#straight up nonsense in this chilli's tonight

[maliciousalice]

SHE'S TRYING!!!!

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 2

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You start work on Elizabeth's diary, and finally get a good look at Papa.

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: Hey hello, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit of a monster, but worth it, I promise!

Warnings: Mentions of reader having religious trauma

AO3 Link / Chapter 1

~~~

You’ve been hunched over this damned diary all day. 

Sister Imperator was right. None of the Abbey’s translators or archivists would have been able to read Elizabeth’s writing because she had written in a cipher. With no spaces between words and with no obvious keyword to decipher her entries, the first page of her diary looks like nonsense. Just absolute gibberish. 

But to you, it isn’t. 

With each passing hour you spend at a small table in the restricted room, you admire Elizabeth more and more. She was smart as a whip and even more clever. You figure that, if she wanted her diary to be kept secret, she could have simply destroyed it. Burnt it, ripped it, buried it, dipped the whole thing in black ink—anything surely would have been easier than creating a cipher which has no discernable pattern. 

She didn’t destroy it, though. She wrote on each page, front and back until the entire book was filled, and then she hid it. If something is truly never meant to be found, it won’t be. Which leads you to believe Elizabeth’s diary isn’t a diary at all. It’s a record. 

A record of what, you have yet to be sure. It is secret enough for Elizabeth to want it to be discovered someday, but only after she is long gone. That intrigues you enough to sit hour after hour over this book, trying every word you can think of that might be the key to the cipher. So far you have crossed off ‘Satan’, ‘Lucifer’, ‘Beelzebub’, and other aliases of the Dark One. You hadn’t expected those to work, because Elizabeth seems smarter than that, but you had to try just to rule them out. You also tried words like ‘chapel’, ‘altar’, and other imagery of the Satanic Ministry, with no luck. You thought perhaps the first five letters of the entry were the key to the second five, or vice versa. You tried again with the first six letters, the first two, three, four. Nothing. 

The only words you have been able to read are the dates of each entry, the month and the day, which she wrote in the top-left corner in plain English. Those were not much of an accomplishment to decipher.

You sigh and sit up straight for a moment. Your back is sore after hours of slouching and writing. The once-crisp notebook under your pen is nearly half full of incorrect keywords and mistranslations. The small window on the far wall of the restricted room has grown dark and no sounds echo to you from the hollow of the atrium. 

You’d gotten up to find something to eat (and to uncross your eyes) during the dinner hour. Tonight you opted for a hot meal but decided not to stay in the refectory. You don’t know if food is even allowed in the library but all the Siblings who work there were at dinner, so you snuck it in anyways. You aren’t careless, though, so you ate your dinner at a different table, far away from the one where Elizabeth’s diary and your notebook sit open. That had been a few hours ago. 

As far as you can tell from the small window in the door, the lights in the library have been dimmed for the night. No one came and fetched you to tell you that it was closing, so you assume it stays open at all hours. Your own desk lamp is the only source of light in the restricted room. 

You rise from your workstation and move towards the closed door. Such an enclosed room tends to get stuffy and humid, and it’s still too chilly outside to open a window. You gently prop open the door to let in the relatively fresh air of the library. No one said you couldn’t keep the door open when you’re inside the room, only that the door must be locked when you aren’t. 

Returning to your desk, you can already feel the cooler air drifting through the bookshelves. You’re content to work for a few more hours like this. It feels wrong to give up for the night when you have nothing to show yet. It feels wrong to stop working when you have something to prove, and somewhere to return. 

The night here is eerily silent. At home in Marseille, if you open your dormitory window and sit on the end of your bed to look out over the water, you can hear the soft lapping of water against the marina docks. If the wind carries just right, you can also hear the creaking of masts and cables as the sailboats list back and forth in the water. Sometimes the gulls stay out at night during the summer months, calling for one another from their perches on a bow pulpit. The breeze carries the saltiness of the water and the sweetness of the hillside wildflowers into your dormitory, illuminated only by a small desk lamp and the moon—

A sound from outside the room breaks you from your reverie. Your consciousness whips back to the present, to the Abbey. The ghostly scent of salt and flowers fades, replaced by old leather and dust and ink from your pen. 

You raise your eyes to look through the open door when you hear another sound. There’s no one visible to you—whoever they are must be between shelves, looking for a late-night romance novel to put them to sleep. 

You haven’t figured out why the romance section is so tucked away yet. Though, perhaps if erotica is shelved nearby, the librarians would want any wandering hands to stay hidden. Not that lust is shameful here—it’s the Satanic Ministry, it’s actually encouraged—but the library is not the place to get hot and heavy. 

Knowing that someone is nearby distracts you terribly, and you decide to stop for the night. The little analog clock hanging next to the door reads past midnight. At this hour, you likely won’t get much done anyway. You need sleep and a proper breakfast to let your mind work. 

You take the time to gently wrap Elizabeth’s diary in the white linen and return it to its lockbox. The rest of your things don’t take long to gather, having only brought the one notebook and a few pens, plus your empty dinner box. You close the door behind you as you exit, fishing through your habit pocket to find the key. It and the key to your dormitory are affixed to a single keyring which jingles as you fumble with it one-handed, but you lock the door successfully and turn to make your way to the staircase. 

Rather, you try to make your way. 

As soon as you turn around, a figure emerges from the bookshelves. You promptly run into him, which sends your materials to the floor and your mind reeling with apologies. “Oh, je suis vraiment désolé—Er, I’m so sorry!” you bluster, holding your now-empty hands out to plead for forgiveness. You kneel to gather your things into a messy pile, then stand and finally meet the eyes of the poor soul you’d accosted with your body. “I should have been more careful, but it’s late so I thought…” 

They’re the same eyes you’d met yesterday, in the refectory. Still striking, still surrounded by black, but up-close and more relaxed. And no white paint. Just the black upper lip and the black eyes of Papa Emeritus the Fourth. 

“It’s, eh, it’s quite alright, Sister,” Papa says with an awkward little laugh. You notice he’s not wearing his robes or his mitre. In fact he’s not wearing anything that might remotely indicate that he’s the Antipope. He wears a simple black t-shirt and red sweatpants, and gray fuzzy slippers that have the eyes and whiskers and pink nose of a rat which you thought looked cute when you’d knelt down. 

But he’s still Papa, and you still barreled into him like a brute. 

You try to smile but it feels more like a grimace. “Still, I shouldn’t have just…” you gesture with your free arm. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” 

Papa pats his chest like he’s searching for injuries. You hit him hard, but not that hard, and it makes you laugh softly. “I’m fine. Quite good. Still in one piece,” he says. “Are you? And why are you here so late?”

You blush. “Oh, does the library close at night? I’m sorry, no one came and told me, I just assumed…” 

“No, no,” Papa reassures you, waving a hand in front of himself. “No, it doesn’t close. But it’s usually empty at this time of night, you see.” 

You nod in understanding. “It is pretty late.” 

“It is,” Papa echoes. “So… pardon my asking, Sorella, but why are you still awake?”

“I was, um,” you try to explain, looking down at the messy pile of translation work cradled in the crook of your elbow. “I was working on Elizabeth’s diary, but it may take longer than I expected.”

Papa’s face seems to light up at your mention of your work. “Oh! Forgive me, yes, I should have known,” he rushes out. “You are the, eh, visitor? From Marseille?”

You nod and give him your name. He repeats it softly to himself, as if to remember it. You doubt he will, but you won’t hold it against him—there are many, many Siblings at the Abbey and many names to remember. So if he manages to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, you will be pleasantly surprised. Not to say you don’t have faith that he could, but… well. You’re running yourself in circles. 

He narrows his eyes slightly, but pauses for a moment. “I saw you yesterday, at dinner,” he tells you. 

So much for not remembering a face in the crowd. You mentally kick yourself. 

“Ah, yes,” you chuckle nervously. “I’m not the biggest crowd person.” Papa chuckles. “Yes, I noticed. To be honest, neither am I.” 

That’s hard to believe, coming from him. To be Papa is to be a figurehead, a symbol of unwavering faith and devotion to the Olde One which the entire Satanic Ministry worships. One must be a bit of a crowd pleaser in order to be successful in his position. “It doesn’t seem that way, Papa,” you tell him. “You command a room very well, from what I’ve heard.” 

A smug little grin grows on Papa’s lips, and it suits him. Smiling suits him. “So word of my immense charisma has traveled all the way to Marseille, yes?” he asks, mostly teasing. But a small lilt in his voice betrays that he really does wonder. What does this foreign Sister think of him based on word of mouth alone? And does his person size up to his reputation? 

You laugh. “It has,” you say. “Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you are uncomfortable in a crowd.” 

Papa tuts his tongue, his grin growing into a fond smile. “You should have seen my brother.” There’s a small sparkle of reminiscence in his eye as he says this, and you wonder which of the three other Papas he speaks of. You’ve heard different stories about all of them. 

His eyes drop to the papers and notebook in your arm, then back up to your face. “But, eh, you are settling in well, Sorella?” he asks. 

You can tell he wants to change the subject, so you let him. “Yes, Papa, thank you,” you smile. 

“That’s not very convincing.” 

You release an airy laugh and drop your head. He can see right through you. “It’s very different here,” you say. “Marseille is… small. Cozy. Secluded. Not to say that I don’t like it here, because it really is very nice—”

“It’s crowded,” Papa cuts you off. It’s soft, and not intended to be rude, but to agree with you. “And big. I understand.”

Your shoulders drop, but you hadn’t realized they were raised in the first place. “It’s not home,” you find yourself admitting. 

He nods. “And so you work late into the night because you do not want to sleep in an unfamiliar bed.” 

You stare at him for another beat. He seems to know what you’re feeling even before you do, because yes, your bed here isn’t the same as the one back home, and suddenly you’re very close to crying. Don’t cry, don't cry, don't cry…

“May I tell you something, in confidence?” Papa asks. His voice is low and gentle. It soothes you. His eyes search your own, flicking back and forth between them, and you begin to understand how this slightly awkward man in rat slippers is able to enrapture an entire chapel of people. 

You nod. 

“I miss being a Cardinal,” he tells you. “Truly, I do. Becoming Papa has been the only goal I can ever remember having, ever since I was old enough to care. But as soon as I ascended I…” He pauses. His mouth opens and closes, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he should finish his thought. 

He sighs. “What I mean to say is, There is no shame in missing where you used to be.”

You hold his gaze for another long moment, wondering what it is he was going to say. His words linger in the silence between you and you let them. As soon as he became Papa he… what? 

“Thank you, Papa,” you say quietly. The moment feels almost intimate, like he’d confided his biggest secret to you. But for all you know, he tells every Sibling he comes across the same thing. It’s his duty to counsel everyone under his roof, visitors included. 

No, you chastise yourself. Papa doesn’t seem like the kind of man to have practiced lines for serendipitous meetings… but you are still learning not to assume the worst of people. You had been far too young when you learned not to trust anyone, even those deserving of it. But Papa… he seems genuine, and it’s all you can do (for yourself and for him) to believe that he is. 

You realize that this is the natural end of your conversation. That now is when you should say goodnight, nice to meet you, see you around, but you don’t want to. You can’t tell if it’s because you’ve been on your own all day, or because it’s late and you’re tired, or because the air around him seems to grow warmer and more… comfortable. Papa radiates an aura of peace that you haven’t felt since you received Sister Imperator’s letter nearly a week ago.

“If I may ask, Papa,” you start, just as the silence begins to grow awkward, “what are you doing awake at this hour?”

Papa’s eyes turn down, and a small smile graces his lips. “Ah, I was just looking for something to read,” he says, and you nearly laugh at yourself for asking such an obvious question. Of course he’s looking for something to read. The two of you are standing deep in the bowels of the library. 

Oh, who are you kidding? Papa likely came here to find a book in peace, not speak to some foreign Sister. Who are you to keep his attention? 

“I see,” you say, in your practiced voice. “Well. Good luck, and I hope you find something, Papa.” 

Before you can blurt out any more feelings to him, you turn and walk briskly towards the winding staircase that leads you to the first floor. 

~~~

Copia watches you retreat, slightly confused and halfway ready to call your name to make you stay. Something had changed in your demeanor just before you left, and he wants to ask if you’re alright, or if he said something wrong and caused you to close yourself off like that. Was it his little comment about missing the past? No, no, it couldn’t be—your eyes had been wide and searching, but you weren’t offended. Your brow had furrowed but not out of disgust. 

He’s not as clueless as most people think he is. Just because he has a hard time finding the right words to say what he’s thinking doesn’t mean he’s stupid. In fact, Copia prides himself on his ability to read people. His ability to speak as eloquently as he does in his head… that’s another story. 

When he’d first seen you in the refectory yesterday, you had already been looking right at him. He was curious about the straggler who’d wandered in so timidly. Your face isn’t one he’d seen around the Abbey. If he had, he would’ve remembered you because frankly, you’re striking. 

Copia doesn’t know why he hadn’t connected the dots sooner. It seems obvious that a brand new Sister should appear only weeks after Sister Imperator mentions bringing someone in to translate the document that had been found. Your presence had been a single talking point during some meeting or another, and if he’s perfectly honest, most Clergy meetings seem to blend together into nonsensical mush when he thinks back on them. Your mention of Elizabeth’s diary had reminded him of a few vague details. But the rest of that discussion, unsurprisingly, slips his mind. 

He finds himself feeling guilty. He’d been at that meeting, he knows for certain. The paperwork to confirm your temporary transfer had landed on his desk and he’d signed it. He must have. Your file must have been sent over from Marseille ahead of your arrival, why hadn’t he seen it?

Copia runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He should have welcomed you to the Abbey himself. He should have sought you out and personally offered his hospitality, because he knows what it’s like to be across the world from home. He knows how lost and alone you feel. He’d felt it himself, after he transferred to the Abbey as a newly-appointed Cardinal. 

I miss being a Cardinal, he’d told you. And it’s true, he does, but he misses being an Archbishop more. He held less sway within the Satanic Ministry as an Archbishop, but he was allowed to stay in Italy. His home. 

As soon as he’d ascended to the rank of Cardinal, Sister Imperator had called him to the Abbey as a permanent transfer. Sure, his brothers had all been transferred from Italy one by one as they were called up to the Papacy, so he had family at the Abbey. But they had all been busy, constantly, and so had he. 

You’d told him you miss home, and a very strange, very tender part of him wants to comfort you. 

~~~

You replay your conversation with Papa all the way back to your dormitory. Stupide, stupide, stupide… 

He told you that he’s not much of a crowd person, and then you go and tell him that his Abbey doesn’t feel cozy enough for you? And you nearly knocked him over in your haste to return to a bed that you told him isn’t as good as the one in Marseille. What a way to thank him for opening his home to you! Thanks, Papa, but here are all the reasons why your Abbey sucks.

“Fille stupide,” you mutter to yourself. The sound echoes off the walls of the dark, empty corridor. The wall sconces are dark for the night, so the only illumination comes in the form of pale blue stripes of moonlight along the tiled floor. 

When you finally reach your dormitory and softly shut the door behind you, you take a moment to breathe. You’d been walking rather briskly in order to get back. Your fingers clench so tightly on the edge of your notebook that your fingernails are white, and your joints creak as you release your hold. The slap of the spiral-bound book seems loud when you drop it onto the small desk below the window, reverberating around the room. There are no posters, no tapestries, no curtains to absorb the sound like there are at home. 

You loathe the sound. You loathe the echoes. You loathe the tip-tapping of heels on the pristine floors of the Abbey. You loathe the muffled sounds of laughter coming from a dormitory a few doors down. You loathe how desperately you want to find something to hold onto here, something that feels personal. And you loathe how you crave familiarity despite the fact that you’ll return to Marseille as soon as that little book is translated. 

You practically rip your habit off—a habit that is uniform in France, but sets you apart here—in favor of your sleep clothes. Climbing into the small bed, you begin to recite your prayer in every language you know. It’s a habit you’d developed as soon as you began learning a second language at the ripe age of nine. Only then, the prayers had been directed at the cruel, unforgiving Catholic God. 

Salut Satan, notre Ténébreux juste et indulgent…. Ave Satana, il nostro Tenebroso giusto e indulgente…. Salve Satanás, nuestro justo y perdonador Oscuro…. 

You continue until you’ve exhausted all the languages you know, and then you start over again with a different prayer. And again. And again, until somewhere in the middle of your Portuguese Hail Lilith you drift to sleep. 

~~~

You wake the next morning in a much better mood. Perhaps last night you’d just been frustrated and overtired from working from dawn til far past dusk, but the bright birdsong from outside sounds happier today. It follows you from your dormitory, down the corridor and to the main hall, where the sounds of the breakfast hour echo out into the large space. 

You could walk into the refectory if you wanted, without feeling intimidated (at least not as much as the day you arrived), but you don’t have much of an appetite this morning. Instead you take your time walking the length of the main hall. There are sculptures in spaces between the wood benches that you hadn’t noticed before. You find one you recognize, and it doesn’t surprise you that the Abbey houses a replica. 

La génie du mal is a welcome sight. The Marseille Abbey also keeps a replica, although it is slightly smaller than this one. It’s a depiction of a fallen angel chained to a rock, with a crown held loosely in one hand while the other runs through his hair. His stone face is solemn but the bat-like wings splaying from his back seem to welcome you, as if saying, Hello child, do you remember me? 

Yes, you do remember. You remember being eleven years old and traveling to Liège at the whim of your parents. You remember touring Saint Paul’s Cathedral and pretending to marvel at the Catholic imagery that you didn’t understand (or care for) at the time. Every depiction of Jesus on the cross looked the same. Every statue of a veiled Mother Mary reminded you to be chaste and pure and subservient to a God who thinks you a lesser being. 

And then you’d seen him in the chapel of the Cathedral, placed at the back of a pulpit which wrapped around a stone pillar. The four sculptures of saints (whose names you don’t bother to remember) stood at the front of the pulpit, facing in towards the pews, as if standing guard over the sculpture. La génie du mal was tucked into the back, hidden from view, but you knew something must have been there. Why else would not one, but four saints be guarding a single pillar, when there were dozens lining the interior of the chapel? 

So you’d slipped from the watchful eye of your parents while they were distracted by the tour guide, and rounded the pulpit to see the backside. He was there, carved in white marble and stationed in the niche between two curved staircases. The elaborate stained-glass windows cast speckles of yellow, blue, and violet over his body, and he glowed in the sunlight like he was a real angel fallen to Earth right in front of you. 

You visited him a lot, afterwards.

You learned later that the pulpit was commissioned to represent “The Triumph of Religion over the Genius of Evil,” but you thought—and still think—that it was executed rather poorly. The four statues facing inward protect only the Cathedral from La génie du mal, but he, facing outward towards the windows, can see the rest of the world. Anyone looking into the chapel for refuge or guidance would only see him, colorful and bright, through the holy scenes of the stained glass. 

You jump nearly ten feet in the air when a voice beside you snaps you from your thoughts. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” 

You look to your left and catch the mismatched eyes of Papa. You hadn’t even heard him come up beside you. “Oui—ah, yes,” you say, swiftly correcting your French to English. 

“You know,” Papa says, looking back to the marble replica, “the original was commissioned because the first version of it was too, eh, sexy.” 

You do know, but the fact makes you laugh anyway. “The first version is nothing compared to this. It makes me think that the artist made this version even sexier, just to spite the Catholics. And to avenge his brother.” 

Papa turns to you fully now, with his hands clasped behind his back. He wears a smart black suit adorned with an elaborate grucifix on the lapel. It’s a far cry from the sweatpants and t-shirt from last night, but no less comfortable. You can’t help but notice that the suit is tailored to perfection. 

“His brother?” he asks. 

You nod. “The original sculptor was the younger brother of this artist,” you explain, gesturing to La génie. “It’s a bit of a slap in the face for them to ask his own brother to redo his work. I can imagine they both felt a little slighted.”  

Papa chuckles. “Perhaps just a little.” 

A brief pause falls between the two of you, and you begin to wonder just how long it will take for the silence to grow awkward. So far you haven’t reached that point. Not with Papa, at least. 

“It would have been nice to have the original piece,” Papa says unhurriedly. “I can’t imagine the Catholic Church would have agreed to let us buy it.” 

You turn to look at him briefly, letting out a small laugh. “If the price was high enough, I’m sure they would have,” you say with an almost imperceptible edge of bitterness. “But I do think its place at Liège is where it belongs.” 

“Have you been?” Papa asks you, his eyebrows slightly raised as he turns to meet your gaze. 

“I have,” you answer. You don’t elaborate further on the nature of your visit. “That’s not to say I don’t believe it would have a good home here, Papa. I just think that the irony of its placement is lost on the Catholics.” 

He asks about it, and you explain. His eyes never leave your face as you talk. You don’t feel scrutinized like you had under Sister Imperator’s gaze, though. Papa’s eyes are warm and interested and you could swear they almost glow in the morning light. He nods and hums with each point you make, seeming genuinely intrigued by your argument that La génie holds more influence facing outward rather than inwards. 

It’s a subject you’re passionate about. La génie had set you on a path towards the Satanic Ministry that day. By age eleven you already knew you didn’t want to be Catholic despite your parents’ efforts to instill their beliefs on you, but you didn’t know exactly what you believed in. Until you saw him, solemn and still, his magnificence hidden behind a stone pillar at Liège. 

Despite Papa’s careful listening, you realize you must be rambling and cut yourself off. “Sorry, Papa. I don’t mean to talk your ear off.” 

“Oh, no!” Papa says, shaking his head. “No need to apologize, Sister. I enjoy listening to you speak.” 

Heat blossoms over your cheeks. You almost miss how his own face flushes a slight shade of pink. Almost. 

“Eh, I mean—” Papa begins to fiddle with his own fingers. “What I mean to say is that you make a lot of good points. Yes.” 

It’s obvious that he’s nervous over the comment he made. It was straightforward and a little flirty, and you know that in the bright hall he can most likely see the pink beneath your skin. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to come out quite so… well, flirty. Or maybe he thinks he overstepped a boundary, that he said something he shouldn’t have? It was just a comment about listening to you talk, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Satan, why are you so flustered all the sudden? 

