#screaming screaming screaming. what DOES gold taste like! what flavor did it have on your tongue!

[sforzesco]

Cassius Dio, 40.27 (trans. Earnest Cary) / Canto 20, 116-17 of Purgatorio, Dante Alighieri (trans. Durling)

[feminurge]

blood gushes out and for a moment-- a delicious, horrid moment, ishtar licks her lips. she, too, is his maker's monster: she, too, was an experiment in abominations, disturbed from the youngest age into a blade that would rust but never dull. when the lizard bleeds, handsome behemoth ready for the kill, she feels hunger. or is it lust? is it both? does it even matter? she would lick at the wound, she would put a finger in for good measure, just to prod around... just to see if anything beneath the scales is as tasteful as the rusted flavor of the jewelry above. she would take a bite, there, where the impenetrable shield has already been compromised. she would make a meal of him the same way he sometimes make a meal of her: too much fucking teeth, rough & harsh, the kind of touch that leaves her high for minutes on end, breathless. barely thinking, convinced for a moment that the heart within her body will break free in a spectacle of blood & gore… the large bird in her ribcage, beating itself to death against the crate of her chest.

under him, he says, as if she has not mounted him the way you would a wild horse. as if she has not tamed him times and times again, long enough for the precious freak to no longer hear the humming of his treacherous god. oh, lizard, do you not know better than to think yourself above the faithless? she has built a church for herself and has let you kneel at her altar; you have lapped at her wine like a dog who has been through the desert. even know, you beg for it. red, warm, so savoury. she has made statues of gold for you within her chapel; everything you have been given has been that: a gift. every bite every broken bone every kiss every cut every high every meal every necklace every murder every coin. gifts upon gifts upon gifts of the most pernicious nature. under him, as if he has power and agency in this setting: him, starving for blood. her, so fucking full of it she can fill it already trickling it down her body in heavy drops that will go to waste.

the dagger comes back. she isn't fast enough; she calls for the breeze and it does deviate its deadly route, but not enough to prevent the stabbing. just enough, perhaps, to avoid immediate failure at staying alive. she watches it where it is within her, planted in her right thigh. the contemplating does not take long but it seems like an eternity anyway: there, she finally understands it will come to her death. she had doubts, before, as every seer does when they are confronted with a future they had not envisioned coming at them so fast. she thought he would awake. she overestimated him. but doubts have faded now. he has come beneath the skin, punctured flesh, grazed bone. he will kill her. (in a last act of cruelty, she will perhaps let him.)

everthing is still. even the storm, its eye wide open, seems to gather all that is to see for future retellings. there is no other story than that one, surely, where he takes what he is owed.

well. let it be that story, then.

she smiles. all-teeth, canines first, as she turns the blade in her own thigh, just as she did in his back. she laughs at that, again, which is as much from the pain as it is from the ridiculeness of it all. a shriek, mirthful and viciously entertained. she screams, too, but it becomes rather difficult to determine which one is which. all that matters is that her pain is hers, and her blood is hers, and she is spilling it so he won't. fucking entitled asshole. "golden boy…. i'll make you red, lover, so red even your master won't recognize you anymore." she breathes heavily through her nose, the last of her laughter / scream dying in a painful moan. "and when it's gonna be over, i need you to know this: you'll still be begging for more. and he'll pretend to give you your next fix."

she looks at him. truly looks at him. the scimitar is dropped on the ground and soon enough, the bloody daggers join it. "but there's no next fix. there's no other me. [ a coughing that gets red. she licks it off her own teeth. ] fucking addict, with no drug that will feel as deliciously sweet as this. no high ever as high. no longer in control. not even an owner of your own mind, own body, less alone owner of all the golden shit you carry around. and you know what's even more pathetic than that?"

she runs towards him as he launches forward. the claws get to her throat (a shriek from deep in her throat, where blood gushes out. missed the artery because she was a force in motion too, but not by far.) her legs around his waist, nails already aiming for his eyes. she'll claw them out if she has to, digging deep, deep, deep, 'til she finds the one part of him that is not fucking infested by the two-faced asshole he calls daddy. "i'm the prettiest and shiniest thing you've ever owned, asshole." her bloody palms against his scales, her nails going for his eyeballs. she's pressing down with all the strength of a storm, she'll gouge his fucking eyes out, maybe that'll make him see. "a pathetic fucking disappointment." she spits at him, right then and there, all bloody saliva, while she can feel her thigh's agonizing wound coloring his waist. her legs squeeze tighter.

there is no warning. her hands abandon his eyes to hold his face firmly. she might kiss him. she might kill him. undecided, she simply lunges forward, forehead first, to break his skull in two, while thunder falls from the sky, aimed directly for the wound within his back.

let hell break loose if it must.

you can't kiss a dragon. everyone who has come close to Maamon's maw quickly realizes; it's all rough scales and protruded snout, thin lips cold and dry, barely covering the too-sharp teeth. it will be a grin and a bite, like with most things he has wanted. his jaw is a snatching one, clamping down on the object of his desire and shaking until its surrender.

it is primal. sceleritas fel speaks of urges, but the shriveled fiend knows nothing of it. it is not simply a compulsion, an itch or a pressure to be relieved it is a muscle, a movement in his body that is as natural as breathing and just as necessary. the spray of blood splattered against his bare chest a gulp of air filling his lungs, expanding and opening them like wings... a few droplets land on his lips and between his teeth, rendering a visual representation of his crimson hunger, driven out by the blade that plunges into his back.

he roars. if hers was a secret tryst selfishly kept, his is the wanton indulgence of pleasures in gloating display. the twist has his knee half bent. he thrusts his scimitars backwards under his arms, feeling a swell of disappointment when she leaps away just in time. she would've looked exquisite skewered on his back; her rich, hot blood anointing his scales. the grinning assassin shifts one leg back, with minimal, efficient movement, turns around to face her again.

“Leaving so soon, bunny?” he sounds exalted, twirling both blades by his wrists, leaving trails of lightning in figure-eights as though cutting through the air into another, stormier dimension. “Come on back, heh? UNDER ME, where you belong!” he laughs, tossing a scimitar towards the sky, sending it spinning in the air, while he reaches back and tears out the dagger in his back. blood gushes from the open wound, warm like a premature release.

...maybe he will let her fuck him once. a curious thought emerges in his mind. with the hilt of her dagger, she will dig into him claws and teeth. it would be delicious agony. perhaps he will pierce her on him then. then, they will be truly lodged; he going through her, and she going through him. a mobius strip of flesh to meld them into one. it would've been divine.

but it's all too late now. istar dies today.

he whips his arm, sending the dagger at her like an arrow slicing through wind. same arm stretches out, he holds out an open hand for the scimitar falling back from midair... only to let it drop, blade sticking into the earth upright like claiming a landmark. he launches himself at her again, then, hand free and claws out. opening his jaw to let out a serpentine hiss as his claw comes down, aiming for her throat.

[harveywritings92]

BNHA Vampire soulmate au: they feed off you for the first time.

They explain to you how blood tastes to them and enjoy a meal... 

Tw: Blood drinking, heavy petting

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Hawks: It's been a year you and Keigo seem to be together, you've been talking about moving in together anywho, You got a paper cut and Keigo who was crashing at your placed smelled it from your living room, he nearly gave you a heart attack when you turned around to see him standing behind you, his gold eyes had red tinge as he eyed your finger like a like man who hasn't eaten in a week. "Ey, there I thought you've already had enough to drink today?" you were referring to the black and red sports bottle he'd brought with him. "I did, It's just- You have no Idea how hard I've been holding back, your blood it does something to me..." Keigo husked eyes locked on the crimson nectar dripping down your hand he was salivating and swallowed hard. "My blood...does it smell good?" you asked timidly.

The blond snapped out of his trance. "Petal, you smell like ripe strawberries and chocolate to me..." Keigo has already told you how smoker's blood smells and taste to him, well you now you were curious about non-smokers, and asked if blood type also has an effect on the blood's flavor? the winged vamp was happy to answer! 

Smokers: Charcoal/moldy bread.

Drunks: depends on how drunk they are, it's somewhere between hard soda and hard wine or liquor.

Drug users: no idea, he says they smell like rotten eggs, and he's seen how loopy other vamps act after feeding on them and stays clear of them.

Sick/injured: He stays away from sick people but they smell like a cross between a hospital or a funeral home.

Virgins: sweet/tart like fruit-punch.

regular folks: like Sangria the fruitiness is still there but it's mixed with bitter wine . 

"Blood types don't really change up the flavors, but I've noticed type As have a spice to them, Bs start off sour, and type Os are pretty mellow." You hummed very intrigued at what you were hearing then, noticed Keigo was still eyeing your finger, like a starved animal, you looked down at the cut then back Keigo and noticed his wings were tense and he was clenching his jaw, after some thought you sighed you held your hand out to him. "Go head before your jaw breaks" His wings bristled. "I'm not some desperate leech y'know." he huffed you shrugged and went to went to put a band-aid on, but Keigo stopped you.

"Let's not be hasty here..."  He stammered out at you cocked a brow at him. "Yer really giving me mixed signals here." you huffed did he want your blood or not? " Um... Are you sure about this?" he said blush adoring his cheeks. "I'm just letting you suck my finger...Why are you acting like I just asked you to pop my cherry?" Keigo's face was as red as a cherry as you said this. "Because you essenually are..." He explained the big difference between mates and prey, on instinct he wouldn't give a crap about some rando he picked up off the street or whatever mystery pack the commission gives him, but you... 

You're his soulmate, his fated one... and right now your pretty much telling him to make you his! He's not gonna stop at your finger, once he's had a taste he's going for your neck! And once he bites you that's it, you have his mark forever, You paused absorbing what the blond male just told you...Well, he hardly leaves you alone already might as well go all in? "Do it." Hawks's eyes were red now. "Come" he hissed sitting across from you and gesturing to sit in his lap.

You complied and watched Keigo warily as he brought your finger to his mouth, immediately you felt a shock go through you the second Keigo's tongue started lapping at the cut, he moaned tasting your blood for the first time. He was right you tasted every bit as sweet as he thought you would...*more...more...* his monster groaned euphorically he felt the cut on your finger close from his saliva's healing properties.

Keigo's eyes drifted towards your neck, You gasp feeling his grip on your hand tighten before his free hand found it's way behind your head, you tensed seeing Keigo's fangs elongate but before he could pierce your neck he smelled your distress.

His rough hold on you suddenly slacked and his hands lowered to your hips his thumbs gently rubbed you sides as he left little kisses and nip along your jaw before you calmed down enough to trust Hawks wasn't gonna tear your throat out. "Just relax." he cooed kissing you neck a couple more times like a countdown. one...two... three! 

You tried not to scream as you felt his fangs pierce your neck, your fingers gripped his jacket as you felt yourself be drained... then like a switch had been slowly tuned the pain tuned into pleasure? moans started sneaking their out from your mouth which confused you, the blond vampire groaned in ecstasy at how rich your blood tasted with lust mixed in he buck his hips against you, after what seemed like hours Keigo's fangs finally retracted from your flesh and lap at the two holes he left on your neck, they sealed as you whimpered weakly Keigo just shushed and you. "It's alright kid, you did good" he cooed kissing your head as you started drifting out of consciousness.   

When you woke up your head was pounding like a bad hangover Keigo was cradling you in his lap looking relieved and sheepish, he explained he went a little overboard with his drinking and venom dosing and you got drunk on him and passed out! you must've looked panicked cos Keigo assured you were completely fine, the venom isn't lethal... (To you anyways, one of the benefits of being a vampire's soulmate.) Though you might be a bit feverish and cranky for the next couple days.  

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Dabi: You were on your period so yes Dabi's self restraint was breaking! you had no fucking idea what you blood was doing to him you smelled like a 5 star meal and all he could do was sit and drown in his own drool and watch you, like a hawk as you moaned and groaned about  cramps and ruining your pajama shorts when you woke up this morning! a low growl escaped the faux raven haired vamp when he saw you toss out a bag with said aforementioned shorts, it took every nerve in him not to run after the garbage truck like a starved dog! before something you said snapped him out of his trance. "hn...What ya say?" he looked at you drinking his third pack of cow's blood.

"I asked if my blood smells good and what does it taste like?"

"I wouldn't know haven't tasted yours yet..."

"Well, what about anyone else's?" 

"Why are you suddenly interested?"

You huffed "Sorry for wanting to know you..." and were about to tell him to forget it, when the the undead cremator spoke up. "Mocha mixed wit' something spicy like cinnamon or rum" he muttered not looking at you. Of course you cocked a brow now intrigued, now that that was out of the bag he might as well tell ya the rest. 

Smokers: burnt rubber/earwax (eh, everyone was a kid once, had to know what that gunky crap in your ear tasted like.)

Drunks: Depends on how much they've drank, it could between hard water to straight up red wine.

Drug users: the one time he fed on one he thought they were just a pothead, but in turned out they had ate a few shrooms which made them kinda taste like... orange juice and black liquorice?... Honestly he can't give a straight answer, as he was too busy trippin out on another plain of existence to remember.  

Sick/injured: doesn't feed off the sick, but they smell like a hospital or a morgue.

Virgins: like apples and honey

Regular folks: they taste like Apple cider. 

Animal blood: kinda tastes like artificial cherry cough syrup, and he hates it!

"Then why do you drink it?" you gulped seeing his cerulean eyes flash red for a brief second as he locked eyes with you. "Why?...*growl* your standing in front of me smelling like a walking buffet and you have to gall ask me why I drinking this crap?!" he snapped crushing the blood pack in his hand as you started backing away, you were nervous that only fueled Dabi's sadistic side you learned early that he enjoyed agitating you via flashing his fangs, popping behind you out of seemingly nowhere, and faking you out.

I.E. making it seem like he was gonna bite you then blow air in your ears before walking away laughing at your reaction, something about putting you on edge and having your adrenaline pumping through your veins adds more "spice" to your scent, it happens so often that Dabi started noticing arousal was mixing in with your fear, you bet your ass he started mocking you for getting off on him scaring you. 

Of course right now you weren't sure if he was seriously mad, or making fun of you again? He was not making fun of you again he was seriously pissed off, The nerve of you walking around asking him about useless crap, and offering him nothing in return! Dabi had you backed against a wall face buried in your shoulder you felt him sniffing you and flinched you felt him nipping along your neck, and like all the other times he's riled you he smelled that that little speck of arousal through the fear. 

He let out a low chuckle causing you to to become fed up, you though he was screwing with you again! "Goddamm-.hm!" You were cut off by sharp yelp as Dabi's fang suddenly pierced your neck! oh god it hurt! you whimpered tried shoving Dabi off! he groaned pushing your back against the wall, suddenly your body felt weird... you moaned it was hot and and everything felt sensitive...

You barely registered Dabi lifting your legs up you instinctively wrapped them around his hips, he let out a low purr and his demeanor became less angry and forceful, his shoulders relaxed as his hands gently rubbed your legs, after what seemed like hours Dabi finally pulled away from your neck lapping at the pin holes he left on, he checked on you only to find you passed out his eye had a rare tenderness to them as he eyed your flushed appearance. "Well aren't you high maintenance." he cooed his thumb caressing you chin before taking you to bed.   

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Bakugou: He didn't want say what you smelled like to him as it made him look soft, he finally cracks after more poking a prodding. "If I fucking do will you shut up and let me sleep?!" he hissed it was 8: 47 p.m. and he was tired which confused you, the sun was still out and you could hear kids playing in the streets outside. You heard a angry growl Katsuki's ears were pink. "S'mores...you smell like S'mores, happy?" he groaned when you started shaking him, no point in trying to sleep now that he's lit the fuse! He gave you the sum up of what blood tastes like to him.

Smokers: old news paper and figs.

Drug users: No clue stays clear of them, they smell like pickled eggs.

Drunks: Somewhere between hard water and flavored vodka.

Virgins: Why would you want to kno-... arhg! Coffee and vanilla!

Regular folks: Irish coffee and bitter mint.

Then you you started asking about blood types and what it was when he drank, Next thing you knew Katsuki let out this frustrated bellow! You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and pinned you under him. "You wanna know what it feels like?" you sheepishly mumbled a meek "yes" but the blonds red eyes narrowed. "Hah? say that again I couldn't hear ya?" he jeered trying to get you to use your voice, you repeated "Yes" again a bit more forceful as the ash blond unbuttoned the shirt he let you borrow exposing your neck to him. 

Katsuki frowned he could smell your reluctance, then grumbled in annoyance as he recalled Shitty-hair's advice ""Take it slow, be gentle..."" He took a deep breath and carefully buried his face in you neck, You flinched expecting him to clamp down, giving how much you annoyed him, but to your surprise; Katsuki instead opted to started leaving kisses along your jaw and collar bone.

You bit back a moan when he found you sweet spot and causing Katsuki to smirk if wasn't so hungry and tired right now, he might've taken this much farther, but the mouthwatering scent of your blood calling him was too much to pass up. "I'm gonna do it" he husked as you nodded and with that, Katsuki's fangs pierced your neck.

You gasped in pain felling them puncture your skin as Katsuki grasped your hand, the blond groaned in euphoria your blood tasted every bit as rich and sweet as he thought it would, he could smell your discomforted and on instinct inject a doses of his venom into your bloodstream in minutes your blood's flavor intensified with added lust, your tiny moans and whimpers were music to his hears, soon his instincts were warning him stop.

Katsuki's fangs retracted he lapped at the punctures he left on your neck, before pulling away to look at you and snorted you were a flushed out mess. "That sate your curiosity?" he huffed fixing your shirt you tried to say something but were too exhausted to say anything tangible, the ash blond chuckled and settled down next to you for the night.   

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[s0larfair]

standing in the summer haze.

໒꒱ pairing : zhongli x fem!reader ໒꒱ tags : angst. 

but here, right now, you make do with the cold that begins to settle within your bones.

why has it taken you this long to realize that to him, you are nothing but translucent? he sees through you like the morning dawn, amber drawn to something far off, a place where his fingertips can no longer reach. to him, you are simply the ghost he cannot leave, for you are the closest thing to blue he has seen in centuries. to him, it is an easy choice to make—it is something that comes as easy to him as breathing.

you are not her.

that gentle smile he wears is not for you. 

how does one escape the present he has bestowed upon you? you remain here, within the bustling of streets and crowds, trapped in some sort of dream where he finally keeps her by his side. he looks at you and sees the past. time is both moving and stagnant, like the ancient waterfalls hidden between the mountains whose names you have forgotten on the journey there. 

but you are not her.

the warmth of his shoulder pressing against yours leaves sparks in their wake, but his blood does not burn for you. to him, you are simply the substitute who looks like her, acts like her, smiles like her, and practically is her. nevertheless, the honey has rotten into a vinegar-like taste. 

you seem to be distracted. he says. the kindness laced through his voice almost makes you want to cry. you don't, however, since you would rather die than see the concern in his face for someone else, someone who has been gone for decades. 

daydreams. you reply. he does not question the crack in your voice, nor the tears begging to escape their confinements. i was just thinking about how nice it is to be walking with you again. did you have fun while you were gone?

and he does tell you all about his day with the harbinger and the traveler, but his voice dissipates and finally drowns with the merchants on the harbor.

would you like to know how broken glass feels like? how it pricks your fingers and your toes. how it now reminds you of the seashells scattered on sand, crushed by the waves. and something tainted within you wants him to know how it feels to beg for mercy. to scream for the sadness and the transparency to disappear, for him to look at you and see you, not the lilies glazed in fondness and nostalgia. 

are you sure you are alright?  he calls out your name and it feels hollow. a never-ending room of echoes. if you would like, we could return instead.

what does home feel like? it has not been truly warm since you met him.

  he looks at you and sees something.

he wears a gaze so piercing and so sorrowful it takes you a few turns to finally realize he is actually looking at you instead of the customers sitting on the table behind you. and he reminds you of the taste of tea, the bittersweet pinch of oranges, the setting sun, and all those warm, untouchable things a mere human can relish but never own. 

would you like to order something, sir? the redheaded friend beside him wears confusion on his slightly bent brows, but ultimately he understands something you cannot. the friend mutters something about forgetting a meeting with some woman and subtly leaves. despite his so-called forgetfulness, your question still hangs awkwardly in the vast space between you and the man whose eyes resemble the texture of gold.

the sir is not needed. and yes, i would like a cup of — and god, his hands look as pretty as he does. 

he talks as if he knows of every single detail, of every line between the leaves rustling on the corner of the street. and you somehow, do believe he does. his lips speak of flavors of old and the scents dearest to his heart and you hope he cannot hear the oceans thundering within you wondering about things other than tea.

did you forget to leave your heart at home?

and now, he asks for your name. wouldn't a gentleman offer his own before one gives hers out?

he chuckles and sour oranges have never tasted this sweet. zhongli. and even his name reminds you of starry nights and floating lanterns burning into the sky. and maybe, just maybe in another life, in another time, your lantern will never have to learn about the whispers of ghosts, of the need to possess something that will never, ever belong to you. there, there would be no need for him to steal your breath with every melancholic tale of nearby plains, nor the need for an amber gaze that sees right through you.

why were you staring? the dominos begin to fall. the wings made of wax start to melt.

but here, right now, you make do with the cold that begins to settle within your bones.

in all honesty, my dear, you reminded me of someone i used to know.

