father who doesn't give a damn about his remaining daughter woop woop. I am now free you little shits. Finally. Now no one can hurt me anymore. I am free.

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

"Hey."

"Psst. Are you dead?"

"Hellooo?"

Who is that? Am I in heaven? No that voice sounds annoying, this must be hell. Great. I hope the place isn't filled with the smoke coming from charred sinners because my asthma will act up. I don't smell anything though. Am I in heaven? Screw it. I open my eyes, and I really want to scream. I can't move, but I recognize that dull gray ceiling with that irremovable red stain that I previously thought as blood as my ceiling. What the fuck? Don't tell me the afterlife takes on the form of where you last died because come on that's just stupid. What time is it? The ceiling light is open, so based on common sense, yes it is night time. I can feel my muscles now. I move my fingers slowly, removing the numbness out of it. I slowly try to sit upright, my back aching from the movement. I gasp as I stumble back, leaning my head to the wall because apparently I lost my bones in the process. "God, why does it feel like I've been dead for a few days?" I mumble to myself. "That's because you are", says a voice somewhere on my right side. I turn around, so fast that I feel like I sprained my neck after, and see. . . a boy. He's leaning at my door, leg stretched out, arms crossed in front of him. "Well, not dead, apparently, but you have been sleeping for 3 days", continues the boy, looking straight at me, not realizing that I might be losing my mind here. 3 days? Asleep? Not dead? A part of me wants to cheer OH MY GOD WHAT I JUST ESCAPED DEATH AHA THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK ACCORDING TO STATISTICS OF PEOPLE OVERDOSING ON OPIOIDS and a part of me is all OH MY GOD DOES THIS MEAN OH NO FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKING FUCK. While this two ideas were battling for dominance inside my head, I didn't realize that I was still staring directly to whoever this person is. I take in his appearance. He looks like every boy who happens to be at the so called emo stage, wearing a My Chemical Romance shirt, black jeans, black earrings, and a black watch. Jesus is this guy colorblind? I mean, the looks suits well, but come on. The black is so excessive it's almost a crime. As I stare at this mysterious individual, I continue to figure out the possible ways this particuar event has occured. He removes himself from the door suddenly, making me jump, though fortunately he didn't see. He crosses my room and stands still in front of my window, or shall I call that little piece of rectangular glass that allows me to see the outside world.

"Your father is dead", he blurts out. I'm pretty sure I misheard. I turn around again, seeing the back of his raven haired head. "What?" I ask in a daze. "I'm pretty sure you heard me," he replied without even looking. I removed my stare from his back to the wall in front of me. Many times I thought of the day when this would happen. When Nature, or I guess the Underworld would take back Her creation.