You give him a small smile. “Either way… thank you, Papa. I should, uh—”

“Yes, me too—”

“Right, have a good day,” you say, a bit quicker than is necessary, and turn on your heel to start towards the library. 

~~~

Once again, Copia finds himself watching you go. 

Rationally, he knows that you’re not upset with him. You didn’t leave because of something he’d said or done that made you uncomfortable. If that was the case, he hopes that you’d tell him. He would hate for you to feel unwelcome or upset, especially because of him. 

But oh, how your eyes shone while you spoke about La génie. 

Hearing footsteps approaching from his right, Copia turns and finds Terzo looking rather smug as he strolls towards him. He wears a big, stupid grin on his face and looks at Copia like he’d just discovered the stash of sweets on the bottom drawer of his bedside table. 

“And who was that?” Terzo asks with feigned innocence. He comes to a stop next to Copia and clasps his hands behind his back. They both stare at La génie. 

Copia chews the inside of his cheek. “Who was who?” 

Terso tuts his tongue. “Oh, don’t be coy with me, fratellino. We both know I’m talking about the Sister you were just ogling.” “I wasn’t ogling,” Copia protests. Terzo is always teasing, always nudging, always subtly poking fun at him for no reason other than he finds it fun. That’s what little brothers are for, Terzo says. To poke fun at, and to teach the ways of the world. “And we both know that you know who she is.” 

“Ah, yes, I do know,” Terzo says with a shrug. “But I wanted to hear what you had to say.”

Copia looks at his brother. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Terzo says, “you seemed quite invested in that conversation just now. And then you turned a very obvious shade of red, and she walked away. Forgive me, I’m a gossip.” 

Copia laughs. “There’s nothing to gossip about, Terzo. She told me about this sculpture and where the original is housed. That’s it.” 

Terzo tilts his head, leaning in slightly. “That does not explain why you both were so red in the face, fratellino.” 

Copia sighs and runs a hand through his hair. So it was obvious, even from down the hall. “I… may have said that I like listening to her speak.” 

“Oh,” Terzo says flatly. He sounds almost disappointed. “I thought you might have told her something else.” 

“What? Why?” Copia asks. “Was that a weird thing to say?” 

Terzo chuckles, shaking his head. “No. It’s a perfectly good compliment. But you both turned so red that I thought you invited her to your chambers.” 

Copia nearly chokes on his own saliva. “Wh–what?” he sputters. “Terzo, I barely know her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t think so with the way you were looking at her!” Terzo says, his voice pitched higher to his own defense. “‘My darling, you speak so beautifully, it is like birdsong in the early morning. I simply cannot resist the way you look—’” 

“Stop—”

“‘—in the sunlight. Your eyes shine so brightly and your mouth moves so gracefully—’” 

“Terzo, I—”

“‘—that I can’t help but wonder what it might feel like on my—’” 

“Okay,” Copia throws his hands up. He storms off towards the refectory for breakfast. 

Terzo’s laugh echoes through the main hall as he jogs to catch up with Copia. “What? I’m only saying what I thought you said.” 

Copia hadn’t said any of those things to you, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t thought them. It’s true; your eyes did shine in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and your mouth did move gracefully. Although those parts of you are attractive to him and he’d readily admit that you’re beautiful, it was the way you spoke that caught him. You seemed to forget your timidness, your reservations. You spoke freely and enthusiastically, like you’d forgotten you were speaking to Papa and instead spoke to a friend. Copia wonders if La génie holds some significance to you outside of just being an interesting sculpture. 

Copia resolves to ask you the next time he sees you, and he finds himself hoping that it’s soon.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Nudity, nothing sexual, Khonshu is a dweeb who doesn't understand how privacy works, more comics/show merging.

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 8:

River’s Flow

You stared up dumbly. No way. No fucking way.

No fucking way was that damn god Jezebel told you to pray to right in front of you. Right now.

And did he just call you dumb or something?

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” He sneered.

You blink up at him, as if he were perhaps some sort of mirage you could will away from your vision. When that didn’t work, you got to your feet, your knees like jelly. You could faintly feel the buzz of the alcohol still in your system, but the shock of almost falling to your death and hitting the snow kind of sobered you up as the chill set into your clothes while the strange being glared down at you with non-existent eyes.

“Have you suddenly lost the ability to speak?”

You shake your head, standing up and finally looking away from the… thing in front of you. You start to pace, a chilly hand pressed to your forehead.

“Okay, okay… because this is totally fine.” You begin to nervously ramble.

“Those guys at the bar slipped me something when I wasn’t paying attention, or I–I hit my head when I fainted? Yeah, no, that’s gotta be it. I’m just hallucinating all of this because of some sort of GHB or…”

You wiped at your face with your hand, walking a trail into the slushy snow as your pacing increased. “Fuck, it’s like LSD or something!” You mutter to yourself.

“ENOUGH!” His raspy voice bellowed, stomping his staff onto the rooftop.

“Shut up!” You snap.

Your nerves were already alight with panic, confusion, frustration, and now just plain anger, thanks to the way your whole life has gone topsy-turvy over the past several weeks; you had just been attacked and literally swept off your feet by some literal white knight... And now, you were possibly face-to-face with a literal god that snapped at you for being upset?

You were done with supernatural bullshit–visions, nightmares, and gods included!

It seemed he didn’t expect a retort from you–let alone for you to shout at him like that–judging by how he reeled his head back slightly, and stood ramrod straight.

His skull tilted slightly as he regarded you silently, before his voice washed over you again. “You think you can just–”

“I said shut it, bone-face!” You say, gritting your teeth and jabbing a finger at him as you stomp towards him, your shoes now soaked all the way through and the chilly throb in your toes serving to only add to the flames that begun to bloom through you.

“I don’t care who you are, or what you think I owe you--but I am sick of the crazy bullshit that I’ve had to endure since I decided to take Jezebel’s word and pray to that stupid statue of yours! I could live with those crazy dreams before, being mugged every so often–but this?! I’ve quite had enough of this crazy, B-Rated movie nonsense!”

You throw your hands up over your head and march over to the door that led back down into the warmth and safety of your apartment building. Your stiff and aching fingers punched in your entry code, silently praying that by the time you made it to your nice warm bed the world will magically make sense again.

You cast one glance over your shoulder before you depart for the comfort of your meager home.

Khonshu was gone, leaving only a melted void in the snow. You shake your head and continue down the dirty old stairs, your shoes squishing with each tired step.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

You shakily cram your keys into your lock, grumbling to yourself about perhaps spending the rest of your paid vacation time in a mental ward after tonight…

You shut your door and re-lock it, sighing as the night’s events begin to rise and ebb with every thought that flutters through your mind. You didn’t care if you had the dreams again, tonight; sleep sounded like paradise right now, no matter how restless it might seem in the morning.

You toss your jacket onto the rickety old thrift shop chair by the door and turn.

Only for the light across the room next to your bed to turn on with a soft click.

You blink your eyes hard, once more hoping to will away this situation as a possible mirage cooked up by your imagination as you gawked at the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, one leg crossed over the other, hands clasped in his lap.

“Did you really think you could dismiss me so easily?” Khonshu sighed, sounding offended.

“Oh, come on!” You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “What do I have to do to get rid of you? Jump off a building? Because if that's the case I can go back to the roof!”

“I merely wish to know how you could be so powerful as to invoke me directly,” He tipped his head towards the statue of himself and continued speaking. “And turn that statue into a conduit.”

“Yet, when I show obvious signs of providing protection in return, you shrug it off and discontinue prayer…”

“You haven't done–” You stop talking and squint as you think back. One event does stick out in your mind…

“The guy in the alley?! That was you?”

“Of course it was. Did you think it was you?” He sighed deeply, sounding disappointed as he stood.

Khonshu takes lumbering steps to lean into your space, looking down at you. “You invoked me. The first mortal to directly do so, either intentionally or not, in some time. You have power inside of you, mortal.”

You step back, frowning. “Okay, if you think you can turn me into some… Some cultist the answer is no. I swear, I should never have accepted that stupid statue from…”

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. “...Jezebel? She's one of your followers?”

“It appears the alcohol hasn't completely nullified your ability to think rationally.” Khonshu scoffed. “Of course she is. What, did you think she happened to have a statue of me for no reason? That she, as a business owner, would give away stock?”

Well... Yeah, actually, you did. She sold all sorts of weird occult shit to people who adopted it as their lifestyles and gimmicks for internet clicks.

But at the same time...

He was right. It wouldn't have made sense, from a business’s point of view to give away something they could profit from…

“Then why give it to me?” You ask.

“I do not know. I intend to ask her.” Khonshu huffed, looking off to the side. “She is not known to do such things, especially at the risk of her own safety.”

“Okay, so you're a god but don't…” You frown once more. “...Wait safety? You're saying she could get hurt?”

“Of course. She is a defector from Ammit's cult. The only one I have found thus far that is worthy of being spared. She was a victim just as much as those Ammit and Harrow murdered.” He replied stiffly, standing up straight.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, hissing between your teeth as you think. “Okay… what the fuck is Ammit's cult.”

“None of your concern as their god is dead.” He said, waving his hand. “My knight has taken care of it.”

“Your “Knight”?” You squint at him. “You mean that Hunter guy?”

“A god has more than one fist. I have Hunter's Moon and the Moon Knight. My Moon Knight is currently overseas. Hunter's Moon tends to stay here, in the city, running the Midnight Mission.”

“Which I'm guessing is some kind of church.”

“A temple.” He corrected with a jerk of his head.

“Same thing…” You sigh softly, scratching at the back of your head.

“Not technically.”

“What are you, a thesaurus?”

“I’m curious.” He replied curtly.

You grab another one of your cheap thrift shop chairs around in a fluid motion and sit across from him, leaning forward on your elbows. “Fine. Shoot.”

Khonshu matches your gesture. “How did you invoke me.”

“All I did was say the prayer that Jezebel gave me. That's literally all I know.” You shrug, not breaking…. did it count as eye contact when the other party didn't have eyes?

“That is all? Nothing else?” Khonshu asked you tersely.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I heard your voice. Thousands of years ago I never had to strain my abilities to hear a prayer from one of my followers. But since the Old Dynasties fell, there are less and less…” He makes another, strained sigh, looking off to the side. “I still have followers and I know their voices well. But say, a new voice tries to join the fray… I would have to tax myself to hear them clearly. But you.”

He points at you with a long, heavy finger. “You are an anomaly. I heard your voice even above my recognized followers. Even above my Fists, my Knights.”

“Look, I don't know why that is, man.” You say, standing up. “People have said I'm loud and obnoxious, so maybe it carried over into that prayer thing.” You turned and started walking to your meager bathroom.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

You give him a bored and irritated look from over your shoulder as you yank some pajamas out of your dresser. “I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm filthy. I'm taking a damn bath. You can stay or leave, I'm too tired to care.”

And before the ancient god could respond, you closed your bathroom door and locked it; frigid, icy fingers wrapping around the knobs to your shower faucet. The knocking and squeaking of the pipes comforted you, of all the crazy shit in your life that keeps changing… those old noises stay the same.

You strip off your dirty and wet clothes, setting your clean ones off to the side of the countertop, and carefully step beneath the wonderfully steamy spray of water, allowing the heat to soak into your body, warming your chilled bones.

You let out a sigh through your nostrils and closed your eyes, moving your hands across your head and down so your hands were clutched at your shoulders; head tipped back.

And again… you weren't sure when it all went black.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

You hummed as you dipped the cloth back in the hot water before bringing it back to your body and scrubbing. It was another hot day and you wanted to wash the sweat and grime from your body.

You had visited the temples today, so you didn't have to shave or pluck any hairs away tonight.

Once you'd scrubbed yourself enough, you leaned over on the limestone slab to the kitc containing the various bathing oils you used in your house.

Of course, you could have the servants help bathe you, but you very much preferred to do so yourself, taking your time and ensuring every bit of you was clean.

Your body was a temple, after all, no? It deserved to be taken care of, just as methodically as the temples in the city dedicated to the gods.

But even those had priests and scholars to tend to them, however…

You sigh as you rub the oils into your arms, moving up to your throat before moving back down again to massage it into your breasts, and once more you move downwards to your belly, thighs… you did not stop until your body smelt as radiant as a wading pool when the lotuses were in full bloom.

There was a knock at the door to the bathing room.

“Merit, dear. Dinner is almost ready.” Your mother's voice called out. You could hear your younger brother, muffled through the wood of the door as he pestered her about something.

“Yes, mother! I'm actually finished! I'll be out shortly.” You reply, moving to your fresh linens to slip them on. Since you were not going anywhere for the rest of the night, a plain loose gown was perfect to wear to dinner with your family.

You opened the door and your mother's bright smile greeted you, your little brother hanging off of her arm, speaking so quickly you could barely catch him.

He was still merely dressed in the linen cloth wrap that covered his nethers. Draped over his chest was a gold necklace that your father gifted him not two weeks prior during the celebration of Hathor, at the feast in the palace.

Your thoughts were snapped back to the present when your mother placed her hand at the small of your back, guiding you to the room where you would all be dining.

“Your father is thinking of proposing a marriage for you, soon.” She sighed with a sweet smile.

“Ugh, not this again…” You whine. You were a grown woman. Old enough to bear children, yes, but you weren't ready for the tasks needed from a Lady of The House.

“I know... but, love and light,” Your mother said, brushing your cheek with her knuckles as your brother started to hang off of you, instead. “Your father and I won't be here forever. Our tombs are nearly finished and we want you to be taken care of when we depart.”

“I know…” You mumble, clasping your fingers tight over your little brother’s hand.

He tugs you through the beaded curtain, grinning at you with a gap-toothed smile. “Come on, Merit! Sit next to me!”

Your mother follows shortly, immediately moving to kiss your father fondly on his lips.

You shrug away the possible marriage, stowing the thoughts for a later time.

Now wasn't the time for thinking of marriage, right now it was dinnertime and you were happy to spend it with your family.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑��🌑

You were pulled from your memory sequence suddenly when your shower curtain was yanked open and the steam flooded out from behind the safety of the plastic sheet.

Of course, you screamed and went to cover yourself. This did not seem to phase the elder god in front of you, who sounded, frankly, bored.

“You have been in the bath for over an hour.” He said flatly.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” You squawk, blindly reaching out behind you to the alcove in the wall until your fingers wrapped around the bottle of your shampoo.

“You were–”

“I don't give a fuck–GET OUT!” You say, hurling the plastic bottle at the god in front of you.

It bounced off of his obnoxiously large beak with a comical “plunk!”, before falling to the floor.

He seemed taken aback by your outburst, and tilted his head at you as you hastily grab the shower curtain to re-obtain a semblance of decorum.

Khonshu on the other hand, did not understand your modesty. Back in ancient Egypt, it wasn't uncommon for many to walk only partially clothed.

He simply did not fathom as to why modern cultures put so much stock into body modesty. And besides, yours was attractive, at least to most standards nowadays.

Wait… why did he…

“Get out! Out out out!” You repeat, pointing towards the door. Funny. You didn't hear it open or close.

“How did you even get in here?!”

“Things such as doors or walls mean nothing to a god.” Khonshu scoffed, looking absolutely titan in your teeny bathroom as he rolled his shoulders stiffly.

“Okay good to know that locks mean jack shit now–GET OUT.” You snap, your voice once more becoming shrill.

“Ugh.” Khonshu scoffed once more before he turned, vanishing in a blur of mist before your very eyes.

Great.

Now, you assumed, you were going to be bunking with an ancient god who had no concept of personal space or privacy.

“Why can't I just have normal breakdowns like everyone else where I get put on meds and everything’s fine?” You ask yourself with a groan.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 9: Link

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 13: Nebula

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The builder climbed the stairs to the roof a little quicker than usual, excited to show Qi their latest find. “Hey, Qi!”

“Hello. You sound more energetic than usual tonight.” The builder plopped down next to him.

“Yeah, I am! I gotta show you this…” They took the large satchel off their back and opened the flap. They reached in and out came a helmet, its visor a shiny, opaque gold. They pressed it into Qi’s hands. His eyes widened.

“Is this…?!” The builder laughed, reaching back into the bag and pulling out a large, wrinkly garment. The thick plastic crinkled as they unfolded it out.

“A real-life, bonafide spacesuit, straight from the ruins. The second I found it, I just knew I had to give it to you.”

Qi’s head snapped up. “You’re giving this to me?! You…you’re sure?”

“Well yeah,” the builder snorted. “What else can I do with it?”

Qi turned back to the suit, inspecting it from all angles. “It’s in immaculate condition…even better than the one I already have…” He met the builder’s eyes. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome, bud. What’s up with the other one?”

“Well, the one I already have is mostly intact…except for the sizable gash in the back midsection. The materials for these suits are too complex for anyone to produce nowadays, making it impossible to repair. That bars me from conducting studies on the suit’s life support systems, which is frustrating. But no longer!”

“Can finally toss the old one, huh? You really gotta clean out your lab,” the builder muttered, recalling the avalanche of relics waiting to be unleashed from Qi’s cabinets.

“What? Nonsense. None of the relics in the research center are in poor enough condition to discard, including the old suit. Besides, that one houses…personal significance, so it will never be discarded, regardless of wear and tear.”

“Personal significance?”

“Yes. It was a gift from my grandfather. And perhaps the sole reason I am here in Sandrock.”

“Lemme guess, that one was found in Sandrock, too.”

“Indeed. It was found during the old relic rush and sent to Vega 5. Specifically, my grandfather’s lab.”

Qi went silent. He stared at the blank visor of the helmet, thumb idly running along its edge. “I…owe a lot to my grandpa,” he murmured.

The builder said nothing, their gaze urging him to go on.

“Do you know how I started my work in astronomy?” They shook their head. “It was on my fourth birthday.

“My parents let me stay up late for the first time, an exuberant occasion for any small child. Apparently my grandpa had one last present for me, but he couldn’t give it until very late at night. I pestered him all day to tell me what it was, but he refused to say anything.

“When the time came, close to midnight, he told me that we were going somewhere. It was a very long walk away. We climbed so many stairs and crossed so many streets that I lost track of where we were. I started to complain when my feet grew tired of walking so much. But my grandpa urged me on, still keeping our destination a secret.

“Eventually, we emerged at the highest point in Vega 5. The hull of the old starship had long been ripped away, so it’s practically the only part of the city that gets any natural light. I was still annoyed at walking so far that I was staring at my shoes, dragging my feet. …Then my grandpa told me to look up.” Qi let out a deep breath and turned his eyes to the stars.

“Can you imagine?” he whispered. “How mystified my child self was to see the great cosmos for the first time?”

I don’t think I need to imagine, the builder thought. The softest of smiles played on his lips. Moonlight and starlight danced across his glasses and the darkness of his eyes, looking almost like another night sky. They felt a swell of warmth, despite the chilly air.

“My grandpa took one look at my face and must’ve realized my life’s calling at the same time I did. He told me about what Vega 5 used to be, how the Old World’s spacefaring ventures flourished before the Day of Calamity, how to properly observe the night sky… All of it enthralled me.

“After that, my grandpa and I would return every so often, and he would tell me about what was in the sky that season. And then when I met Mint, we would sneak out at night sometimes to stargaze. That was one of the first catalysts for my pursuit of science.”

The builder could only continue to stare at the utterly foreign serenity on Qi’s face. Even if they had anything to say, that sight alone would have wiped it all away.

“You know…” He turned to them, and suddenly they were staring straight into the infinite depths of that second sky. They felt a stutter in their chest. “I never really knew why I let you stargaze with me that first time. Or why I let you keep coming. Usually I prefer solitude in everything I do, work or otherwise.” He closed his eyes. “I think it’s because…subconsciously…I missed those nights. Sharing the stars with good company. First with my grandpa, then with Mint, and now with you.”

Good company.

The builder’s heart was pounding. “Well…I’m glad you let me share that joy with you,” they murmured, trying to keep their voice steady. “It’s always nice. Even if I’ve had the worst week ever, I can always come here. It’s so…grounding.”

Qi’s face brightened again. “I can say the same. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a social engagement like this in a long time.”

The builder found themself completely enraptured by the sight, the ever-stoic Qi gazing right at them with the stars in his eyes and such a gentle smile on his face. A smile that they brought to his face. Something warm and wonderful simmered deep within their core as their expression mirrored his.

A moment passed as neither of them said anything more. The builder finally tore their eyes away from Qi’s, when it became too much to keep looking. “Well,” they whispered. “It’s late. I should head back. Thanks for telling me…about everything.”

“Of course,” murmured Qi, just as quietly. “And thank you again for the relic suit. It’s most invaluable.”

The builder was barely cognizant of anything in the real world after that. Their feet simply took them down the stairs and towards home without needing to think. Their hands simply opened their door and worked their toothbrush and pulled the covers over their body, all without a single input from them.

All the while, thoughts of dark eyes and soft smiles and starlight clouded their mind, trailing them from the shadows of the town to the shadows of their room.

Not even the oblivion of sleep could banish them.

Not that they would ever want to banish them.

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[just-dreaming-marvel]

In The Game of Love ~ 1

IN THE GAME OF LOVE MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,700ish

Summary: The beginning of Y/N’s story.

Notes: I hope people like this! I know it won’t be as popular as my other series I’m publishing. But I’m hoping it will still get some love!

The chilly air forced a shiver down her spine. No matter that wasn’t officially fall yet, there was something in the air. She walked with her head held high, trying to blend in with the others also walking down the street. But there was never any point. He would find her if he was trying. He was always able to find her, no matter how hard she tried to hide. That’s why she never stayed in one place too long. Why she always changed her appearance and never made any friends. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she sensed that she was being followed. She still hadn’t turned her head back around when she ran straight into someone else.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She immediately apologized, turning to face the person she ran into.

“It’s really no problem,” the woman smiled back.

“I should have been more careful.”

“Really, you’re good. I’m Mary. Mary Morstan.”

“Uh, Y/N.” She hesitantly greeted the other woman, purposefully leaving out her last name. She couldn’t let it slip. One slip up and she’d be dead.

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N. Where were you going in such a rush?”

“Home.”

Mary nodded. “Well, if you aren’t too busy, would you care to join me for tea? I would sure enjoy the company.”

Y/N thought for a moment. It would be nice to join someone else for tea. Maybe even seem normal and through him off her tail. 

“I would love that.”

And that was the beginning of her end.

~~~

Six months passed, with Y/N and Mary becoming close friends. Roommates even. During that time, Y/N had slowly let her guard down. She wasn’t as cautious or careful. She allowed herself to make friends and stay in one place. 

Also during those six months, Mary had met a man, Dr. John Watson, and planned on marrying him. Y/N had met the man a few times, each time being very impressed with him. John often spoke of his roommate, Sherlock Holmes. The unknown man intrigued both Y/N and Mary.

“I really don’t want to intrude on your dinner.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Mary swatted a hand at her friend. “John insists. His roommate will be there as well.”

“He will?”

“Yes. John has talked about Sherlock before to you, hasn’t he?”

“His name as come up a couple of times. He does sound to be an interesting man.”

“Then you will come tonight?”