[izzabeean]

Chapter 4 : Bitter

SUMMARY

Oikawa tries to distract you upon finding out about your break-up and it does seem to be working but only for a moment...

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 2,146

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n :  I feel like things are picking up and I’m so excited for what this fic has in store! Apologies for the slow beginning, this truly is a slow burn. *NOTE: Kuri dorayaki is a traditional Japanese sweet, pancake-like bun with red bean paste and roasted chestnut filling.

masterlist

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Barely an hour goes by before Oikawa jumps at the chance to spend the day with you out and about in the city; it's not often he’s had the opportunity to, especially when you and Ushijima were together making most of your weekend's busy spending time with him. Of course, you were quite keen on spending the day inside, finding ways to forget the severe emptiness festering within, but Oikawa's excitement couldn't be ignored and with that, you agreed to spend the day out with him.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Oikawa's pestering, you wouldn’t have realized how much the fresh air fills you with ease a s you walk down the street listening to him babbling about his evening with Iwaizumi. Normally you are a very attentive listener, engrossed in his dramatic details, but today you found it very difficult to listen intently. Your attention shifted to the pairs of people passing by; some hand-in-hand, some giggling, and the sight makes sick to your stomach.

All these couples in love getting to spend time together. It’s so repulsive.

And you're bitter.

Bitter because you wish you had that. Bitter because you used to have that. Bitter because you miss Ushijima.

And because you miss him, you can't help but think back to when you first showed interest in each other. At that time, you and Ushijima had a weird friendship, actually, you weren’t really sure what it was as he only spoke to you at school. Topics didn’t stray far from assignments or classes, so it was very odd when he asked you to hang out one morning off of campus.  

“You didn’t have to wake me up so early,” you groan curled up in the passenger's seat of Ushijima’s car. Your eyes are heavy, as you press your forehead against the cold window examining the long outstretch of highway lit by the sky just moments before dawn breaks. Looking over to Ushijima you notice not a trace of fatigue that filters his eyes as they remain focused on the road ahead. 

“What is there to even do at 6 in the morning?” you yawn.

The sudden wake-up call was earlier than anticipated, you should’ve clarified that morning for you was 9 AM. But to Ushijima hammering his fist on your door was a more productive way to wake you up rather than a call or text. Truthfully, he found the results to be much more amusing and knew you could not ignore him.

“We had to in order to arrive on time,” he booms flatly, quickly casting a glance at you.

Your face contorts with irritation at the vague response and question if this is just a planned kidnapping. Maybe you were exaggerating a bit... Still, nothing else seemed reasonable.

“Well, will you at least tell me where we’re going?” you lash.

“We will be there soon,” he replies, calm and cool to your aggressive tone.

Crossing your arms in impatience, you scoff at his response then continue to look out of the window listening to the low murmur from the radio. 

It’s not much longer until Ushijima pulls into a gravel lot at the side of the road and parks. 

“We’re here,” he says getting out of the vehicle.

You tilt your head quizzically scanning your destination which is basically out in the mind of nowhere. Ushijima pops open the passenger door waiting for you to get out.

"Is this a joke?" you rasp.

"Just follow me," he says trying to hold back the irritation in his voice.

Unbuckling the seatbelt, you slide out of the vehicle and follow him, hopeful that there’s more to this deserted parking lot than just a dusty road. 

And there is because your eyes are met with a breathless view above the town. All at once, your doubts fade as the sun begins to rise at the atmosphere’s edge, drenching the houses and buildings in its golden glow. Everything feels so peaceful.

“This is beautiful,” you breathe, sincerely in awe of the picturesque sight. 

You are an idiot.

“Not gonna lie, I thought this was a kidnapping,” you joke.

Ushijima casts a confused glance at you, unable to understand what you were getting at. “I was told to take a girl I like to an intimate spot.”

A girl he likes? Oh.

Did he bring you here for advice? A hint of jealousy surfaces at the thought that Ushijima has his eyes set on someone else. And you wonder what his true intent was for bringing you here. 

“Maybe tell her where you’re going so she doesn’t get the wrong idea,” you tease.

“Tell who? You didn’t like the surprise?”

You blink. “Me?”

It never crossed your mind that you could be the one he likes. Obviously, he’s hot and every time he says your name your heart skips a beat, but you never thought anything of it.

“Yes.” 

Ushijima takes a step forward closing the distance between the two of you. His gaze is a lot warmer than usual evoking a strong pull at your heartstrings. You know your personality can be quite cold and temperamental, sometimes even hostile, but there was something more underlying your cheeky, sarcastic comments. Ushijima brought out a side to you that no one else really could.

A slight breeze picks up pushing your hair in your face, to which Ushjima leans in tucking the strand behind your ear. 

“Your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better,” he utters.

He’s close, the closest he's ever been, and you're hot. 

You stare at him wide-eyed soaking in the electric chemistry floating in the air. You think your heart might stop as his hand moves under your jaw to tilt your face up at him while the other touches the small of your back bringing you closer; his touch is warm and soft cascading tingles down your body. Then he leans in even closer to gently press a kiss on your lips.  

“Hey! Pay attention!” 

Oikawa’s yell snaps you out of the nostalgia bringing you back to your walk with him in the city. But your daze only causes you trouble because you spot a bike unwavering from its path heading towards you. Your brain screams, telling you to move or do something, but your body freezes in place--all you sense is fear. 

Suddenly, your arm is yanked from the side, and with a yelp, you’re pulled to safety. It was unlike you to be so out of it, but you didn’t realize how much Ushijima occupied your thoughts until that moment. 

A lump forms in your throat as the cyclist passes you and you could hear him mumbling under his breath how unobservant pedestrians can be. 

“That was close,” Oikawa jokes.

His words startle you as you come to the realization that Oikawa’s arms are wrapped around your body. You look up at him as he stares down at you with his shit-eating grin that says “I just saved your ass big time .” Your eyebrow twitches at his expression and pry yourself away from his grip.

“I’m not going to thank you!” you shout, angrily. 

“Wow, so cruel Y/N-chan,” he whines with a giggle.

His laugh is all-consuming as you feel overwhelmed with frustration. It’s just like Oikawa to make everything completely insufferable, now you weren’t going to hear the end of it, of how he saved you from getting hit by a bike. He always knew the right way to get under your skin.

“Y/N-chan,” Oikawa calls, pointing to a vendor on the corner of the street selling kuri dorayaki*. “Would you like one?” 

Swiftly, the sweet smell fills your nose and the scent reminds you of your childhood, strolling with your family under the gold and crimson trees while the earthy, caramel air nips at you through your clothing. 

But you’re hesitant to give in to his peace offering. 

You didn’t want to be bribed, but as the flavors continue to float through the air, you could hear your stomach start grumbling.

Before you had a chance to oppose, Oikawa takes his wallet out while walking up to the food stand to purchase a couple of treats; one for you and one for him. Upon returning, he hands it to you and motions to take a seat on a bench nearby.

“What do I owe you?” you ask.

Oikawa waves his hands in the air, “Nothing, it’s on me.

You pause. The city noise rang in your ears as the sun gleams down blanketing you in warmth. It almost feels strange, having him be so nice, after all, teasing each other has become so routine that the pressure to say something nice resides in your chest. You don’t know what’s overcome you, you normally never second guess what to say to Oikawa, but his kindness really stunned you.

As the steam rolls off causing your mouth to water in anticipation of the flavors, you sink your teeth into the delicious pancake-like bun. The taste of the sweet red bean and chestnut coats your mouth bringing a sense of warmth inside washing away the feelings of anger and frustration. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, under your breath licking your lips. 

Oikawa smiles in response, “Anything for you!” 

Just as you were about to take another bite, you pause peering at a familiar figure across the street-- the only figure you could recognize from a mile away.

Ushijima.

“Do you not like it?” Oikawa looks at you with an uncharacteristic flash of concern.

You don’t reply as you keep your eyes locked on your ex who is in front of a bakery you’ve walked past a million times, standing next to a girl you’ve never seen before. It’s almost unbearable as she wraps her arm around his looking in the window at all the decadent sweets on display. You are nearly consumed with agony at the sight but can’t stop looking while he turns to fix her hair for her.

Just like how he used to with you.

Your gaze must have been burning because as he looks up in your direction. He pauses blankly staring; it’s the same look he’s always given you--stony and daunting--but it feels much more unsettling. And now you know, that he knows you’ve seen too much.

Your eyes dart back to Oikawa who’s traced your eye line to where you’ve been looking. You can tell he’s anticipating some sort of reaction, but all you do is look back to find Ushijima gone.

Your heart sinks.

Everything makes sense now.

“Isn’t that--” 

"Do you know her?" you cut Oikawa off quickly reverting to desperation. A sense of betrayal fills you as you study his face, noticing he looks like he wants to say something but is holding back.

"No," he scoffs, not sounding the slightest bit convincing. It's the kind of ‘no’ you give to someone you want to let down easy or you want to avoid telling the truth to. 

"Don't lie to me," you say, firmly.

Oikawa pauses.

The suspense feels like it could kill you as you watch the wheel in his head turn, trying to piece together the right thing to say. 

“Have you met the transfer student?” Oikawa softly asks. "I've seen her around campus but didn't realize…"

Transfer student? 

Your heart drops as the words echo in your head leaving the rest of Oikawa's explanation to fade in the background. 

“You’re joking,” you state plainly, unable to process the information and when Oikawa doesn't answer you know he's not. 

It wasn’t like Ushijima to leave you for someone else, not even the slightest sliver of you can believe it. He respected you and cared for you, was the one who initially made a move on you. How could that all just change, like a flick of a switch? Yet, it did and last night you were met with a Ushijima you didn’t know. He was cold and distant, unreadable to the point you were convinced he could be a stranger. But, of course, the evidence was right in front of you as to why. There was someone better.

Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do. You know immediately Ushijima doesn’t owe you an explanation because you weren’t together anymore.

"Let's go," you whisper, getting up from the bench turning to Oikawa.

“You know, you don’t have to deal with this alone,” Oikawa breathes, quietly

The sentiment is almost dumbfounding to the point your nerves start to jitter. Admitting your worries to Oikawa wasn’t going to do you any good. 

You can’t help but let out a nervous laugh to suppress your embarrassment.

“Thanks.”

And there it is again, that smile he knows it’s forced, but he doesn’t tell you. It’s not worth causing you more pain than you’ve already been in.

[alolowrites]

Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth!

Summary: Bakugou hates sweets. You don’t think this is true and begin a mission to discover his favorite candy. After all, you are the brilliant Candy Master who won’t stop until Bakugou’s sweet tooth is satisfied.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad I was finally able to write a full fic for Bakugou; it’s been so long. Originally, this was supposed to be for the bingo event, but had trouble fleshing out the story’s direction. I really wanted to write this story since the plot was hilarious to me, idk why. 

Please enjoy!

10.30.21 UPDATE: HI!!!!! I went back and edited the heck out of this baby since it’s my favorite Bakugou story I’ve written. I hope it is now decent lmao. Happy Halloween!! 

Word Count: 2.4K+

“Katsuki, what is the meaning of all this?!”

“The hell are you talkin’ bout?”

“This!” 

You marched with purpose and plopped down on the couch where he sat. Bakugou remained unfazed, clicking on the remote control. He mindlessly surfed through the channels with an attention span of an HR recruiter combing through a mountain pile of resumes. Stupid sitcoms, fake ass “reality” tv shows, QVC advertising their products like it's Black Friday all day, every day. Bakugou frowned—why does he pay so much for these useless channels? 

His eyes teared away from the screen as the phone waved frantically on his left. 

You huffed. “According to Maximus Heroes, you—and I quote—‘bleeping hate sweets!’”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Damn idiots censored my words.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?”

“That you hate sweets!” 

You viciously smacked a pillow at him, ignoring his yells. Bakugou snatched the weapon with a growl. For a soft pillow, it felt like a firm foam roller. You stood up and paced around, arms flailing in the air. 

“How can my boyfriend say such a thing?!” You pointed at your signature black top hat. “Do you know who I am? I’m the lovable Candy Master, CEO of the Candy Basket Factory!” 

Bakugou shrugged. “So?”

“So, you can’t say you hate sweets!” You gripped your chest, sniffling a bit. “I feel as though I’ve been betrayed.”

“Would you sit your ass down?” 

Bakugou tossed the pillow at you and crossed his arm; he was too tired to deal with this nonsense. Somehow the QVC channel looked more appealing now. You begrudgingly plopped on the couch, a small pout growing on your face. Bakugou snuck a glance and sighed, tossing the remote aside. 

“Are you seriously so upset about this?” Instant regret flooded through his mind as he remembered that ridiculous day. “It was a freakin’ answer to a stupid question in a stupid celebrity article.” 

“…maybe…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. You took off your signature hat and examined it; the hat was firm yet soft and had three peppermint candies artistically attached like a beautiful brooch. You moped silently for an eternity until an exciting idea rushed into your mind. Bakugou jumped as you squealed, his mouth ready for snarl, but you beat him to the punch. 

“I got it!” Two hands eagerly cupped his sharp cheeks, your whimsical eyes meeting his feral ones. They did nothing to damper your beaming smile. “You don’t hate sweets; you just haven’t found your favorite candy!”

Bakugou grabbed your wrist yet didn’t pull them away. Another giggle rang throughout the living room as you shot up from the sofa. A specific look crossed your face—one that both irked and frightened Bakugou to no end; he was through dealing with your shenanigans. 

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, the answer is no!”

“Too late! The mind is churning,” you piped, taking a cheerful step toward the doorway. Spinning on your heel, you gave a hat tip to Bakugou and declared, “I won’t rest until that sweet tooth of yours is satisfied!” 

Yup, it was too late. Bakugou had no choice but to go along with this dumb idea. Closing his eyes, he slammed a pillow over his face and screamed.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Ground Zero’s hero agency was buzzing with life. Phones rang off the hook, yet all were answered to avoid the voicemail machine. Interns carried endless stacks of papers, their dying arms begging for relief and fingers stinging from brutal paper cuts. The afternoon shift sidekicks clocked in their arrival while the morning ones yawned out the door.

Everything ran like a well-oiled machine, just how Bakugou liked it. He took great pride in this, hiring only the best and brightest. However, none of them held a candle against him—the number two pro hero. Unfortunately, being a prominent hero brought lots of reports he needed to sign.

And he was not excited about this.

“Um, sir?”

“Damnit, Small Head,” Bakugou growled, halting his pen’s movement. Fiery eyes glared at the man peeking around the ajar door. “If you bring me another paper to sign, I will stab this pen in your damn eye!”

“I-I assure you that I bring no reports, sir!” Kioshi, Bakugou’s personal assistant, waddled inside the office, fixing the tie that was strangling his neck. He slid a peculiar package toward his boss and bowed his head. “You have a special delivery from the Candy Master.”  

Bakugou scrunched his eyebrows. On his desk was a white box with an orange ribbon wrapped neatly in the upper left corner. A tiny card sat underneath it, and with closer inspection, had his first name written across in gold letters. Bakugou shooed Kioshi away, waiting to hear the door close to ensure absolute privacy.

At first, Bakugou had a mini stare-down with the gift. When it didn’t burst into flames, he sucked his breath and snatched the card. Bakugou turned it around to read the following message:

Everyone knows you got a sour attitude, but only I get to see that sweet side of yours. Figured these treats might do the trick. I made them just for you!

Enjoy,

C.M

P.S. These are an ~exclusive~ batch from my top-secret collection! So hush-hush!

Bakugou snorted at your writing, tossing the card aside and opening the box. His eyes narrowed at the vibrant gumdrops nestled above the black tissue paper. White sugar lightly coated the green and orange candies, each twinkling under the natural light that shined through his large window. A smirk curled on his lips; the whole package reflected his hero costume.

“Let’s see how good these are.”

Bakugou ate the green gumdrop. It was chewy and sour, the lime flavor making him twitch a bit. The sweetness kicked in ten seconds later. Bakugou tried the orange gumdrop next, and the acid was strong too but enjoyable. He soon devoured the entire box in one sitting.

Once that was done, he marched out of the office to start his daily patrol. It didn’t take long for a stupid thug to cross his path. Bakugou slammed him against the concrete wall, hauling him up with just one hand. The man trembled in fear but stopped squirming and cocked his head to the side, dumbfounded. 

Bakugou growled. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Your tongue...it got weird colors, man.”

“Eh? The fuck are you talking ‘bout?” 

Bakugou peeked at his reflection on the store’s window. He recoiled when he saw the horrible swirls of green and orange covering his tongue. A vicious scowl crossed Bakugou’s face, his iron grip tightening around the thug’s collar. The guy’s high-pitched yelps fell on deaf ears. 

“Fuckin’ gumdrops!”

They were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“I don’t want it.”

“But, sir, the gift—”

“I know who it’s from, and I’m telling you no.”

“Sir,” Kioshi gripped the massive, cherry red treat in his hand. A black ribbon with long strings almost reached the floor. The assistant sighed. “It’s just a lollipop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ baby to ya?” Bakugou crossed his arms, refusing to budge on his childish decision. The irony made Kioshi roll his eyes mentally. “Give it away or something. Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…”

Lollipops were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Another day, another gift Bakugou received from you.

They came sporadically and kept the hero on his toes. He never understood why you sent the gifts directly to his office; you both lived in the same apartment for crying out loud! Worst of all, he could never get a single hint on what candy he would receive next. Every time he asked—or more accurately, demanded—you shot him a coy smile and purred, “Ah, ah, ah! It’s a surprise!”

Bakugou wanted to rip his eyeballs out.

However, he reluctantly played along with your stupid game. Whenever Kioshi entered his office, Bakugou masked his slight interest with the usual scowl. If the assistant didn’t bring candy, then Bakugou blamed him for interrupting his private time. The anger was worse if Kioshi brought more reports for him to sign.

Kioshi was thankful for the days when a new candy gift arrived.

Unfortunately, the last three gifts were complete failures. The first was the strawberry licorice, which dangled in Bakugou’s hand. He took a few bites and complained that he was eating a rubber wheel. Next was a bag of colorful gummy worms. Bakugou shoved a couple in his mouth and swore he felt one of them move on its own. Finally, there was the lemon green jawbreaker; it was the size of a baseball. One look and Bakugou shouted over the phone: “You tryna give me dentures?!”

All three candies were crossed off the list. Still, you didn’t give up and sent another gift to Bakugou. He read the simple message on the card:

Chew and blow to your heart’s content, babe!

Love,

C.M

P.S. I promise this won’t change the color on your tongue, haha!

Bakugou opened the sleek, rectangular box and found a bubble gum packet inside; there were three thin pieces. He slipped one in his mouth, surprisingly pleased with the bold raspberry flavor hitting his taste buds. Bakugou skimmed the card again and did as instructed—he chewed.

Typically, an ordinary bubble gum would lose its flavor after five minutes. But the flavor in your gum only got juicier; it encouraged Bakugou to continue chewing. He then blew a tiny bubble before popping it in his mouth. Not bad, he thought as another bubble expanded in front of him. His chews became more aggressive, and the bubbles more prominent than the previous ones. Stupidly, he puffed out a massive bubble, and it grew…

…and grew…and grew until there was a loud pop.

Bakugou’s roars shook the entire building, spilling cold tea all over Kioshi’s shirt. 

Bubble gum was crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Everything was going well down at the Candy Basket Factory. People lined up outside for the magical tours that ran every hour. Kids bounced off the walls as if they were on a sugar rush while their parents felt a migraine pounding on their heads. Inside the factory, the ceilings were high, and the walls were vibrant like the sun. Laughter rang from every corner as employees chit-chatted about their daily lives; they were relaxed yet efficiently worked to the same drumbeat.

A soft smile crept on your face. You were glad everyone was happy; it was the driving force behind your factory’s joyful spirit. Eventually, that spirit would leave these doors and touch billions of people’s hearts with your precious candies.

Just as you closed your eyes, someone barged into your office and barked your name. You chuckled, spinning the leather chair around to meet a furious Bakugou. His nostrils flared like a bull, and his menacing eyes looked ready to kill. However, the gum’s blobs stuck on his porcupine blonde hair squashed the pro hero’s intimidating aura.

“You—”

“—I’m so sorry, boss!” Nozomi panted into the room, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s quite alright, Zomi!” You chirped without breaking Bakugou’s intense eye contact. “I can handle him. Please let everyone know I’ll be busy with an important meeting.”

Nozomi bowed and closed the door behind her. Bakugou wasted no time complaining, his hands slamming on your desk. 