“Yes, I think I will.”

~~~

John picked Mary and Y/N up at their place before escorting the two beautiful women to the Royal. When John told the host his name, the host told him that one of their party members had already arrived and was waiting for them. As the trio arrived at their table, Y/N took in the dark haired man already seated. His was dressed nicely. His black hair slicked back, out of his face, with a touch of scruff framing his jawline and lips. The man’s eyes were closed, like he was trying to focus on something.

“Holmes,” John greeted.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed, looking up at his old friend with a clear frown on his face.

“You’re early.”

Sherlock closed his pocket watch and forced a smile. “Fashionably.”

“Miss Mary Morstan,” John introduced.

“Oh my goodness,” Sherlock stood from his chair and took her hand. “What a pleasure.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “For the life of me, I don’t know why it’s taken him so long to introduce us properly.” He smirked up at John.

“The pleasure is mine,” Mary replied as John helped her into her seat.

“And this is Y/N,” John introduced, “Mary’s roommate.”

“Y/N?” Sherlock questioned, turning to the other woman. He narrowed his eyes, studying her as he reached for her hand. “What a beautiful name.” He kissed her knuckles.

There was definitely something else he was meaning behind that compliment. Y/N just couldn’t tell. “Thank you,” she responded, moving to sit down. 

“Allow me,” Sherlock said, moving around the table to behind her chair. He helped push Y/N’s chair in as she sat down before sitting back down himself.

The table was round and neatly set up. Sherlock took his seat across from Y/N. John and Mary were across from each other, both next to Sherlock. Sherlock kept his eyes on Y/N, like he was trying to figure something out. She tried her best not to squirm under the gaze of his big, brown eyes.

“It really is quite a thrill to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” Mary said as she place her napkin on her lap. “Y/N and I have heard so much about you.” His eyes tried to give respect to Mary as she talked to him, but Y/N noticed that they kept flickering towards her. “I have a pile of detective novels at home, Wilkie Collins, Poe.”

“It’s true,” John added.

“It can seem a little far fetched though, at times. Making these grand assumptions out of tiny details.”

“That’s not quite right is it?” Sherlock interrupted. “In fact, the little details are by far, the most important.” He glanced at Y/N before looking away. He was honestly ever so subtle about it that Y/N wasn’t surprised John and Mary hadn’t noticed. “Take Watson—“

“I intend to.” Mary looked at the man across from her with loving eyes.

Sherlock scoffed with a smile before continuing, “See his walking stick?” He picked up the top of it, John still gripping it tightly. “A rare African snake wood. Hiding a blade,” Sherlock pulled off the top, revealing the blade, “of high tensile steel. Few were rewarded to the veterans of the Afghan war,” he slipped the blade back in, “so I can assume, he’s a decorated soldier. Strong, brave, born to be an adventurer. And neat, like all military men. Now, I check his pockets.” He reached in and took something from John’s coat. “Ah, a stamp from a boxing match. Now, I can infer that he’s a bit of a gambler. I’d keep an eye on that dowry, if I were you.”

“Those days are behind me,” John said.

“Right, behind you. He’s cost us the rent, more than once.”

“Well with all due respect, Mr. Holmes, you know John very well,” Mary stated. “What about a complete stranger?” Sherlock’s eyes were boring into Y/N, as if he was already making deductions. “What can you tell about me?”

Sherlock’s head snapped towards Mary. “You?” 

“I don’t think that’s—“ John tried.

Sherlock looked at John. “I don’t know that, that’s—“

“Not at dinner.”

“Perhaps some other time.”

“I insist,” Mary said.

“You insist?”

“You remember we discussed this,” John told Sherlock.

“The lady insists.”

That quieted down John. Y/N watched as Sherlock moved his chair to have a better vantage point of Mary. He rested an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, staring at Mary. Y/N took a deep breath, suddenly scared. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time. What if Sherlock found out the truth about her? What if Sherlock was on his side?

“You’re a governess,” Sherlock stated after a moment.

“Well done,” Mary complimented.

“Yes, well done,” John agreed, trying to stop this from going any further. “Shall we…? Waiter?”

“Your student… is a boy of eight.”

“Charlie’s seven, actually,” Mary corrected. John eyed the conversation, pouring everyone their drinks.

“Then he’s tall for his age. He flicked you with ink today.”

Mary turned to John, excitedly. “Is there ink on my face?”

“There is nothing wrong with your face,” John said.

“There are two drops on your ear in fact,” Sherlock continued, pointing them out. “India blue’s nearly impossible to wash off. Anyway, very impetus act of that boy. But you’re too experienced to react rashly, which is why the lady for whom you work lent you that necklace. Pearls, diamonds flawless rubies. Hardly the gems of a governess.” Mary’s face was solemn, yet embarrassed. “However, the jewels you are not wearing, tell us rather more.” Sherlock was now looking just past Mary. Like he was in some sort of trance.

“Holmes,” John scolded.

“You were engaged. The ring is gone, but the lightness of the skin where it once sat suggests that you spent some time abroad,” Mary’s hand went up to rub the finger which the ring sat, “wearing it proudly that is. until you were informed of its true and rather modest worth and then you broke of the engagement and returned to, England for better prospects.” He turned to John. “A doctor perhaps?”

Mary then threw her drink at his face. “Right on all counts Mr. Holmes,” she said. “Apart from one… I didn’t leave him. He died.” 

She glanced at John, looking for his approval to be excused. He gave a nod and Mary hurried off. Sherlock sighed as John looked at him with disappointment and disapproval. 

“Well done, old boy,” John commented before leaving the table to chase after Mary. 

Sherlock’s now sad eyes moved to look at Y/N. She stayed silent, breathing deeply as she met his eyes. From behind him, two waiters appeared and placed a plate of food on the table. Sherlock picked up his napkin and tucked it into his shirt before taking his utensils and cutting the meat on the plate.

“You… you already ordered?” Y/N questioned, finally speaking up.

“Yes,” Sherlock responded, chewing his food. “I assumed that it wouldn’t go well. Why should I miss use a reservation at such a fine place?”

“You are an incredibly strange man, Mr. Holmes.” Y/N placed her napkin on the table and pushed herself up to stand.

“Leaving so soon?”

“You have hurt my friend’s feelings and we don’t even know each other. I have no reason to stay.”

“We could, you know… we could know each other.”

“I’m not sure I want to get to know you Mr. Holmes.”

“Afraid I’ll learn the truth about you?” Y/N inhaled sharply. “Who’s to say that I already haven’t?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”

next chapter >

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TAGLIST:

[atlafan]

Night Shift - One Shot

a/n: back at it again with another Halloween themed fic! This was inspired by an ask requesting Harry and Y/N both work/meet in the ER. Slight twist on it, but I hope you like it! Reblogs and feedback are super helpful! (not proofread)

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut at the end

Words: 6.8K

Becoming a doctor took a lot of hard work dedication. Countless sleepless nights, a large debt to pay back, finding a hospital to become a resident in, and countless seminars to go to, to make sure all practices were up to date. At first, Y/N hated working the graveyard shift. She rarely got to see friends or family, she was getting minimal amounts of sleep because, let’s face it, sleeping during the day never worked out the way you wanted it to. However, she stopped minding it so much when one of the nicest nurses took his turn on the overnight shifts.

Nurse Styles was usually the voice of reason. He could calm any patient down, and the kids in pediatrics loved him. He always had a lollypop ready to go. All of the nurses took turns with the different shifts so it was fair for everyone. He had heard of Dr. Y/L/N, but had never met her. She was newer to the hospital, a white coat, but still baby-faced. Harry really enjoyed being a nurse, he didn’t want to be the person in there doing surgery, but he liked being able to get things started, and ease someone into the more difficult things. He had a way of administering bad news, and easing the pain from it. His broad shoulders were perfect for crying on, and if it was a kid he needed to prep for getting their appendix out, he held their hand the entire way to the operating room.

Y/N was just getting in, putting her things in her breakroom cubby when Harry walked in. He smiles at her, and she smiles back as he also puts his things away.

“Chilly out there tonight.” He says as he puts his scrubs on over his long sleeve under armor. She only looked for a second, his arm muscles were certainly defined. “I don’t think we’ve properly met yet, I’m Harry.” He extends her hand and she takes it.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, lucky for you I’ll be your nurse for the next couple of months.”

“You seem a little too chipper about working overnight.” She chuckles as she gets her white coat on and stethoscope around her neck.

“I don’t mind it.” He shrugs. “A lot of the other nurses have spouses and kids they rarely get to see, so it’s only fair I take my turn on the overnight stuff. I usually take it this time of year anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Halloween crazies start trickling towards the end of September. Think the staff likes having me as extra muscle or whatever.”

Her face pales as she looks at him. She had completely forgotten about Halloween. Last year she worked during the day, but she had heard about all of the nonsense from the entire weekend. Drunk people needing their stomach pumped, car wrecks, people on drugs, etc.

“So, what’s your specialty? You’re not a surgeon are you?” He breaks her from her trance.

“No, I’m not a surgeon, just a regular old doctor. I almost ended up in maternity like a lot of female doctors, but it wasn’t for me.” They both walk into the main area so they can get briefed for the night.

Harry says hello to the other nurses at the desk, and he takes his seat to login into the computer. There was another doctor on the overnight shifts, Dr. Gilles, and Y/N really couldn’t stand him. He was one of those doctors who was sort of rude to the nurses because he had been at the hospital for a while, but he was handsome so a lot of them didn’t even care. He would flirt with Y/N when he’d get the chance, but she didn’t really like it. She’d seen Scrubs, she didn’t need the drama that comes with hooking up with a coworker. Not to mention the guy was, like, forty, and she was only pushing thirty. To some that may not be a big age difference, but it weirded her out nonetheless. It weirded her out more when he’d catch her flirting with some of the younger nurses.

“Evening everyone.” Dr. Gilles. “He says as he walks up to the desk. “Quiet so far?”

“Pretty much.” Nurse Halleran says. “Hope it stays that way. You’ve got a couple of people you just need to check in on.” She hands him a few charts and he nods as he takes them. “How are you, Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Good.” She says as she looks over her cuticles. She feels his eyes burn into her, and she fiddles with some of the pens on the desk. “Nurse Styles, back on the graveyard, huh?”

“Yup.” Harry says with a fake smile. He also did not like Dr. Gilles. He felt protective over the other nurses, and none of them felt uncomfortable by Dr. Gilles, but he was a married man who openly flirted with people, and that kind of behavior just didn’t fly with Harry. “Dr. Y/L/N, one of your patients needs their vitals checked. Young thing, coming down from a bladder and kidney infection.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Harry hands her the chart and she looks it over as they walk to where the patient was sleeping.

Bethany Martin, ten years old, bladder and kidney infection. Another doctor wanted to size her up for an appendix removal, but it was Y/N that discovered that it wasn’t the child’s appendix. The girl had told her the pain had moves from the front of her stomach, to her side, and then to her back. She got major brownie points from the administration for making that catch.

Her and Harry slowly go into the room. Her father was sleeping in one of the fold out chairs provided. He wakes up when he hears the door open.

“Hello, Mr. Martin.” Y/N whispers with a smile. “We’re just going to check on Beth’s vitals, see how her fever’s doing, alright?”

“Sure thing, thank you.” He stands up and goes over to his daughter to help her wake up a little.

“Hmm.” The girl slowly opens her eyes, and then she smiles when she sees Y/N. See, Beth was scared that she was going to get cut open, so she was beyond grateful that she didn’t have to have surgery. “Hello.” She says sleepily.

“Hi, sweetheart, I need to check a few things, would that be alright?” Y/N asks.

“Yes.”

“Hi, Beth, how’s your IV feeling in that hand?” Harry asks her.

“It’s itchy, Nurse Harry.”

He smiles at her. A lot of the kids would call him that instead of Nurse Styles, he thought it was sweet.

“Think we should switch it to your other hand then.”

“Why’s it in her hand and not in her arm?” Y/N questions.

“We had a tough time…this one likes to pull away.” Harry explains and winks at Beth which makes her giggle.

Y/N let’s Harry switch out the IV. She lets Beth hold her hand as she winces from the needle. Once he’s done, Y/N checks everything else. She has Beth roll onto her stomach so she can feel around her back.

“I haven’t been as achy.” Beth says as she gets settled on her back once more. “It still hurts a little though.”

“Mm, I bet. Took us a bit to figure things out with you, but you seem to be doing a lot better. Should only need to be here for another few days. We’ll come back to check on you later this morning.”

“Thank you.” She snuggles back into her blankets and slowly falls back asleep.

Mr. Martin thanks Y/N and Harry before they leave, and she they both go to wash their hands at one of the sink stations.

“Nurse Harry, huh? Do all the little girls call you that?” Y/N smirks.

“Why, jealous?” He bumps his hip to hers before grabbing a paper towel to dry his hands. She rolls her eyes at him, and he chuckles. “The kids just tend to call me that, I don’t mind it.”

“It must ease them a bit more to be on a first name basis, I should remember that. I hate seeing kids in pain, I’m glad she’s doing better.”

“I know it sucks, but I actually like working with the kids more. They at least listen to us. Some of these adult patients…they fight us on every little thing sometimes.” They make their way back to the desk.

“Dr. Y/L/N?” Nurse Stevens says to her. “I’m going on a coffee run, would you like anything?”

“You’re an angel, yes”, she reaches into her pocket for some loose singles, “just a regular with a little cream, no sugar, thank you.”

“Harry?” She says to him.

“Brought my thermos, but thanks Ellie.” He smiles at her and she nods before going on her way.

“She’s the best, I’ve worked with her during the day before.” Y/N says to Harry.

“Yeah, Ellie and I came on together.”

“Oh, really?”

Harry hums his response as he types some notes into the computer. Harry and Ellie had a bit of a past, nothing serious, but they had hooked up on occasion. Being a nurse meant working a lot of long days, and that left little room for a social life or companionship. They may or may not have taken advantage of the beds in the room adjacent to the breakroom a few times, but that was a year or so ago. She had started seeing someone, so they ended things amicably.

“Why just the cream and no sugar?” He asks to change the subject.

“Well, for a while I was doing the keto thing, which is absolute rubbish and I never should have done it, but I got into the habit of not adding sugar to things. I don’t like the taste of black coffee, it’s too bitter, so the cream helps. I don’t miss the sugar, in fact, I can’t stand really sugary drinks in general.”

“Why’d you do the keto in the first place?”

“Oh, I was looking to lose some weight before a wedding I had to go to. I was a bridesmaid so I just wanted to look nice in the pictures, you know? It works when you stick to it, but as soon as I stopped I gained most of it back. Deprivation diets are never a good idea, and I knew it, but did it anyways because it was a quick way to do things.” He goes to say something, but decides against it. Her head tilts as she can tell he’s withholding something. “Go ahead, tell me as a doctor it was stupid of me to jump on a fad diet.” She sighs and leans on the tall desk.

“No, I was just going to say…” He blushes slightly. “Well, I just feel bad that you thought you needed to lose any weight because you…well…you must know how beautiful you are as is.”

She stands up straight. She literally just met this man tonight, what was going on? Just as she was about to say something, Ellie comes back with the coffee.

“Here you go.” She smiles.

“Oh, thank you.” Y/N takes the coffee. “I’m gonna go take a walk to the other nurse’s station, see how they’re doing. Page me if you need anything.”

Harry watches her walk away and he groans with his head in his hands.

“Don’t tell me.” Ellie smirks. “You have a crush on Dr. Y/L/N…shocking.” Ellie giggles and rolls her eyes.

“I just met her, I don’t have a crush on her. But I may have just said something inappropriate.”

“You?!” Ellie was shocked. “Harry, you’re, like, the nicest person I know. What did you say?”

“I just told her she was beautiful.”

“It’s not like it’s a lie, she’s rather pretty. Seems to take care of herself. It’s not an easy thing to do, especially on these shifts.”

“I know! It just felt weird after I said it. I don’t wanna be like Dr. Gilles, you know?”

“Please.” She scoffs. “You’re nothing like him.”

Y/N does her nightly rounds, checking on her various patients. A few people come in that need to be checked right away, but other than that things were quiet. Around six in the morning she and Harry go to check on little Beth again.

“Definitely only need you here another couple of nights. Keep getting those fluids in, and this fever will go away in no time.” Y/N says.

The girl nods at her tiredly before falling back asleep. Y/N helps out with some last minute patients before going to the breakroom to change. Harry was in there taking his shirt off. She tries not to stare as he pulls a sweatshirt on over himself. She wouldn’t have minded a few more moments to examine his tattoos. She knew he had a few just from his left hand alone, but shit, he had them all over his chest and stomach!

“Well, see you tonight. Hope you can get some sleep.” Harry says to her.

“Same to you.” She smiles and goes into her locker.

“I hope, uh, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier in the night…” He rubs the back of his neck.

“You didn’t, it’s fine…I’m just one of those people that has a tough time taking a compliment. Um, it happened to me in school a lot too, like, if someone told me I was smart or something, you know?”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure.”

“I appreciate that, Harry, thank you.”

He nods and heads out. On his way home he realizes he’s far too awake to be able to fall asleep, so when he gets into his flat he takes a sleeping pill, and nestles down with a cup of tea while he watches a little TV. Once his eyes feel tired he heads to bed, getting cozy under his blankets, and eventually passing out.

Y/N does something similar. She definitely takes a sleeping pill before jumping into a warm shower. She pulls her blackout curtains, and gets into bed. Her eyelids feel heavier and heavier as she listens to a podcast, and she slowly falls asleep.

//

Things went on like that for the next couple of weeks. Harry would often assist Y/N on her rounds. He liked that she wasn’t one of those snooty doctors that discounted the nurses, she really seemed to value their opinions, even consulting with them when she needed to. They became fast friends too, often eating together or taking coffee breaks at the same time. She learned that Harry was a couple of years younger than her, and he had been at this hospital for around five years. He explained he liked working at a hospital rather than a smaller practice so he could help more people, and she said she felt the same way.

“Maybe when I’m, like fifty, I’ll settle and open up my own practice. But only because I might not have the same spring in my step.” She chuckles as they both sit and enjoy some coffee.

“You can really sprint when you need to! You were incredible when that guy came in with that allergic reaction the other night.”

“I was internally freaking out the whole time to be honest with you. I was glad to have you there to help me intubate him.”

“Feel like I can do that with my eyes closed now.” He laughs and finishes his warm drink. “I hate to be one of those people, but you’re looking a little tired tonight.”

“Oh, that’s because I never left this morning. I worked all day, took a nap, and then got right back on it.”

“Y/N, that’s not okay. You can’t do your job properly if you’re tired.”

“I know, but we were short staffed, and I was only going to stay a couple of hours, but I got wrapped up with a couple of people. I’m fine, honest, I’ll have a good sleep when I get home later.”

“Shit like that used to happen to me all the time. I’d work sixteen hour days, and then they’d yell at me because I was getting so much overtime, and I’d tell them to hire more bloody people then. It was infuriating. Then you think the place is gonna fall apart without you when you finally do get some time off.”

“Literally! I think that’s why I got stuck here for so long. I have the next couple of days off, though, so I’m looking forward to that.”

“Yeah? Any big plans?”

“No.” She scoffs. “Not unless you consider binging a fuck ton of television while eating a gallon of ice cream big plans.”

“Depends on the show, what’s on the docket to be binged?”

“I’ve been meaning to sit down and watch Ratched. I’ve heard some mixed reviews, but I’m just so intrigued.”

“Mm, nothing better than a show about a crazy nurse.” He rolls his eyes.

“Aw, feeling a little misrepresented?” She smirks.

“Maybe a wee bit. Let me know if it’s worth the watch, though, yeah?”

“Definitely.” She finishes up her coffee and sighs. “Back to it I suppose.”

“Go lay down if you want, we’re not busy.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m catching a second wind.” She stands up and shakes her body out. “See, awake and ready to-“, her beeper goes off, “Shit, some teenagers were just brought in.”

They both hurry out of the breakroom, and go to where they’re needed. Three teenage boys were laying in hospital beds, clearly in pain.

“Alright, what seems to be the problem here?” Y/N says as Harry works on taking their vitals.

“We…fell off the water tower.” One of them says.

She sighs and starts checking for bumps and bruises. She doesn’t ask why they were there, she was sure their parents would rip them a new one for that. A few sprained ankles, and one broken wrist, but nothing too serious otherwise. Y/N gives her instructions to Harry, and tells the boys they’ll need to switch off between aspirin and ibuprofen to help with pain and inflammation. Harry gets the broken wrist into a splint and sling, and gets the others settled as well.  

“Isn’t this a little backwards?” One of them says to him after Y/N’s left. “Isn’t she supposed to be the nurse?”

“Well, considering that she went to school for a lot longer than I did, and probably has a lot more knowledge about the body than I do, I’d say she’s supposed to be the doctor.” Harry says.

“Isn’t it weird being a male nurse though?”

“M’not a male nurse.” He makes some notes on the laptop he was using. “I’m just a nurse.” He closes the laptop and looks at the three of them. “Your parents should be here soon, hope you lot feel better, and be safer out there.”

It wasn’t the first time Harry got a comment like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t go to school as premed and then go off to a fancy medical school. He majored in Allied Health in uni, and passed all his tests. That was it, and that was all he wanted to do. There was nothing wrong with that. He was proud of himself. He hoped Y/N was proud of herself too.

//

Flu shot season was in full swing, and there were usually a couple of days a year the hospital did walk-in appointments so people could come in easily to get them. Harry had picked up a shift to administer them. Y/N had come in to be on call so one of the other doctors could have the day off. She smiles when she sees Harry in the cafeteria at lunch.

“Hey, you.” She says as she sits down. “Weird seeing you in the daylight.”

“Could say the same to you. What’s all this about? Don’t tell me you’re working another triple…” He raises an eyebrow at her.

“No, I swapped shifts with Dr. Jollas so she could have the day with her kids. What are you doing here today?”

“I’m on for the flu shots. It’s an easy enough shift to pick up.”

“Get a lot of people in for that?”

“Sure, tons.”

“That makes me happy to hear.” She sighs.

“How were your couple of days off? Did you watch your show?”

“I only watched about two episodes…there was a lot more gore than I was expecting.”

“Y/N…you’re a doctor…”

“Yes, and I can handle small amounts of blood, especially when I’m in the moment helping someone, but there was literally a scene where they were showing how lobotomies were done and a scene where this kid cut off his own arms, so it was a bit much for me. Not something I should be watching alone, anyways.”

“That’s gross.” Harry grimaces. “Don’t blame you for not getting through it.”

“So I ended up just re-watching The Office for the millionth time. It was perfect.” She chuckles. “Are you working all of Halloween weekend?”

“I am.” He nods. “I hope you’ll add some flare to your outfit. The kids like it when we do.”

“Some flare, huh?”

“I have these scrubs that have pumpkins, ghosts, and black cats on them.”

“Hm, I’ll have to think about what I can add. I have some earrings with witches on them, that could be fun.”

“As long as you get into the spirt somehow. We all decorate the nurse’s station and everything. Ellie usually brings in cupcakes too.”

“Speaking of her…” Y/N leans in a bit. “Did you catch the rock on her finger? I’m happy for her and all, but she said she’s only been with her fiancé for eight months. It’s a bit fast.”

“Well, they were casual before they made things official. She was, uh, seeing a couple of people, and then he asked her to get serious and she did.” He shrugs.

“Oh, I see.” She nods and sits back. “I’m not judging or anything, I mean, I guess when you, you know.” She takes a bite of her food, and then leans back in. “Can I ask you something?” She whispers.

“Always.” He leans in as well. Harry be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy a spot of gossip, and Y/N had become his new favorite person to gossip with. It didn’t take them long to become the two bitches that are always talking shit about everyone else.

“Do people use the bunk room to bone?”

His face flushes, and then he clears his throat.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you know everything about this place! I wish it was a singles only room because I swear I saw Nurse Halleran and Dr. Gilles coming out of there, and only one of the beds looked used.”

Harry makes a disgusted face and rolls his eyes.

“I feel bad for whoever he’s married to.” He shakes his head. “Scumbag.”

“Nurse Halleran’s married too! I could never do that. I mean, I’ve been in relationships before, and maybe I’ve thought someone else is attractive, I can appreciate a pretty face, but I would never cheat on my significant other. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Same here. That’s, like, the ultimate betrayal. How do you even come back from that? I get that our jobs can make for lonely lives, but make the time count at home when you can.”

“Does he have kids?”

“No, I think that’s why he doesn’t feel bad about it. She has two kids, though, I don’t know, I only talk to her about work things if I can help it. I miss some of my girls from the day shifts, like, Shauna is super nice and has this really warm smile.”

“Feel like she’s the hospital granny.” Y/N smiles. “I like her a lot too, the few interactions I’ve had with her.”

“How long do you think they’ll keep you on the night shift for?”

“I have no idea, think I’m just paying my dues as the new doctor. I’m getting more used to it, it’s not too bad. If it goes through summer I can drag my bum to the beach and sleep there.” She laughs and so does he.

“Might have to join you for that, I love getting a good tan.”

“It’s a date.” She says, more so as a joke, but from the way he looks at her he may have taken it a different way, so she clears her throat and laughs it off. “Anyways, I better get back to it. Nothing worse than being in the middle of eating and the beeper going off.” She stands up. “Have a good one, Harry.”

“You too.” He watches her walk away, and he sighs.

//

On Halloween, Y/N goes in a few hours early because she was told they let the kids go around the halls to the different nurse’s stations to trick or treat, and she really didn’t want to miss out on it. She puts on her witches earrings, and some spooky pins for her coat, and out she goes. She stops off at the store to buy some extra candy, and puts it in a pumpkin shaped bucket. She smiles when she sees Harry behind the desk already in his Halloween scrubs.

“Excellent effort.” He says, and then taps his finger over his mouth in thought. “Could use a little something extra, though.”

“Yeah? Like what?” She sets the candy down on the desk and he walks around it.

“Follow me.” Y/N follows Harry into the breakroom, and he pulls a bag out of his locker. He has her go into the unisex bathroom wither, and she sits up on the counter for him. “I’m working a double today, I did some face painting earlier for some of the younger kids. Sort of a way to give them a costume for when they walk around.”

“Harry, why don’t you just solely work in pediatrics?”

“Because I did some face painting for the elderly too, now hush. I need to concentrate.”

He takes what looks like a black sharpie out of the bag, but Y/N recognizes it as liquid eye-liner.

“What exactly are you going to do with that? Give me cat eyes?” She chuckles.

“No, you dolt, we’d need hours for that. I’m just gonna draw a little spider web on your cheek, alright?”

“Okay.”

Harry had never been this close to her face before. She got a nice whiff of his cologne, and she liked being able to see the few freckles he had. She notices now he’s painted his nails black and orange, he must really like Halloween. She closes her eyes as he starts drawing on her right cheek. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. A slight gasp leaves her lips when his other hand grips her chin to tilt her head.

“Still just me, don’t worry.” He chuckles. “Don’t get jumpy on me.”

“M’not, sorry.” She sucks her lips into her mouth as his hand moves to the side of her neck. Y/N may or may not be a little touch starved.

“Almost done.” He says just as she was opening her eyes back up.

“Harry, has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”

“Shut up.” He scoffs, and finishes up. “All done, tell me what you think.”

“I mean it!” She says as he backs away enough for her to hop off the counter and turn around in the mirror. “Oh, excellent job. I especially like that you drew a little spider dangling from the web.”

“It’s my signature detail. Now you look perfect.” They look at each other through the mirror. “We should probably get out of here before someone thinks we’re boning.”

She bursts out laughing at that.

“Good one.” She says and shakes her head.

“It wasn’t that funny.” He mutters as he puts the bag back in his locker.

“N-no, it wasn’t.” She clears her throat. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He nudges her shoulder and they walk back out to the main area.

The trick or treating was a lot of fun, and the kids seemed to have their spirits lifted. Then shit got real when the drunk people started coming in, the people the police had to bring in for psych evaluations, and the people that had too many edibles. It was crazy busy, Y/N had been running around all night. She was given the okay to go lay down for about thirty minutes since she had come in early. She stops short when she sees Harry laying in one of the bunks. He was laying on his side with his arms crossed over his chest. She quietly slips into one of the other bunks, and takes a deep breath.

“You’re awfully loud.” He says.

“Christ! I was quieter than a mouse!” She says, and turns to face him. He opens his eyes and grins at her. “Ah, you were just fucking with me.”

“Obviously.”

“Busy out there tonight. I mean, I expected it, but still.”

“I know.” He yawns and stretches out. “I’ve been in here too long, I need to go back out before I get groggy.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and slowly gets up. “Have a nice snooze.”

“Thanks.” She chews her bottom lip for a moment. “Do you have any makeup wipes? I’d hate to wake up with a smudged web.”

“Oh, sure, one second.” He leaves momentarily and comes back in with a wipe for her cheek. Instead of handing it to her, he sits on the edge of her bunk, cups one of her cheeks in his hand, and uses the other to carefully wipe off the drawing. Her eyes flutter closed and she sighs. “There.” Her eyes open back up and she smiles softly at him.

“Thank you.”

There was something brewing between them, they could both feel it. He’s about to lean in to kiss her, but he hears the click of the door open, and stands up immediately. It was another doctor who was I desperate need of a snooze. Harry leaves, and Y/N tries to relax enough to fall asleep.

They don’t see each other again until the morning when they’re both getting ready to leave. He chews on his inner cheek, trying to work up a little bit of courage.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure you’re probably tired, but…I have these, uh, pancake stencils where you can make pancakes look like pumpkins or ghosts…I thought maybe we could celebrate surviving Halloween together, but I’ll understand if you’re ready to just crash or-“

“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” She smiles as she closes her locker. “I’m gonna go home and shower. Text me your address, yeah?”

“Alright.” He smiles and watches her walk out.

//

Y/N takes a very quick shower so she can freshen up. She wasn’t sure what might go down between them. She felt like she was getting to be a little too old to just be hooking up with someone, but Harry was really great, so she decides to just go with the flow. She heads to his flat after he sent her his address, making sure to buy some orange juice as something to bring over.

He lets her in and she can’t get over how cozy he looks in his sweatpants, graphic tee, and cardigan. She was in a pair of leggings and a sweater.

“It smells so good in here.” She says.

“Thanks, I made some tea too if you want something warm.”

She nods and he pours her a cup. They giggle over the pancakes, and Harry confirms that Halloween is definitely one of his favorite holidays. The two decide it might be fun to watch a Halloween movie, but naturally after a long sift, they fall asleep together on his sofa. She was nestled into his chest with his arms wrapped around her. She would have slept longer, but she woke up to the sound of him snoring. She shuffles a little, but accidentally knees him in the groin, waking up immediately.

“Shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize I was laying on you like this.”

“It’s fine.” He says as he reaches for himself. “I’m good.” He knuckles at one of his eyes, keeping his other arm around her. He looks at the TV screen and sees that something else had come on. “Slept through the movie…”

“Guess we got a little too comfy.” She looks up at him. “Forgot how nice it was to cuddle with someone.” She mumbles tiredly.

“We could…go to my bed if you want, have a proper cuddle.”

“Would you spoon me if we do that?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

She nods yes, so he manages to pick her up, and carry her to his bedroom. She almost didn’t want to let go him when he sets her down, but all is good once he slides in next to her, pulls the blankets over them, and he wraps himself around her. She sighs as his pelvis aligns with her bum, and his arm wraps around her waist.

“Good?” He asks.

“Mhm.” She wiggles against him to get even more comfortable.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not.”

“Because I’ll get excited, and that’ll make things awkward.”

“Define excited.”

“You know exactly what I mean, Y/N.” He sighs.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’ll get hard, and it’s already difficult enough to control that around you, so-“

“You can press it against me if you want, I don’t mind.” She looks over her shoulder at him.

“You’re serious?”

“If I wasn’t I certainly wouldn’t have let you carry me to your bed.” She rolls onto her other side to face him. “I like being your friend and all, but I’ve done this with someone who’s just a friend before. I…I feel like we almost kissed earlier…”

“We did. Can we try again now?”

“Please.”

His hand slides to the back of her neck and he pulls her closer to him. His lips still tasted like the syrup they put on their pancakes, and she likes it more than she really should. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and he opens up for her. Their tongues swirl around each other, and she tugs him on top of her as she turns onto her back. One of his legs goes between hers, and she grunts when she feels his thigh right on her. She wraps her arms around his neck as their tongues still mold together.

She slips her other leg around his waist so he could lay full between her. He groans into her mouth as he grinds himself against her. A soft moan leaves her lips when she feels how hard he is. She could feel herself throbbing for him. He sits up a little, just to get his cardigan off, and her hands slide up his stomach under his shirt. He shudders from her touch, and he just takes his shirt off too. Her eyes widen as she can finally look over his tattoos.

“This is beautiful.” She says as her fingers trace over the butterfly on his torso.

“Thanks.” He smiles and gets back down to lay on her chest to chest as he kisses her.

He kisses from her lips, along her jaw, and to her neck, all while she’s grinding herself against him. One of his hands finds her hair and he yanks her head to the side so he can get better access to her neck. He licks over the spot just below her ear, and he sinks his teeth in. He sucks on her soft skin, and her mouth falls open. She normally wasn’t super into biting, but whatever he was doing felt really good. When he pops off her she puts her hand over the new bruise.

“That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.” She says to him.

“Kind of the whole point.” He smirks. “Maybe Dr. Gilles will leave you alone if he thinks you’re already getting it from someone else.”

“Not very professional though, is it?”

“That nice white coat of yours will cover it. Wear your hair down for a few days, no one will notice. Or maybe they will, oh well. I’ve never much cared what other people think.”

“That’s because you’re not the one walking around with a mark on your neck.” She pouts at him.

“I could be if you wanted to give me one.”

She bites her bottom lip to contemplate just about every little thing that’s going on between them. She had her legs around him, she was in his bed, and he was shirtless sucking marks into her neck.

“Are…are you going to fuck me?” She asks.

“Do you want me to?”

“Kinda.” She giggles. “You’re, um, really sexy, Harry.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you to say, but ‘kinda’ isn’t exactly a yes, Y/N.”

“Could we maybe just…touch each other? Below the belt?”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

He rolls them both over so they’re on their sides facing each other again, and he pulls her leg up over his hip. She reaches for him first, skimming her fingers along the band of his sweatpants before dipping her fingers him. His breath hitches as she palms him over his boxers.

“You’re okay with this?” She asks him.

“Very.” He grunts. “Go for it.”

She nods and slips her hand inside his boxers, wrapping her hand around his warm cock. She bites her bottom lip as she runs her thumb over his tip, which was already leaking precome, and she slides it down his length.

His hand grips her ass before sliding it around to her front, and pulling her leggings back so he can get his hand in. A moan leaves his lips when he feels her wetness through her thong. He pets over at first, teasing her a little, but she squeezes him a little too tight, and that was signal enough to get the show on the road. He tugs her thong to the side, and runs his fingers along her slit before dipping his middle finger inside her. She squeezes around the intrusion, and then she relaxes a bit for him.

Harry slides another finger inside her, and works them in and out as his thumb takes care of her clit. He leans in to kiss her as they work each other over. She sucks on his bottom lip as she pumps his slick cock in her hand. He finds himself bucking into her grasp, but neither seem to care since she was grinding against his fingers. He curls them up inside her, and that’s when she starts breathing heavily.

“Oh, shit.” Her mouth falls open and she starts pumping him faster. “Fuck, oh my god, H-Harry, it feels so good, don’t stop.” She was nearly gagging for it, and it shocked him to see her falling apart like this just from him fingering her.

“Y/N.” He moans and presses his forehead to hers. “I’m gonna come.”

“M-me too, shit.”

She feels her hand become warm and sticky as she comes around his fingers. She tightens around him to make it last as long as possible, and then she catches breath. She doesn’t want to make a mess of his sweat pants, so she takes her hand out slowly, keeping as much of his come in her palm as she can. They make eye contact, and she licks her palm clean. He does the same by sucking his fingers into his mouth.

“You’re, like, a little kinky.” She chuckles and so does he.

“You literally just did the same as me!”

“I was trying not to make a mess of your sheets!”

“I can wash ‘em.” He laughs more, and then tucks some hair behind her ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you like me a little more than I thought.”

“A lot more, actually. You like me too?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I like you, Harry.”

“Thank god, I didn’t want this to be awkward at work.”

“Just don’t try to get busy with me in the bunk room. I will not contribute to that.”

“Listen, when you’re tired and desperate, it’s not such a bad place to get frisky.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She rolls her eyes. “Could I use your bathroom quick? And then if you don’t mind, I would actually love to sleep a bit more.”

“Of course! And yeah, that sounds good.”

She uses his bathroom, and he cleans himself up. He offers some pajama pants a tee shirt, and she happily accepts. She changes and crawls back into bed with him. He spoons her, and rubs at her side, giving her a kiss once in a while on the back of her neck. As she falls asleep in his arms she thinks she had never been so thankful to work on a holiday in her life.

[officialleehadan]

Introduction Leap

Hello darlings! It's a chilly day, so here's some sweetness to lighten things up!

Today's story was brought to you by Jon! Darling I hope this week is going better for you. You requested something sweet and non-cliff-hanger-y . I hope this delivers!

Prompt: "Something fun and/or uplifting without a heart-pounding cliffhanger."

+++

Julian slipped into Cami’s favorite dance studio, but stayed at the back of the room. The dance class was almost over, and he didn’t want to disturb them. The teacher saw him, but there were several other people at the back of the room. she only nodded when he gestured towards them and stayed quiet.

Cami was beautiful like this, he thought with a small smile to himself. She wasn’t as perfectly artful as she was on stage, or at the events they went together. There was less practiced elegance and more of the steely determination that had gotten her all the way to Julliard. She was balanced delicately on pointe, and floated through her exercises, taking care to execute each one perfectly.

In dance, the only practice that truly mattered was perfect practice. The muscle memory would only serve her if it carried her through her moves flawlessly.

“Dorothy, you are doing well, but your develope is sagging. Keep your leg straight,” the Madáme corrected one of the dancers, strict but kind. She guided the dancer’s leg up smoothly. “Like this. Camille. Make sure your pointe is properly over. You have strong feet. Do not under-extend.”

“Yes Madáme,” they chorused. Julian could see the way everyone in the class watched closely. Neither of them were the school’s Prima dancers. That was reserved for the more experienced dancers, but he could see the competition that ran through all the dancers like a chain, binding them to their passion. None of them were willing to give up on their love of dancing. Not when it had gotten them this far.

The rest of the class was filled with more instructions, all delivered in the same no-nonsense tone, accompanied by gentle corrections. Julian watched closely and filed the instructions away in his memory. This was Cami’s passion, and he wanted to understand it.

Finally though, the class ended and the dancers drifted into small clusters, stretching and joking together. Julian had just come from work with the plan of surprising Cami. He had been out of town for most of a month. He saw the moment his presence was noted. He was a well-recognized public figure, the city’s most eligible unmarried man. Many of these dancers knew him on sight, if not in person. Whispers spread through the class, and then Cami turned. Surprise quickly morphed to joy in her eyes when she saw him.

Julian barely had time to catch her when she threw herself into his arms, graceful but artless. Muscle memory kicked in and he lifted her over his head easily before lowering her back to the ground for a slow, sweet kiss. It was a little strange to be so demonstrative in public, but the way it made her smile was worth his own passing discomfort. His past didn’t get to steal the joy of his future.

“You’re back!” Cami said delightedly, and kissed him again, on pointe just to even the difference in their heights, although he was still a fair bit taller. “I thought you weren’t going to be home until tomorrow?”

“I managed to wrap things up early,” he told her, aware of the eyes on them, although he was pleased to see that most of the other dancers had filed out of the room. The teacher was watching them. Her eyes went wide when she saw the way Cami leapt into his arms, but smiled with something like approval when he caught her. It was always nice to have the approval of someone Cami clearly respected a great deal. “May I steal you away tonight?”

“You already make reservations?”

“I was hopeful for your reception of my return,” Julian joked. Three months ago, he never could have joked like that, even with Cami. Now he knew that she would never dance round the truth with him. If she already had plans, she would have simply told him. “Do you want to go home for a shower and a change?”

“Unless you want to take me somewhere fancy in my practice clothes,” Cami said and gestured down at her tights and tank top. “All I have is my booties and a coat.”

“Home first,” Julian agreed. Movement caught his eye and he looked up as the Madáme approached. “Do you want to introduce me? We can wait if you would rather not.”

“No, it’s fine,” Cami told him brightly and took his hand as she turned to her teacher. “Madáme Margot, this is my boyfriend, Julian. Julian, Madáme Margot has been my primary ballet instructor for two years now, and she does the choreography for all our shows.

“A pleasure. I try to see all of Cami’s performances,” Julian said with a brisk hand-shake for the instructor. “You do wonderful work.”

“The dancers do the hard part,” Madáme Margot told him with a smile. She eyed him and Julian held himself perfectly still, a habit for when cameras and reporters were looking at him. “That was a decent lift. You dance?”

“Ballroom,” Julian said with a half-shrug. Cami stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and then sat to pull off her pointe shoes. “Cami’s been teaching me.”

“A man with his priorities in the right place,” Madáme Margot said, and smiled down at Cami. “I wondered about you, Master Fair. I’ve seen all the news, and I worried about a high-profile man taking up with one of my girls. Dancers are always good press, but you, you’re quite serious, aren’t you?”

“How did you guess?”

The instructor patted his shoulder with a knowing glint in her eyes.

“No one learns dancing lifts just to chase a few skirts,” she said, blunt enough to make Cami choke on a laugh. “Camille, bring your young man to your next one-on-one with me. It would do you good to have someone at home who can help you practice for your next pas de deux. It was lovely meeting you, Master Fair. I’ll see you again soon.”

+++

Ballet Heels:

Camille fought and bled to get into Julliard.

Julian fought and bled to build his company into what it is.

He needs a dance partner, and it so happens, she’s good at ballroom.

Cut a Dance Floor

Shuriken Toaster

Agreement in Paper

Friends and Rivals

Arm in Arm (Subscriber Only!)

Secret Steps (Free on Patreon!)

Dance the Steps

Along a Logging Road (Free on Patreon!)

Dapper Diamond  (Free on Patreon!)

Festival Festival (Subscriber Only!)

Takes Two

Society Splash (Subscriber Only!)

Pas de Trois

+++

More Stories!

+++

[beauvibaby]

Christmas surprise – j.benn

gif credit @for-that-cotton-candy

a/n: inspired by the gif above 🥺

Jamie looked around the house, normally he loved his house, it was his home now, but with you being gone for the holidays, getting dragged into something with your family while he had to work, and the lack of Christmas decorating you would always do with him. Now he hated the house as he flicked the lights off before grabbing his bag and heading out the door for a short roadie before Christmas.

You huffed as you impatiently waited for your Uber to come, the driver seemingly confused on how to navigate an airport terminal. Your phone rang and you panicked briefly as you saw it was Jamie, you clicked to answer pulling the phone up to your ear. “Hey baby.” You answered cheerily, still looking around for your Uber, “hi sweet girl.” He murmured, you could picture the childish pout on his face as you heard Tyler snicker in the background. “Don’t sound so excited, Jam.” You teased him, he let out a long dramatic sigh, “I don’t want to spend Christmas without you.” He mumbled, you frowned at the disappointment so evident in his tone. “I don’t want too either, bub, but you know I’ll be there the morning after Christmas.” You soothed him, grinning like a mad woman as your Uber pulled up. “Hmm, I guess that means my Christmas gift is going to be late.” He joked, you rushed around tugging on your oversized suitcase. “I hate to cut this short, but my mom is rushing me out the door, I promise I’ll call tonight before the game.” You rambled, Jamie chuckled softly, “alright baby. I love you.” The softness in his voice whenever he said those words always made your heart flutter. “I love you too.” And with that, you hung up, somehow shoving your suitcase into the trunk.

***

The house had a sadness to it when you walked in, like Jamie’s emotions had rubbed off on it, you frowned, putting your suitcase into the bedroom, you changed into a pair of sweats and one of Jamie’s hoodies, of course pairing it with some fuzzy Christmas socks, you had a lot of work to do today, knowing Jamie would be getting in late tomorrow night. You bounded down the stairs, despite the frigid temperatures outside, you cracked open the front windows and opened the back doors to let the chill in while you worked, a tradition of yours. One that Jamie had grown to love, you started with cleaning everything off, getting rid of the small layer of dust that Jamie never paid attention to. You swept up the floors, gathered all the throw pillows and blankets that you had accumulated over time at his house, before starting the treacherous process of dragging the Christmas decor out of the garage.

By the time you had done all that, you were exhausted, and hungry, so you ordered a pizza and took a break, going up to the guest room to call Jamie, positioning yourself in front of a plain wall so he wouldn’t recognize your surroundings. He picked up on the second ring, his face popping up on the FaceTime call instantly. “Your timing never fails to amaze me.” He grinned, pulling his button up shirt over his shoulders, “I know your routine just as good as mine.” You shrugged with a giggle, seeing the way his face lit up at the mention of that. “How’s Florida?” He asked, wanting to make sure he checked on you before you could start hyping him up for the game. You nearly slipped up, your eyes opening up just a little bit extra before you caught yourself, “too warm for my liking.” You laughed, Jamie nodded, knowing you always loved a chilly Christmas. “Mhm.” He hummed, tucking the now buttoned shirt into his slacks. “Well, don’t you just look so handsome.” You gushed, always loving when he would wear his game day suits, “thanks babe.” He smiled, rolling his eyes at the way you winked at him. “No compliments for me?” You joked, earning a genuine laugh from him. “You know you always look beautiful.” He tsked at you, grinning at the blush that covered your cheeks. “You’re going to play so good tonight, I can feel it.” You changed the subject, sinking further into your chair, “I’ll be watching.” You added, admiring the smile that graced his face, the crinkle beside his eyes as he pulled the tie around his neck, easily tying it. “Well then I’ll be sure to play my best.” He winked, as if he doesn’t always play his best, but he always feels better when he knows you’re watching. You heard a door opening as he looked over, nodding at whoever stepped in. “I’ve gotta go, baby.” He mumbled, lifting the phone into his hand, “alright, good luck, love you.” You said your goodbyes before hanging up and waiting for your pizza to arrive.

You ended up not finishing the decorating that night, you got the tree up and fluffed, the simple things like blankets and pillows out, but then you ended up falling asleep on the couch with the hallmark channel playing in the background.

When you woke up the next morning you went straight to work, going straight through breakfast and into the mid afternoon before finally finishing and being proud of your work, the house festively decorated but still feeling homey. Jamie had been texting you throughout the day, unknowingly slowing you down, but you finished before dinner which was your goal. You put all the bins away, eating something, finally settling your starving stomach. You took a long shower, rinsing away your nerves, you let your hair air dry while you dug out your Christmas pajamas from the bottom of your suitcase, laughing at the the reindeer print on them.

You made yourself a big mug of hot chocolate, closing all the blinds like they had been when you arrived, also so he wouldn't see the lights of the tree through the window as he pulled up. You curled up on the couch, watching the same hallmark movie for easily the tenth time as you impatiently waited for Jamie to be home, luckily, the time flew as he called you on his drive home, the two of you talking about nonsense, you made up stories about how your family trip was going, and he told you about something stupid one of the younger guys had done. You heard him pulling up outside, and you held in an excited squeal, “I just got home, and I’m beat, babe.” He muttered, climbing out of his car, you heard the door shut from inside the garage. “Go get some rest, I’ll see you in a few days.” You soothed him, he muttered a quick goodnight and a love you before you hung up. You muted the tv, turning to be facing the back of the couch, as it faced the garage door he was walking in from. You heard him stop in his tracks as he saw the garland hanging around the front door, you heard his bag drop to the ground followed by his feet hitting the ground quickly, a grin on his face when he saw you looking at him with a wide smile. “Y/N?” He gaped at you, frozen in spot as he looked at you perched on his couch on your knees watching him, his eyes looking around the living room to the tree lit up and decorated beautifully in the corner. “Hi, Jamie.” You whispered, pushing yourself up to stand on the couch just as he rushed over, easily tugging you over the back edge as you shrieked. Your legs wrapping around him to help support yourself, he had his face buried in your neck, holding you tightly, “I love you so much, I can’t believe you’re here.” He mumbled, kissing across your skin before he reached your lips, you cupped his cheeks, kissing him back slowly, relishing in the feeling of being here with him again, now it really felt like Christmas. “Surprise!” You laughed once he pulled away to breathe.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just taking in the way you were looking at him full of love, his hands under your thighs, keeping you steady, your arms moving to drape around his shoulders, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “You did all this? When did you get here?” He walked around the couch, sitting with you now straddling him, finally giving him the freedom to run his hands along your body, up to your face, running his fingers along your features. “I got here the same day you left, and yes, I did it all, with the windows open of course.” You smiled, leaning into the palm of his hand, turning to kiss it gently, he smiled at the gesture. “You’re amazing, you know that?” He murmured, kissing you again, you couldn’t help but smile against him. “You tell me all the time.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder, his hands rubbing over your back. “I still don’t tell you enough.”

taglist: @vinceduhn​ @jackiesquinn​ @josty​ @literarycharleton​ @kempe​ @kiedhara​

[wonderland-in-bloom]

around the bonfire [pt.1]

in which the reader and the fellow first years decide to do a...chilling...activity at the beach under the moonlight as it becomes later by the minute. 

this is part one of a two part series! this is one of my posts for the summer beach bash writing collab held by the amazing, the one and only @nonsensical-twistedriddles​ 💙i hope you all enjoy this story :))

love, a♕

dive deep into night time summer activities with the first years of night raven college under the cut!