“Quit sending me your cavity-infested garbage! I’ve had it with this fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, come on, babe!” You rolled forward and rested your chin on your gloved hand palm. “Can’t I just send my dashing boyfriend some sweet gifts? Get it!” You jokingly slapped his forearm. “Because candies are sweet? Man, I crack myself up at times…”

“You’re insufferable.”  

You winked at him. “But that’s what you love about me!”

Bakugou gritted his teeth and looked away. A light blush tainted his cheeks; he hated how right you were. You walked around the desk and stood beside him, wiping off the fairy sugar dust on his shirt. He probably barged through the sample stand near the entrance, scaring off the poor intern. 

“Alright, alright.” You gave a gentle pat. “Sorry for going a little overboard with the gifts. I was just excited about finding your favorite candy! I don’t want you hating them.”

Bakugou’s anger subsided. “Why is this so damn important to you?”

“Because I love spreading endless joy through sweets.” 

The answer was simple and innocent. Bakugou blinked and was taken aback by the gentleness in your eyes. 

“Candy makes everyone happy,” you chirped. “Knowing someone’s favorite candy helps me bring their smile back whenever they’re upset or lost. Can’t have the world be all mopey now, can we?”

Your fingers hovered above Bakugou’s head. The gum moved under your command and floated in the air. You flicked it into the trash bin with ease, and Bakugou murmured a quick ‘thanks’ under his breath. After ruffling his hair, you suddenly remembered something sitting on your shelf. Bakugou stared at the small pyramid of chocolate truffles coming toward him.

“I made these babies a few minutes ago,” you said, eying the plate with a proud grin. “Normally, I do a taste test and then send the gift if it satisfies my expectations. But, I got a feeling you’ll love them.”  

Bakugou’s face was unreadable. You gave him a gentle nudge and encouraged him to take one. He sighed before picking a chocolate truffle; it was warm and soft, the cocoa powder dusting his fingertips. After suspiciously staring at the truffle, he ate the entire thing in one go. His eyes widened as all the flavors exploded at once. The crushed red pepper flakes, the hints of rich cinnamon and orange zest, and the bittersweet dark chocolate made from the finest quality found on Earth all danced perfectly together with every bite. 

“So…” You placed the plate on the desk, watching Bakugou swallow the truffle down. “What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! Don’t sugarcoat it, haha! I’m on fire today!”

Bakugou turned away. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You hugged his bicep with a pout. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just tell me if you liked the chocolate truffles.”  

“They’re good.”

Your smile grew. “Good enough to be your favorite?”

“Sure,” he smirked, shoving another truffle into his mouth. You cheered on the spot after weeks of constant failures. Of course, some of the complaints were nonsense which didn’t surprise you. Bakugou was a picky bastard; the lollipop fiasco served as a great example. You were glad he thoroughly enjoyed the chocolate truffles.

Before you walked away, Bakugou pulled you close to him and crushed his lips on yours. He caught you off guard, but the surprise was certainly welcomed. You soon melted into the kiss after tasting the rich dark chocolate and spices on his lips. Bakugou’s arms snaked around your waist as your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

“You know,” Bakugou’s hot breath tickled your right ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I think I got a new favorite candy.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, a coy smile plastered on your face. 

“Let’s hope it satisfies your sweet tooth then, Ground Zero.”

“Oh, it will.”

After all, you were the one and only Candy Master.

As always, thanks for reading!

10.18.20 UPDATE: Story’s sequel, Gold Coins and a Gold Heart now uploaded. 

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter IV

When Prompto woke up the next morning, he opened his eyes with a small groan. Feeling a familiar warmth, he looked down to see (Y/n) curled up against him. He had one arm slung across her waist, unsure of when he first put it there. He peered into the sleeping girl's face before looking around the room. Noctis was still fast asleep while Ignis and Gladio were gone.

After checking once more to see if the prince was asleep, Prompto scooted closer towards (Y/n) and tightened his arm around her waist. He moved his other arm around to the back of her head, cradling it against his chest. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against the top of her head. "(Y/n), I...I..."

The guardian inhaled deeply as her eyes fluttered open. "What is it, Prom?"

Prompto shrieked in surprise and quickly removed his arms. "N-Nothing..."

She sighed, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "You've been acting weird ever since yesterday. What's the deal?"

"Really, it's nothing!"

"Like I said, you're a bad liar..." She hopped off the bed. "Are you embarrassed from touching me? If so, I don't understand why because you've had no issues before. You scared the others are gonna catch you and tease you?"

"Maybe just a little," he mumbled.

"Well, how about we get a separate room then? That way, you can touch me all you like."

Prompto swallowed nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt with his finger. "You make it sound so dirty, (Y/n)..."

"I'm not the one thinking dirty thoughts. Get your head out of the gutter."

"I-I am not thinking anything dirty!"

"Whatever you say, Prom," the girl giggled at him before stalking towards him. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and tilted his head upward before leaning down and pressing her lips against his forehead. "Consider this your good morning kiss since you gave me one."

His cerulean eyes widened. "You were awake?"

"It's what woke me up."

He stared into her eyes, enjoying her touch as her thumbs trailed across his cheeks. His fingers twitched, itching to touch her. However, he held himself back.

"Now then," (Y/n) removes her hands from his cheeks, causing him to groan in disappointment, "Let's do some exploring!" She grabbed his hand and yanked him off the bed, dragging him out of the hotel without disturbing Noctis.

Prompto and (Y/n) wandered the streets of Lestallum. Their first stop was the marketplace. They browsed the many wares, coming to a stop in front of a stall selling small chocobo charms. The marksman nearly stumbles over his own feet in his haste to take a closer look. Luckily, the girl caught him before he could fall.

He picked up the yellow chocobo charm and admired it. "This would totally look amazing with the bracelet."

She glanced at the charm he was holding. "It does match the gemstone. Why not buy it?"

Prompto was about to pull out some gil, but stopped himself. Even though he loved chocobos, he felt the purchase would be childish. "Nah, I should really spend my gil on something that's useful."

(Y/n) could read the blonde easily. He was an open book to her. "Oh, c'mon, Prom! Spoil yourself once in a while. Besides, it only cost 10 gil. It'll also add some flare to the bracelet."

"Mmm..." He analyzed the charm closer, feeling his resolve shaking. After contemplating for a few seconds, he gave in. "Okay, I'll buy it." He handed over ten gil to the merchant, earning a thanks from the man. He handed his camera over to the girl so he could put the new charm on his bracelet. Once it was securely in place, he smiled. "Ooh, I'm really diggin' it!"

The guardian elbowed him playfully in the side. "Told ya~!" She handed him back his camera. "Let's see what else this place has to offer."

Continuing to browse the market, they found many ingredients that would interest Ignis. They also found more souvenirs for sale, but none of them caught their eye.

(Y/n) and Prompto left the marketplace and wandered the streets before making their way to the outlook. There, the boy took many photos of the scenery while the spirit casted her gaze upward when hearing a voice from above. She couldn't make out what they were saying, deciding to ignore them.

Just then, a flash caught her attention. Her head snapped in the direction the flash came from and saw Prompto with his camera pointed at her. "Did you just take my picture?"

He lowered his camera. "Maybe..."

She huffed out a chuckle. "You should save your pictures for someone who's worthy."

"You are the most worthy and beautiful person of being photographed. It'd be a shame if I missed my opportunity to snap a pic of you. If I could, I'd post your picture everywhere!" Prompto smiled, but it quickly fell when he realized what he just said. It rolled off his tongue with ease without a single thought. He raised his camera and used it to hide his faint blush. "I-I mean...uh, well...eh..."

(Y/n) smiled kindly at him, combing a few (h/c) locks behind her ear. "You're too sweet, Prom. How'd I get so lucky?"

He lowered his gaze, smiling giddily. "I ask myself that question every day..."

All of a sudden, the boy's phone rang. He promptly picked up once seeing Ignis was calling him. When the call ended, he put his phone back into his pocket. "Welp, looks like Iggy wants us to return to the Leville. Ready to head back?"

"Yeah, let's-" The spirit fell silent when she heard the voice again. She looked back up at the sky and addressed him. "Actually, you go on ahead. I'll be there shortly."

Prompto looked up at the sky, but all he could see was how blue it was and the occasional white, fluffy cloud float by. "Oh, um...okay." He glanced at her worriedly before walking back to the hotel by his lonesome.

The second he walked into the lobby, he saw Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis chatting with Talcott and Jared. He asked what was going on and learned from the young boy about the sword behind the waterfall. The four decided to check out the tale and left the Leville.

Outside, Noctis turned to his best friend. "Where's (Y/n)?"

"At the outlook. She was supposed to be back by now," Prompto answered. He lifted his camera and admired the recent photo he took of the girl. Her beautiful golden eyes were casted to the sky with a tranquil expression on her face. He sighed sorrowfully, feeling as if he had no chance with her.

"What's with the gloomy look?" Gladio asked.

"Oh, nothing," the sharpshooter replied, wishing to avoid being teased mercilessly. He looked around at the many women who walked by. "H-Hey, what about the girls here? They're so cool and independent, like, "I don't need a man!""

Noctis glanced at him. "Sounds like you've heard that one a lot."

"C'mon, cut the little guy some slack. I'm sure somebody around here finds him attractive," Gladio said.

Prompto frantically looked around. "Well, then where are you?! Show yourself!" He spun around, coming face to face with the golden-eyed spirit. He screamed in surprise, jumping slightly. "(Y-Y/n)!"

"Does this mean she's the one?" Noctis asked.

"Maybe," Gladio shrugged his shoulders.

The (h/c)-haired girl smiled apologetically at them. "Sorry for being late. What's our next course of action?"

"Gonna check out to see if there's a royal arm nearby," Noctis said. "You taggin' along?"

"Of course! We ready to go?"

"Ready as we'll ever be. Let's go."

The group headed to the parking lot and climbed into the Regalia. (Y/n) was about to return to the gemstone when Prompto stopped her. He told her she could sit in the back between Noctis and Gladio. She looked toward the prince and his shield to make sure it was okay, and they both agreed. With everyone in the car, Ignis started the engine and drove out of Lestallum.

They traveled a little ways down the rode before pulling aside at Burbost Souvenir Emporium to hop out. They used a stairwell located a short distance down the road and wandered down the trail leading to the nearby river. At the water's edge, they spotted a midgardsormr slithering around. Noctis quietly led the group around the large creature, keeping close to the cliffside to avoid detection. However, the path ahead was littered with shieldshears.

"Oh, wow. I've never seen such large crabs before," (Y/n) commented.

"Think they'd taste good, Specs?" Noctis asked.

"What they have gained in size they will have lost in flavor," Ignis replied.

"Guess this means crab won't be on the menu tonight," Prompto commented.

Noctis went to summon his sword, but stopped when he noticed the shieldshears were already on fire. He stared in shock, watching the creatures keel over one by one as they burned. He patted his pockets and checked on his magic flasks. When one wasn't missing, he looked over at (Y/n). "Did you...?"

She smiled innocently. "I've no idea what you're talking about. Let's go!" She ran past the boys and up the pathway leading behind the waterfall.

Gladio looked at the dead carcasses of the shieldshears. "Damn. Little lady did a number on these things without touching them."

"Isn't she amazing?" Prompto sighed dreamily. "She's so badass!"

"Her abilities are fascinating," Ignis commented.

"Hey!" (Y/n) shouted from the path above. "Are you guys coming or what?"

"'Tis rude to keep a lady waiting," he stated.

"Be right there, (Y/n)!" Prompto shouted back.

The boys caught up with the spirit behind the waterfall. There, they discovered the entrance to greyshire glacial grotto. "Wouldn't you know it-an entrance!" Prompto spoke up.

"Looks like the legend checks out," Gladio said.

"So, what does this legend say?" (Y/n) asked.

"Apparently, there's supposed to be a sword behind the waterfall."

"And you believe it to be a royal arm?"

"Bingo," Noctis replied.

The group enter the cave. The first thing they noticed was how cold it was and everything was frozen. Prompto rubbed his arms up and down his exposed arms. "This place gives me goose bumps. Double back for our coats?"

"What's the point?" Gladio remarked.

"Well, looking on the bright side... Maybe the cold keeps the daemons at bay?"

"Yeah, because monsters like warmth."

"Ah. Sarcasm. Hmm... But what if they're frozen?"

"Encased in ice... Waiting for something warm to pass by..."

"And then they jump out!" Prompto's teeth then started chattering from the cold. When he walked closer to (Y/n), he noticed the temperature rose. "Oh, hey! It's pretty warm over here!" He walked ahead and stopped when the warmth vanished. "Aaand it's gone."

The guardian wondered if the blonde would put two and two together, but she sighed when he continued looking for the warm spot again. "Prom, you're gonna run into daemons if you keep wandering ahead."

"But the warmth!"

"Is radiating from (Y/n)," Ignis stated.

"Wait, really?" The marksman strolls back over to the girl. When he did, he felt the warmth pouring from her being. "It is!"

"You're tellin' me you never noticed before now?" Gladio questioned.

"Well, no... I mean, it's not like (Y/n) and I ever went somewhere this cold before. It's kinda nice. Makes me-" The spirit suddenly grabbed Prompto and pulled him back. Flans spawned where he once stood, blocking their path. He eyed the daemons, summoning his pistol. "And there's our warm welcome."

"Flans are resistant to physical attacks. Use elemental attacks to hurt them," the guardian stated. She held out her hand and created a throwing knife from pure flames. She tossed it at one of the daemons, inflicting heavy damage.

"Maybe you should handle this by yourself, (Y/n)," Noctis commented after witnessing her conjuring skills.

"Oh, I don't think so. You've got your own magic at your disposal. Use it."

Prompto snickered. "She gotcha there, buddy."

Gladio and Ignis, even though knowing physical attacks would do little to no damage, used their weapons to distract the flans. Noctis and (Y/n) teamed up while Prompto kept his distance and fired a few rounds.

When the daemons were dead, the group proceeded forward. They wandered through the frozen grotto a little ways before coming across an icy slope leading deeper into the cave. Prompto stands at the edge of the slope, peering down to see just how far it would take them. "Heading down a slippery slope... In slip-sliding shoes. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I'm sure we'll be fine," (Y/n) reassured him.

"Then ladies first."

"All right." She stepped on to the slope, keeping her balance as she slid down on her feet.

Prompto gasped. "W-Wait, (Y/n)! I was only kidding!" He quickly followed after her, slipping on his behind as his body slid down the slope. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis followed after him.

The girl reached the bottom first, landing in the middle of a horde of imp daemons. She conjured a barrage of fireballs, targeting the daemons. Some imps were killed, but many others remained.

The boys reached the bottom and joined her in battle. Noctis summoned a javelin with an annoyed wail. "You things love deep pits. Let's get it over with."

The group fought against the remaining daemons, silencing each and every last one. Prompto dispelled his pistol when all the enemies were dead. "So much for a "little chill." I got an ice cream headache-without the ice cream!" He stepped closer to (Y/n) and held up his hands.

She eyed his gloved hands. "Am I a campfire to you?"

"No, but... I mean, you're the warmest thing down here and I'm freezing!"

"If we keep moving, you'll eventually get used to the cold. C'mon, Prom." She walked away from him, following after the rest of the boys.

"Aw..." He whined before promptly catching up with the others.

The five continued to trek through the frozen cave. They arrived at another icy slope and saw a side path a little ways down. Carefully, they proceeded onto the slope and slid to the side path. From there, they cross to the other side of the cave and crouch through an opening in the icy wall. They encountered another group of flans, which they easily disposed of.

Eventually, the group came across a narrow ledge. Noctis was the first to cross followed by Prompto, Ignis, (Y/n), and Gladio. Once safely on the other side, they noticed how the cave opened up. They were soon joined by an arachne daemon. It took no time at all for the five to get rid of the creature and head towards a ramp leading to a pathway above.

After taking down some more flans, Gladio dispelled his greatsword and looked around. "So, the glaive is through here?"

"Most likely," Noctis replied as he guided his companions to another narrow ledge.

"Let's see for ourselves," Ignis commented.

Like before, Noctis was the first to cross the narrow ledge. It wrapped around the side of the cave, leading to another path. Prompto, who was following right after the prince, shivered. "I'm freezing... What I wouldn't give for a hot bowl of soup. Mmm...soup. We're almost there... We gotta be. Right?!"

"Keep calm and try not to fall, Prom," (Y/n) advised.

After crossing the narrow ledge, they came across an area with an immense icy slope leading upward they couldn't reach. Located down the left path, they spotted a familiar stone door. "Hey! Knock, knock," Gladio grinned.

"We're there...finally," Ignis sighed.

Noctis went to approach the royal tomb, but he quickly backed away when a mindflayer materialized out of thin air and blocked the path. Alongside the medium-sized daemon was a pack of imps.

"Can't it ever be easy?" Gladio groaned, summoning his greatsword.

"Never." Noctis conjured his sword and leapt at the mindflayer.

"Where's the fun in that?" Ignis sarcastically replies, calling upon his own daggers and joining the fray.

Prompto used his pistol to attack from a safe distance. Whenever he was able to defeat a single imp, he shrieked when flans manifested right behind him. "These things are everywhere!"

(Y/n) placed distance between her, the boys, and the daemons. "This calls for a little fire." She transformed in her spiritual form and immediately pounced on the nearest daemon. Using her fire, she burned it to a crisp before setting her sights on another one. Seeing her presence had grabbed the attention of all the imps, she stepped back and inhaled deeply. Once creating a large flame in her throat, she exhaled and breathed fire at the small daemons. Each one perished from her attack.

Hearing a scream from behind her, (Y/n)'s ears twitched. She turned around and saw one of the mindflayers grabbed Prompto. She leapt into action, latching her jaw around the daemon's body and yanking it off the blonde. When he was free, she tossed the mindflayer aside and Gladio dealt the finishing blow.

While Prompto was recovering from the attack, the spirit utilized her many tails and swatted away any daemons that tried to attack him. Noctis made his way over and killed the enemies that she smacked away. Ignis and Gladio took down the last mindflayer while Prompto fires another bullet and annihilated the last flan. He sighed in relief when seeing all the adversaries were dead. "Does this mean we can go back outside?!"

Noctis didn't answer the marksman as he enters the Tomb of the Wanderer, acquiring the weapon that belonged to his ancestor. While he claimed his third royal arm, Prompto wandered over to his guardian. He threw his arms around her neck and buried his face into her soft fur. "So warm..."

(Y/n) nudged her nose against the top of his head in response to his touch. She messed with his hair until Noctis exited the royal tomb with his newly acquired weapon. With their business done, she returned to her human form and they left greyshire glacial grotto.

Outside the cave, Noctis is suddenly wracked with pain and grabs at his head. He witnesses a vision of Titan as well as the Disc of Cauthess. Prompto stepped away from (Y/n) to check on his best friend. "Noct, you okay?!"

The prince was baffled at the images that crossed through his mind. "What did I... Where was that?"

"What is it?" Gladio asked.

"A hole in the ground...something burning... The Meteor?"

"You saw the Disc of Cauthess?" Ignis asked with a tone of shock.

"Let's make our way back to Lestallum," the shield said.

Prompto nodded. "Yeah, gotta report to Talcott."

"Can you walk?" (Y/n) inquired.

Noctis met the girl's golden gaze and nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[spiralhigh]

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme  are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

[withoneheadlight]

| a house (is a home) | (i). the keys | (ii). memories&herons | (iii). old dogs&inheritances | (iv). memorabilia | tinyplaylist |

~

The kitchen’s Steve’s favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does but, they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old-fashioned and fiercely cute none of them says a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because “I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests”

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally deigns to pay them a visit, his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed.)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it but, he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It’s a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue, when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, nibbles a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting”, “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he wants to make Billy squirm a little too. 

It’s a heart-warming, welcoming feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the taste of love on Billy’s lips. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavor into Billy’s mouth with his:

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it’s just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that–

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiral of the eight, pointing towards infinity. And then grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there, flooding into summer: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard in an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It’s the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of July, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti Carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry on faraway almost-night on a faraway July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron. Turns the stove down.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Do I scare you or what?“

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen––

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

(“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky.

“Billy, I don’t have to––” 

“Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”)

They made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.)

In this light, they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backward till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their tangled arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, noses at the warmth trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture-perfect from this magical moment onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

(Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called,

“Find him. Please.. Make sure he’s alright”

When Steve found him, Billy was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet stumbling on the twin yellow lines, following them nowhere. So weary, so impossibly small like this: head hanging, arms wrapped around himself. A crooked shape, carrying the weight of the shadows the tall pine trees cast on his back.  

So unlike him. 

Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the icy mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? This is dangerous” And Billy’s spine had bent even lower, forearms finding rest on the window frame. Leveling with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, never going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve–– hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye.

Those weren’t from the crash.