THE sun sank just below the horizon as the once blue sky was engulfed by the amethyst and navy blue blend of the night sky. the waves crashed against the golden sand of the beach while the wind started to howl. you shivered, inching closer towards the bonfire in front of you, being the only source of warmth in the once boiling hot beach to a now cold and chilly one. you rubbed the sides of your arms, trying your best to keep yourself warm. maybe wearing a tank top at night wasn’t such a good idea. all of a sudden you felt something warm be draped over your shoulders. “i figured you might be cold…” jack rubbed the back of his neck after he placed his jacket on top of your shoulders. “thank you.” you giggled, causing your fellow first year friend to blush. sebek sighed while throwing a branch to the fire, making the fire grow much larger.

“it’s oddly quiet…” deuce commented. truth be told, it was. aside from the ear piercing sounds of the ocean and the wind, it was quiet and you could probably hear a pin being dropped into the sand. you were currently huddled up with your friends which consisted of ace, deuce, grim, jack, epel, and sebek. your seniors were nowhere to be found. “alright then, i got an idea!” ace suddenly cheered, which changed the atmosphere completely. “what about...scary stories around the bonfire~?” you all paused for a while, processing the information in your head. “heck no.” deuce retorted. “hah! just say you’re scared, juice-kun~” ace teased as he poked deuce’s cheek. “that’s actually a good idea! the great grim-sama isn’t scared of some story.” he proudly beamed while he sat in a more comfortable position on your lap. “ya know...it might be fun, actually.” epel added on. “i’ll protect you if you’re scared, human.” sebek pointed out, causing you to roll your eyes but you had a smile plastered on your face. jack stayed quiet but went along with it anyways. “ALRIGHT!!! who’s first?” you all eyed ace. “what?”

“shouldn’t the one who suggested this whole idea go first?” this time it was deuce’s turn to tease him. “tch. fine, fine. i already have one in mind anyways.” he cleared his throat. “sit back, relax, cuddle up closer, make sure there’s nothing behind you...and let the story begin.” you gulped a little loudly and scooted closer to the fire. “my story is based on a true story, that none other than i experienced.” ace continued. “one stormy night, the wind was howling and rain slammed itself against the windows of heartslabyul.” deuce’s eyes widened, causing you to chuckle a little. “the lights were all off as it was near the witching hour, and aLL OF A SUDDEN LIGHTNING BOOMED ACROSS THE SKY!” ace screamed, causing you and the other boys to flinch. ace chuckled when he saw the reactions he expected. “there i was in my room, close to falling asleep, but then...i heard a sound. it was a low, unnatural sound. like a growl almost. i sat up from my bed and listened closer to the sound, and it was still there. i got up and headed down the hall, but that sound managed to follow me!” epel gulped, he started to shift his position closer to you. 

“it was so loud it sounded like it was right beside me...but no one in heartslabyul was awake…so i followed the sounds all the way to the kitchen, and it stopped.” all of you were hooked onto ace’s story. what was this deep, guttural growl-like sound that kept following him? “but suddenly...it GREW LOUDER THEN EVER BEFORE!” he screamed again, causing grim to scream in return and collapse back on your lap. you and the others were a little shaken up (due to the eerie, cold, dark atmosphere of the beach as well). “so i looked around the whole kitchen. from the tallest shelves to the lowest cupboards. but i concluded that the sound stopped when i opened the fridge. sitting there was a red glazed tart, basically calling my name, and when i had laid my eyes on it, the sounds stopped.” wait. something clicked inside your head. was the weird, low sound that followed ace….? was it just his stomach grumbling?! “but that’s not even the scary part...when i wanted to take the tart to investigate it, an ungodly, horrible, scary voice came from behind me, sending chills down my whole spine.” ace cleared his throat. “ah~my, my, ace. what are you doing up this late? and what are you doing with that tart? you know it goes against the rules.” 

you all froze. “...wait was the story actually that scary?” ace was having too much fun retelling his story that he failed to realize that there was another voice which was interlapping with his own. “u-uhh.. a-ace…” you stuttered, raising a shaking finger and pointed behind him. “haha! oh (y/n), is this your best attempt at scaring me?” however ace was taken aback and was visibly shaken when he heard a chuckle from behind him, causing the hairs on his arms stand up straight.  “i see. an ‘ungodly, horrible, scary voice, huh? well how about this? OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” you all screamed when a familiar heart-shaped collar was chained around ace’s neck. “WHAT?! NOT AGAIN!” he groaned. “HAHAHHA, POOR ACE-CHAN!” cater laughed after ending the recording on his phone. he managed to record the whole story. “it was your fault you skipped dinner for doing something stupid.” trey added. the three seniors from heartslabyul joined your little circle. “MY HORROR STORY CAME TRUE! ARGH!” ace cursed to himself. “well, continue the stories, fellow juniors.” 

“uh...alright? who’s next?” you asked the five remaining boys. “...i’ll go.” jack sighed and replied with a hint of hesitation in his voice. “this story is one i heard from a lot of my extended family growing up.” jack started. “they say in one of the deep forests in the land of pyroxene, a beast haunts the grounds and the lake.” a nearby bush rustled, causing them all to snap their heads in that direction. they all dismissed it as being the wind and jack continued. “it says that the beast was a demon. forever set to haunt anyone who dares venture through the forest at night. it has typical pointy teeth. sharp claws always bared, dripping with blood. and at night, if you hear it’s cackle, it means you’re doomed.” with the howl of the wind, you all heard laughter along with it. “uh, hey...did someone laugh just now?” cater gulped. “nah! one of you must be doing that!” grim tried to assure himself. “it must’ve just been the wind then…” trey tried calming everyone down before they heard another laugh. 

“i’m sure it’s nothing” you tried to brush it off, hiding your own fear. “it also said this demon is able to shapeshift and take a form which allows it to breathe underwater.” without warning, a splash could be heard coming from nearby. “this is getting way too suspicious...” riddle muttered. “my uncle once said that there once was a girl who went to this forest at night. she heard a splash come from the lake behind her, then a growl.” as soon as jack’s sentence stopped a growl was heard from behind you. no one seemed to notice except you. you quickly snapped your head back...but of course, like typical horror movie fashion, there was nothing there. “she was found missing the next day...” you flinched to feel a weird sensation around your neck. something sharp. you then felt something lean down beside you and whispered in your ear. “ah~ hear that, prey? you’re my dinner for tonight~” this voice..! “what a delicious dinner you’ll be, koebi-chan~” you shrieked. you eyed the figures behind you before falling back into the sand. 

behind you were two, all too familiar figures who decided to mess with you. “leona-senpai! floyd-senpai!” they chuckled. “were you scared, koebi-chan~?” leona extended his hand to help you up. “not gonna lie, a little bit.” you smiled. they sure did scare you. “and the laughing was…” three more figures popped from behind the bushes. azul, jade, and ruggie. “that was a good one.” ruggie chuckled to himself, azul, and jade agreeing. “that was indeed an interesting story, jack-san.” azul commented. “allows us to mess with all of you…” jade chuckled. so they all joined your little circle as well. 

the wind seemed to become much more alive, as it’s howls and groans grew louder than before. the ocean decided to join along and became more aggressive as the tide started to rise. although there were more people together with you, you felt much more unsettled. perhaps it was the eerie atmosphere, already tainted with two stories which managed to make you shiver. or perhaps it was the wind and the ocean, which seemed to resemble monsters, ready to swallow all of you whole. or maybe...it was because of more stories to come around the bonfire...

♡

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

[maerrybom]

Believe Me

this takes place on chapter 5, so if you haven’t reached this part yet there are some spoilers?? basically, maye comes back emotionally & physically tired from a solo mission after tailing chisei to paradisio and all that stuff happens,, just read please

Maye’s Route

“Here.”

“...What’s this for?”

Johann held out a glass of warm milk to Maye who stared at him and the drink in his hand, confusion evident upon her features. The girl sighed and silently accepted the drink from her senior. As she wrapped her gloved hands around the glass, she felt the warmth soothe her weary senses. Maye just returned from a solo mission Caesar assigned and told her to find out information about the situation outside.

“It’s chilly tonight. You look cold.” Johann commented.

Maye stayed quiet, looking at the drink in her hands with a crease forming between her brows. Takamagahara bar was closed early for the night, so there weren’t any customers in sight gushing and clinging affectionately onto her seniors.  She felt her head pound angrily, and the idea of blacking out on the couch bar sounded perfect right now. She originally planned to do that but she saw Johann sitting by the couch as she sluggishly entered the bar. She didn’t expect this since it was already late at night and didn’t think Johann would stay up for her (let alone make her milk too).

And from what she’s gathered, all she’s done was manage to beat up a couple of gangsters, set everything on fire, killing an innocent demon woman in love and somehow became in charge of a gang. Then, she was also ‘reunited’ with the man who betrayed their friendship and put them into this situation in the first place:

Chisei Gen.

Flashback

After the pink-head defeated Kogure Sakurai, Maye went towards the spot where the woman was once were and silently prayed for her. Chisei spared a glance at her first before standing up from his position and made his way to leave the fallen Paradisio.

“Without me, you would’ve been a goner, High Patriarch.” Maye spat, turning her head to glare at his back.

“If you just wanted me to thank you—”

“I don’t need your sh!tty thanks,” Maye said bitterly. “I don’t want to be thanked for being a sacrifice for your clan.”

Chisei turned around to face her as he sensed the younger burning holes at the back of his head. Maye’s emerald eyes ignited with silent fury and he almost felt his soul quiver at her intense stare. The man thought he was staring at the eyes of a murderous dragon, standing away from each other like predator and prey.

“Tell me who you are, High Patriarch.” Maye took a few steps closer to him, standing some feet away from each other. “Are you a friend or a foe? Are you really the Chisei Gen you were meant to be? Because all I see is a liar, a hypocrite—a coward.”

Maye continued to glare up into his dark amber eyes, eyes that she once admired, trying to search for the answers but to no avail. Huffing past him, she started making her way to leave this place as she had little patience for him. But, a large hand grabbed onto her wrist and forcefully pulled her backwards.

“Wha—!”

“Listen to me once, Maye.”

Chisei looked straight into her eyes with a serious look on his face. Maye just wanted to scream and yell at him to unhand her, but she didn’t have the mental energy to do so. Their faces were only an inch apart, feeling each other’s breath linger onto the other. As the sun and the moon stared into each other’s eyes, it felt like they were having a silent conversation, seeming so close and yet so far out of reach.

“I have a duty as a man,” Chisei began. “My duty is to protect the Hydra clan and get rid of every potential threat that wishes to destroy the foundation we built. If it means I must use every friend or foe, I will do so with no question. And if I had a choice to do it over again, I would have done exactly the same thing with no regrets. This is all for the sake of the clan, Japan and the entirety of mankind.”

“And what do you want?”

Chisei gave her a look of confusion.

“All you’ve said is for the benefit of the clan. Do you not wish for anything yourself?”

“You don’t understand,” The grip onto her wrist tightened. “Dreams are nothing but self-inflicted illusions. I don’t have time for silly nonsense—”

“Just like how you don’t have time for Erii?” Maye cut him off, forcing her wrist out of his grip. 

The man knew she was testing his patience by questioning his values and beliefs, but he couldn't give her what she wanted. Maye had something he couldn’t have: free will. It was one of the many qualities she had that he truly admired her for. She was everything he wanted. A dream he wished for.

“What? Nothing else to say?” Maye raised an eyebrow at him before turning away from him. “Before you are the High Patriarch, you are a brother, a son, a human being—you are Chisei Gen. You are the only one who can dictate how you live your life.”

Without looking back, Maye left the room as Chisei watched her go with a solemn look in his eyes. He didn’t have the strength to stop her from leaving again. He looked down at his hand that grabbed her wrist, feeling its warmth leave his palm into empty bitterness. 

Even though he believed they had the same goal, to fight for humanity, but yet again they were still too different.

Present Time

“My mother,” Johann’s voice snapped her back to reality. “used to heat up a glass of milk when I was a child. I didn’t like or dislike milk, but it made me warm inside.”

Maye peered over to look at him and saw a subtle smile gracing upon his soft features. Johann looked so gentle; a rare sight she wasn’t used to since he always wore a cold, blank stare and looked stiff all the time.

“Something so simple, so small...It meant so much to me.”

It was Johann’s turn to look at the other as their eyes matched. It was difficult to tell what each other were thinking—perhaps, they were similar.

“That’s...Nice.” Maye whispered, tearing the grim look in her eyes away from his. “Thank you for telling me...And for the milk.”

She wasn’t sure what to say because she doesn’t remember having a mother or having a family even. Maye then raised the glass up to her lips and took a sip of the drink. The instant sweetness and richness of the milk coated her senses into a heavenly rush. She felt her irritated nerves calm down and set her heavy mind at ease.

“I hope you’re not using me to practice how you interact with your customers, Ukyou.“

Johann chuckled at her remark, “of course not. You’re not a customer. You’re different.”

Different.

Maye quietly enjoyed her milk while Johann continued to speak.

“I heard Caesar assigned you to an errand and I’m not sure what happened, but judging from your appearance it seems like you went through a lot.” Johann commented, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I know everything went by too fast, especially since you’re only a freshman.”

The girl nodded slowly, closely listening to him. Johann then reached his hand out towards her, causing Maye to look at it weirdly.

“You can always depend on us,” Johann said, kindness in his tone. “You can always depend on me.”

Hesitance apparent on her features, she looked at him and looked back at his hand. Maye avoided physical touch as much as possible in fear of accidentally destroying someone into pieces, even with her special gloves on that were made to cancel out her EX skill: Destruction. It was an instinct to pull away if someone tried to reach for her hand, but Johann offered his instead. Johann knew of her fear, but he was, in his own way, telling her to trust him and gave her the choice to take it or leave it.

Mustering up the courage, Maye slowly lifted a gloved hand and laid it carefully onto his palm. As she did so, Johann gently intertwined their fingers together and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. The action caused Maye to sigh in relief as she smiled at him thankfully, returning a soft squeeze to his hand.

“You’re not alone anymore Maye.”

And no one made the move to let go.

[lady-divine-writes]

An Afternoon in the Garden with Aziraphale

I re-wrote one of my old stories for the prompt “What do I have to do?” Anon asked this for Good Omens. I can see this becoming a full fic. Let me know what you think <3

Aziraphale settles onto his park bench, wiggles into his usual spot, and with a deep, relaxed sigh, becomes one with the weathered wood. He opens the book he brought with him but doesn’t begin to read. Not yet. He takes a long look at his surroundings - the people walking by dressed in smart black suits and ties (odd for a regular old Tuesday but who is he to judge); the clear, cloudless blue sky; the fresh cut grass, soft and fragrant beneath his feet. He takes a breath in and holds it for three before exhaling out to the Universe.

Then he smiles.

He loves it here. This garden, it’s his own private Eden – quiet and peaceful, with an air of love and possibility carried on every breeze that skirts around him. It’s the kind of place that fills you with joy without even trying.

Fills you with hope when you need it.

The bench he’s sitting on is not his bench, per se, but he likes to think of it as his. It’s the one he sits at every day so it might as well be his. Maybe he’ll dictate in his will that after he dies, someone needs to buy a plaque for this bench that says Aziraphale Sat Here … A Lot. Not that he ever has to fight for it, which always strikes him as odd because it’s by far the best bench in the park - set beside an ancient oak whose branches are spaced just right so that it lets the rays of afternoon sun peek through whilst shielding him from the bulk of their glare, keeping him comfortably cool.

There’s a nightingale in that oak. He knows it. He can’t see it, never has, but he thinks he hears it sometimes, singing a special song just for him.

His bench overlooks the duck pond at a perfect distance so that overflow doesn’t drench the ground beneath his feet. Various water fowl walk their families past it in search of spare crusts of bread. He forgot the stale loaf he leaves by his front door, like he did yesterday and the day before. It’s probably molded by now. He’ll toss it and wait for another one to go stale, but it irks him.

He hates wasting things.

It’s strange how much his mind has been wandering off on him lately that he can’t even remember to grab a loaf of bread on his way out the door.

The temperature is warm for a start-of-spring day and Aziraphale invites it. He’s getting sick of chilly weather. But the sun doesn’t feel the way it used to. He can’t explain the difference, but then who would he explain it to? He doesn’t talk to his old friends anymore. No one calls. No one comes to visit. It bothered him once, mostly because he himself couldn’t wrap his mind around who exactly he’d been missing. He couldn’t recall a name or a face. But it doesn’t bother him so much now. He’s gotten used to the solitude. He finds he quite likes spending time alone.

Maybe it’s because he’s getting older, he thinks. After all, he’s roughly …

Aziraphale’s head jerks up while he thinks. For some reason, he can’t remember how old he is. He tries to do the math in his head, but he can’t recall the year. He saw his face in the mirror this morning while he straightened his bowtie and thought that he looked pretty good for around fifty, but is that really how old he is? He chuckles weakly, perturbed. It’s such a weird feeling not remembering how old you are. It’s not like it’s waiting on the tip of his tongue or lingering in the back of his mind out of reach.

It’s gone.

Completely gone.

What the hell is going on?

He decides to shrug it off. He’s probably tired. He’ll go to bed an hour earlier tonight. That should fix it.

Yes. A little sleep should fix everything.

He looks down at the book he’s reading, the one he’s been waiting all morning to get back to, and frowns. Everything on the page in front of him looks like nonsense. He flips through it, trying to find a page that makes sense, but many of them are empty.

Why would he have a book with nonsense printed in it?

Perhaps it’s a misprint? He does have a few. Collectors’ items mostly. He must have grabbed the wrong book by mistake. But he was so sure when he left that he’d taken the right one. He’d checked the spine and everything … hadn’t he?

Maybe this is a dream, Aziraphale thinks anxiously. That might explain the off sensation of the sun on his face. But on the bright side, if it is a dream, Aziraphale can conjure himself a friend. A sweet, kind, handsome companion who …

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiles.

Jackpot.

The voice comes out of nowhere, convincing Aziraphale that he is, in fact, dreaming. If it wasn’t for the pain in the center of his forehead, that’s been strengthening over time, throbbing when he turns toward the voice, he’d be sold.

The owner of the voice saunters up to the bench and stops. He’s dressed in black and backlit, a broken halo of sunlight surrounding his head, filtering into Aziraphale’s vision, so he can’t make out the details of the stranger’s face. But something in that voice sounded familiar.

More than familiar.

It sounded like home.

Aziraphale raises a hand to block the sun and hopefully get a better view.

“Do I … do I know you?” he asks. With his hand over his eyes, he can see the man’s sculpted cheekbones, the steep slope of his nose, his fire-red hair, a brow furrowed in amusement, dark black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a strange twist of a smile that resembles a thought Aziraphale had a while ago when he …

When he what? What was he doing when he thought of a smile like that? He hasn’t a clue.

“Occasionally,” the man replies. He gestures to the bench. “May I?”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitant. Wasn’t he thinking a second ago how wonderful it would be to meet a congenial stranger in his dreams? This man definitely fits that bill … and then some. But that smile …

There’s a secret hiding on his lips. And the way he looks at him ... Aziraphale can’t see his eyes behind those lenses, but he knows they’re trained on him. Like they know him, like they’ve seen him before, and not sitting on a bench in St. James’s Park. But like the conundrum of his age, why he feels that way keeps ducking out of reach.

“Be my guest,” Aziraphale says. They’re in a huge park in a city filled with people. There is no way this man is here for him. He’s here for the park, the peace and quiet, the pond. And as Aziraphale mentioned to himself before, he’s sitting on the best bench here.

That has to be it.

The man sits – no, drapes himself over the opposite end of the bench, sunk down, legs spread, taking up more room than humanly necessary, but that doesn’t annoy Aziraphale.

He finds it charming.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve read the works of Oscar Wilde,” the man says, glancing over at the book open in Aziraphale’s lap. “Do you like Oscar Wilde?”

“Oh, this isn’t …” Aziraphale starts, ready to set the man straight. He didn’t bring the works of Oscar Wilde. The book he brought is gibberish. But when he looks down, he sees words printed on the page. Words that make sense.

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word… ”

“What …?” Aziraphale turns the book to the spine and sees it – The Works of Oscar Wilde: Essays, Criticisms, and Reviews. He flips to the title page and sees the same, the fine print suggesting that it might even be a first edition to boot! But everything about it from the front cover to the center spread was indecipherable chicken scratch a minute ago.

Wasn’t it?

“Something the matter?”

“Uh, no,” Aziraphale says quickly. “No, there’s nothing the matter. I …” Aziraphale closes the book and examines the cover again – grey canvas, with slight creasing on the spine, nothing that would depreciate it. But the monetary value means nothing to him. He recognizes it. It’s definitely his book, and an important one, too. It was a present. Someone gave it to him. An important someone. “I thought I had grabbed the wrong book.”

“Do you not fancy Oscar Wilde? Were you hoping for a different book perhaps? Something by D. H. Lawrence possibly?” the man asks, and Aziraphale knows by his tone that he’s teasing.

Being teased by this man warms Aziraphale more than the wonky sun.

“No, this is the book I wanted. Thank you.” Aziraphale opens to the middle and pretends to read, hiding his bashful eyes. The man smiles, reaching for Aziraphale’s knee as if it were the most normal thing to do, but stops short with his hand hovering in the air. A second later, his smile fades. He curls his fingers in and brings his hand back to his side.

“You know, it’s been kind of a bizarre afternoon,” Aziraphale admits, looking at the hand no longer anywhere near his knee. “I’ve been forgetting a lot of things.”

“Oh?” It’s a single, non-committal syllable, but when the man says it, he sounds disappointed.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I usually bring a bag of stale bread with me to the park. For the ducks. But I keep forgetting to grab it on my way out the door.”

“Isn’t that it there? In the bag for life?”

Aziraphale looks down at the bench, at the empty space between himself and the man, then back at him with questioning eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean over there.” The man points past Aziraphale to the other end of the bench. “Isn’t that your bag of bread?”

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder, giving a startled jump when he sees it – a bag for life, like the man said, lumpy with the remains of his stale bread loaf. “Well I’ll be.” He reaches down, touches it cautiously, as if it might leap up on its own, sprout legs, and run away. “How did this get here?”

“Perhaps by magic?”

“I do perform magic,” Aziraphale says, examining the bag of bread.

“Do you now?”

“Yes! I learned a long time ago.” He turns to the man beaming, more than eager to offer a demonstration. “Back in …” Aziraphale pauses, his eagerness washing away suddenly, unexpectedly “… no. No, that can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?”

“I was going to say that I learned magic from John Maskelyne, back in the 1870s, but that can’t be right. I … I can’t have been alive that long. Could I?”

“Perhaps you could be.” The man sits straight, leans over an inch. “Perhaps you’re immortal.”

Aziraphale tuts and rolls his eyes. “Good Lord. Now you’re just being silly.”

“Am I? You said so yourself it’s been a bizarre afternoon. You’ve forgotten things, haven’t you? You might have forgotten that.”

Aziraphale scoffs, but now that the man has said it, something about that notion nags at him. “No, I ... that’s impossible. Immortality isn’t real. I must be dreaming.”

“There’s a simple way we can check if you’re dreaming or not.”

Aziraphale tilts his head. “How?”

The man leans closer. Aziraphale mirrors the move, ready to hear the secret.

Ready to hear all this man’s secrets, if he’s willing to spill.

“Come with me,” the man whispers, and the words – those three little words – take Aziraphale’s breath, the next one, and three or four after that. “Have lunch with me. Go for a drive with me. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just name it.”

“Even if I said, I don’t know … take me to the Ritz?”

“Absolutely. I can get us a reservation with the snap of my fingers. Just say the word and I will.”

Time slows as Aziraphale debates what he should do. He’s not an idiot. He can’t go with this man. Even if he’s right about everything he said, Aziraphale has only known him about three minutes. He might get stuffed into the boot of a car and driven out to the middle of nowhere. Not for ransom. It should be quite obvious by his clothing that he’s not worth much. But he can’t assume this man wants to do him harm either. Whatever would the purpose be?

It feels so nice to talk to him though. To be flirted with, if that is indeed what’s happening. Aziraphale can’t remember the last time someone flirted with him. There’s such an allure to this man, like he was made to order – a perfect match for Aziraphale, plucked straight from his brain. Aziraphale doesn’t exactly feel like he’s meeting him. He feels like he’s finding him.

Like he was meant to find him.

But how can he if they’ve never met?

Aziraphale refuses to rule out dreaming, or maybe a hallucination, but none of that makes this decision easy. So he comes up with a response that will solve all of those issues at once. At least, he hopes it does. He doesn’t want to frighten the man off.

But if this is a dream, he’ll be back.

“Find me here tomorrow,” Aziraphale whispers back, “and we’ll see.”

The man smiles. It’s sad, but still as radiant as his others. He taps the bench with his forefinger, then drums the rest across the wood. This brings attention to a ring on his pinkie finger that Aziraphale didn’t notice before. A ring that makes Aziraphale’s eyes go wide. The ring is gold with wings, but that’s all Aziraphale sees before the man stands. It fills a void in his brain but leaves no explanation.

But like a seed, it starts to grow.

“It’s a date. I’ll see you tomorrow, angel.”

“Tomorrow it is then, Mr. …?”

“Crowley,” the man says with a defeated sigh. “Anthony J Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s brows snap together. “Anthony?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. You just don’t look like an Anthony.” Aziraphale bites his lower lip, his cheeks dimpling over the fact that his man cares what he thinks about his name. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I hope you do.”

Aziraphale doesn’t watch the man go. That’s not how he wants to remember him – walking away. Besides, with every step the man takes, Aziraphale can’t help feeling like something dear to him is leaving, too. He returns to his book, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he scans the page, but he can’t bring himself to read. Whatever Wilde has to say, it’s of no interest to him now.

***

Crowley stands from the edge of the bed, and with a wistful glance back, walks out of the bedroom. He doesn’t close the door behind him. He doesn’t want the click of the lock to disturb Aziraphale in any way. Besides, he wants to be able to peek in on him whenever he pleases without tipping the angel off.

If he breaks the illusion, it might damage Aziraphale’s mind.

That’s what he’s been told, anyway.

He lingers for a moment to watch his angel. Aziraphale smiles, staring in the direction of his book but not reading it, not turning the pages, wiggling in his seat and giggling to himself. That’s the way Crowley loves to see his angel.

Giddy.

Smiling.

Hopeful.

At peace.

But he can’t simply stand here staring at Aziraphale all day. There’s work to be done. Mysteries to figure out.

And that happens in the kitchen.

He makes his way there – a hop, skip, and a jump from the bedroom since he’s bent space and rearranged the rooms of his flat so that no matter where he goes, he’s no more than ten paces from Aziraphale.

“So, book girl,” Crowley greets Anathema, herself bent over several books spread out on his kitchen table, a cauldron of oily green liquid bubbling on the stove top, “you any closer to figuring out how to fix this?”

“No more than I was yesterday, I’m afraid,” she answers offhandedly, focused on the words in front of her more than the demon skulking about.

Crowley huffs, giving her an irritated once over. He’s never been what one would call polite, or patient, but he’s so over that as an answer. He really is. He’d accept her lying to him, even a little, if he never again has to hear the sentence No more than I was yesterday, I’m afraid. It’s become a catch phrase, and she wields it as if she’s required by law to say it.

“You’ve told me that every day for the past year, book girl!”

Anathema stops reading and sighs sympathetically in response. There was a time when Crowley’s barking would make her jump out of her skin. She’d been wary of Crowley from the first. Even before she knew he was a demon, something about him felt dangerous. After becoming sort-of friends, she only felt truly comfortable around him when Aziraphale was present, which was always, so there was no issue there.

The night Crowley showed up alone on her doorstep, soaked to the skin with rain, looking as if he’d been through hell and back (which, as it turns out, he had), was the scariest night of her life. Her heart had stopped dead in her chest when she opened the door and saw him, and she desperately feared it would never start up again. Hair plastered to his face, eyes glowing yellow, cracks in his skin that bled black, fangs she’d never seen piercing the skin of his lower lip - he looked like a monster.

An honest to God monster.

But then he crumpled to a heap at her feet, begging for her help, and she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. Whatever kind of demon he is, and she has yet to ascertain that (she finds it rude to ask) he isn’t the murdering kind.

“I’ve told you before,” she says softly, “I don’t know what they did to him. Not completely. The only thing I can guess with any certainty is that they destroyed his third eye.”

“Destroyed?”

“Take a look at him – a good hard look at him the next time you see him. It should be in the center of his forehead, but it’s not. It’s not there anymore.”

“And what would destroying that do to him exactly?”

Anathema shrugs. “Different sects of witches hypothesize differently, but they all seem to agree on the same thing.”

“And that is …?”

“His memory is gone. Obliterated. And with it, any sense at all of who he actually is.”

“So he may still have his magic,” Crowley speculates, feeling optimistic for the first time in a year.

“Yes, he may.”

“And we fix that … how?”

“Again, I don’t know,” she reveals, knowing she’ll get a loud, dramatic groan in response.

And Crowley doesn’t disappoint.

“Demon magic and Holy magic aren’t the same as witch magic,” she says over him. “It comes from a different place. Yours comes from Hell, his comes from Heaven. Mine comes from Earth.”

“Your point?” Exasperation adds an edge to his words that he’d been trying his hardest to edit out on the day to day. Not necessarily for Anathema’s sake, though he did consider her a friend and undeserving of his anger. She practically lives at his flat now in her attempt to help them out, and gets about as much sleep a night as he does.

But more than anything, Crowley doesn’t want Aziraphale to find out.

He doesn’t want Aziraphale disappointed in him.

“My point is I don’t know where on the spectrum of magic it falls. Is it weaker? Is it stronger? Is it somewhere in between? Because if that’s the case, I should be able to do something, shouldn’t I?” She grumbles that, sounding as frustrated as he feels. “But I’ve tried everything I can think of. I’m not saying I’m done,” she says, putting a hand up to stop him interjecting before she can finish. “Not in the slightest. But I need to do some research. I need books I don’t have, scrolls, some artifacts. And I might need some help.”

Crowley’s left eyebrow takes a sharp leap up. “What kind of help?”

“Help that I can’t negotiate. Help that … only you can.”

“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you’re implying!” Crowley yells. “I’m not going anywhere without him!”

“You may not have a choice.”

“I don’t think you get it!” He rounds on her, gripping the back of a chair it’s taking all his resolve not to throw across the room. “That’s not some nobody in my room, not some random angel of God! He’s my entire life! My whole reason for existing! And the only reason he remembers as much as he does after an entire year is because I talk to him every day. If I leave and don’t return, even for one day, I run the risk of losing him.” The next words in the queue are so difficult, he nearly has to wrench them out of his throat. “I can’t do that. I … can’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Anathema pushes her chair away from the table and walks over to him. “Not completely. I have no idea what you’re going through. I wasn’t raised to have a life with friendship and love. I was raised to have a purpose. Purpose is fine, but it can also get cold and empty. So I’ve never had what you have. Not even in the smallest degree. But I do know that if I did, I would hold onto it with everything I have. Every piece of my soul. That I know.”

Crowley’s rage extinguishes a degree, and that, ironically, infuriates him. He wants to be angry at Anathema, but he’s not. He’s angry that it’s been a year and Aziraphale still doesn’t seem to be any closer to remembering him than he did after Heaven fucking zapped his memory. 6000 years he’s spent with Aziraphale – eating with him, bantering with him, annoying the ever loving heck out of him. He should be glad he had so much of that. Humans don’t get that with their loved ones. Not even close. But the time they would have spent now would have been different than the past. They’d finally come to terms with their feelings for one another. They would have been together as a couple in love, able to express that love without fear of losing what they had as friends. Crowley feels cheated out of the time he can’t ever get back, all those moments when he should have stopped being a coward and simply said, “I love you, Aziraphale.”

He wishes he had that, at least, because the future, from his standpoint, looks bleak.

These visits with Aziraphale in his bedroom are all Crowley has.

They might be all he ever has.

Fuck God and Her fucking plan! Fuck the games she fucking plays with the Universe!

And fuck Gabriel!

FUCK GABRIEL!

If Crowley ever sees that stuck up, self-righteous, bureaucratically cruel sack of festering horseshit again, he won’t hesitate to light him up like a damned Roman candle. He doesn’t care if Heaven comes down on him with Holy Water after that. Every day he’s reminded that he’s losing the only damned thing that ever mattered to him. At this point, if Crowley disappeared into the ether, it wouldn’t affect Aziraphale a single iota. Crowley has enough money socked away to keep Aziraphale comfortable for a lifetime. For a thousand lifetimes. He could stay here in Crowley’s flat, on that park bench in his mind, until reality crumbles down around him.

Anathema would look after him. He’s certain she would. She would take care of him, then her daughters, then their sons. But Aziraphale would become an heirloom – an eccentric old man with no memory who gets passed down to her children’s children’s children throughout the generations.

Crowley sighs.

That’s no sort of existence for his angel. He can’t do that to Aziraphale, no matter how good lighting Gabriel up would feel.

“He’s my angel,” Crowley argues, but the way those words lodge in his throat, they sound more like a plea. “But in an hour, he won’t remember that I’ve been here. That I’ve seen him. Not the way I want him to. But I’ll remember. I’ll remember, and that’s … that’s all we’ve got.”

Anathema shakes her head, her dark eyes set, cheeks flushing a fiery pink. “No, that’s all you’ve got, Crowley! And it’s not enough! It’s not enough! We need more! He deserves more! If you want your angel to remember you, if you want him to have his life back, you have to get off your ass and fight for those memories! They’re important to you, yes? He’s important to you?”

“Of course, he’s important to me!” Crowley growls, unaccustomed to anyone outside of Aziraphale and Hell taking this tone with him. He understands that it might be necessary, but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

Regardless of the fact that that demonic growl of Crowley’s weeds beneath Anathema’s skin, rooting through her darkest nightmares and chilling her to her core, she presses on because she’s got him. She’s gotten him to drop the cloak of self-pity he’s been wearing for a year and come to his senses.

Now she needs to get him moving.

“The real question now is are you willing to do it? Are you willing to fight for him? Are you willing to do what needs to get done, no matter the cost?”

Crowley closes his eyes, absorbs her words. She’s right. He knows she’s right. And he’s known it for a while. In retrospect, he could kill himself for not abiding by her words earlier, but he’d been selfish. Scared. He doesn’t want to leave Aziraphale. He doesn’t want to be apart from him for a single day. He doesn’t know how many of them he has left. He’d come to terms with the idea of never having Aziraphale back so deeply that he was almost okay with their life the way it stood now. But that’s not fair. His angel loves him. He trusts him. And if Crowley were in the same position, Aziraphale wouldn’t be moping inside his bookshop waiting for something to happen.

He’d be out ensuring it did.

When Crowley opens his eyes again and looks at Anathema, they’re full of actual fire. “Fine, book girl. What do I have to do?”

[retro-rezz-the-est]

Eyes In The Dark (Ember Moon/Reader)

Summary: Modern!AU twist on The Little Red Riding Hood by the Brothers Grimm, featuring our favorite flame haired moon goddess.

Warnings: Blood tw, severe biting tw (at the very end), getting lost alone in the woods, stalking, chasing, choking (also at the very end), lots of screaming and I think that’s it???? Lmk if I’m forgetting smth

Word Count: 6,182

(A/N: This is my entry for @neversatisfiedgirl’s Love/Sex/Magic Challenge! It was so much fun to write something more different than I usually do, and I hope you like it, hun!)

Halloween season was always your favorite time of the year.

You loved every bit of it, from the chilly sweater weather to the leaves that would fall from the trees and into your hair, to even the abundance of pumpkin spice flavored everything that made the air smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. You loved the cheesy home decorations, you loved the kids running around the city high off of nothing but sugar and pure excitement, and you certainly loved all the themed food people would make for their parties.

But your favorite thing of all?

There always seemed to be some magic in the air around this time of year.

And you could sense it, a feeling crawling over your skin as you woke up the day before, stretching your arms above your head and smiling. The sun gave off a warm, orange hue that perfectly complemented the autumn aesthetic of your block, and you leapt out of bed to go look out the window.

It’s beautiful, you thought, your smile growing as you opened the window and let the cold morning air in. You could feel it, the magic of old that your grandmother told you about all those years ago filling your lungs and spreading through your entire body. It filled you with a warmth you couldn’t describe and you wanted to keep it that way. Spoiling it would ruin the fun, after all.

Throwing on a nearby sweater, you grabbed your phone and exited your room, ready to decorate and start the day. Your roommate Sasha was passed out on your couch, her deep blue hair a tangled mess as she snored the morning away. You chuckled and softly made your way over to your shared kitchen to not wake the sleeping woman.

You opened your fridge and sighed, grabbing an apple from one of the drawers when your phone rang, the device vibrating in your hand. Looking down at it, you smiled and slid your thumb across the screen to unlock it.

“Hey, Mom,” you sighed, leaning against your kitchen cabinets. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m doing great, sweetheart. It’s almost your grandmother’s favorite day, after all.”

That was another reason you loved the holiday so much: your grandmother. She was always the biggest advocate for celebrating it, even if no one else wanted to. You admired her for her tenacity, and so you developed a love for it at a very young age. “How are you and that roommate of yours?”

“We’re fine,” you said, taking another glance at Sasha, who was still miles away in her own head. “She’s here now if you wanna talk to her.”

“No, no, (Y/n). I know she’s asleep as she always is.” The two of you shared a laugh, her voice still warm and full of life after all these years.

“So, is there a reason you’re calling me at eight o’clock in the morning, Mom? Did something happen?”

“What? I can’t call my favorite daughter and check up on her?”

You rolled your eyes at her sarcasm.

“I need you to go down to her cabin and help her set up for tomorrow. She can’t do it all by herself with that old body of hers, of course.”

That’s right, you thought. It was tradition for you to drive down to her cabin in the woods and decorate for the brave kids who would go to her home for candy on Halloween night every year. “Sure thing. After I run my errands for the day, I’ll head straight down there.”

She’s lived out there for years now, coming up on a decade since she’s stayed at that old cabin. She would tell you stories of the creatures of old who would roam out there at night, tales of ancient faerie kings and fearsome beasts who stalked their territory. Your mother told the old woman to stop filling your head with such nonsense at a young age, but you didn’t care. You loved her stories and you always wanted to hear more.

Everyone outside of your family called her an old crackpot for spewing such tales and for her always following superstitions to a tee, hence why she moved out into the woods in the first place. She always felt at home there, and she wanted to be kept close to the magical energy that had always lingered behind all of the tall and old trees that stood there.

She would always warn you to never travel out there at night, however, and to never, under any circumstances, walk through the woods during a full moon.

“Dark forces are the most alive under the light of a full moon, dearie,” she told you when you first visited her out there, holding your hand and rubbing it with her wrinkled thumb. “They draw their powers and their strength from it, and they will use those powers to hurt you.”

“If you say that, then why do you want to live here?”

She smiled, her dimples sinking under her skin. “Oh, it’s a beautiful thing to watch from the outside. All the magic in this area concentrated into one place, watching it swirl around in the air like chimney smoke. But I’ve been exposed to full moon magic and trust me, darling, you will regret it if you're exposed to it as well.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” your mother replied, sighing with relief. “I worry about her, y’know. She’s living all by herself and so far away from the rest of us.”

“I know, and I get worried too. But, she’s strong. Stronger than the rest of us, anyway.”

“That too, (Y/n). Also, the church asked me to make some things for their yearly bake sale, and I think I made too many cookies this time. Do you think you could come over to pick some up and bring them to her?”

“Not a problem, Mom. Gotta go, though, I got things to do today.” Which, in reality, meant about only three things to do and then absolutely nothing for the remainder of the day.

The two of you said your goodbyes and you walked out of the kitchen, setting your phone down on the counter as Sasha finally awoke and sat up. She squinted in your general direction and grimaced at how happy and energetic you looked.

“You wanna go out tonight? My treat,” she asked, her voice rough and tired.

“Didn’t you just come back from a night out? And now, you wanna go back outside?”

She shrugged, moving over so you can sit on the couch with her. “What can I say? I like to live in the moment.”

The two of you shared a laugh, Sasha turning on the television just as you saw a pair of piercing red eyes reflect back at you in the dark screen. They quickly skimmed your body before claiming your eyes for themselves, their color shining like rubies.

You were taken aback by their sudden presence, shrieking in surprise before they quickly vanished, leaving you shaken. They seemed to capture your soul with a single glance and they looked so real, almost to the point where you could’ve touched them…

“Girl, what happened? Are you okay?” Sasha asked, seeing how your chest heaved with every breath.

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen the eyes. They showed up everywhere: when you were alone in your bathroom, there they were, glaring away at you in the mirror; when you were alone in your room at night, they would flare away like open flames in the darkest corner; you would even see them when you were alone and walking up your stairs, catching a glimpse of them in the alley that ran behind your house. They’ve never shown up when you were around other people.

Never, until today, that is.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine,” you responded, sitting on your hands to stop them from shaking. “It was nothing, anyways.”

You took a quick look behind the couch to find nothing - as usual - and let out a shaky sigh, hoping that it would be the last time you saw them today. But deep down, you knew it was still there. You knew that it  was still somewhere around, watching you from afar and plotting its next move like a predator stalking its prey.

It was only a matter of time. It would play this game of waiting, but only for a little longer.

It was only a matter of time…

                                                          ~~~~~

The day had passed relatively quickly, with you stepping outside to pick up the goods for your grandmother at your mother’s house and you stopping by the local party store to pick up a few more Halloween decorations for your shared home. You could still feel someone (most likely her) watching your every move, the feeling like a lead pipe slowly inching through your veins. It made you turn your head and look a few times, but nothing was there as usual.

The sun was slowly dipping behind the clouds as you briskly made your way back inside, the orange-yellow rays of light filtering through the windows when you shut the door with a huff. Sasha had opted to stay inside to get herself ready for the night ahead of you.

“Back already? I thought you’d be gone forever.”

You laughed, placing your bags down in the kitchen as she left her room and made her way down to you. You could see that her makeup was already half done, one eye surrounded by a smoky black while the other was left blank.

“I left your costume on your bed, (Y/n),” she said, briefly hugging you before taking the goods your mother made out of their bag. “Don’t want you being the odd one out in there.”

She went to take a cookie for herself but she yelped as you slapped her hand. “Those aren’t for you, remember? So don’t touch.”

The blue haired woman grumbled, rubbing her hand and stalking away back to her room to finish getting ready. You slid off your boots and your jacket, throwing it on a nearby chair and walking down the hall and into your own room.

“Damn, she chose good,” you mumbled, seeing the black, white and red dress with its red velvet cloak laid out on your bedspread. Will this thing even fit me? you thought as you shed your clothes to try the costume on. She had even left her black calf high boots for you to complete the outfit.

Taking a look at yourself in the mirror, you had to admit…you looked good. You strutted around your room, twirling every now and then to see the skirt and the cape flare up around you. You sat at the desk next to your bed, opening your makeup case to apply some mascara and some lipstick, but you saw the outline of a pitch black figure behind you, its blood red irises glowering in your direction. You froze, the hand holding your mascara stopping halfway to your eye as it snarled, pointed white teeth dripping with…

Wait, is that blood?!

It crouched behind you, red drops falling from its shiny maw and onto your carpet with its gaze fixated on your shocked reflection. You couldn't move from your seat; you were frozen with fear as it reared back and growled, booking it towards you and pouncing at your chair.

Fuck, I'm gonna die, aren't I?!

You screamed, throwing your hands over your face, expecting to feel claws bearing through your clothes and tearing at your skin but instead, you felt…nothing?

Shakily, you moved your hands down and took in the room around you. Nothing seemed to be out of place except the makeup case that you had knocked off of your table in your rush to protect your face. Sasha burst into the room, her white wig a mess as she straightened out her black and white striped Beetlejuice costume.

"You alright, (Y/n)?! I heard something fall over and you screaming."

Your heart was still thundering in your chest and you were still breathing heavily, placing a hand on your chest to quell the nerves running through your body. "Y-Yeah, I'm alright. Just s-scared myself a little, is all."

She leaned up against your doorframe, brows creased and her mouth a firm line. "Girl, you've been freaking out literally all day. Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I told you I'm fine," you told her firmly. "I promise."

"Are you fine enough to go out tonight? I can call Bayley and tell her that we can't come and meet her."

"No!" Your shouting took her back a few steps. "I'm still good to go."

"Well alright, then," she said after a few moments of silence. "We'll head out in a few."

And with that, she closed your door softly, and you heard her heeled footsteps echo faintly down the hallway.

You took another look at yourself in your small desk mirror, wiping away the mascara that you managed to get on your cheek and taking another look behind you.

It was just there, you thought. Am I really just seeing things?

A look down proved you wrong, as the claw marks that gouged out some of your carpet fluff said otherwise. You got up and walked towards them with trembling legs, kneeling down to run your fingertips over them. "So, it was real, then."

You quickly finished applying the rest of your makeup and tightened the cloak around your neck, grabbing your phone and leaving your room. You saw that Sasha had left a wicker basket out for you (your outfit couldn't be cliché enough, it seems) and you slipped the cookies your mother had wrapped for you earlier into it.

You could still feel something staring at you from the far corners of your home, waiting for its chance to strike again.

I have to get out of here.

                                                          ~~~~~

The ride to the club you were meeting Bayley at was silent and tension filled, the atmosphere so thick that you could cut it with a knife and serve it on a plate. Sasha knew something was up with you - hell, you could even see it in her black rimmed eyes - but she held it off. Why ruin a perfectly good night with more drama?

You kept your eyes on the road as to not engage with her but the two of you soon pulled into the club's parking lot, the black haired female bounding up to your car as soon as she saw it. Sasha rolled down her window, giving her girlfriend a quick kiss before opening the door and stepping out.

"I see the two of you came matching," you smirked, pointing out her Lydia Deetz bridal costume to compliment her lover's Beetlejuice. She blushed, hiding her pale face in Sasha's neck as you emerged from the car, deciding to leave the basket inside.

Bayley gave you a quick side hug once you came around to her, and the three of you walked inside the club, feeling the bass from the music inside vibrate through you. It was dimly lit inside, the only real light coming from the DJ booth in the back and the opening of the front entrance. It was packed with brightly colored people, with some dressed in costumes of their own to celebrate the spooky season while others chose to forgo the wear.

The bright strobe lights were a stark contrast to the dark interior, but it added a sense of character to the place. The two women tugged at your wrists and dragged you onto the dance floor, the duo laughing as they did so. They dragged you into the large mass of people and soon, you were pressed against them as they danced against each other. Sasha grabbed Bayley's hips and pulled her close, looking seductively into her eyes as the music blasted away.

"I'm gonna go grab us some drinks, okay?" you shouted over all the noise. They didn't seem to hear you (or they didn't want to) so you just went over to the bar anyway.

You returned a few minutes later with three strawberry daiquiris in hand, coming back to see the pair entranced in their own little world. They noticed that you had finally returned, rejoicing at the sight of you with the drinks in your hands.

With alcohol flowing through your system, you grew more bold and soon enough, the three of you were dancing wildly along with the rest of the crowd, bumping and grinding and dancing along with your friends. The night came too quickly, and the light of the full moon began to some through the windows above you.

"Hey, Sasha," you asked, feeling a little more than buzzed already, "What time 's it?"

"It's eleven thirty, (Y/n)!" Bayley answered, looking down at her smartwatch and giggling while bouncing along to the club music.

"Hey, don't you have to -"

"Fuck me!" you yelled, letting the two of them go and stumbling back. Shit, I forgot!

You placed a hand on your head and asked, "Can you take Sasha home, Bayley? I have to go, and it's already late enough"

She could tell you were rushing and nodded, earning a hug from you. You hugged Sasha goodbye as well, bumping against people as you stumbled away from them and out of the club. You turned back to see the dancing on each other again and smiled, grateful to have such good friends.

The sudden coldness of the outside made you shiver, and you cursed yourself for not bringing a jacket with you when you left home. Rubbing your arms, you stumbled to your car and opened the door, wary of the basket in the back seat as you pulled out of the club parking lot and onto the road.

It was a lot darker and quieter than it normally was around this time of year, but you didn't notice. The only thing that was on your mind was driving down to help your grandmother. You just hoped that she wasn't mad at you for being extremely late.

"Shit, shit, shit," you murmured as houses and stop lights turned into empty patches of land littered with trees and hills. The only sounds you could hear were the ones of your own worrying and the sound of your tires against the gravel. It made you break out into a cold sweat, looking out of the windows next to you and seeing nothing but darkness with a few strands of moonlight flowing in.

Come on, go faster! you thought, pressing your booted foot harder on the gas pedal. You gripped the wheel tightly as the moon rose high in the night sky, shining above you. Apparently it wanted to fuck with you because as soon as you thought you were getting somewhere, your car started to slow doen.

"Wait, what?" you said, hearing your tires slow down until they fully came to a stop right in front of the dense forest you've been driving past for almost twenty minutes. "No. No, no, no, no! Fuck!"

You slammed your hands against the queen in a rage over and over again, seeing the "E" next to your work gauge blink white. Reaching back for your basket, you grabbed it and got out of your car, slamming the door and locking it with a huff.

"Guess I'm walking, then," you sighed. You took out your phone and went to call Sasha, but to no avail.

No service. Fan-fucking-tastic.

The woods ahead of you looked absolutely terrifying, with the trees seeming to have faces that were frozen in a permanent terror and the voices that seemed to drift from its depths, beckoning you closer and closer to your doom like sirens.