 “I was sleepwalking, Harrington” he said, voice dry, laugh harsh. Shrugged “Waiting for a lucky strike”)

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

(When he took Billy to his house Max was already there. Had sneaked out. “Neil will kill you if he finds out,” Billy said and she nodded, white knuckles peaking red with how hard she was gripping the handler of her bike, and Steve hadn’t seen her cry before, not ever, but her eyes were swollen and wet and,

“Are you––”

“I’m alright, kiddo. You know me. I’m always alright”

And the lie sat heavy, between them. Two lies, covering the truth. Poorly stitched. But Max had called Steve for help, so that’s what he did. Help. Sent her back home. Took care of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands. Nodded at those same lies, let them do their work while taking care of wounds he didn’t know, back then, couldn't have been for a crash. Made him spend the night. 

Billy still hadn't woken up when Steve left the next day, leaving food and a note on the nightstand ‘I’ll be back soon. Stay’. 

Retraced Billy’s steps down the yellow lines splitting the forest in half. To find it.

The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve’s touch, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. And Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Max has said “His dad can’t know, Steve. Can’t know. If he finds out he will--” and steve was starting to put two and two together. To realize some billy was, maybe, running away from something. Someone. When he crashed his car.

Woke Billy up when the hands of the clock met over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Seventeen hours straight of sleep and still looking like he could use a lifetime. Told him “The car will be ready in two or three days. ‘Til then, you stay'' covered his mouth with his hand. Didn't let him complain “And If whatever happened last night happens again, you take it and you run. Back here. And you stay again, ok?”

Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Lit him a cigarette. Offered to teach him how to fight.

“I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

Made him laugh.

They spent almost the whole summer together, after that. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking. Driving.

Falling.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep, pretty boy. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. Promise I won’t stop kissing you until dawn. Gotta make up for what you paid for that ca, uh?”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t gonna throw a single glance behind his back.

That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––)

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh bursts, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

(–ended up coming back running, hoping the love would re-stitch itself as he followed the road’s yellow lines. 

Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.)

Because the sun’s gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird trapezoidal kitchen (in their house, in their home), for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

~

[fallinnflower]

dark honey

joshua x reader (musician!joshua, barista!reader, nuisances-to-lovers?)

dark honey - a variety of honey that is darker in color and has a sweeter, more intense flavor

lyrics from here

a/n: this is a passion project i’ve been working on off and on for months now, an i have to give a huge thanks to @softseunies​ for helping me see it through. enjoy this long, super indulgent fluff for everyone’s favorite gentleman~

Your first job in university is at a coffee shop down in the adjacent town. It’s on the main street, and at any given time you’re catering to town locals and students alike. Although at first you’d been uncertain about the job, you’d quickly come to enjoy it — your coworkers brought you out of your shell, and the longer you worked the more confident in your abilities you became.

It was after the winter break that the musician first showed up. He looks about your age, with dirty blond curls of hair brushing just over his eyebrows; you wonder if he goes to your university, and if so what he’s doing playing a gig on a Thursday night. You try not to think too much of it, focusing on your job — that is, until the boy takes a break from tuning his guitar, coming to lean up against the counter right in front of you. His pose is calculatedly casual, the kind of relaxed that you think must come with practice and lots of looking at himself in the mirror. How could anyone look so effortlessly attractive otherwise?

“Hi,” you greet, just like you would anyone else. “What can I get for you?” He smiles at you. It makes him look a bit cat-like. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that’s charming, and to you it screams danger.

“An iced americano, please,” he says, and even his speaking voice seems to have a musical quality to it, soft and lilting. This guy seems like he could do some serious damage to your heart, you think, if you’d ever let him. You flash him your most customer service branded smile, 

“Alright. I’ll bring it over to you when you’re ready.” You catch him reaching for his wallet and remember the staff meeting that had been called just this afternoon, quickly speaking up to catch his attention,

“First drink is on the house.” The boy stops, hand still in his back pocket, and looks up at you with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind as the grin grows on his face, gaze sparkling.

“Boss’s orders,” you add, then turn away to the espresso machine. You can feel the musician’s eyes on you as you go about the process of making his drink, and while the espresso pours over the ice you busy yourself with wiping down the counters and restocking the cups and lids. The whole while, you can tell he’s stayed by the counter, waiting for you to finish his drink — you hate that it makes you feel so on edge, considering the coffeeshop is in such a relaxed evening state.

“Here you go,” you say, forcing a polite smile as you pass him his drink. He takes it into his hands and you thank all the stars above that this weird situation is finally going to be over, turning your attention to the bakery case—

You hear the straw punch through the whole in his plastic lid, the ice clinking together, and rather than footsteps away from the counter you hear his voice once again.

“Are you sticking around for the performance?” He asks, taking a casual sip of his drink. You take care to look only into his eyes (not at his pretty lips, he’s really unfairly good-looking and it makes you resent him, almost).

“You mean your performance?” You ask, coolly. He shoots you a cocky smirk, and you look away to pull an almost-empty tray of cookies off their shelf to be restocked in the back.

“I’ll still be working then, so yes. Technically.” 

“Good,” he replies, grinning. Your only response is a curt nod as you begin making your way into the kitchen, but as you shoulder the door open he speaks up once again, 

“I’m Joshua, by the way.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hesitating for a moment before replying.

“Y/N.”

With that, you enter the kitchen and nudge the door shut behind you, desperate to get away from the feeling of Joshua’s eyes on your back and the blush you can feel raging across your cheeks.

Yeah, you think, this guy is definitely dangerous. (For your heart.)

As soon as you come back out into the shop, you catch Joshua glancing up at you. Every time he catches your eye, he flashes you that cat-like grin, and you politely smile back because you don’t want your boss to scold you later for being rude.

“He’s cute,” Yeri whispers after about the third shared glance, elbowing you gently. Out of the corner of your eyes you can see Joshua scrolling through something on his phone, his guitar still perched in his lap. For a moment, you almost allow yourself to admire him, from the way his collarbones peek through the unbuttoned top of his shirt to the narrowness of his waist, and the way the light of the setting sun pouring through the windows catches in his hair, turning it to spun gold. When he’s not looking at you and obviously flirting, he has an almost angelic prettiness to him that’s hard to look away from.

“I guess,” you reply, going back to wiping down the counters.

“Well, he seems to think you’re cute, anyways.” You roll your eyes.

“He seems like the type to think everyone is cute, Yeri.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He seems nice enough to me.” When you glance up, you find him looking at you again. This time, he winks, and you once again smile politely before turning back to Yeri and her teasing grin.

“Too flirtatious for my tastes,” you reply coolly. “I’m sure he’ll be hitting on you next.” 

Business picks up slightly around the time of Joshua’s gig, so you don’t pay him too much attention. He has a sweet voice though, you have to admit — not that you thought your boss would hire someone untalented for this new business venture, but you find yourself feeling quite prickly about Joshua. You don’t trust boys who flirt so openly with someone they don’t know, especially a service worker who’s forced to be polite, so you’d set yourself up to dislike things about him. His singing, however, you can’t fault.

Your shift ends around the same time his gig does, and you happen to emerge from the back right when he finishes packing up his equipment.

“Hey,” he greets, seeing you walking out from behind the counter. “What did you think?” You pause awkwardly by the door, turning to look back at him.

“Um, you were good. My boss chose well.” Joshua laughs at your answer, and you try to ignore how sparkly his eyes seem to be. As you exit the building, he follows suit.

“Are you headed to the bus stop?” He asks, quickly catching up with you. You shake your head, letting your hair down from its ponytail as you do and relishing in the night breeze blowing through it. 

“No, I live nearby. I just walk.” 

“Oh.” You ignore the crestfallen tone of his voice, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. 

“Well, I’ll walk you that far, then,” he states. You glance at him and shrug.

“If you want.” 

“I do.” He grins at you, the light from the streetlamps igniting sparks in his eyes and making his skin glow. You avert your eyes, feeling your heart stutter at the sight of him; you were right to think he was dangerous. 

He stops walking at the bus stop, and although you continue walking you’re brought to a halt only a moment later when you hear him call your name. You hesitate then resolve to be polite and turn to him.

“It was nice meeting you,” he calls, beaming at you. With his guitar slung over his shoulder and his hair slightly tousled from the wind, he somehow looks almost harmless to you. You bite down on the inside of your cheek again, reminding yourself to tread carefully as you nod in response. 

“See you next Thursday?” He asks, and you swear he looks hopeful, his eyes glittering like the stars far above your town. 

“Yeah,” you reply, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes and behind your ear. “Goodnight, Joshua.” Somehow, he seems to smile even more brightly and broadly at that, giving you a little wave. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

The wind blows once again, and you turn into it, walking back to campus and wondering all the while about the honey-voiced guitarist and his intentions.

Although Joshua had occupied your mind heavily that Thursday night, by the next week you’ve nearly forgotten there’s a musician performing at the cafe. Nearly, though Joshua himself soon rectifies that by sidling up to the counter almost the moment you emerge from the kitchen. Thankfully, you’re able to hide your shock at his sudden appearance at the counter, plastering a polite smile onto your face.

“Just a second,” you say, and Joshua nods. You can feel his eyes on you as you place the trays of freshly baked goods on the racks in the case, and try not to feel nervous.

“What can I get for you?” You ask, brushing off your palms on your apron. 

“An americano,” he says, casually. You open your mouth to respond, but suddenly Joshua is leaning across the counter, his sparkly eyes gazing into your own and stunning you into silence,

“And your Snapchat. If you have one.” 

You aren’t often speechless, but it seems that Joshua is proving himself to be all kinds of surprising. You realize he’s still staring and attempt to snap yourself out of this strange stupor, furrowing your brows. 

“Um, I have one, yeah. I don’t use it much, though,” you say, but you still pull your phone out of your pocket and pull up the QR code. Joshua eagerly takes a photo — you wonder if he’s had Snapchat pulled up the whole time, just waiting. While he’s still messing around in the app, you slide your phone back off the counter and into your pocket, eyeing him warily all the while, hoping (belatedly) that you haven’t given him the wrong idea.

“Your drink should be ready soon.” Before Joshua can say anything else, you turn to the espresso machine, grateful that Yeri steps up to take the register as another customer enters the cafe. You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to continue that conversation.

You wonder if it’s rude of you to ignore someone’s Snapchats for multiple hours at a time. It isn’t intentional — you don’t use the app much and your friends all know this, but not Joshua. 

And Joshua is always on Snapchat. You wonder if he’s this active on all of his social media accounts, and whether or not it’s a byproduct of his job choice, but you get at least four notifications a day from him and at best reply to one. It doesn’t deter him, however. You field the same number of notifications from him just about every day, and on the rare occasion that you post something on your Story he almost always sends a response.

A part of you feels bad, because he seems to be trying so hard to get your attention and you’ve been giving him responses which are mediocre at best, but then you try to remind yourself of his glittering eyes and the dangers in pursuing things that shine. Besides, you don’t really have the time to be playing some weird push-and-pull game with him — you’re a full-time student who works part-time, and as the end of the semester creeps ever nearer a musician boyfriend is the last thing you need. Not that you would want to date Joshua anyways, of course.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

The third Thursday Joshua comes to perform is hell. You’ve hit a total block in your midterm paper for Lit class, you were almost late to work because you couldn’t find your cap, and once you got to work you almost immediately burnt your hand while washing out some of the mugs in the back. You’d been quick to get it under lukewarm water, but the skin at the base of your thumb is still an angry red. And to top it all off your phone keeps buzzing in the pocket of your apron, which normally wouldn’t bother you very much but under the current circumstances feels like what’s about to make you boil over. 

So, when Joshua breezes through the doors, all smiles and sunshine lingering on his skin, it’s enough to make your skin prickle with irritation. You avoid eye contact as he makes goes to set his guitar down on the stage, trying to ignore him even as he draws closer and closer to the counter—

“Hey,” he says, giving you an exaggerated pout when you glance up. “You never replied to my Snapchat today. How are we supposed to get a streak if you never respond?” You shrug lightly, barely sparing a moment to flash even half  smile his way. 

“I’m bad at keeping streaks.” Josh lets out a sigh, dropping his chin into his hand. He gazes up at you through his eyelashes, his fringe hanging down just past his eyebrows. You tell yourself you shouldn’t be wasting your time admiring him, but it’s the golden hour and even you can’t deny that Joshua is attractive. Even as it sets off alarm bells in your head, the glow of his skin is enticing, and the way he looks at you almost feels fond. You brush off the skip in your heartbeat as merely your blood pressure spiking after a rough day, and brush nonexistent dust off your apron, avoiding his gaze.

“Iced americano?” You ask, and Joshua is grinning when you cast a glance up at him. 

“You know me so well,” he purrs, and you’re disappointed in yourself for wanting to smile at the cute tone of his voice. This is exactly why you need to avoid someone like Joshua, this Venus flytrap of false charm. You clear your throat and tell yourself to get back to your senses, pulling a plastic cup off the stack and moving away from the register to the drink station. All the while, as usual, you feel Joshua’s eyes on you, his chin still propped in his hands. 

“But, really, you’re always so absent on social media,” he muses. “Why is that?”

“I have a life,” you deadpan, dumping a scoop of ice into his cup. As you set it under the espresso drip, you feel the atmosphere shift behind you.

“Come on, you can’t be that busy—”

“Don’t talk like you know me,” you snap, and Joshua falls silent. For a moment, the only sound is the grinding of coffee beans in the espresso machine. 

“Wait, do you actually not like me?” He asks. The loaded statement seems to fire an icy bullet straight into your heart, and when you lift your gaze from his drink your only thought is, oh. 

Oh. Maybe you’ve been reading this wrong all along, because Joshua looks genuinely crestfallen at your lack of response, at the revelation that you’ve been bothered by him all this time. 

“Ah. I see. I thought— never mind. I’m sorry for bothering you,” Joshua says, and he’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes. For once his expression looks dull, faded, and you feel the knot in your stomach twist more tightly. Simultaneously you feel sick and winded as he makes his way back to his guitar, seated so he can’t glance up and make eye contact with you anymore. Funny how just those few inches seem to change so much, as you desperately try to get his attention, though to do what you’re not sure. After all, during a set isn’t a good time to apologize, and what would you even say? Your tongue is as twisted up as your stomach, and as a result you spend the rest of your shift away from the register. 

At the end of the night, Joshua practically throws his things together and is out the door before you can even untie your apron. By the time you pass his bus stop, he’s already in the middle of a small crowd of other locals waiting for their ride, his earbuds in to block out the noise of the city. 

You walk past. Then, like the first night you ever encountered Joshua, you halt and turn back to look at him — although this time, nobody is calling your name. Rather, he stands with his back resolutely turned to the rest of the sidewalk, guitar slung across it like a shield to protect him from your gaze. You sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek, biting down hard to distract yourself from the tell-tale tension you feel building in your jaw and temples. The breeze sweeps your hair in front of your eyes, and you take it as a sign to turn away from him and continue on your way home, an unfamiliar emptiness emerging in your chest. 

When the first tear slips down your cheek, you blame it on the wind. 

From that night forward, you make an active effort to reach out to Joshua. You try to find a balance, still just as busy as you were before and therefore as dormant on social media, but you find yourself trying to think of ways to make a mundane part of your day conversation-worthy.

Suffice to say, you aren’t very good at it. Joshua’s responses are few and far between, especially that Friday when all you can manage to send is a picture of your daily iced coffee and a snap out of one of the windows on the library’s top floor. You can’t blame him, of course; the tension is thick enough to be cut with a knife even when the two of you are connected only by an app, and given your tactlessness the night before you really don’t blame him for not wanting to chat.

But you hope that he sees that you’re trying, even though you’re too cowardly to apologize outright.

Things change on Saturday night.

For you, Saturday evenings are prime real estate for some much needed rest and relaxation, but you can tell from Joshua’s Story updates that his weekend is what you’d typically expect of a college student: he’s going to party.

You don’t Snapchat him much throughout the day, until you notice something — someone familiar in one of his updates. Although Junhui is only your lab partner, it seems like a golden opportunity for striking up a conversation with Joshua. Maybe you could finally ask him something about whether or where he goes to school at, or… something like that. When the image passes, you find yourself replaying Joshua’s entire Story once again just to continue mulling it over. You sink your teeth into your lower lip, and eventually you decide to bite the bullet and swipe up,

tell junhui i say hi lol >

As soon as you press send, you launch your phone to the other end of your couch and stubbornly turn the volume up a couple of notches on your television. God, what a stupid thing to say—

And yet, you hear the buzz of an incoming message, and when you can’t stand the suspense any longer you’re surprised to find it’s a response from Joshua. Rather than a text, he’s responded with a selfie where Jun has slung an arm around Joshua’s shoulders and is grinning excitedly. The caption tells you that Jun says hi, and yet you find yourself distracted by the boy whose smile is half cut off by the edge of the screen. It still doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you feel the same guilt rising like bile in the back of your throat, slowly suffocating you until you can’t bear to reply — you merely turn off the screen and place the device face down, unable to even focus on your show anymore. 

Later in the evening, after the sun has set and you’ve settled deeply into the cushions of your couch, your phone buzzes again. You pick it up, expecting the screen to flash with a notification from one of your many apps urging you to log in, but you feel your heart skip a beat at the banner on your screen.

Snapchat

joshua is typing…

While you’re staring at the notification, wondering if it’s some sort of mistake, a second notification pops up from Snapchat letting you know that whatever Joshua was typing, he’s now sent your way. You feel a familiar sense of anxiety grip you, and you burrow down deeper into your blanket more for security than temperature as you unlock your phone and navigate to the notification. After one long, deep breath, you click on his chat message.

< y/nnnnnnnn

< y dont uu lije me??

< jun is waytyy moee annoyying

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, Josh’s bitmoji pops back up in the corner and he begins typing again. 

< its nott fair :(

< ur cute

< i’m cute

< whats nit to like????

You can feel your cheeks burning bright red as his bitmoji disappears again, leaving you staring at the screen. Your thumbs hover anxiously over your keyboard, teeth biting down on your lower lip almost until you think you’ll draw blood. What do you even say to that? Where do you start? 

Will he even remember this in the morning?

Will he regret it?

After a moment, you huff out a deep breath through your nose and start typing.

i’m sorry, josh. maybe we should talk about this when ur not drunk lol >

drink some water! goodnight >

Once again, you find yourself tossing your phone away from you to the end of the couch, quickly drawing your blanket up over your head so all you see is the familiar and comforting gray. You blame your flushed cheeks on the warmth of your fleece throw, trying to ignore the tension that seems to consume your entire body.

In the morning, as the sun creeps across the carpet through the slats in your shades, your phone buzzes. Blindly, you reach for it on your bedside table and drag it towards your face, cracking one eye open with the other squished against your pillow. You squint against the sudden brightness of your phone screen, but once you read the notification you suddenly feel very awake.

Snapchat

joshua is typing… 

You open the notification the moment he finishes typing, immediately feeling awkward for being so eager. 

< oh god

< i am SO sorry i had way too much to drink last night

< god that was probably really awkward

< whatever i did, pls just ignore it! sorry for bothering u haha

Your brow wrinkles in confusion, and you find yourself scrolling up—

His messages from the night before are gone. Belatedly, you realize that neither of you had saved them; him, because he was drunk, and you, because you were so caught off guard. Looking at the current conversation, with Joshua’s rushed and obviously embarrassed apology, you wonder if it would be better to just not tell him about what happened. Maybe you two were just meant to have this awkward non-relationship now, where you had to live with your mistakes because you didn’t know how to apologize for them.

And then, you realize, how this goes is up to you. You shouldn’t keep choosing to wallow in self-pity. 

it’s no problem >

i’m the one who made things awkward to begin with >

plus, calling me cute isn’t really something you need to apologize for lol >

< …i actually did that???

< ahh this is so embarrassing

You can’t help but laugh to yourself, imagining a flustered Joshua reading over your messages. You bite down on your lip to try and suppress the massive grin you can feel building, feeling a sudden burst of confidence from seeing this new side of Joshua.

don’t be embarrassed~ >

it was sweet! >

< are you sure? 

< it didn’t make you uncomfortable?

no!! >

if anything, it just made me realize how much i misjudged you… i’m sorry again about that >

For a while, your message goes unanswered, and in an attempt to take your mind off of the anxiety coursing through your veins you drag yourself out of bed to take a shower. You would be lying if you said you weren’t hoping for a reply when you emerged, but you try to push the disappointment out of your mind as you go about your daily routine. Since it’s the weekend, you don’t have many plans other than homework, which you fully intend to do while swaddled in blankets on your couch.

You’re looking through your fridge for breakfast ideas when your phone goes off, and despite all your intentions and what you’d like to tell yourself, you open the Snapchat notification almost immediately.

< i think we got off on the wrong foot

< are you free today?

You stop the refrigerator door from closing, trying desperately to use the cool air from the inside to cool your burning face. 

yeah! >

< do you want to get coffee? 

on one condition >

it’s my treat! >

Joshua agrees to your terms, and the two of you agree to meet at the cafe you work at in half an hour for a ‘fresh start’ in your relationship. After donning an outfit that you belatedly worry might be a little too casual for such a meeting, you slap on some makeup to even out your skin and practically sprint out of your apartment building. It isn’t until you get to the first crosswalk that you manage to calm yourself down, taking in a deep breath through your nose. 