But, you were a woman on a mission.

So, you turned on your phone's flashlight function with one hand, clutched your basket tight with the other, and put on a brave face as you faced the woods. You heard your grandmother's voice in your head in that moment.

"Dark forces are the most alive under the light of a full moon, dearie."

Yeah, right, you scoffed, legs shaking slightly as you stepped into the vortex of flora, it almost reaching out to pull you into itself. What could possibly happen? It's not like I'm just gonna die out here.

                                                          ~~~~~

This was a bad idea.

That was your first rational thought after walking through the endless mass of trees for no more than ten minutes.

You honestly couldn't tell which way was forward anymore. You couldn't see where you came from, nothing about this area looked familiar to you, the trees didn't have any gauges in them to signify that you were going the right way, you couldn't hear the stream that ran behind your grandmother's cabin, and you knew for a fact that there weren't any bats in get area.

In other words? You were lost.

Hopelessly, terribly lost.

Were you scared? Yes, but you were more annoyed with the countless crap that kept flying into your face than anything else.

"I fucking hate this," you grumbled as you tripped on another overgrown tree root and stumbled, another tree branch smacking your face. A wind swept through the trees, making you shiver and hold your cloak as tight as you could to your body. You could hear the crows cawing again, and you could hear them flying above the trees and blocking out the moon.

This was such a bad idea, you thought again when your phone decided to die on you, an empty battery showing up on its screen as the flashlight dimmed and left you alone. You nearly cried when you felt the darkness slip over your skin and cover your eyes like a glove.

Reaching your hand out, you tried to navigate your way through but failed, stumbling into a bush and falling on your knees. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you felt its thorns dig into you, ripping your tights and and slicing into the skin of your arms.

A deep rumble erupted from behind you and you went silent, holding your hands over your mouth to silence your breathing. Squeezing your eyes shut, you could feel the ground shake with the footsteps of what was coming in your direction, and you could hear its growling get louder with each one. Branches broke, plants were overturned, and you could even hear its ragged breathing as it approached you.

Then, everything stopped. It grew pindrop silent, with the wind whistling above your head being the only sound out there. Eyes opening, you looked up and prayed that that…thing…wasn’t behind you, stalking you and toying with your fear.

Turning around proved fruitless as you stared directly at a being with long flame colored hair, it seeming almost alive and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of it. Its sharp white teeth were equally blinding, and they curved into a Cheshire Cat-like grin. They were the only things shining brightly in the pitch blackness of the forest.

Well, other than the pair of glaring red eyes that were currently peering into your soul.

You felt your heart stop and you jumped, throwing your phone into your basket as you booked it from the bush and…whatever that thing was in a hurry. You didn’t care if you tripped over your own boots and fell flat on your face. As you were running past the trees and dodging stray roots and branches as quickly as you could, only one thing stood out to you.

I have to get out of here.

You didn’t even know how long you were running for but every time you wanted to stop, the adrenaline coursing through your veins kept you going. Stray twigs and leaves littered your hair and rumpled dress, and the thorns from the bush had poked holes in your cloak. Your basket kept on beating against your side and you were pretty sure that area was bruising, but you didn't care. You knew it was following you. You could hear it in the distance as the wind roared in your ears. You just had to run.

You finally stopped in a clear patch of grass, falling onto your hands and knees to catch your breath. Your chest ached from breathing too hard and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, but you turned around to look and see if it was still following you anyway and luckily, it was not.

Thank gods, you though, sighing and standing to stretch out your legs. You could see a small dog of light in the distance ahead of you, and you pushed the low hanging branches above you to see your grandmother's cabin in front of you, the fairy lights that she always hands twinkling away like stars.

You nearly cried at the sight of the old wooden building and you walked up to it, running your hand along the boards that lined the outside walls. The place was small, only one story, and covered in moss from top to bottom. But, despite you mother’s wishes, your grandmother still loved the place, claiming that the nature spirits around it were the things that kept her there.

Your heart swelled at the thought and you moved around to the front door, raising your hand to knock when a light breeze blew the door open. The old hinges on the door squeaked and you saw that it was only hanging on by one. The smooth wood was marred with deep lines that ran from them to the handle, and even the handle itself had fallen to the ground.

Looking around at the state of the cabin’s exterior, you saw that the small circular windows that lined the outside had been shattered. Large pieces of stained glass hung from the empty frames by literally nothing and that got you worried.

You picked up the brass knob, worry creasing your brow as you placed it in your basket and carefully pushed the door open, cautious of it potentially falling off. It was pitch black on the inside aside from a lone candle flickering away on the floor next to you, so you bent down to reach for it and you heard a faint crunch underneath your foot.

What the hell?

Candle in hand, your vision brightened and you saw that everything around you was…

...it was completely destroyed.

Pieces of glass big and small littered the carpet around you and all over the living room. It crunched as you walked over it. You held the small candle close to you as the ripped curtains rustled as a breeze came into the space.You could see row after row of claw marks lining the walls, going from the floor all the way up to the ceiling.

Your grandmother had pictures of you and your entire family hung up along the wall in her small living room and those were now all on the floor, their frames cracked in some places and shattered in others. Holding the light closer, you could see drops of red staining the glass and that you were ripped out of every picture, a jagged space left behind instead.

You took a harsh step back, tripping over an overturned chair and stumbling. Your leg caught on the small table she’s had in the cabin since she moved in and you looked at it quickly to see that it was completely smashed, broken irregularly down the middle and sinking inwards. The games that were always placed upon it were scattered across the floor with their pieces lost to dark corners. The lamps that were standing tall beside it were now on the floor, their poles bent at odd angles and their shades torn to shreds.

The carpet that ran from the door was also shredded to near nothing, bits and pieces of the knitted material sprouting up from the ground like multi-colored flowers. The tears ran from the door to where it ended at the main hallway. Vases of flowers were tipped over, and you could already tell that the kitchen didn’t fair as well either.

Cabinets were thrown open, ripped from their hinges as you walked into the kitchen, placing your basket down on what remained on the small counter and stepping over the cabinet doors as they laid on the floor. As if there wasn’t enough glass around already, fragments of assorted mugs and plates were strewn about along the time.

You picked up one of them, half an old Christmas photo of a young you and your grandmother still on it. Tears pricked your eyes as you looked around at the wreckage, only hoping that nothing bad had been brought upon her.

You stepped outside and around a corner, running your fingertips along the deep scratch marks that decorated the once warm and homey walls. You descended down the hallway to your grandmother's room and continued to see the carnage, lights barely flickering as they laid on the floor and paintings that were slashed to ribbons and laid to waste.

What could have done all of this? you thought, shaking in your boots. Your cloak fluttered away against your legs like your heart in your chest when you approached her room door. The door was also smashed open, a gaping hole where the door knob and lock would've been. You didn't want to assume the worst when you approached it, but you couldn't help it. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" you asked out loud, chuckling nervously as you toed the door open and it opened with a creak. "I brought over some cookies Mom made if you want any. I heard they were a knockout at the church bake sale."

The door proceeded to fall off of its hinges and you jumped, goosebumps dotting your skin. You looked around and choked back a sob, holding a hand over your mouth as tears formed in your eyes when seeing the wreckage of your grandmother's bedroom.

Somehow, her room looked even worse than the rest of the house. The glass in her windows was completely smashed, and the glass fell onto her sheets and dressers like stray raindrops. The large oak dresser she kept in the back corner of the room had its doors ripped clean off as well, with whole chunks missing from it and more jagged claw marks marking their territory. Clothes spilled from it and you could see that some of them had been chewed out, leaving large holes and more red stains all over them.

Her standing desk and mirror were splintered into nothing but twigs, and you could see that the ornate carving of it had been scratched out by something. The bed was in even worse shape however, as the entire thing looked like it was sat on by a giant. The boards underneath were broken clean in two and the mattress itself had random springs exuding from the sides.

The worst part of it all were the pillows and bed sheets. The originally peach colored items were a deep red color, and they were oddly shiny for some reason. The color began to seep out into the untainted areas until there was a large patch of deep scarlet staining the mattress.

I think I’m gonna be sick, you thought as you felt bile and shock rise up from your abdomen. Taking a few wobbly steps back, you couldn't form any coherent words. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Anything but this...

You stepped over the assorted mess of things to look at yourself in the cracked mirror. The thing looked like something was body slammed into it and large pieces of it were missing. You finally let out the sob you've been holding so deep within your chest for the past few minutes. Seeing this… seeing all of this… this wreckage, this destruction, this defiling of your grandmother's sacred space? It hurt your soul to see what it's become. Whatever - or whoever - did this had done this to specifically target her, but she didn't deserve any of this.

You looked just as broken as the mirror did, but you could feel something behind you. Something staring directly at your back, drilling a hole directly into your spine with its intensity.

You turned slowly and saw the being from earlier in the forest, its long nails outstretched and sharpened. Its bright flame hair glowed with a new light, as if some deep passion was fueling it. Its mouth and chin glistened with a thick, dark substance, and you immediately knew what it was.

It wore a torn black tank top that had a strap hanging down its shoulder, and it wore a pair of dark grey jeans with a million different holes and rips in them, but you could only guess as they were both were splattered in what you presumed to be blood. It was barefoot but to your demise, it didn’t seem to even notice the countless splinters and shards of glass that were currently injecting themselves into its skin.

The same substance that dripped from its chin ran fresh down its arms and fell from its claws, making you retch a little as you stood perfectly still. Its blazing bright red eyes nearly matched the red that they were currently covered in, and they were trained onto you and they flickered at every movement you made.

As the light of the moon came through the shattered windows, you could see that it was more of a she, and she looked hungry as she smiled wickedly at you. She was silently panting, her stance wide and looking like she was ready to pounce. She looked at you like you were her next meal.

She wanted you.

“Dark forces are the most alive under the light of a full moon, dearie.”

Run.

That was the second rational thought your brain gave you that night as your subconscious made your decision for you, moving your legs as fast as you could in the direction of what would’ve been the door.

I have to leave, have to leave have to leave now-

You didn’t even see her fucking move from behind you and somehow she was already ahead of you, gripping the doorframe to the point of splintering what remained of it. Shaken, you abruptly stopped and stepped on a stray dress from the large closet, slipping on it and falling flat on your ass.

She slowly stalked towards you, dragging her right foot behind her as you frantically crawled backwards to try and find something to throw at her. The candle fell out of your hand and you grasped it at the last minute, chucking it at her with all your might but she chuckled, a deep, rumbling noise. It bounced harmlessly off of her and landed on the floor. She stomped it out with her left foot and continued towards you, carelessly flicking away the stray things you found on the floor with a smile on her face.

“Who even are you?! What do you want from me?!” you yelled as you backed yourself against the front of the bed, her crouching down to your level and gripping your neck. Her hold was tight but firm, and she reached down to hold your wrists together with her free hand when you went to scratch at the one on your neck.

She leaned in close and sniffed you, tears running down the side of your face as she smelled the fear drifting from you in sheets. You felt her claws dig into your flesh and you could feel streams of blood begin to flow from the soon-to-be deep cuts.

Her tongue hung out of her gaping maw and she came close to lick your face from your chin to your forehead, making you hyperventilate and physically shake in fear. It took everything in you not to scream bloody murder (ironically) and she cackled at you holding your tongue.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered, your thin voice trembling as your will to fight started to die.

She looked so amused at your fear and gave you the most sickly sweet smile you’d ever seen. Her voice was chasmic and echoed through the room, rattling your bones.

“My name, dear Little Red, is Ember. And you’re my new toy now, so why would I hurt you?”

Her grip grew even tighter as she said this, her head twitching with every other word. You could see your vision growing faint from the lack of oxygen and soon, it grew black. The last thing you felt before you passed out was her bloody mouth against your cheek as she dug her teeth into it, pulling at the skin and lapping at the scarlet liquid that spilled from it.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you when you wake up…”

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[marvel-lucy]

The Walking Disaster, Chapter 8

This was going to be the last chapter, and it was going to be fluffy, but I can’t go anywhere without angsting, so instead it’s the penultimate chapter, and it’s angst. Sorry not sorry.

Final chapter is basically written and will be up tomorrow, assuming my angst doesn’t run wild and kill them all ;)

All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist

Describe to me a perfect Saturday. Sunshine? A picnic in a beautiful park? A basket full of puppies delivered to your door?  No. I’ll tell you exactly what a perfect Saturday looks like.

It starts by being woken up much earlier than you’d like. It involves wearing your oldest, roughest clothes, and not caring. It has the rain pouring down outside, and your apartment being a bit too cold. It includes a weird breakfast, because you forgot to do any shopping, so you have dry cereal and M&Ms mixed together in a bowl, eaten with your fingers. It’ll have yawning, laughing, talking.  It’ll have Steve.

I can tell you this, because I’ve tried it, and it was perfect.  No Saturday should start at 5am but here we are now, and it’s 8am, and we’re sitting on the couch. I’ve got my legs curled up, his are sticking out straight, and I can see the ends of his socks poking out of the duvet. The duvet is over both of us, because the room is chilly, and there’s a bowl of cheerios and candy that we’re both dipping our hands into. I swear, if we put our hands in at the same time and our fingers touch, my heart will stop.

And then it’s 11am, and we’ve both gone and got dressed, and the rain’s stopped and we’re both hungry, so we go out, and get coffee and pastries, and I drop pastry crumbs all down myself, but so does Steve. I accidentally step in a puddle and then my shoe squelches every time I walk, but then Steve sits down on a bench that’s wetter than it looks, and gets a wet patch all over his trousers. Maybe we’re as bad as each other, or maybe I’m not as bad as I thought. Either way, it’s perfect. I ramble on a lot because that’s what I do when I’m happy, I talk. And Steve listens and he laughs and one time he nudges me with his shoulder, and another time our arms bump and honestly, perfect.  My heart is singing and my soul is dancing, and that’s why when Nat texts, and says her and Bucky are going to a club that night, of course I reply that Steve and I will too.

By the time the evening comes around though, I’m too anxious to think. Steve and I spend most of the day together, but when he has to go do some work stuff, I get time to think, and that’s never a good idea. I get into my own head, take a look around in there, then back out quickly.  I start thinking about all the nonsense I’ve talked, and how I’m covered in crumbs, and my squelching shoe, and how maybe Steve was laughing at and not with. Why had I let myself be me, when that never worked?

I really really like Steve and I really really want him to like me. I want to get it right, I want to look right and act right and be right and basically be someone completely opposite to myself. That’s not a great start to an evening is it? You can just feel in the air it won’t go well. Nobody can be somebody else, but I’m determined to.  So I beg Nat’s help and she lends me some clothes so I can dress up like someone I’m not. Normally if I go out clubbing, it’s because I want to dance myself silly, and have fun, and I wear jeans and I don’t care about spilling drinks on myself because I want to just lose myself in the music and not care if anyone stares at my dancing. But tonight I want to be right for what I think Steve must want, so I’m in a skirt, and shoes I can’t really walk in, and make up and I feel so not myself that I want to get straight back into bed the minute I’m ready.  Instead, I’m trying to hold all the anxieties in, so I’m talking a bit too brightly and I can feel myself going red and Nat is looking at me as if to say ‘slow it down a bit’ but after the day today I’m on a high and full of panic, and I just want to make sure that I’m sexy and cool and interesting for Steve.

No good ever comes of trying to be someone else. Remember that.

So here we are, in the club. It’s dark and the bass is thumping and nobody can hear themselves think. I’ve been dancing all night, not well, because, well, I can’t dance, but I’m having fun. I start off dancing with Nat, then Bucky joins us, and I’m really hoping Steve will, but he’s sort of hovering around the edge, nodding a bit. Bucky says he rarely dances, he’s too shy, but if he finds the right person and the right song, he will. I know I should give him time, but my heart’s beating too fast, and I’m caught up in the music and the dark, and this panicky rush in my head, so I’m just trying to lose myself on the dance floor. It’s hot, and I’m knocking back drinks to cool down and to deal with the anxiety, and it’s dark, and blurry.

I head over to Steve, and drape myself dramatically on him.

‘Come daaance, come on, don’t be an old man!’  There’s still a faint bruise on his nose, and I reach up and rub my finger across it gently, and he smiles.  ‘I promise not to throw things at you!’  There’s a little bit of me that’s saying ‘why not just sit and talk to him?’ but I’m watching Nat and Bucky dancing together and I’m jealous, and a little bit sad.

‘I’m good. I’ll come dance in a bit. Promise. Just let me finish this.’ He waves his drink in the air, and I nod. Then they start playing another song I love.

‘Just one more dance, OK, I’ll just have one more dance then I’ll come talk!’ I shout it as close to his ear as I can, but I have no idea if he hears me anyway, it’s so loud.  So I head back out and my head’s spinning and I turn round and I can’t see Steve. He’s gone. And suddenly I feel so deflated, because of course he’s gone. Of course he’s not sticking around for a disaster like me. Suddenly I realise I’m hot and sticky and my makeup’s run and my shirt is stuck to me with sweat and I realise what a disaster I am. Or, as some would call it, an easy mark.  I’m drunk, and sad, and if that doesn’t say ‘desperate and might be easy’, I don’t know what does.  So when someone pays me a little bit of attention, and makes me feel for five minutes a bit better about myself,  that bit inside my soul that’s always hated me, clings on to that little bit of attention, and uses it to try and feel better.  Which is why five minutes later, I’m dancing with some guy I vaguely know from a friend of a friend, and he’s got his hands on my ass, and his tongue is in my ear and I don’t even think I like it, but at least someone wants me, right? And maybe all I deserve is something I don’t really like.

And it’s at that moment that Steve comes back from the bathroom where he’s been steeling himself to come and dance with me, because maybe I am the right partner after all.

I’m no dancer. I’m a bit of a shuffler at the best of times, and I feel way too self-conscious for dancing. Maybe it’s because I used to be this skinny little kid that was always being picked on if I tried to do anything cool, but even now I’ve got taller, I feel out of place in my body, like I don’t know where my arms and legs are going. But I’m watching her dance, and she so obviously doesn’t care. Her hair is flying around and her face is red, and she’s spinning in a circle and she looks as if she’s having fun, and it’s entrancing. After the day today, I like her, a lot. So she messes up, and drops things, or breaks things, but so what. That’s just her, right? I like it.  So when she comes and drapes herself around me, I’m so close to kissing her, but she says ‘just one dance’, and she tugs me to come dance with her and I say I will, just got to go to the bathroom, because I’ve had way too much Dutch courage tonight. I’m not sure she hears me, but she goes back out there and starts dancing, and I see her staring at Nat and Bucky and I get this warm feeling because I was wrong about her liking him. It’s me . I really think it’s me she likes.  

Anyway, it takes me a few minutes to squeeze through the crowds to the bathroom, and back out again, and by the time I do, I’m already thinking about how I’m going to spin her around, and pull her into my arms, and people will need to clear a space around us, but we’ll just laugh and get on with it.  

I can’t spot her at first, because I’m looking for one person on their own, so my eyes move past the couples, but then I realise she’s in one of them. Some guy has his hands all over her, and she’s got her eyes closed and is nuzzling up against him, and I guess I’m wrong.  The club suddenly feels too loud and too crowded and the alcohol buzz turns into a headache, and I just want to turn and get out of there.

This just feels all wrong. I don’t like this guy and I don’t like his tongue in my ear, and he’s grabbing at me, and I’m starting to feel scared, like I can’t get away. I open my eyes, and as I do, I see Steve. He’s staring right at me, and then he turns away, and his shoulders are slumped as he pushes through the crowds.  I try and walk after him, but creepy guy pulls me back.

‘Hey, where you going? Come on baby, we’re having fun!’

‘I’m not actually. Sorry. I have to go.’  His hand is clamped around my wrist and I can’t break free. I keep pulling, and he keeps grabbing at me, and squeezing me, and I’ve just had it now. So I knee him somewhere delicate.

And then there’s scuffling, and creepy guy is yelling, and the bouncers throw me out, but I can’t see Nat, and it’s late and I just want to cry.  I don’t have my bag, or my phone, or my keys, and I have to walk home in the dark. I’m so angry and upset and shaken that I don’t even know what to do, so I just set off, walking fast, because I just want to get home, even if I end up sleeping outside my door. There’s a part of me that’s also hoping I’ll see Steve ahead of me, and somehow I’ll be able to make it all right, but I don’t. I don’t know if he’s walking too fast, or stopped somewhere, or gone somewhere else. Or gone with someone else.  

Eventually I make it home. My shoes are broken and I’m carrying them, which means that my feet are cold and full of little stones. It’s raining again so I’m wet and chilled, but at least when I get to our building, I see that as always, the front door hasn’t shut properly, so at least I can get inside.  It’s too late to wake the super now for a spare key, I can’t ring Nat, I can’t knock on Steve’s door, and I have nowhere else to go, so I just sit down on the floor next to my door, pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them, and cry.

-----

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[moxy-fruitbat]

Destined for Great Things - (Reposted)

Now it’s actually functional to read because I’m not posting from mobile! I’m so sorry about it being 10 miles long before. The actual story is under the cut!

This is my apprentice Laurene’s backstory of how she came to Vesuvia and met Marcel, the other half of the Sibling Apprentices. Laurene is Fantasy!Irish, and her culture is based on a mix of different Gaelic peoples, including the Gaels (more broadly), the Picts (more specifically), druidry, and my own experience as a pagan.

It also is heavily based on Irish mythology. If you don’t know the myths, it’s perfectly fine and you’ll still be able to understand the story.

Rating: T for depictions of trauma, but there’s no gore or explicit violence. Content Warning: Fire, claustrophobia, family death Length: 3,200 words. 

Yeah, you read that right, it’s basically a full-length novella. I got carried away a bit, but I’m really proud of it. (And also always open to constructive criticism!)

Irish/Scottish Pronunciation Guide (written by an American with the internet, so it's not good):

- Labhraín: LAW-reen - Muirne: MIR-ne - Bandruí: BAHN-droo - Tlachtga: TLAC-da - Uncail: UN-cuhl - Tadg: TAH-dg - Cumhall: COOL - Áillen: AH-lehn - M'iníon: M'een (Irish translation: My daughter)

Labhraín woke up on a chilly autumn morning, curled up with her cousin Muirne to stave away the cold. Careful not to wake her, Labhraín slowly crawled out of bed and dressed near the central hearth. How Muirne could sleep through everyone bustling about in the house was beyond her - there were fifteen people in here, almost entirely women and children, and half the building was dedicated to the sheep and goats, past the partition. It was always so loud.

Labhraín had just finished braiding her long hair when Muirne came and joined her.

"Morning cousin" Muirne smirked, a smile partially hidden behind her mess of dark blonde hair. "Are you ready for the day? We have a lot of work to do."

That they did. Tomorrow was New Year, one of two days where the veil between realms was at its thinnest, and the day to honor the dead and do readings for the coming year. There was still a lot to do to prepare for the feast of the ancestors and the bonfire atop Almu Hill, and Labhraín and Muirne were the two oldest cousins and eighteen and nineteen, so it was their job to do a lot of that work. Labhraín's mother, Bandruí Tlachtga, always said it was a blessing that there were so many girls. Her father chose some other words to describe it.

Muirne leaned in and whispered, so only Labhraín could hear her. "Hurry up and meet me in the hazel wood, I have something important to tell you!"

---

"What's so important that we had to rush out here?" Labhraín questioned as she focused her concentration to make a gust of wind appear from her hands and into the branches of the sacred trees, rattling the hazelnuts loose.

"I have to tell you a secret. And you promise you can't tell anyone. Especially not my Da. Promise?"

"I promise, what is it?" Not even Uncail Tadg? He was the chief magician - not telling him must mean it's something bad. And knowing her cousin, that should be expected anyway. She was usually getting into some kind of nonsense.

"I'm leaving. Tomorrow." A smile spread gleefully across Muirne's face as she picked up hazelnuts off the mossy forest floor

"Leaving?! What do you mean, leaving?" She hissed. 