You reach the cafe before Joshua does, and you go ahead and order his usual and a cold brew for yourself, as well as a pastry because catching a whiff of the baked goods reminds you that you haven’t eaten anything yet today. 

“Two drinks?” Yeri asks from behind the register, grinning mischievously. 

“Hush,” you say, looking down as you dig in your bag for your wallet in an attempt to keep her from noticing your blushing face. 

It turns out to be a fruitless endeavor. You and Yeri have worked together far too long, and you’ve never regretted it until now. You hear the door opening and refuse to look, but you can tell it’s Joshua just based on Yeri’s facial expression alone. She slyly looks back towards you, her grin broadening as she watches you squirm under her gaze.

“I don’t need my receipt,” you say, quickly, snatching your card back from her with a warning look. She simply giggles, not at all fazed by your half-baked threats — probably because she saw your hand trembling when you reached for your card. 

“Your drinks will be right out,” she sings, and you grimace. A laugh sounds from behind you, and despite the fact that you knew he was in the building you still find yourself startled by his presence.

“You weren’t kidding about paying,” he remarks, and you shake your head, hoping he can’t see how nervous you are behind your smile.

“What can I say,” you shrug, following Joshua to a table by one of the large windows. “I’m a woman of my word.” As the two of you sit down, you find yourself overcome by nerves once again.

“I ordered you an iced americano,” you say, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he replies sweetly, and you look up to find his gaze steady, comforting. 

“So, uh, how was the party?” You ask, averting your gaze. Joshua lets out a groan, causing your gaze to snap back to him as he closes his eyes and slumps down into his seat.

“Don’t remind me,” he whines. “I’m so embarrassed.” You can’t help but laugh when you catch sight of him blushing, leaning across the table slightly. You gently pat the back of his hand in reassurance, giggling all the while at his antics.

“Come on, it could’ve been worse! You could’ve hit on Junhui or something.” Joshua shoots you a scandalized look, which only makes you laugh more, and as you find yourself overcome by your bout of laughter you don’t even notice the softening of Joshua’s gaze until you look squarely at him again.

“What?” You ask, half breathless. You find yourself smoothing your hair behind your ears nervously as Joshua leans his elbows on the table, one cheek cradled in his hand.

“Nothing,” he sings, though his smile grows more mischievous under your attention. “Just thinking that you’re a lot prettier than Junhui, so I guess my drunken antics weren’t the worst.” You open your mouth to respond, but are interrupted by one of your coworkers coming by to drop off your coffees and pastry. You thank them quietly before turning your attention back to Joshua, although you focus your gaze on your coffee soon after, stirring the straw around in your glass to be sure it’s chilled enough. 

“Are you always such a flirt, Joshua?” You ask, your gaze briefly flitting up to catch his. He looks almost nervous until his eyes dart to the up-turned corners of your mouth, and then he drags his glass closer to his edge of the table, leaning conspiratorially over it to capture your full attention.

“No,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Only if I think the person is worthy of the compliment.” The mischief in his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are warm and sincere as they meet yours, leaving you stunned almost to the point of breathlessness. You clear your throat and smooth down the napkin on your laugh, feeling a blush heat up your cheeks.

“Oh,” you murmur, and Josh beams across the table at you as you nervously take a bite of your croissant. 

The rest of the morning passes amicably, the sunshine pouring through the windows across the table you’re sitting at and illuminating Joshua’s face. You can’t get the glowing image of him out of your head for the rest of the day. (Or week, if you’re being honest.) By the time you’ve departed from the cafe and reach Joshua’s bus stop the city is verging on the golden hour, turning Joshua’s eyes to dark honey — the sweetest kind there is. 

“Text me when you get home, okay?” He states, more an order than a request, and you find yourself nodding, brushing your hair behind your ear as the breeze gently blows between you. 

“Okay.” As Joshua turns away, you find yourself halting in your steps, turning back to look at him as he goes to stand by the curb.

“Joshua!” You call, the wind carrying your voice to him. He looks up, the sun bathing him in shades of gold, all manner of warm and sweet things, the taste of sugar lingering on your lips when you nervously sweep your tongue over them—

“I’ll see you Thursday?” You offer, and although for a moment you feel your heart sinking at your foolishness, you end up rewarded by Joshua’s generous, beaming smile as it outshines the sun behind him.

“Looking forward to it.” 

With one last smile shared between you, you turn on your heel and practically float your way back home, relieved (and somewhat bewildered) by the weightlessness you feel in your chest. 

By the time Thursday comes again, you can’t remember what being awkward around Josh even felt like. Or, at least, being awkward over messaging apps — sometimes when Joshua looks at you a certain way, or sends a selfie of himself giving you a specific look, you find yourself feeling flustered, but it’s not the same as before. In less than a week, your whole perception of Joshua has changed. Rather than the narcissistic fuckboi you’d thought he was, you realized he was just a cute dork who had decided to take a chance on flirting with you. You shouldn’t be surprised to find yourself catching feelings for him, but it feels shocking nonetheless each time you notice your heart skipping a beat when he calls you cute, or pretty.

And yet, despite all of that, you still doubt Joshua’s interest in you romantically. He’s so candid it somehow makes you question things still. Plus, now that he knows you, awkwardness and all, you wonder how and why someone like him (handsome, gentlemanly, talented) would like someone like you. 

On Thursday, you put on a little more makeup than you usually do for work, and find yourself giddy for your evening shift — a fact which Yeri notices and uses as an excuse to tease you for the full hour of your shift before Joshua shows up.

“So you agree after all,” she says, lifting her chin proudly. You can feel your cheeks turning red and duck your head, inspecting the inside of the bakery case.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” She slaps your arm gently with a rag.

“Joshua being cute! Why do you have to be so stubborn?” She whines, and you don’t even have to look at her to see the exaggerated pout on her face. You open your mouth to reply, but the door swinging open stops you both in your tracks.

“Hi!” Yeri chirps, waving at Joshua. He pulls his hand away from his windswept hair he’d been rearranging to wave back at her, but his eyes barely land on her for a moment before his gaze skips over to you. His expression softens, and you feel your knees turn to jelly. How is it he can look so casual and still be so attractive? 

“Hey Yeri,” he says, walking up to the counter, guitar still slung over his shoulder. His eyes don’t leave yours, and you remain rooted to the spot. “Y/N.” Your name rolls off his tongue like honey, and you feel warm all over, as though his gaze is enveloping you. 

“Hey,” you reply, biting down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. 

It takes the door opening again for you to come back to your senses, side-stepping over to the espresso machine. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, trying to compose yourself now that you aren’t looking directly at Joshua. “Iced americano?” 

“Always,” he laughs, and the sound makes your heart flutter. You want to tell him to stop being so cute, but after spending the week talking to him you realize it’s just in his nature to be like this, and if it’s anyone’s fault it’s yours for being so affected by him. 

You expect him to go unpack his guitar at the stage and settle there, but instead he lingers near the end of the bar, waiting for his drink. His gaze prickles against the back of your neck, and you focus unnecessarily hard on the pouring water into the cup to try and tamp down your blush. 

“Here you go,” you chirp, pushing the drink across the counter to him. Joshua wraps his hand around it as you’re letting go, fingers brushing and sending a jolt of electricity through you — and yet the sensation is nothing compared to the feeling you get when he looks into your eyes, a slight blush dusting his own cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Are you staying for the whole set?” He asks, softly, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” you reply, grabbing a straw for him from the box to your left. He takes it from you absentmindedly. “I work until then, anyways. Unless you’re playing an extended show tonight.” Joshua shakes his head, smile broadening, and you swear you almost see relief in his eyes. 

“Nope, same amount of time as always. Just wanted to be sure.” He unwraps the straw and pokes it through the lid, but before he turns away from the counter completely he shoots you one of his mischievous cat-like grins, “Needed to make sure my biggest fan was going to be in attendance.” You roll your eyes, snatching the straw paper from his hand and swatting gently at his shoulder as you do so.

“Yah, Joshua Hong, don’t get cocky just because we’re friends now.” He laughs, countenance brightening to rival the sun outside the cafe.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Y/N.” With that, he makes his way over to the stage, and although you try your best not to stare at him as he goes, Yeri catches you anyways.

“Shut it,” you warn, but she simply grins innocently at you, batting her eyelashes, leaving you rolling your eyes as you restock the cups. 

Joshua’s set goes by in its usual way, though it warms your heart when you notice more people than usual seem to be there to see him perform. Despite the influx of customers, you still manage to tune into a lot of Joshua’s songs, sometimes finding yourself humming along to the covers he’s singing as you brew drinks. Just like always, his eyes seem to drift to catch yours, a gentle smile curling the corners of his lips.

“Thank you,” he says, after taking a sip of coffee, readjusting himself on his stool. He ducks his head, grateful yet bashful as the crowd in the cafe applauds his cover. A glance at the clock tells you your shift is almost over, and Joshua appears to do the same, letting out a little sigh as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Unfortunately, I only have time for one more song,” he starts, running the fingers of one hand nervously along the strings of his guitar. “I want to try something a little different. This next song is an original, I hope you all like it.” His smile broadens briefly when his eyes catch yours, before he lightly clears his throat. You watch as the gentle, warm light of the cafe envelopes him, and Yeri gently nudges you away from the register and closer to the side of the counter where you’ll have the best view of Josh. When you look back at her questioningly, she only winks in response, but before you can say anything you’re interrupted by Joshua’s honeyed voice as it fills the room,

온종일 정신 없이 바쁘다가도

(All day, I’m crazy busy)

틈만 나면 니가 생각나

(But I still think of you whenever I can)

언제부터 내 안에 살았니

(Since when did you live inside of me?)

참 많이 웃게 돼 너 때문에 난

(I smile so much because of you)

As the song progresses, you find yourself nodding along with it, not caring to tone down the fondness in your expression as you look at Josh. After all, his gaze is on the rest of the audience in the cafe, not you.

어느새 너의 모든 것들이 편해지나 봐

(I’m getting more comfortable with all of you)

부드러운 미소도 나지막한 목소리도

(Your soft smile and your low voice)

Suddenly, Joshua turns to look straight at you, and your heart skips a beat as he leans into the mic with his eyes still locked on yours, 

You- 아직은 얘기할 수 없지만

(You, I still can’t tell you)

나 있잖아 니가 정말 좋아

(But I really like you)

사랑이라 말하긴 어설플지 몰라도

(Maybe it’s not love yet)

아주 솔직히 그냥 니가 참 좋아

(But honestly, I really like you)

It’s the second time you’ve found yourself having an ‘oh’ moment with Joshua, and even though he looks back into the audience, you still can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the faint pink blush dusting his cheeks. You barely notice any of the other lyrics he’s singing, your heart beating so rapidly you can hear it in your ears. It isn’t until Yeri nudges you with her shoulder that you realize the cafe patrons are applauding Joshua, who bows his head with that same sheepish smile painted across his face. On autopilot, you find yourself clapping along, slowly making your way into the back to hang up your staff apron and grab your coat and bag. You wonder, all the while, if you’re reading too much into this, trying desperately to shake yourself out of this stupor before you have to walk out and face Joshua. 

Which happens a bit sooner than usual, since Joshua is already packed up and ready to go by the time you’ve exited the staff room. He looks up from his phone and smiles, shoving the device in his pocket. 

“Ready to go?” You can only manage to nod in response, nervously running your fingers through your hair and quietly muttering a thank you when he holds the door open for you. 

The autumn evening sun casts long shadows of the both of you, bodies stretching endlessly along the sidewalk before you. You keep your eyes trained on your own shadow, in pursuit of the figure you can never reach, and you don’t realize you’ve reached the bus stop until Joshua’s shadow hand is suddenly melting into yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice as gentle as his touch. He passes his thumb over your knuckles, brows furrowed as you turn to face him. “Everything okay?” His gaze is almost heartbreaking in its tenderness, and you feel yourself sinking ever deeper into the warm honey-brown of his eyes. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it, and chuckle nervously as you pass a hand over your hair again.

“Yeah, sorry,” you say. “Just, you know, overthinking.” Looking at Joshua suddenly feels like looking at the sun, so you avert your gaze to the ground where your shadows of your shoes on the pavement meld together, surrounded by the golden evening light. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He speaks low, as though it’s a secret between the two of you and the autumn sky he’s imploring you to share as he gently squeezes your fingers. 

“I know we haven’t been friends for long,�� he continues, and you can feel the earnestness of his gaze on you, even as you can’t bring yourself to look at him for fear of your heart leaping out of your chest. “But I want you to know, you can tell me anything, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you say, and you mean it. You close your eyes for a moment, building up the courage to ask Joshua about his song before it’s swept away for good be the wind.

“Just— I know I might be reading too into things, but, your song tonight,” you start, and you glance up at Joshua only to look away out of fear of losing your nerve under his glowing gaze. He gently squeezes your hand again, rubbing small circles into the back of it with his thumb. 

“I mean, we got off on the wrong foot, I know, but you were looking right at me during the chorus. A-and you’ve been flirting with me pretty much since we met, but—” 

Suddenly, you feel the warmth of Joshua’s fingertips beneath your chin, slowly turning your face up to look into his. 

“No buts,” he laughs, eyes sparkling playfully. “I was starting to think you’d never catch on! Since I think this is what you were rambling about: yes, I really like you, Y/N.”

You like to think you’re a level-headed person, and generally that you’re good at keeping your emotions in check, and yet when Joshua Hong looks directly into your eyes with a smile and says he likes you, the only response you can formulate is a high-pitched whine as you cover your face with your hands.

“How can you say that so calmly?” You bemoan, eyes squeezed tightly shut as you feel Joshua pulling your hands away from your face.

“You’re cute,” he says, half-teasing, holding both your hands in his. With his newfound leverage he pulls you closer to him, and you find yourself stunned into opening your eyes. 

“So,” he starts, his mouth curled up in the corners in that same cat-like grin he’s sported since you met him. “Does that mean you like me back?” 

“Do I really have to say it?” 

“I don’t know,” he replies, leaning in so close you can feel his breath fanning across your lips. “Do you?” You shift your weight awkwardly from one foot to another before finally letting out a sigh, looking down at the ground.

“솔직히 그냥 니가 참 좋아 (honestly, I really like you)…” you sing softly, under your breath. You almost cringe at yourself, especially when you’re met only by silence from Josh. Unable to take it any longer, you force yourself to look up—

Only to find Joshua blushing, grinning bashfully down at the sidewalk. 

“Oh?” You start, leaning down to get a better look at his face. “Have I finally flustered Joshua Hong? I never thought I’d see the day!” He huffs out a laugh in disbelief, 

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Despite the teasing edge to his voice, it’s practically dripping with fondness that borders on admiration and brings your heart to a skipping halt in your chest for half a beat. Joshua’s gaze holds yours intently, hands still holding onto yours. After a moment, he squeezes your hands, taking a deep breath—

“Can I kiss you?” He asks abruptly, eyes searching, and when you lean up to press your lips to his you wonder if maybe you’re being too eager. But there’s no room for you to regret, for as sweet as Joshua’s voice is, his lips are doubly as honeyed.

And so it’s no surprise to you that that kiss is the first of many.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

King Cake (2/12/2021)

Alastor sends a hostage letter to Sir Pentious @hiss-and-vinegar​ letting him know that his king cake is ready. Sir Pentious boldly tracks down Alastor at his secret lair (the hotel he hangs out at every single day) to retrieve the hostage cake.

They hang out in the kitchen, chat, and hatch a dastardly plot to break into another ring of Hell and steal scrap metal.

And there’s an exciting surprise at the end!! You should read it! It’s exciting!!!

Alastor

There's a pompous trumpet fanfare out of nowhere to call attention to a small portal opening up in midair, just in time for a folded paper to drop through.

Unfolded, there's a Polaroid of a chocolaty-looking Bundt cake with careful stripes of gold colored sugar, with the tip of a knife looming threateningly over the innocent cake. The polaroid is paper clipped to a letter made of words cut and pasted from a newspaper, reading: "meet me tonight or the cake gets it !"

The letter is signed with Alastor's KTRD stamp, which begs the question of why he took the time to cut up a newspaper rather than just write the letter himself.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious knows exactly why Alastor did it this way. Because he's EXTRA. Just like Pentious is. In fact, when Penny reads the letter, he's SNICKERING to himself.... until it's a FULL BLOWN CACKLE!

Receiving a letter? Excellent. RECEIVING A RANSOM NOTE??? HAHAAAAA!!! He LOVES IT. Their humor is based on PACKAGED BOMBS, after all. Sir Pentious slithers over to his planner, and begins jotting the information down. Just in case!!! You never know if you'll get distracted. Hee hee.

Alright Alastor, he's going to go take a bath and make sure he's all ready for tonight.

Alastor

Alastor, in all his vast wisdom, totally neglected the most important part of a hostage letter: a time and place for the hostage exchange to take place. He sort of thought that Sir Pentious would message him to arrange a pickup. Someday he'll learn not to assume anything.

At any rate, since he doesn't hear from Sir Pentious, he figures maybe he hasn't seen the letter yet or else doesn't have time to pick up the hostage tonight. If he doesn't hear from Sir Pentious by midnight Alastor will message him to make sure he got the note and that he didn't misinterpret it as a real threat instead of a joke, but in the meantime he distracts himself with hotel business and his other Mardi Gras plans.

Sir Pentious

Yep, it never even dawned on Sir Pentious to just... message him. Likely that meant to meet at the Hotel! Isn't that where Alastor often hung out anyway? It was just easier to meet there anyway, with its strange dimensional ways.

When the time comes, he's slithering into the lobby, still wearing his usual outfit. Should he have dressed up? WELL, there was nothing about dressing up so... Anyway here he is, tongue flicking and all. Slimther slimther.

Alastor

It's not going to be hard to find Alastor—just follow the sound of accordions and loud French singing. He's been playing almost nothing but this song for over a week. Seriously, he's got a dozen different versions of this song.

He's taken over the hotel lounge with various sewing junk: colorful fringes made of scrap fabric, scissors, half-hemmed squares of fabric. At the moment, he's attaching strings of pearls to a fancy-looking dark blue-green coat.

Sir Pentious

Oh! Look at THAT! His eyes widen, ALL of them, and he *beams*, all of his sharp yellow teeth gleaming. A party! Le Carnaval est commencé! He's going to slither in more fully, as he takes in a *deep breath*.....

"*JOYEUX CARNAVAL, MON AMI!!!*" Yes, nothing like screaming during festivities.

Alastor

Alastor starts and jumps out of his seat—oh, Sir Pentious is *here*—and hollers back, "Joyeux carnival!" Why is he hollering, they're in the same room. He tosses down his project and prances across the room to Sir Pentious, half dancing to his music before he finally stops it so they can talk properly. "Look at you, tracking me down in my secret lair—some hostage-taker I am! That'll teach me to send ransom notes."

Sir Pentious

"WELL, YOU COULD BE BETTER AT IT IF YOU INCLUDED A MEETING PLACE AND A MORE APPROXIMATE *TIME*, BUT ALL YOU SSSAID WAS MEET YOU AT MIDNIGHT! WHERE ELSE WOULD I CONCLUDE TO GO?" He lids his eyes, smirking, "ROSIE'SSSS? I THINK NOT!"

They can tease each other about that. *It's allowed.* He straightens his posture and gestures about, "YOU'VE DONE A VERY GOOD JOB DECORATING! BUT I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED AS MUCH FROM A SHOWMAN SSSUCH AS YOURSSSSELF!"

Alastor

"Well—! I thought we were going to arrange a time and place. I didn't want to say 'let's meet at so-and-so,' I didn't know what your availability was. Say, what kind of a victim of a terrifying kidnapping doesn't go and *ask* when and where to meet for an exchange?" Tisk tisk.

He surveys his mess. "Oh, yes—I'm not finished. Most of this decoration is for *me*, believe it or not!" He picks up a battered leather coat, onto one side of which he's messily sewn about half of the colorful fringes that are scattered around the room; and then tosses it back down. "I always start preparing too late, I never figure out what I'm doing for Mardi Gras until the last minute!"

There's a ding like an elevator arriving. "Ah! But you're not here for costumes, you're here for a cake!"

Sir Pentious

.... OH it's for a COSTUME? And here Sir Pentious thought Alastor was decorating.... He kind of looks sheepish a moment, then clears his throat. The reminder of cake has him smiling again.

"YES!! I ENJOYED THE PHOTOGRAPH VERY MUCH, IT LOOKSSS TASTY. I AM EAGER TO TRY IT."

Alastor

"Then by all means!" He leads Sir Pentious toward the kitchen.

"Do you want to try it here? Hard to play the whole king cake game without enough participants to eat the whole thing at once, but! There's no reason you can't eat it bit by bit, really."

Sir Pentious

.... He makes a face......................

"I DON'T WANT TO *SHARE* MY CAKE....." Squint, "I WILL EAT IT WITH *YOU*, BUT IT'SSS MY CAKE!" A real gentleman, truly.

Alastor

"All right! It might take you a few days to find the winning slice, then. But hey! That guarantees you'll be the one to get it!" It's not the traditional way to play, but they're celebrating a Catholic holiday in Hell, who gives a fuck about tradition.

Sir Pentious

Who gives a FUCK indeed. He purrs, and gives Alastor's shoulder a *squeeze.*

"I IMAGINE IT MUSSST HAVE BEEN DIFFICULT TO MATCH MY SPECIFICATIONSSS, BUT YOU WOULD BE THE MAN TO DO IT!"

Alastor

He leans into the squeeze and beams at the praise. "I worked it out! It *was* a challenge, but I'm proud of the results! Just don't eat the cake in the dark."

Sir Pentious

Blink.

"WHY? THAT SSSOUNDSSS OMINOUSS."

Alastor

"What, do you want me to ruin the surprise?" The sweetest, most innocent smile.

He manages to maintain it for a couple of seconds before he cracks and laughs at himself. "Ha! No, I'm kidding, I haven't done anything to it, there's nothing you need to worry about—but you *do* need to eat it with the lights on."

Sir Pentious

He makes a RATTLING sound, face VERY close to Alastor's before he pulls back, "YOU GOT MY HOPESSS UP FOR SSSOMETHING, ALASSSTOR! BUT A TASSSSTY TREAT WILL HAVE TO DO. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE SSSOME WITH ME? I HAVEN'T BROUGHT ANYTHING MYSELF."

Alastor

"I don't tamper with friends' food." He tilts up his chin, as if turning his nose up at the very *thought* of such a thing.

Here's the kitchen and there's the cake, under a little lid to keep it fresh; he removes the lid with a flourish. It looks like the picture. Sans the knife hanging over it. "Oh, maybe a bite or two if you don't want your whole slice, but I don't really like cake." Says the guy who's been constantly baking cakes for the last week and a half. "Anyway! It's designed to be cut into eight sections, you can see from the ridges formed by the cake pan. Take whatever slice you want."

Sir Pentious

Hmmm.... Alastor doesn't like cake! Penny squints at him.

"YOU KNOW WHY YOU DON'T LIKE CAKE? BECAUSE YOU DON'T LIKE TEA. IF YOU LIKED TEA, YOU'D BE MORE CULTURED." He's got the shit eating GRIN. THIS MAN IS IN A GOOD MOOD.

He takes a plate, then a slice.... What does this cake taste like? Time to take a bite and find out!

Alastor

"Oh, is that the reason! Is that why it is! That's the cause and effect chain, enjoying tea causes you to enjoy cake." He elbows Sir Pentious lightly as he passes on the way to a cabinet. "You're lucky I'm not cultured, then. It's more cake for you." He grabs a bag of homemade jerky out of a cabinet—see, he's eating something too—and plops down in a chair near Sir Pentious.

The cake is, unsurprisingly, chocolate—but with a slight citrusy flavor mixed in. Although it was clearly made in a Bundt cake pan, Alastor took the trouble to slice it in half and add an extra layer of chocolate frosting in the middle, with additional colored sugar dyed black mixed into the frosting that makes it shimmer a little.

Alastor watches intensely as Sir Pentious takes his first few bites of the cake; but he loses interest after a few seconds and monches his jerky.

Sir Pentious

Alastor losing interest in watching Pentious eat? THE NERVE!

Sir Pentious is DELIGHTED by the flavor, and he's actually humming out "Mmmm"s as he eats it, eyes closed in pleasantness.

He's doing that thing where he rubs a cheek while he chews. Yumby.

Alastor

HAHA NEVER MIND it's cute and now he's interested again. "I take it you like it!"

Sir Pentious

"I DO, YOU ALWAYSSSS FIND A WAY TO OUTDO YOURSELF. HOW DID YOU COME BY THESE INGREDIENTSSSSS? HAVE HELP SSSSECURING THEM?" He gently dabs ( <:dab:618107764211712020> ) a napkin to his mouth.

Alastor

"All box mix, actually! Chocolate and lemon. I got them at one of those upscale grocery stores where the demon nobility goes, they've got a fairly well-stocked section of mortal realm imports. It just takes a couple of substitutions from the box recipe."

Sir Pentious

"HMMMM.... BOX RECIPES, HMMM...." He's going to eat more of his slice. It is rather filling.

"WE SHOULD HAVE TEA! OR, *I* SHOULD HAVE TEA."

Alastor

On his feet! "We've got *some* running around. What kind?" He opens a cabinet and pushes aside like five varieties of coffee looking for tea behind it.

Sir Pentious

"EARL GREY." He swivels his head to watch Alastor dig around.

Alastor

“Earl Grey,” Alastor muttered. He shoved aside a half dozen boxes of herbal tea. “Ah-ha! Here we are!” He retrieved the tea triumphantly, then went looking for the other supplies they’d need.

Once he had the water heating on the stove, he plopped down next to Sir Pentious again. “What teas *do* you like? Besides Earl Grey.”

Sir Pentious

His tongue wiggles as he thinks, and he begins cutting another piece of the slice with his fork.

"ENGLISH BREAKFAST!" Prr prr prr. "HAVE YOU HAD IT? NO OF COURSE NOT. IT HAS A SWEET, ALMOST FRUITY TASTE TO IT."

Alastor

“I’ve had it! At some point. As I recall, it tasted quite a bit like tea.” He smirked. “I’m not a fan of sweetness, either.”

Sir Pentious

"BOTTOM OF THE POT, *GRAINY* BLACK COFFEE FOR YOU ONLY, EH? HOW *DO* YOU SURVIVE." Snort, "OH RIGHT! DEAD, TOO! NYAAAA HA HAAAAAAA!"

Alastor

With great dignity, Alastor said, “I drink the *highest quality* of coffee. Look at this.” He leaned back in his chair to open the cabinet and point at a coffee bag with a skull and crossbones on it. “Look at that! This is almost pure caffeine!” Studio laughter. “But seriously! I have a refined palate, and it applies as much to coffee as it does to anything else.”

Sir Pentious

"ALASSSTOR, YOU EAT PEOPLE, HOW REFINED CAN IT GET? OR IS IT SSSSIMPLY SSSO BECAUSE YOU SSSAY IT ISS?"

Alastor

“I don’t eat people because I have *low standards.* If I had low standards, I’d be willing to choke down whatever hellish fauna’s ground-up offal is used to make the patties in fast food joints.” He sticks out his tongue, bleh. “I eat people because my standards are *high.* The simple fact is that quality ingredients are hard to get in Hell, and meat is no exception! Hell’s native game is *incredibly* difficult to hunt—and not particularly delectable, at that. Imported meat is expensive, rare, and often spoiled when you get it from the long trip to Hell. On the other hand, sinner meat is flavorful, *much* easier to hunt, self-replenishing, and comes in varieties that taste very similar to familiar mortal domesticated animals. I’ve *discussed* it on my *blog.*” He says this all self-importantly.

Sir Pentious

HEE HEEEEEE! He's giggling to himself while Alastor goes on his rant. It IS very informative, and he's certain he's read that before.

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! THOUGH ONLY IN HELL COULD IT BE ARGUED IN THAT MANNER! CANNIBALS ARE NOT WELL REGARDED IN THE LIVING WORLD."

Alastor

“Well of course not, cannibals in the living world kill people! Cannibals in Hell only *inconvenience* people.” He started counting off on his fingers: “Now, granted, almost all the premortem cannibals I’ve talked to have been Americans—that’s what you’ve got in the area—but generally they were eating people for one of four reasons: starvation; hatred; a fetish; or Catholicism.” Studio laughter. “That’s a communion joke for you—but the first three reasons stand. Plenty of postmortem cannibals started for one of those three reasons, sure—but more than you’d think got into it for the culinary convenience of it! Especially if they’re buying from the butcher instead of doing the hunting themselves.”

Sir Pentious

Alastor you probably intended that communion joke to be a fly by or maybe a light chortle, but Sir Pentious was also a catholic, and instead of just snorting, he launches into a full fledged WAAAAAH HAHAHAAAAAAA at the joke.

"*CATHOLICISM!!!!*" Look at him clap his hands together. Glee. He loves a groaner.

Alastor

He politely pauses for the uproarious laughter. A comedian is never going to complain when his audience finds his joke *more* funny than he expected them to—especially if he’s performing in front of his favorite audience.

Sir Pentious

Don't mind him, wiping tears from his eyes at that one. Fuck catholics!

"APOLOGIESSS, YOU WERE SSSAYING?"

Alastor

“Oh... I didn’t have anything to add to the point. Just the differences between antemortem and postmortem cannibalism.” A shrug.

He takes advantage of the slight lull in the conversation to hover over a teapot and the box of Earl Grey to set in front of Sir Pentious. Here, dump your own tea in, Alastor sucks at tea prep.

Sir Pentious

He's going to do just that, humming as he does. None of that 10 second steeping!!! DISGUSTING..

Once the bags are in, be gets back to finishing off his slice. No prizes in that one!

Alastor

And Alastor returns to his jerky. Ah, a moment of peaceful, companionable silence—haha just kidding. When it’s obvious neither of them is about to say something else, Alastor starts playing a peppy march.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is *happy* for it, though he attempts to change the channel by flicking Al's ear tuft.

Alastor

That’s not a dial, but he gets what Sir Pentious is attempting to do. The music switches from a march to the Mysterious Axman’s Jazz.

Sir Pentious

PREFERABLE.

Sir Pentious purrs, and once the tea has brewed long enough, he's going to pour himself a cup.

And then DIP some cake in it, HEE HOO we're living wildly.

Alastor

"I see why a tea-drinking man of *culture* also eats cake. So they go together, do they?”

Sir Pentious

"OH, SHUT UP, BEAN GUZZLER." Says the Leaf Drinker. He's laughing.

Alastor

“Oh, am I the one here who consumes beans! Where do you think chocolate comes from?” He’s laughing too.

Sir Pentious

"*COFFEE* BEAN GUZZLER!!! BUT, AH, TOUCHE."

He's done eating cake for now, and he's sipping the rest of the tea. He can handle the bits of crumb, he did this to himself.

"SSSO AFTER THISSSS, BACK TO YOUR COSTUME MAKING?"

Alastor

A long, *long* tired sigh. “Probably. I’ve only got—it’s still Friday, right?” He tilts his head, as if he’s *listening* for the time. “Yes, Friday—so, two days until the ball that one costume’s for. And the fancier costume, at that. Although I might need a break, my productivity is plummeting.”

Sir Pentious

Tongue flick.

"OHHH, DON'T YOU WISH YOU WERE A SNAKE LIKE ME? MY MIND CONSTANTLY IN A STATE OF *FLUX* OVER IDEAS AND INSSSSSPIRATION!" HEEHOOHEE

Alastor

“Ideas, I’ve got. It’s the inspiration I’m missing. Inspiration and patience for the repetitive bits. I’ve been sewing pearls for *days.*” He laces his fingers to stretch his poor aching hands and mutters, “I should delegate this.”

A bright smile! “Is that your way of subtly hinting that you’ve got some recent inspiration you’re dying to share, or are you going to disappoint me?”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he HAS inspiration alright. He leans in closer, his Pentious Breath right in Al's face.

"YESSS, INDEED. YOU SSEEE, I'VE COME INTO A SSSPOT OF *KNOWLEDGE.* I'VE HEARD THAT LOO LOO LAND, YOU KNOW, THE AMUSEMENT PARK IN THE GREED RING? IT'SSS BEEN BLOWN TO SSSMITHEREENSSS. LOTSSS OF METAL JUSSST FOR THE *TAKING.* WHILE I HAVE IDEASSS, I DON'T HAVE MUCH TERRITORY AND ACCESS TO METALSSS IN HELL." He sits back, "ALASSS, I'VE NO WAY TO *GET* TO THE DAMN PLACE. NOT ENOUGH POLITICAL SSSWAY, AS IT WERE. NOT SSSINCE I ARRIVED IN HELL, ANYWAY."

Alastor

Smells like tea and cake.

Alastor blinks in surprise. "Lucifer's park?" Who would fuck with Lucifer's park—? "Oh, no—Greed ring. The knock off."

That sounds like a solvable problem. Alastor leans forward, chin propped up in his hand, grinning wider. "Well, I wouldn't be much of a dancer if I didn't have sway!"

His mind is already working—what's an amusement park going to have in it? Roller coasters? Elaborate moving games? Lots of good mechanical bits and bobs, no doubt. And this Sir Pentious isn't the only one Alastor knows who'd benefit from those supplies. "If I get you in there, I get to salvage anything *you* don't want. Sound fair?"

Sir Pentious

"WELL, YESSS, NOT LYU LYU LAND. LOO LOO LAND!"

HMMMM? He leans closer. Their faces could be TOUCHING.

"AND WHAT NEED HAVE YOU FOR SSSSSCRAP, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

“*Lyu Lyu.*” Wheeze. Is that how it’s pronounced? “*I* don’t need it. But the other you that’s been around lately does, and I promised I’d help him get fresh materials at a discount. No better discount than free!”

Their faces ARE touching. Alastor closes the last little distance to squish their cheeks together and flings an arm around Sir Pentious’s shoulders. “Now, this is your little expedition—you’re putting in the research and the labor, so of course you get first pick, I’m not going to ask you to hand over any of the good stuff to an alternate who isn’t even coming along. But! Anything you *don’t* want, I don’t see any harm in hauling it over to him and asking whether he can make use of it!”

Sir Pentious

Ah, the CHEEK SMOOSH. Cheeks can smoosh other cheeks!!! Sir Pentious puts his own arm around Alastor, and Grins wide.

"AH, WHAT A *GOOD SSSSAMARITAN* YOU ARE, ALASSSTOR!" Hee hoo. His tongue flicks in thought..... No maybe don't tease him right now.

"VERY WELL, THEN! WHATEVER I DON'T WANT, YOU CAN HAVE! ANOTHER QUESTION IS METHOD OF *RETRIEVAL.* ARE WE RELYING ON YOUR FRIEND HENTAI FOR THAT?"

Alastor

“You know me! Utterly selfless! The most helpful man you’ll meet!” He knows he’s left himself wide open for teasing. He’s very grateful Sir Pentious didn’t take the opportunity.

“With the airship still out of commission, I suppose we’ll have to, won’t we?” He pokes Sir Pentious, “That’ll be the other way you pay me—bring snacks for me. Working with Hentai is hungry work.”

Sir Pentious

SNORT.

"WHAT TO BRING FOR THE MAN WHO HATES EVERYTHING! NO SWEETS, NO TEA! ONLY FISTFULS OF MEAT!"

Alastor

A scandalized hand over his heart. “Sweet and tea are the *only* things I hate! Have you ever seen me turn down one of your sandwiches? *Really,* now.” He pokes Sir Pentious’s arm. “Are you just having fun at my expense, or do you really think my tastes are that limited?”

Sir Pentious

"WHY *ALASSSTOR*, WHEN HAVE I *EVER* HAD FUN AT YOUR EXPENSE?" He's saying it ever so dramatically, very sarcastic as he even winks AND nudges him.

"SSSSANDWICHESSS IT ISSSS. SSSTILL NO ALCOHOL, MMM?"

Alastor

The most *dramatic* eye roll. He arches his brows and tilts his head to get more eye rolling in.

“Oh, social drinks are fine right now—but I don’t think alcohol mixes well with moving heavy metal or communing with eldritch deities. Maybe once our work is finished.”

Sir Pentious

He's beaming suddenly, and he gives Al a KISS on the forehead before backing up.

"A *DEAL!* ALTHOUGH, I MAY REFRAIN FROM ALCOHOL AS WELL. PERHAPSSSS GINGEMBRE INSSSTEAD!" GOLLY he's in a good mood. Look at him smiling!

Alastor

Hold on, give Alastor a second, fireworks are going off behind his forehead and he’s trying to enjoy the show.

“What is that, some kind of ginger ale?” His brain translates *gingembre* as plain old *ginger,* and he doubts Sir Pentious is suggesting that a chunk of root is an adequate substitute for alcohol. “Sure! We can drink while we work that way.”

Sir Pentious

Prrr prrr.

"YESSS, GINGER ALE! I HAVE A REFRIGERATOR ABOARD THE AIRSHIP, KEEPSSSS THEM PRACTICALLY *FROZEN.* YOUR LIPSSS WILL SSSTICK TO THE BOTTLES, NYA HA HAAAAAAA!"

He's finished off his tea! Pours himself another cup...

Alastor

Static static.

“Now that sounds like a trap! I guess the only way to find out for sure is to try one, isn’t it!”

He gives Sir Pentious enough space to drink his tea—but, as long as he’s already over here, decides to keep leaning their shoulders together.

Sir Pentious

He's fine with this, he's still purring in that terrifying way. Habby.

"SSSO WHO ARE YOU DANCING WITH TO GET US INTO THE GREED RING, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

“Oh, I’ve got a few people I can call on! I hear Paimon’s been looking for a way to spite Mammon; Stolas is usually pretty lax with sinners, he’s easy to bargain with; perhaps Tommy, he owes me one... I’ll narrow it down!”

Sir Pentious

HMM! Exciting. Sir Pentious is about to SPEAK when his phone VIBRATES against his breast. OH!

Time to grab his phone and INVESTIGATE....

Alastor

Time to lean over and EAVESDROP.

Sir Pentious

Well, he's obscured the screen enough from Alastor, but....

```Congratulations on your imminent fatherhood, Sir Pentious. Please come collect your wife at your earliest convenience. Which had better be now.```

OH. OH. GASP. JELLY EYES. All of his eyes are JELLY EYES. Look at this man, he's looking like he might COLLAPSE!

"*OHHHH* I HAVE TO *GOOOO*!"

He's STILL holding the phone but, YOU KNOW. He's going to show the screen to Alastor, listen that's his best friend he wants him to KNOW!

Alastor

*Oh!!* Alastor grabbed Sir Pentious’s arm. “*Really* this time? Not unfertilized eggs?”

Sir Pentious

"REALLY, THISSSS TIME!" *SNIRFFF.*

"WE WEREN'T SURE, BUT HILDA ISS RATHER THOROUGH...." His voice is all SQUEAKY.

"I'M GOING TO BE A DADDY!!"

Alastor

Alastor squeezed an arm around Sir Pentious’s shoulders. “Well, *congratulations!* Oh, you must be *thrilled!* How many is it?” He had to raise his voice to be audible over the cacophony of invisible party noisemakers and an old song that started singing in the background: “—*pretty baby! Won't you come and let me rock you in my cradle of love, and we'll cuddle all the time. Oh I want a lovin' baby and it might as well be you, pretty baby of mine—*”

After a good long squeeze, he let go and swatted Sir Pentious’s arm. “What are you still doing here, you’re supposed to be with your wife! Go, get! Get out of here! Take your cake!”

Sir Pentious

He BEAMS, Sir Pentious is GIGGLING. How many?

He goes red faced, raising a finger to speak, UNTIL HE'S BEING SWATTED! "OH, YESSS, AT ONCE! AT ONCE!"

He gathers up the cake! And he gives a TIP of his hat to Alastor before he's HURRIEDLY slithering out the door!

... Peeks back in. "THISSSS ISSS JUSST THE CONFIRMATION, BY THE BY! NO EGGSSS YET! OKAY, TA TA!" The door closes!!

Alastor

He waves. “Give Valera my congratulations!”

The music slowly peters out once the door closes.

... Hold on, how were there no eggs yet if Valera was already pregnant? He should have asked. Whoops.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman is now king--and not in full control of his actions. Being kept alive by Logan's magic alone, he heads into the dungeons to see the necromancer for the first time in ten years.

Logan, a little out of control himself, uses his magic to bring the Green Man to his cell, not realizing he's compelling the new king of the Kingdoms. He discovers a strange, unknow power is still actively trying to kill him, uses his powers to try and regain some control over the situation...

And discovers something impossible.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. CW in this chapter for some disturbing, vaguely graphic imagery involving blood, fluids (nothing sexual, YET), and a stylized version of a panic attack as well as touch starvation. I experience some mild symptoms myself, but I will admit I haven't done much in the way of research for more extreme samples, but this chapter does feature someone that has literally never experienced human contact doing so for the first time. Ergo, their reaction is a little extreme. Just be safe, mindful, and know that I am eager to learn anything that can help me treat issues like this with the respect and accuracy they deserve.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Your Majesty! You have to stop!”

Roman remained silent as the guards trailing him called out, relentless as he stalked through the palace halls. Even as the words made him visibly flinch, cutting into him like a knife, he pressed onwards.

Your Majesty.

Because he was the king now. King Thomas Roman II—with his father (his body, he's just a body now) laying in his rooms to prepare for internment.

He could still see Remus's face...

“Remus—I can't--”

“Roman? Roman, look at me.”

“Father is...he's...”

“Dead. Our father is dead, big brother—and this is why the gods invented necromancers. Go.”

He hadn't trusted it, when his first impulse sent him bolting from the guards that dragged him away from his father's body and into the palace, everything in him screaming to find the dungeon, straining towards the necromancer. It probably wasn't his own thought, he still wasn't in control of his own body, lungs full of cool fog, mind thick and clear and so soft, so light. It seemed wrong to feel that way, heavy morning mist and the air above the clouds, atop the mountain, where not a single speck of dust or vapor could impede his vision.

He needed that, Remus to tell him, to hear someone else that wasn't in the Necromata's thrall having the same idea.

Remus pushed him further into the palace. Roman hardly needed the prompting.

“Stand aside.” he instructed as he reached the gate leading down into the dungeons. Two fully armed guards flanked the relatively small door, and neither of them moved at his command.

“With all due respect, Highness--”

“It's--” Roman's throat clogged around the words, unable to let them out despite the fact that his hands still shook from the chill of his father's skin.

“Let him pass.”

Roman glanced over his shoulder, startled by the sight of the man approaching them. He was dressed in a gentleman's bowler hat, and the black and gold cloak of an assassin, its gleaming clasp a perfect compliment to the scales that graced his otherwise handsome features.

“Lord Janus, you know--”

“How dearly I adore being flouted? Yes, of course, nothing makes me happier than having my subordinates disobey a direct order in front of the king.” Janus managed to purr through the sibilance of every word. Distractedly, Roman swore he could hear the crack of ice forming in the wake of the assassin's frigid demeanor.

The word 'king,' however, seemed to do the job. The moment it was spoken, both guards flinched, shared a look, and the one on the left moved to open the gate.

Roman descended the stairs, slowing down for the first time since he'd left the balcony. As a boy, he'd been in the cell nearest to the stairs, and in the dreams it was the same...

He was nearly to the bottom when he saw him.

He was standing in front of the bars, hands wrapped around them...and totally absent. Behind his glasses, the eyes that Roman remembered being glittering chips of ice had been swallowed up by a soft blue light that reminded him of every terrifying story he'd ever heard about the Animator with his sightless eyes, white as bone and crackling with the fury of lightning.

There was no crackle to this glow—more like the sinuous curl of flame at the edges, sweeping back against his temples, barely tinted blue and pale as moonlight.

Stopping dead, he was so consumed by the otherworldly beauty of the image he cut that he almost didn't notice the much younger man beside him—only just reaching the necromancer's shoulder with a mop of brown curls and an expression fraught with worry as he focused entirely on the...

...on Logan.

Roman forced himself to take those last few steps down, drawing the attention of the younger man. When he turned to Roman, he saw that his eyes were blue as well—but dark, vivid as the first crop of wild blueberries at the edges of the village that sat in the valley just beneath the palace.

He squinted into the shadows that blanketed the area around the stairs, the same one Roman had hidden in so long ago—and gasped, choking audibly on his own breath.

“Oh...oh, it's—it's you.”

Taken aback, Roman stilled again. “You...know me?”

“The Green Man—well, sure! Logan's told me all about you! But...what are you doing here, kiddo?”

Taking a deep breath—deep as he could manage with magic still forcing his chest to expand and contract, Roman stepped forward into the light. Almost immediately, the boy's eyes widened.

“...oh, ohhhhh, sweet baby, he didn't tell me you were the...the...”

The boy looked half ready to cry as he realized who he was speaking to, catching Roman just a little off guard with the display of empathy. A sudden, irrational urge to reach through the bars and hug the poor kid gripped him so powerfully it hurt—to hide his face in Roman's chest and protect him, to hide his face in those curls so no one could see Roman's tears in turn.

The boy's overly shining eyes hardened just as abruptly as they filled. Turning away from Roman, he laid a solid hand on Logan's shoulder.

“Logan.”

Roman opened his mouth to ask what was happening, what he was doing to Roman...

Then Logan's hand lifted, fingers unwrapping from around the bars, arm extending, and only then did Roman realize he'd closed the distance and walked straight up to the bars with no memory or awareness of even moving.

Everything in him was well past straining, was now screaming for him to take that offered hand, to plow straight through the bars and into something--

“Go on, kiddo.”

“Patton.”

“It's okay, Janny...it's okay, Your Majesty. He won't hurt you.”

The voices—Lord Janus, the boy, Patton—they sounded like they were coming from the end of a long hall, underwater.

The world was growing so quiet. Early morning dawn, cold mist, thick as soup and light as cotton.

Hold on.

He watched, from the heart of the fog bank, as his hand drifted up to mesh with Logan's—just like the dreams. That hand, those fingers, long and lean and surprisingly powerful...as familiar to him as his own name.

Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

Roman looked from their joined hands to stare into Logan's face—no longer that of a frightened boy in pain, but lean and angular and marked by his imprisonment. Skin just too pale, cheekbones just too prominent, eyes just too shadowed.

Roman decided, with the last of his free will, that it was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

He breathed in, clear and deep, a breath of his own volition.

This time, the world only went dark when he closed his eyes and let go his final breath.

**********

Logan was in agony, and he didn't understand why.

It happened suddenly as the Green Man approached, followed the compulsion he'd been pushing since the moment his power had taken over. Logan had only been able to regain his senses once he'd found it and grabbed on, caught the thread of power buried deep in the Green Man's blood and marrow and replaced it with his own magic.

He'd never done this before, not really—but his magic seemed to know the way, seemed to know that this one, this death, belonged to Logan alone.

There wasn't time to wonder before everything began to burn and scream within him, demanding that he turn and run for safety.

Logan didn't listen. He pushed through it, pushed towards the sound of Patton's voice, towards the Green Man, and leaned forward just in time to draw his last gasp deep into his own lungs.

Immediately, it burned. The power in there was foreign, alien and other, too hot and too bright. It was straining towards its target, terrified of its new prison within Logan's body. He could taste lightning on the back of his tongue, lightning and knives and thick, sweet-savory blood.

...and underneath, honey mead. Fresh grass and sweet roses, sunlight and the clash of swords. Loamy earth and the clean grit of damp stone. The Green Man.

He was in so much pain, he barely felt it as he bit the inside of his own cheek and sucked, replacing the savory-sweet of the alien magic with old pennies and sour larvae. Rolling the flavor of those three across his tongue, Logan breathed through his nose...and opened his mouth.

The blue-white light spilled from his lips and slithered past the Green Man's, returning his final breath to him with a fresh thread of power to combat the one that was trying to leech away his very essence. With an icy knot in his chest to clash against the fire ravaging his nerves, he blinked his vision clear, banishing the last of the spirit-blindness from his eyes and begged the gods for aid.

The Green Man stood, eyes shut, still as the grave—then tensed and came alive, greedily sucking air into his lungs.

Something inside Logan's chest relaxed...but everything, everything still hurt like hell.

Only then, dimly, did it register that the Green Man stood before him in the red, white, and gold of the royal family's military dress.

The Green Man...oh, Shadow's Balls, the Green Man was the king's son.

“Logan? Say something, please Logan...” Patton's voice, thin and vaguely panicked.

“Easy.”

The prince—the new king—gasping and coughing, those green eyes riveted to Logan's face.

“Berry.”

Janus—that was definitely Janus, somewhere beyond Logan's vision, which was starting to narrow. It hurt, it hurt, why did it hurt? He was in pain, he was dying...he was on fire. He was being consumed and crushed--

“Logan, stop pulling.”

Blinking, Logan's vision blurred and cleared. Tears? He was...

Was he weeping? He had to be, he was struggling to breathe.

Looking around, Logan realized Patton was crying (his fault, his fault he knew somehow it was his fault) and, standing beside the new king, Janus had a hand on each of their wrists.

The prince still held Logan's hand. Janus's fingers around Logan's wrist were a barely there buzzing awareness, not even that ghost of pressure because Logan couldn't feel anything beyond the fire consuming him, concentrated...

The prince tried to take his hand back. Logan's fingers convulsed around it.

“Don't let go.”

It took Logan a full minute to realize the broken sounding whine had come from his own throat.

“Logan!”

“Patton, easy. It's fine...Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“I...yes. I am unharmed, I'm...I'm back in control.”

“Back in control?”

“Whatever killed my f—whatever killed the king, it nearly killed me, too. I have reason to believe this man saved my life.”

“This man is Necromata, and he's clearly found a way to use magic on you.”

“Which, I repeat, he used to save my life, and if we're very lucky, may yet be able to use to save F...the rightful king. Logan.”

“Don't let go...please.” Logan's breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now. He was trying to take back his hand and begging to be restrained...

Logan was dying. Logan was electrified.

“Young man—Patton--what's wrong with him?”

“I don't know, Your Majesty...Logan? Can you take a breath for me, kiddo?”

Breath. Breathing. Logan could breathe. He shut his eyes...

...two...three...four...

...hold...

...three...five...six...

Logan drew in a breath.

Held it.

Let it out.

Again.

Logan drew in a breath. At some point, he stopped fighting the grip on his hand, drifted somewhere between the present and elsewhere, the core of his power...

Breath. Berry. Breath, br...other. Berry.

He opened his eyes when it started to hurt again. The Green Man was right there, both of his hands wrapped around Logan's one. He felt boneless, but when he looked to the side, he saw Patton pressed against him, one arm around his waist, the other holding Logan's arm across his shoulders so he could support his weight.

“Hey, kiddo. You back?”

Logan could only nod, turning back to stare at the hands engulfing his. Hesitantly, he tried to plant his feet, take his arm back from Patton, and reached out to touch one of the prince's hands.

His fingertips barely grazed his knuckle, and the pain intensified.

“Lo?”

Logan drew a shaky breath.

“Your Majesty...your hands are callused.”

The Green Man blinked, visibly confused. “I...thank...you?...”

“Your hands...are callused.”

“I don't understand...” The Green Man trailed off, then after a moment his eyes widened.

“Wait. You...”

Logan felt his hands tighten around his. It hurt worse, and somehow it was all that was stopping him from shattering into a million glittering pieces.

“Your hands are callused.” Logan repeated. “I can feel them...I can feel it. Your touch...I can feel it.”

[rewritingthefictional]

sweet | george weasley

Summary: there was nothing sweeter than george weasley and you wished he could see you the way you see him

Requested: Could you write a George Weasley x reader where George and the reader have a lazy day, just cuddling in the Gryffindor common room and eating chocolate and different sweets? Thanks in advance!

Appearances: fred!

A/N: i love love love love fred and george

Word Count: 1.7k

Female!Reader x George Weasley

Masterlist

It was Saturday. Usually your favorite day. Saturday’s meant not having to do anything, but sitting and being alone with your favorite book and being in your own world. Today was even better, because there wasn’t anyone in the common room. It was just you and one of the muggle books you packed away for light reading.

The weather was perfect so that meant no one wanted to be inside. Which gave you the opportunity to really sit alone in silence. However, that didn’t last very long. The moment was ruined when the sounds of the Weasley twins echoed throughout the room. You attempted to ignore them as you continued reading on the cushioned chair.

“[Y/N]! Are you not going outside today?” Fred asked, appearing at your side. Rolling your eyes you placed your bookmark in between the pages you were reading and looked up at him. It wasn’t a secret to anyone in the castle that you were the only person who had managed to become really close with the twins that didn’t have a pranking bone in their body.

It happened in third year, when George and Fred tried to trick you with a nose-biting teacup but you had managed to switch it with Fred’s when he wasn’t looking. Needless to say, they had been very impressed with you ever since.

“No. I did, however, plan on enjoying the peace and quiet but you’re kind of ruining it.”

“Me? Ruin peace and quiet? I could never!” Fred feigned hurt and you rolled your eyes.

“Come join us outside,” George offered. You looked up at him and smiled. You had to admit, he always seemed like the cuter twin to you. He wasn’t as loud and mischievous as Fred but he had his moments. He was sweet like sugar and had a heart of gold.

“Yeah come join your two best friends and watch us do crazy stuff,” Fred encouraged.

“As much as a I really really really love you guys, I just want to stay in today and read,” you informed him and he pouted.

“Well then I’ll join you,” George stated while jumping over the couch to lay across it. He sent you a wink causing you to slightly blush.

“George! I thought we were going to trick the fourth years into eating puking pasties,” Fred gave him an incredulous look while getting closer to his face.

“Eh, sounds boring. I’d rather stay in and … read?”

“You want to read? Unbelievable! I can’t believe my brother is leaving me for my best friend,” Fred huffed and began stomping out of the common room.

“She’s my best friend too, Fred!” George yelled at him. Fred had slammed the door in response causing you and George to laugh.

“You didn’t have to stay in with me George,” you told him. He looked at you and smiled.

“I know I didn’t have to but I wanted to,” you began to blush again and attempted to hide your face. Suddenly George jumped from the sofa and ran upstairs.

“George?” you called out softly but received no response. You huffed and stood up to head back to your dorm. You had no idea what you had done but you hadn’t expected George to run away from you.

“Where are you going?” you heard him softly ask the moment your feet touched the steps. You turned to face him, not expecting him to be right behind you.

“I thought- nevermind, I’m not going anywhere.” George smiled and jumped onto the sofa causing you to chuckle.

“Come sit with me here, I feel so lonely,” George pouted. You rolled your eyes but obliged. He immediately pulled you into a hug causing you to involuntarily nuzzle yourself into him. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to be cuddling. You didn’t think much of it because friends do that sometimes. Right?

“I went upstairs to get some candy!” He exclaimed.

“I thought we were going to read?”

“That’s boring,” he responded, emptying his pockets full of anything he was able to find.

“Is that crystallised pineapple? That’s my fa-”

“Your favorite, I know.”

You smiled at George and grabbed them out of his hand. You stuffed a few of them into your mouth and he chuckled as he watched you eat them. He continued to gaze at you with a lopsided grin.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing, nothing. Just enjoying watching you eat the candy. Did you know that you do this thing where you scrunch up your nose when you like something?” He asked, causing you to subconsciously cover your nose.

“No I didn’t,” you answered, suddenly feeling insecure over it. He laughed and pulled your hand away from your face.

“Don’t cover your face, it's cute. It was just something I noticed.”

“Wanna know something I noticed?” you asked, picking up a chocolate frog and breaking off a piece for him which he gladly ate from your hand.

“What?” he asked with his mouth full of the chocolate.  

“Well I don’t know if you noticed but you and Fred do have a feature that sets the two of you apart,” you stopped to take a bite of the chocolate and George opened his mouth for more which you fed to him. “You have a birthmark on your neck, that is not super noticeable but it does exist.”

“MY CHOCOLATE CHIP!”

You jumped at his sudden outburst and he laughed at you.

“Jesus George!”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N/N]. I just got excited because no one has ever noticed him before. He’s like my best friend.”

He put one hand on his birthmark and one on his heart.

“I thought I was your best friend?”

“Well I- I mean you are- I just meant-” you put your hand on top of his.

“George, I’m joking,” he began to blush from the sudden contact.

“Okay, what shall we eat next?” George asked, trying to take the attention away from him. You began to look through the sweets and try to find one that you had never tried before.

“Glacial Snow Flakes!” You exclaimed holding the box over your head. ‘“I’ve never had them but I always wanted to try it.”

“You’ve never had these? Unbelievable! Open your mouth,” he demanded. You rolled your eyes but obliged nonetheless. He placed one of the snowflakes into your mouth and you almost moaned at how good it tasted. It completely melted onto your tongue, you had never tasted anything more sweet.

“I can’t believe I’ve never had one of these before, they’re amazing.”

“I know!” he replied, eating one of his own.”

“Do you have Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans?”

“Is that even a question? Of course I do!” He pulled it out and dramatically posed with it. You gave him an applause and the two of you started to laugh again. It was nice to spend time alone with George. You felt like you hadn’t had a lot of time to do it recently. Life just felt too busy this year.

“5 knuts says I can eat a bean without cringing,” You challenged and he smirked.

“Oh you’re on!”

The two of you place one bean in each hand. On the count of three, the two of you ate. Your mouth began to burn, you could taste a slightly metallic and bitter flavor but you held it in you to not cringe. You noticed George’s mouth twitch and it immediately made you excited. You swallowed your piece and you watched and George began to cringe.

“I WIN!” You yelled immediately jumping up and down, doing a little dance.

“Gross! I had earwax, do you know how sour it tasted!”

“I don’t care! I win, you lose! I had soap and it was bitter Georgie. Just admit your defeat.”

“I will not admit a loss to someone who is shorter than me.” This caused you to immediately stop and stick out your tongue at home.

“I am not short!”

“I’ll prove it to ya,” he replied while getting up to stand in front of you. You felt your breath hitch. You couldn’t explain it. Before this year you were to be near him without a problem, and suddenly his presence just seemed to take your breath away. He had become the light in your life without ever realizing it.

Catching you off guard, George suddenly grabbed you in his arms spinning you around. You screamed and laughed as the two of you spun in a circle. You began to  wrap your legs around him to keep yourself from falling or losing grip. When George came to a stop, neither of you let go. You held on to each other tightly as if letting go meant losing it everything. Before you knew it, George’s lips were on yours. It caught you off guard but it didn’t stop you from kissing back.

Your heart was pounding. It was like gravity was pulling the two of you together. For the first time in your life, everything felt right. In that moment you knew that no matter what happens in life you would always remember this moment. You will always remember what it felt like to be in his arms, to be held so tightly like he needed you to survive. You had never felt cared for in such a simple yet marvelous gesture.

When the two of you pulled apart he smiled at you like you were his entire world and the truth was, you were.

“I wanted to do that ever since I met you.”

“I’m so glad you did, George,” he gave you another peck on the lips and you smiled up at him.

“More candy and cuddles then?”

“Definitely!” You dropped down from his embrace and went back to the sofa. “Well are you going to join me then?” You asked, patting the space next you. He smiled and sat down and you immediately moved into his embrace. You were content here.

You knew that you had more sweet memories like this to come and you couldn’t wait for it.

Because there was no one like George Weasley.

[frozensnowwitch]

Deed of the Invisible Weasel Ch. 3

“Secrecy and Silence”

Anna met Elsa and Kristoff at the castle entrance and opened her mouth to pepper her sister with questions when she saw the man in red and gold and Elsa’s stern expression. Anna instead prepared herself and Olaf for the guest and wondered about his identity. She was curious as to why Elsa had gone from so playful to so stern in such a short amount of time. She knew from watching from a vantage point in the window that no shots had been fired, but she also knew that the man had come with guards who had not disembarked with him. Who was this mysterious man?

“The luscious Princess Anna,” the man said, and he bowed grandly when he and Elsa and Kristoff got close enough. Both Elsa’s and Kristoff’s eyes widened. Elsa instantly regained her composure, but Kristoff openly glared. He reached for Anna’s hand and he kissed it tenderly before rising. “I am Duke Archibald Sauer of Weselton.” Anna gave a small curtsy and looked over at her sister with uncertainty.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Duke,” Anna said. Olaf pushed forward from behind her and smiled sunnily at the Duke who looked fascinated at the moving snowman.

“Hi! I’m Olaf and I love warm hugs!” Olaf declared with his typical huge smile.

“Is this an example of your miraculous abilities, Queen Elsa?” The Duke of Weselton asked enthusiastically. Elsa nodded and Olaf clasped his hands together, embarrassed to be called a miracle. Weselton whistled appreciatively. “My uncle was a fool to be frightened by such a talent, Your Majesty.” Elsa led the group into the castle. After a short pause, the Duke began to speak again. “I know what you’re thinking – Weselton...didn’t we forbid them from our land and stop all trades with them once and for all? You’re absolutely right, and with good reason, too! My uncle did a great disservice to both Arendelle and Weselton in his last and only visit, but I have come to restore your faith in our people and land.” Weselton spoke expressively and waved his hands as they walked. “I hope to broker a deal with your Dear Queen Elsa to reinstate our trades and our friendship.” He explained. Anna nodded and again glanced at Elsa who looked stoic and every bit the strong leader she was.

“I’ve invited the Duke to join us for lunch while his servant returns to his ship to retrieve his personal effects,” Elsa told Anna. “I would appreciate it if you and Kristoff joined us, Anna,” Elsa said in a voice that left no room for discussion.

“I do have an excellent addition to our meal that Andreas will bring to us straight away,” said the Duke. “It should arrive just in time for dessert. I have brought several Weseltonian specialties for Your Highnesses’ enjoyment including one of my personal favorites, a cheese called Jenny Cheddar.” Weselton spoke in a lively manner that left Olaf wide-mouthed with laughter.

“That sounds lovely, Duke.” Elsa responded cordially. “Perhaps we can try it with our tea.”

“That does indeed sound lovely. It’s so nice of you to rearrange your busy schedule for me today, Your Majesty.” The Duke smiled as the small group walked past several suits of armor and down a staircase.

“Actually,” Elsa said, “You will have to wait until evening. Today I was planning to see the people of Arendelle and I don’t expect them to wait until another day simply because a duke showed up unannounced.” Elsa waited for his response as if she dared him to contradict her. He stared at her with his eyes agog and mouth agape before regaining his composure and nodding.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Duke said and dipped his head deeply as a sign of his apology. “How rude of me to presume.”

“Princess Anna, however, will take you to see the sights of the village of Arendelle this afternoon along with its surrounding area. Our servant Kai will make sure that your own servant has everything he needs to get your room set to your standards, and he will receive quarters among our staff,” Elsa told him as they arrived at the dining room. She entered and walked regally to the chair at the head of the table and sat first. Anna sat at her right side with Olaf next to her, and Kristoff sat at her left. The Duke sat next to Kristoff.

Almost as soon as they sat, Kai came in with Andreas who was carrying what looked like a large black hat case. Weselton smiled widely and took the case from Andreas and thanked him copiously before turning back to the table.

“This is the coup de grace of Weselton’s greatest assets: Jenny Cheddar. You’ll find it has a taste more unique than any other in the known world and its flavor is divine. You’ll notice it has a certain spice unlike other cheeses while maintaining a certain sweet nuttiness. It also takes very little to fill you, so it’s very economical these days. The cheese also has a very unusual aroma. It’s indescribable and bold – the very scent of it is enough to make a more delicate lady swoon,” The Duke of Weselton explained happily. He opened the case and a miasma filled the room.

Using the tea saucers, Weselton put a large chunk of Jenny Cheddar on Elsa’s plate, some on Anna’s plate, a slab for Kristoff, and then some for himself and Olaf. The semi-gelatinous black and white cheese jiggled like a belly dancer on each of the saucers. “This cheese is made using our finest donkeys’ milk and then refined over a ten-year process. Because of its long processing time the cheese used to be only available to the richest people of Weselton, but our trade arrangements have allowed us to make the cheese cheap enough that it has become a commodity that can be found in every home in Weselton. Furthermore, it has helped to prevent starvation!” The Duke stated happily.

“We are truly very proud of our Jenny Cheddar. That’s one of the reasons I brought it along – Jenny Cheddar is a real taste of Weselton and part of its trading assets,” Weselton said proudly. “It could become a common item in every Arendellian home, and a source of food stability in the long, cold winters.” Anna and Elsa smiled politely. Kristoff looked uncertain. Olaf had already started piling the cheese into his mouth joyfully. Elsa looked somewhat paler than normal, and Anna attributed that to knowing she would have to taste the cheese.

“I look forward to tasting it,” Elsa said with a deferential smile. She picked up a piece of the globby cheddar with her fork, and Anna and Kristoff watched with fascination as she put it into her mouth. Elsa still looked pale as the cheese entered her mouth, and Anna did not envy her older sister in that moment. Elsa gulped loudly and obviously was struggling to keep her composure. “How piquant,” she said diplomatically after a moment, before burping softly, and dabbing her mouth and eyes with a napkin. Elsa took a few deep breaths and a sip of water from the glass in front of her.

“That’s the perfect word to describe Jenny Cheddar, Your Majesty!” The Duke replied enthusiastically. “I knew a woman of your caliber would understand the depths of its flavor!” Elsa appeared thoughtful for a few moments and when she stood the entire table looked at her in surprise. Elsa swayed slightly on her feet.

“A-anna,” Elsa said shakily, “I need to retire to my chambers. If you could pl-please – “ Elsa stopped speaking, closed her eyes, and reached a trembling hand to her forehead. A deep flush spread across her face and she leaned forward against the table heavily.

“Elsa?” Anna questioned as she forgot all manners and got up to grab her sister’s elbow. “Are you all right?” Elsa let go of her forehead and reached for her sister. “Elsa, what’s wrong? Kristoff, get a servant to call for Dr. Rosted now.” Anna ordered. She immediately caught Elsa’s hand to steady her. Elsa leaned between Anna and the table.

“Are you swooning from the scent of the cheese, My Queen?” The Duke asked and he started to stand with a quirky grin on his face. Kristoff returned and got behind Elsa. Olaf stared in worry, his hands in front of his open mouth.

“Elsa, what’s wrong?” Anna held her sister up gently, yet firmly. “Kristoff, help me!” Anna hissed forgetting about the servants in the room. Elsa moaned and began sinking slowly toward the ground. Anna tried to keep Elsa on her feet, but eventually Kristoff scooped her up gently.

“Now what?” he asked. Elsa dangled limply in his arms.

“It’s the cheese,” the Duke said confidently. “I’ve seen this before; she’ll wake in a few moments. Or we could splash her face with water. He picked up his water glass and started to move it towards Elsa. Before either Anna or Kristoff could say anything, he had tossed its contents into Elsa’s face and the water was dripping down ineffectually. “Oh, that usually works,” Weselton said and blushed. “She must be of a much more delicate constitution than the average woman. How unusual for a queen.” Everyone ignored him.

“Let’s take her to her room.” Anna decided. “Duke, I’m sorry, but lunch is over.” Anna told Weselton as she led Kristoff and Olaf toward the door. Elsa suddenly made a strangulated groaning sound and arched her back in Kristoff’s arms. Her arms reached forward strangely and crossed one another. Much to everyone’s horror, Elsa began to shake furiously. Kristoff dove for the floor with Elsa so she wouldn’t fall out of his arms.

“I’ve never known anyone to react to the cheese like this!” Weselton exclaimed. “Here!” The Duke reached for and grabbed a spoon from the table. “Put this into her mouth so she doesn’t swallow her tongue!” Anna took the spoon and rubbed her thumb against it as she waited for an opportunity to insert it into her sister’s mouth.

“We need Dr. Rosted in here right now!” Anna screamed impatiently. Bloody, foamy saliva escaped from Elsa’s mouth and her lips started tuning pale bluish in color.

Dr. Rosted and Kai were suddenly at their sides.

“What happened? Did she hit her head?” Dr. Rosted asked.

“She was acting like something wrong and then she fell.” Anna told him as she watched her sister continue to seize. “She was eating prior to that. I don’t know why this happened. Will she be all right?” Anna asked desperately. Elsa’s frenetic movements slowed and then stopped altogether. She began sucking in deep and full breaths and her lips returned to a normal color.

“The Queen’s seizure has stopped for now. Let’s get her to her chambers where I may examine her properly,” Dr. Rosted suggested. He checked Elsa’s breathing, and once satisfied, Kristoff picked her up to carry her to her room.

“Let’s go!” Anna said, forgetting all semblances of comportment. She stood and left the room and the luncheon without further comment to the Duke.

“I hope the Queen regains her health quickly!” Weselton called as they exited, and sat back down at the table alone to dine.

[scarletsugarlips]

Jace And Sebastiàn Sick when camping 🏕

Image from Pinterest

The sun was setting in the sky, giving the campground a warm glow. Sebastiàn and the boys had arrived shortly after the boys, as they had to pick up some supplies for their weekend getaway at Academy By The Sea. They wanted to spend one last time here before the summer was over, Violette would never admit it but she feared that as soon as their first semester came around- that they wouldn’t have time for each other anymore. She’d be switching between New York City and Paris with Sebastiàn while Allie and Jace we’re moving to Los Angeles because of his blossoming music career. She knew she’d get to see River and Armani whenever they were in Paris but that’d never be enough.

Aside from that she’d tried her best to ‘focus on the good’ like Armani always told her. Armani was going on about how she and River had been going at it like rabbits these past few days while Allie helped me set up the tent.

“I swear I love him but It’s really hot and I have to wear a fucking turtleneck to cover the stupid hickeys he’s left.” She grumbles grabbing a hammer.

“Armani, babe no one cares we’re all adults here so take off the turtleneck and put on a tank top before you die of heatstroke.” Violette chuckled and Allie narrowed her eyes at her.

“Not everyone is comfortable with everyone knowing their private business Vi.” Allie spoke her hands resting on her hips.

“You’re right, but let’s not forget the time you let Jace f-” Violette began but she cut her short.

“Okay okay sorry, I surrender!” She blushes, that’s a story for another day.

Once the boys get back they all huddle around the campfire while River tries to get it started, the gold specks reflecting in his cold blue eyes the second it starts. Sebastiàn has his head rested on the shoulder of his fiancée, a display of affection normally reserved for when the two are alone so Violette immediately wonders what’s going on. She runs a hand through his caramel curls and sighs.

“What’s going on Seb?” She asks in a patient voice she only uses with him.

“Hm, what do you mean?” He groans against her shoulder.

She shifts so he has no choice but to look up and face her, his usually tan skin is pale and he looks flushed.

“Sebastiàn I trust that you would tell me if something was wrong, right?” Violette spoke, her voice concerned,

“Of course.” He replies flatly, I’m gonna go get something from the car I’ll be right back.

Meanwhile

Allie took the advantage of the fact that everyone was still setting up camp to wander into the woods with her boyfriend. Allie placed a not so innocent kiss on the spot below Jace’s ear, a spit she knew usually did the trick for him.

“Isn’t this kinda hot babe, you...me alone in woods were no one could hear us scream?” Allie purred seductively.

“Mhmm.” Jace agreed sheepishly as Allie began to reach her hand beneath his shirt.

At this point Jace couldn’t possibly pretend that he was into it, she’d know if he wasn’t into it or not pretty soon at the rate she was going. He felt like his head was pounding, and he’d been having dizzy spells all day. Why didn’t he tell his girlfriend? Because he didn’t wanna let her down on the last weekend she could spend with her friends.

As Allie slid her tounge into his mouth he groaned, and not in a good way which made Allie pull away from him.

“What the hell Jace, you could at least make an effort?” Allie burst out and he shudders and the loudness of her voice.

“Oh so now I’m being too loud for you, is that it?” She yelled and he covered his left ear that rang in pain.

“Ahh fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath and Allie immediately felt shitty for not knowing something was off earlier.

“Oh my God I’m so soo sorry babe I swear I didn’t mean to force you to have sex with me in the creepy woods when you weren’t feeling good.” Allie rambles, like she usually does when she panics.

Allie places her hands calmingly on either side of his face, he looks up at her and his eyes are unfocused and almost red.

“What’s eating you babe, talk to me.” Allie whispers I’m concern.

“I’ve been feeling dizzy and sick all day.” He tells her. “But don’t worry about me, I can make it through the weekend.”

“Are you sure, because if you’re sick we can go home or to the clinic?” Allie assures him,

“I’m sure.” Jace insists and they make their way back to camp.

The sun has completely set by now and the gloomy night sky glimmers with stars. Everyone’s chatting around the campfire but its evident that Allie and Violette seem worried, Armani however is oblivious to what’s going on around her and keeps telling her friends the story of how River’s painting is scheduled to be exhibited in the La Marc gallery this fall. River smiles, he rarely does but when he does it’s usually because of her.

“Hey guys I’m gonna go grab a drink from the car, I’ll be back.” Violette announces,

“Actually, yeah me too.” Allie replies grabbing a torch and joining Violette on her walk to the Jeep.

Once they get to the car Violette whips out a bottle of Ginger ale from the cool box.

“Is that the last one?” Allie asks, her blue eyes desperate.

“Um yeah, why?” Violette asks suspiciously,

“No reason, you should just give it to me- you prefer Fanta anyways.” Allie insists,

“Why would I give it to you, your favorite drink is Pepsi.” Violette argues,

“You hate ginger ale, ha!” Allie says triumphantly. “You once said it tastes like flavored acid.”

“You’re hiding something.” Violette defends,

“So are you.” Allie retorts,

“You might as well just tell me first.” Replies Violette,

“No you!” Allie Ssyas desperately but Violette shoots her the death glare. “Okay fine, Jace’s sick but he won’t let me tell anyone because he swears he’s fine but I know he’s not!”

“Wait really, because Sebastiàn is too and I’ve been panicking because he won’t let me tell anyone either.” Violette admits, confiding in her friend.

“Wait really, how come River looks fine?” Allie wonders,

“He’s River.” Violette repliés and Allie nods knowingly.

The girls decide to share the small can of ginger ale and pout it into two separate cups. When they return to the camp their boyfriends look up at them desperately.

Violette hands the cup to Sebastiàn who groans in response,

“I don’t think I can keep it down.” Sebastiàn groaned looking up at her with glassy eyes.

“Sebastiàn please, do you want to feel better or not?” Violette practically begs him.

He takes the cup from her and takes a small sip, the second the liquid hits his stomach he feels his body rejecting it from the inside out. He places a hand over his stomach as it twists and turns.

“I think I’m going to throw up.” He whimpers and there’s nothing his girlfriend can do now.

“Okay, okay that’s fine um- let’s just get you to the wood-” Violette begins but before she can even finish her sentence he turns around and throws up violently on a bed of leaves.

“What the hell is going on!” Armani shrieks.

“I told them to tell you guys the truth, they said no sooo...” River replies bluntly.

“Shit.” Jace curses shooting a hand over his mouth,

“Not you too, for the love of God not you too!” Allie squeals just as Jace brings up a stream of vomit from his mouth and nose right in front of them.

Allie shifts away from him so he doesn’t throw up on her new shoes. She steps behind him and bribes his curls out of his face.

“I think they’ve caught a stomach bug.” Allie tells me, she’s the pre-med student anyways.

“Camping next week?” I suggest and everyone nods.

[sexyenquirer]

wash it out

Title: wash it out Author: @translightyagami For: @complicatedmerary Pairings/Characters: mikami/light Rating/Warnings: mature/no warnings needed Prompt:  “Musician AU: Light Yagami is a pianist, Teru Mikami is a violinist. They are having an affair behind the scenes. Unfortunately for them, Misa Amane is Light Yagami's wife.” Author’s notes: I hope this does the job alright! I know there’s not much music, but I thought maybe for a shorter thing to focus on how Mikami felt about sharing Light - not very into that it would seem... Anyway, it was a lovely prompt, and I love to describe an opera house/small office crap. your choice on who used to love bear claws but... well... lets just say they’re not in the picture anymore... okay! bye!

The opera house stood taller than, in Mikami’s mind, God himself could ever stand. Every moment held in the ancient wood and sinew of its structure was divine: a thing to be worshiped before Mikami slept. Morning sunlight poured over the tented roof and trickled over the ornamental front entrance’s carved mural of angels bearing instruments.

Mikami pressed through the opera’s revolving doors with two coffees and a small paper sack in hand, violin case strapped across his back. Working at the desk was a silent, brooding teenager who scanned his artist’s badge and told him not to eat in the theatre. As though Mikami were such a heretic; as though the drafty hallways and peeling walls weren’t his home.

Even as he slipped through the opera house’s offices, he heard glimmering piano echo through speakers pipping in Light’s morning practice for all to hear. Mikami passed by Roger, an older tweedy sort in the programming department, waved to Kiyomi from her marketing cave and filtered into the practice room.

His entrance was loud and Mikami winced as the door creaked in a monstrous scream. Light’s fingers didn’t stuttered over the keys of Chopin – his shoulders raised a hair but surprise was so slight on him, only Mikami would know. At least, that is what Mikami liked to assure himself: his ownership over the small parts of Light. On the piano’s surface was a metronome, clicking out as Light slowed to an end mid-song. Plinking out a last note, Light turned and let a slow smile effuse over his mouth.

“Did you bring me coffee?” Light slipped the glossy black cover over the piano keys. “You’re spoiling me.”

“I want to spoil you.” Mikami went to the nearby table, covered with discarded sheet music and near finished resin boxes. His palms were hot from coffee and the way Light coddled his tone when speaking. He packaged even admonishment in a fondness no one had ever taken with Mikami. “Did you eat breakfast? Did you come straight from the apartment?”

Perching his elbows on the closed lid, Light dropped his chin into entwined hands. “And if I did come straight from the apartment?” He slide his gaze molasses-like toward the brown bag in Mikami’s fist. “I had an egg.”

“Just one? Not enough.” Mikami hummed and laid out the coffee and bag on it. “C’mon. I’ve brought two bear claws.”

From behind he heard Light’s high laugh and the scratch of the piano bench shoved back. Two arms looped around his waist, pressing the loose grey wool of his sweater to his quivering stomach. Soft crinkling sounded as Light lay his cheek on Mikami’s violin case, his fingers knitted into a belt that Mikami pressed against as he put out twin pastries on white napkins. He looked down, curious, and saw no ring on Light’s left hand. Excitement trilled through Mikami at the click of the continuing metronome.

“I don’t actually like bear claws, you know,” Light said, oddly speaking on beat with the clicks. “Only, I used to know someone who loved them and we’d always split them down the middle. If it’s just half, then it’s not as sweet. Right?”

“Yes. No. Uh,” Mikami bit his knuckle, his other hand covering the fists Light made on his belly. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing.” Light swung around and caught Mikami’s face in both palms. “I’m not hungry. I’d like to kiss you.”

Light’s palms were always cold – how Mikami loved that chill on his cheeks. A compulsive hand-washer, his love was, and even the warm glide of his mouth over Mikami’s didn’t drown out the soap-and-water icy touch. Light rubbed his thumbs right beneath Mikami’s eyes, trailing over cheekbone ridges. Softly a moan caught between teeth as mouths opened to each other, tongues touching and singing – but Mikami couldn’t stop thinking of those cold hands. He slid his own over Light’s and twined their fingers, touching every uncovered inch.

“You’re not wearing it,” Mikami breathed over Light’s teeth. “No ring. You’re not wearing that ridiculous ring.”

“Not now.” Light squeezed and nipped his lower lip. “I never wear it to practice – you know that. It’s in my pocket.”

Mikami let his hand trailed down, treacherous, only to brush the hard raised outline on Light’s hip. Scoffing, he turned from the kiss and frowned. “She’s not even in town,” he said. “She’s missing all of our hard work to make faces at a camera.”

“I told her to go.” A tart note of frustration stung Light’s voice. “Misa is hard to uncouple with. Remember when she was one of our sopranos? Every day, it was like peeling off Velcro.”

“No one forced you to marry the Velcro.” The memory of when Misa worked in the opera house – trailing after Light with a look of hunger and begged for coffee dates, dinners, and to hold the cool hands that weren’t hers to clutch – whipped through Mikami. Yet Light’s eyes on him now, glowing hot along with his reddening cheeks, chastised every ghost of sulking. “Sorry. Yes. You told her to go, so we could use the apartment.”

“Don’t you like having me in the kitchen?” Light smiled – false, fake, too-sweet – and Mikami’s heart fell for it, leaping the moment lip corners lifted. “We could fuck here, on the table.”

“Here? But the speakers –“

“Hooked up to the piano.” A genuine grin melted over the first false one. “I want your hands on me Teru. Can’t you touch me? Feel me?” Light grabbed him by the wrist and slipped Mikami’s hand onto his flexing stomach. “What chords can you pluck inside me?”

“So many.” Mikami ducked to kiss beneath Light’s jaw. His fingers tapped skin at the metronome’s rhythm, muscles tightening in instrumental tension, until a high gasp sung above where he kissed. “I’ll make your body sing.”

Faintly, the tune of Beethoven’s’ Fifth tweeted from Light’s back pocket. He groaned, placing one hand on Mikami’s crown to keep him at his neck and slipping the other behind to snag his phone. Shutting his eyes, Mikami kept licking and sucking marks over the thin throat’s skin, measuring how hazy he could make Light’s voice.

“Hello?” Light answered in a flinty tone, which turned dull on his next word. “Oh. Hello Misa.” His fingers danced through Mikami’s dark hair, pinching his ear playfully while he spoke without interest. “Yes, I’m sure they’re very impressed. You’ve had a fascinating career. Model and singer … Tonight? I’m not doing much.”

Mikami dragged his hand to toy with Light’s pants button, reminding him of his actual nighttime plans. In response, cold fingers nipped his ear lobe.

“I don’t mind being alone.” Light flickered his gaze to Mikami, gesturing for him to come closer. Despite their closeness, his expression remained turned off – guarded from passion or amusement; neutral to a point of robotic. Mikami kissed the cheek opposite where Light held his phone, feeling the rumbling of his parting goodbye to Misa. “I have so much work to do anyway. And so do you, hm? Yes. I love you. Talk to you later.”

The phone skittered across the table and Light took hold of Mikami, thumbs dug into his cheeks.

“Wash it out,” he whispered. “If you kiss me, it’ll wash out what I said and you can taste it.”

Mikami dropped into a hard kiss of Light’s soft, wanting mouth; he licked over the seam of it until lips parted for him. He tasted the dull I love you and its blossom into a lush savory flavor as  he held Light closer, kissed him harder. Light opened to him, beckoning with hands and tongue to drink in an unspoken declaration. When they parted, their lips clicked on separation. Mikami grasped Light by the wrist and brought his hand to his mouth.

Slowly, he licked and sucked Light’s ring finger – down to the naked bottom. He imagined that Misa’s awful ring was there, gold on his tongue and stinging, as the metronome clicked on for no music. He’d wash it away; he’d make Light forget her again and again.