"I met man, a few weeks ago. Oh, Labhraín, I love him. He's getting me out of here and we're going to get married. My Da wants to keep me here until I'm an old crone, and I can't do it! I know I'm destined for great things!"

Labhraín just sighed and looked at her cousin. Muirne was in love and there was nothing she could do to change her mind. Once Uncail Tadg found out she was missing, he would send out a manhunt. In the past he had said something about an omen, that Muirne could never get married. She wasn't sure exactly what kind of omen that meant, but the soothsayers never lie.

"His name is Cumhall, oh Labhraín, you'd love him. He's the leader of a different tribe, I know he'll take care of me. We're leaving tomorrow night, right after the feast. With all the festivities, no one will notice I'm gone!"

Labhraín thought it was a terrible idea, and even if he was a king she still wouldn't like him because he was taking her dearest friend away.   But how could she pull her from what she believed to be her destiny? Was it even her place to say?

Instead, she just sighed, clutching her apron full of hazelnuts and headed back to the blackhouse with her cousin. "I'm happy for you, Muirne. I wish you the best."

They spent the rest of the day preparing for the holiday - rehydrating the woad pigment, baking dried fruit bread, gathering eggs for divination and herbs for the fire, and washing turnips to carve the next day. Labhraín went off on her own for a bit, to practice her music one last time before the bonfire with the other musicians in the family. She bumped shoulders with her cousin, Áillen. He made her laugh and for a brief moment she forgot how unhappy she was.

Silent tears ran down Labhraín's face as she tried to sleep that night, surrounded by her other cousins but holding Muirne close. The words she said kept playing in Labhraín's head: I'm destined for great things. I'm destined for great things. I'm destined for great things.

I'm destined for great things.

Labhraín hoped to the spirits of the forest and the ancestors that it was true. And she hoped the same for herself.

---

The next day, after they had the feast of the ancestors in silence with the rest of the family, she tearfully waved her cousin off into the dusky forest.

"M'iníon, what is wrong?" Her mother asked, catching Labhraín by surprise. "Why are you crying? Is something upsetting you?"

"Oh...nothing. Thinking about grandfather is just making me sad." She lied, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Yes, we did lose a good man this year..." She placed a hand on her daughter's cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "But don't you worry, he's watching over us, especially tonight. The fire is starting soon, would you like me to help you with your facepaint so you can join the other musicians?"

A small smile came upon Labhraín's face and she nodded. She was a grown woman, but her mam always knew how to make her feel better when she was vulnerable.

"I'd like that a lot."

As her mother brushed patterns over her face in the traditional blue pigment, Labhraín kept telling herself the bonfire will make her feel better. Without fail, it always does.

---

At the top of Almu hill, she readied herself behind her dulcimer, her aunts, uncles, and cousins beside her on other instruments. This is where she felt most at home. One at the hand drum, one at the flute, one on the pipes, with Áillen on the harp. He was the best musician of them all, his warm smile always lighting up the room as he played.

But this time, no, she had to be imagining it? Áillen looked different than usual - like a man half dead, his eyes like burning coals. He caught her looking at him, and the smirk he gave her made her stomach turn.

Something was wrong.

The bonfire was never actually lit. Everything happened so fast... They were playing the music, but as Áillen started to sing, all the men began to move slower and slower until they fell unconscious. Her uncle dropped the pipes. And then the destruction began. 

Fire. So much fire. It began with Áillen? And the roof of the blackhouse, below them. What was happening? Where was her mam? It was chaos. The sound of screaming filled her ears. Her mother yelled for her. 

"Mam!" Where was she? Everything was a blur of smoke.. Her heart raced. Her eyes prickled.

Through the flames she saw her. 

"M'iníon! Labhraín! Run!"

It was all she could do. She snatched up her dulcimer and ran down the hill and into the forest, leaving everything behind her.

---

She ran until she couldn't feel her legs anymore, collapsing onto the forest floor. The hammers to her dulcimer were long gone, and she honestly didn't even know why she grabbed it in the first place. She knew she needed to pick herself up and keep moving, to get farther away from Áillen's destruction, but all she could do in the moment was sob into the dark earth.

She wanted her mam. She wanted Muirne. She wanted the hammers to her dulcimer. She wanted to be back in the blackhouse, waking up the next morning and none of this ever happening.

Something large crunched the dead leaves in front of her, and she almost didn't even look up. Whatever danger she was about to face, maybe it would actually kill her. Being dead was better off than her current situation, right?

But she slowly craned her head up, and her eyes grew wide as she looked directly into a pair of bright yellow ones. In front of her sat the biggest mountain lion she had ever seen.

Granted, she had never seen one before. She must have run farther than she thought, since these cats weren't usually found where her tribe lived. Maybe this one was lost like she was.

It cocked its head at her, whiskers twitching, and she heard it speak to her in her mind.

"Lost?"

"Ye-yes..." Her voice trembled. "I...there was a fire and..."

"Fire?"

"Yes... Everything is gone, my mother, she...she told me to run, but now...."

"Safe?"

"Me? No, I...I don't know..." It was the dead of night by now, in a part of the forest she wasn't familiar with. She could usually sense where the spirits of the forest wanted her to go, letting them guide her, but in her current state she wasn't sure she could muster up the strength.

As her voice trailed off, the large cat shook its head once and stood up, beginning to walk away, it's tail straight up in the air like a flag.

"Follow."

It led her to a crevice in some rocks, beneath the roots of a large tree. It was a den for rearing cubs, though she didn't see any. The cougar laid down on its side and curled up, looking up at Labhraín as if to question why she wasn't following in suit. Not knowing what else to do, she laid down beside it, the cat's tail wrapping around her. She heard one more word in her mind before exhaustion completely set in and she fell asleep.

"Safe."

-------

The cougar introduced itself as Philomena, and insisted on staying with Labhraín as she went through the forest, even though she really didn't have a place to go. She was physically and emotionally drained, her skin pale and her eyes heavy. What was the point of even going anywhere? She just wanted to lay down and sleep and never wake up.

Philomena headbutted her, urging her to keep going.

"Need to go. Safe"

She groaned, picking herself up. She gathered up her dulcimer and hugged it close to her chest, trying to pull whatever familiarity to home it had into her, as if it could fly away at any moment.

She walked out into the dewy morning, scattered sunlight filtering through the trees. She sighed - even at her worst, she couldn't deny that the forest was beautiful, and was still proud to call it her home.

Philomena nudged her again, and Labhraín closed her eyes, listening to the forest and feeling where its spirit pulled her.

"Slightly north to the setting sun." She said after a few moments of thought and gathering of her bearings. Her feet like lead and her heart still heavy, she trudged forward through the trees with the sun at her back.

They walked for days, stopping only for food or sleep, and the occasional rinse in a stream. Despite all of Philomena's pushing, Labhraín refused to eat meat, because that would mean she had to light a fire spell to cook it. She never wanted to look at fire again, or at least not any time soon. What if she accidentally lit the forest on fire? What if destruction is in her blood, like her cousin? She knew that didn't make much sense, but the fear was still there.

After five days, the deep forest she was familiar with began to thin. She went around a large mountain, and the trees changes species. Signs of other human life began to appear - she must be getting close to a village. The water from the falls was flowing down the path she was already walking. If she followed it, she would probably end up at the village, since they would be using the water. Is this where the spirits of the forest were guiding her? Her pace quickened - maybe she'll actually find a place to stay. 

As she continued, she passed the largest tree out of them all, roots exposed on top of a pile of crumbling rocks. She made a note of it, that if she ended up staying in the woods it wouldn't be hard to turn those stones into walls and make a house under that tree. She would be alone besides Philomena, though, and she was eager to see another human being. 

The trees finally cleared, and Labhraín came face to face with the entrance to the largest city she had ever seen. Over the walls was a large white building, with gold and spires and towers. She had never seen something so beautiful. Someone very important must live there.

Philomena nudged her back, causing Labhraín to turn around. The Mountain Lion was sitting up, a look of finality in its eyes.

"Safe." It said. This wasn't to urge her to keep moving, but a statement. This is where Labhraín was meant to be.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No. Stay out here. Home in forest."

That made sense. A large predator like Philomena wouldn't be welcome in her small village, and Labhraín couldn't imagine what a large city like this place would think.

"You're my family now, though, you know that?" She asked, scratching the cat's golden fur behind the ears before wrapping her arms around it in a hug. "I'll be back for you, I'll visit all the time. I promise."

"Familiar." Philomena purred. "With you. Always."

With that, they went their separate directions: Philomena jumped into the upper branches of the forest trees, and Labhraín made her way into the city. Her heart was heavy and she was scared, but Mierne's words echoed in her head, her mantra for her entire journey.

I am destined for great things. There was no turning back now.

---

Labhraín had never seen so many people in her entire life. This city was packed, everyone was pushing around one another and she felt trapped. She didn't really know how she got to this part of the city, the streets were twisted and confusing, but it was some kind of trade center. Everyone was buying or selling different foods, from the most delicious bread she'd ever smelled to piles of exotic fruits she had never seen before. One was dark red and leathery, and a perfect sphere - it had to be too tough to bite into. How would someone eat it? It wasn't until this moment that she realized how much she didn't know about the world. In the past hour she had seen more people of different skin tones, heard more languages spoken, and seen so many different foods than she had ever seen or heard before in her life. There were people who she couldn't tell what gender they were, or if they had a gender at all. She didn't realize that was an option. But most of all she noticed that up until now she had been relatively alone or in her small family group. She realized that all these people and all the noise made her very anxious.

There was so much going on. There were so many people…

The crowd jostled her to and fro through the streets, pushed her around. She found herself feeling smaller and smaller, her heart racing, her breath quickening. She ran to the edge of the street, her back against the stone wall of a building. She sunk to her knees and closed her eyes, hoping it would just go away. 

"Are you alright?"

She heard a voice and felt a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, another face very close to her own, purple eyes looking into hers.

"Are you alright? Do you need help?" A person with tan skin and hair the color of woad knelt down in front of her, a concerned look on their face.

"I...I don't know. I..." Labhraín's voice trailed off.

"You're new here, yeah? I don't recognize you."

Labhraín nodded. Did this person know all these people in the city? How could they know so many faces?

"Here, come with me. The back roads are a lot more quiet. I can show you, if you want." They stood up and held out their hand for her. She took it, and they led her down some side streets away from the crowds They moved quite fast, twisting and turning through the alleys, and Labhraín almost had to run to keep up with their long legs. All the while, this person never seemed to stop talking.

"My name's Marcel, what's yours?"

"Labhraín."

"Law...reen?"

She nodded.

"Laurene. Okay, I think I got it! So you look pretty lost. You've never been to Vesuvia before, have you?"

She shook her head no.

"Yeah, it's a lot if you're not used to it. So welcome to Vesuvia! Are you staying or just visiting?"

"I… I think I'm staying."

"Oh, wicked. That thing you're holding, is that an instrument? It looks like a kanun?"

"It's a dulcimer. I'm missing the hammers, though."

"You play it with hammers? That's super cool! I play the oud."

Did they not know what a dulcimer was? To be fair, she didn't know what either of the instruments they mentioned were.

Marcel kept talking, asking a lot of questions that Laurene didn't think really meant much. What her favorite flower was ("We call it Lily of the Valley where I'm from"), or her favorite food ("fiddleheads". "Fiddleheads? I've never heard of that before. I like kousa mahshi." "I've never heard of that before."). They didn't mean much, but slowly they got Laurene talking, speaking to another human again. They reminded her of Muirne, and she smiled for the first time in almost a week.

By the time they got to wherever they were going, Laurene knew more about Marcel than she did anyone else. They described themself as "nonbinary" and didn't really go by any particular gender. They were nineteen, a year older than her, and was also a magician. Their facepaint helped attune their chakras, whatever those were, and they were really interested in the clothing of other cultures. 

Marcel also was uncomfortable showing skin, which explained the boots, long pants, knee-length tunic, and jacket they were wearing. They even wore a looped scarf around their neck, to cover their hair and mouth when they felt like being extra modest. ("Large crowds make me nervous, so it makes me feel better to cover my head.") Laurene didn't know how they could wear so much fabric when the city was still so hot in autumn, but she could make an assumption that it was something magical.

The two of them came out of an alley in front of a shop a ways away from the marketplace, the wooden sign emblazoned with a mortar and pestle that hung next to the doorway creaked in the autumn wind.

"This is the magic shop!" Marcel grinned as they unlocked the door. "My auntie and I, we run it, and live upstairs." They paused, halfway through the door with Laurene still standing on the street outside, unsure of what to do.

"What, aren't you coming in for tea? You're new in town, you're a guest! Come in!"

[tayegi]

New Rules Ch. 10 (m)

Word Count: 17,640

Warning: slight smut

"Hey, want to grab a drink with me, Tae, and Yerin tonight?" you ask as you hunt around in your closet for a clean shirt.

"Nah, I have a date with Jimin tonight," Mijoo explains as she touches up her lipstick in the vanity mirror.

You find your brow crinkling with envy for a moment before you quickly catch yourself and replace it with a bright smile, "Ooh, sounds fun. What are you lovebirds up to?"

"Jimin's taking me to the observatory," She tells you with excitement, "There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight!"

Your brow wrinkles again, against your will, "What are you guys from La La Land or something?"

Mijoo pauses in applying her makeup to shoot you a dirty look through the mirror, "Yah, don't be like this. You and Jungkook are more than welcome to join us if you want."

At the sound of his name, your blood runs cold. "Why would we do that?" you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Why not?" she shoots back, "It'll be a fun double date."

Your back stiffens as pain shoots up your spine. "Jungkook and I are not dating," you say in a quiet voice before hurriedly busying yourself with yanking random items out of the closer.

Mijoo's lovely face furrows with confusion, "What? What are you even talking about?! Don't tell me that you still haven't confessed your feelings to him yet!"

You wince as you hastily rip a random shirt off its hanger, "Come on, Mijoo. We aren't those sappy romantics like you and Jimin. We're just friends, and it's cool this way."

"Bullshit!" The pretty brunette shouts, whirling around in her seat to glare at you.

You jump in surprise, turning to face her as well, "What?"

"You heard me! Bullshit. There is no way that whatever's going on between you and Jungkook is platonic, so don't even try that shit with me."

Slowly, you lower your gaze, trying to focus on getting dressed instead, "I don't care for this jerk. He's a fuckboy, Mijoo. He's just in it for the sex, and it's useless to set myself up for rejection."

"What the fuck are you even talking about?!" She noisily curses, "If you just have feelings, then Jeon Jungkook's probably in love with you. I've seen the way you two interact. I've never seen a guy so head-over-heels before."

You stare at her in awe, shocked by how utterly wrong she is. "Are you serious right now? Mijoo, this guy is a player. He'll say whatever cheesy shit it takes to get women in his bed. But he doesn't mean any of it. And he'll never change. Because the whole 'taming the bad boy' garbage doesn't exist in real life."

But your best friend adamantly shakes her head, "You're wrong. Jungkook isn't like that. Are you sure you're not just biased?"

Your jaw drops in surprise, "What are you even talking about?"

Mijoo bites down on her bottom lip before tentatively venturing forward, "Seokjin hurt you a lot… I know, I was there. But that doesn't mean that every man out there is like your disgusting pig of an ex-boyfriend. And Jungkook is one of the good ones."

"I know," you sigh deeply, "But that doesn't mean that he'll want to date me… He can be a good guy and just want to fuck around. Those two things aren't mutually exclusive. Look at Taehyung, for instance!"

"Taehyung's madly in love with Yerin, so your argument is invalid," the pretty brunette impatiently brushes you off, "And I'm not stupid. I know that not every fuckboy is an asshole like Seokjin. But Jungkook isn't a fuckboy at all. He genuinely likes you, ___. I'm telling you the truth."

But memories of the encounter on the sidewalk down the street just days ago flash across your mind. And like clockwork, your ribcage tightens painfully over your heart. "He doesn't," you murmur in a small voice, "Stop it, Mijoo."

But she plows on, oblivious to your sensitivity around the issue, "No, you stop it with your self-deprecating denial!" she angrily yells back, "Jeon Jungkook likes you and that's a fact! The two of you are fucking perfect for each other and everyone knows it! Stop it with this nonsense and just date already!"

You swallow tightly, "No, Mijoo, it's really not like that… Come on, stop—"

"I thought you were gutsier than that, ___," she continues to rant, "How can you be so chicken? Grow up and just confess already! Stop lying and go date Jungkook!"

Anger flares in your chest at her callous jabs. And before you can stop yourself, you find yourself saying that one thing that can hurt your best friend:

"You're only pushing Jungkook on me to ease your guilt for stealing Jimin away from me!"

There's a moment of horrible, crippling silence as you watch Mijoo's eyes widen and her face blanch of color. Another beat, then her entire body deflates like a balloon. "___," she whispers your name, "Do you really think that little of me?"

Horror-stricken by your mistake, you attempt to backtrack, "I-I'm so sorry, Mimi. I really didn't mean that. I just—"

"But you did, didn't you?" she says, slowly raising her head to look at you. And you're startled to find that fire has replaced the pain in her eyes, "This is ridiculous. Don't even play around. I know that you aren't actually jealous of me and Jimin."

Your eyes narrow, and for a split second, you're tempted to reveal the secret that you've safeguarded for so long, ever since Jimin sat next to you in your dull economics class your Sophomore year, instantly stealing your heart with his disarming eye-smile and oversized striped tees. But even in the midst of your anger, you bite your tongue, "How are you so sure of that?" you ask through gritted teeth.

"Because you don't like him."

"What?!" At that moment, the urge to confess your secret just to wipe that cocky look off of Mijoo's face slams into you. She's wrong, and for a slimy second, you almost want to hurt her as much as she's hurt you. "What are you even talking about?" Somehow, somehow, you manage to hold back. Because no matter what she says or does to you, you could never hurt your best friend.

"Let's be honest, ___: You don't like him and you couldn't even if you tried."

Her word choice is confusing, and you find yourself frowning as you try to process her statement, "What the hell are you even talking about?"

She cocks her head to the side, making her silken brown hair spill over one shoulder, "Even when you guys were close friends, did you know anything about him?"

Your face scrunches, "The fuck? Yeah, of course I did! I mean, I do!"

"Really?" She asks with a cocked eyebrow, "Then tell me something deep about him. What are his insecurities?"

"Insecurities?" you repeat in a small voice, "I… I don't know. The same as everyone else I guess? Failing out of school or some shit?"

"It's his weight, ___," Mijoo corrects you in a soft voice, "He's a perfectionist and strives to make every aspect of himself perfect, but fixates on his weight…"

You frown, "Well, of course you would know that! You're his girlfriend, after all!"

"I knew that before we dated… I picked up on it when he was still just a friend of a friend who I crushed on from a distance…"

"What are you even talking about? When has he ever mentioned any of this?!"

"Are you serious, ___? Have you never noticed the way he's always dieting? Or how he often skips meals? Hell, do you not even notice the way he critiques himself when he even catches a glimpse of his reflection? Or was your image of him so perfect and unrealistic that you couldn't tolerate these humanizing details?"

You're flabbergasted for a moment, but quickly attempt to redeem yourself, "I just don't pick up on those things! I'm not very perceptive, that's it!"

"Is that so? Then what is Jungkook insecure about?"

That stops you in your tracks. Suddenly, it's a chilly wintry late afternoon where the sun had just begun to set in the horizon. And you're watching Jungkook in the dark hallway outside of the locker rooms, shriveling against the wall in the wake of his humiliating defeat. You lick your dry lips, "What's your point?"

Mijoo lets out a humorless bark of laughter, "You don't even know him, ___. You might think that you're jealous of me and Jimin… But you only feel that way because you have this image of him as this nice, sweet guy who will never hurt you—the complete opposite of Seokjin. You couldn't actually like a guy like this—only the idea of him. Because you don't know him at all. You don't know his hopes and dreams and insecurities and fears. Hell, you don't even know his favorite color. You just want this fantasy guy who would never break your heart the way Seokjin did."

You shake your head as you try to wrap your mind around her bewildering words. But it's too much to process. "Y-you… you're wrong…"

"You're my best friend, ___," Mijoo presses on, "I know you better than anyone in this world—you're like the back of my hand. So I know that it scares you to like someone like Jungkook; someone who could potentially hurt you. I know that you want to like someone like Jimin, who is safe. But that's not the way the world works. Wanting to like someone doesn't make you like them. And your heart already belongs to Jungkook. It's too late."

Dazed by her unimaginable statement, you can only shake your head, firmly in denial, "No… I know nothing about that little fuckboy. I couldn't possibly like him."

Frustrated, she sighs out loud, "Seriously, ___? Fine, then if you know nothing about him, then what's his favorite color?"

Your eyes pop open in surprise, "I… I… what does that even have to do with anything?"

Mijoo studies you for a moment through weary eyes. Then she sighs deeply and picks up her purse from the dresser, "I don't know, ___. Obviously I'm just trying to set my best friend up with some random asshole to feel better about myself."

You bite down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood, "Oh come on…. Mijoo…"

But she just shakes her head steps past you to the door, "I'll see you later tonight, ___." And with that, she marches straight out the door, leaving you sitting alone on a heap of your clothing.

You sit there for a long time, gazing aimlessly at the pile of clothing stacked at the foot of your closet. And a glimpse of shimmery pink silk catches your eye…

***

"Aren't you overheating in that thing?" Yerin asks you half an hour later when you show up to the bar decked in a black turtleneck sweater and dark jeans.

You glance down at your outfit with a shrug, "Nah."

"Are you going through an emo phase or something?" Taehyung chuckles as he moves to the side to allow you to sit in the booth with him.

"Yah, I like black," you defend yourself as you playfully throw an elbow in his side. "At least I don't look like a weird wannabe jock," you quip back as you critically poke at his brightly colored jersey.

"It's the world cup!" Taehyung exclaims as he proudly adjusts his brilliant red shirt, "Where's your national pride?!"

"Where's hers?" you ask as you point across the booth at Yerin, dressed in a green and maroon jersey.

Taehyung's face falls, "Yerin… Is that a Portugal jersey?!"

The pretty blonde eagerly nods, "Yes! I'm the biggest Ronaldo fan!"

"Why?" you laugh, "Isn't he like the biggest fuckboy?"

"I don't know about that, but he's really handsome!"

You fight the urge to laugh at the horrified expression that overtakes Taehyung's face, "I love you so much, Yerin."

Confused, she nevertheless grins back, "I love you too!"

"He's a really good player, too, you know," Taehyung adds, shooting you a dirty look. "Can't we focus on that instead?!"

You raise your eyebrow in response, "I saw you looking up shirtless photos of Ronaldo just last week!"

A peachy flush settles across Taehyung's cheeks at the reminder, and he hastens to change the subject, "Oh look, Korea has a penalty kick!" he says, energetically pointing at the screen.

You turn in surprise to find a giant screen blasting the world cup to your left, "Ah," you sigh with feigned disappointment, "So that's why you guys dragged me to this bar! And I thought that you guys wanted to have a heart-to-heart!"

But Yerin impatiently shushes you when you raise your voice, "Shh! Korea's about to score!"

Sighing again, you nevertheless keep your mouth shut to allow your friends to enjoy this moment. With bated breath, the three of you watch as the Korean player carefully sets up the shot in front of the goal, then takes three long steps back. He eyes the goalie for a second, then abruptly breaks into a run. Taehyung gasps loudly when the player's cleat slams into the ball… but that gasp turns into a groan of disappointment when the goalie easily punches the ball away.

"Oh come on!" Someone shouts from a distant corner of the bar, "Damn you, goalie!"

The three of you pause at that, exchanging confused glances. "Wait… Is that?"

"That's Jungkook's voice!" Yerin pipes up in excitement, already jumping to her feet, "Let's go say hi!"

"Wait, Yerin—"

"Great idea!" Taehyung cheerfully agrees. And with that, the two of them skip off to investigate the source of the voice. You anxiously trail after them, dreading the encounter, but realizing that there's no way you can avoid this.

And sure enough, when the three of you round the corner, you're not surprised to find Jungkook and a half dozen of his teammates stuffed in a large corner booth.

"Jungkook!" Yerin exclaims as she happily jogs over to swing her slender arms around his neck. On her other side, Taehyung nearly dislodges Hoseok from his seat with the force of his embrace.

Surprised, Jungkook turns, "Oh, Yerin, you're here?" he greets her with a friendly ruffle of her hair.

"Yep! Are you watching the game too?" she asks, good-naturedly fixing her bangs after he messes them up.

"Yeah, but it seems like we aren't doing so well… What we really need is to—oh, ___?" he calls out your name, noticing you awkwardly hovering behind your friends for the first time.

You offer him a feeble half-wave, "Hey, Jungkook…"

To your dismay, his mouth splits into a brilliant grin at the sight of you, "You're here, too!" he exclaims, rising to his feet so quickly that he nearly knocks Yerin over. And before you can stop him, he rushes over to throw his arms around your waist. "Why didn't you text me first and let me know?!"

You can't say anything in response, standing there, dazed, as he overwhelms you with heat. "I… I didn't know."

When he finally stops hugging you, he hastily flags down a waiter, "Hey, can we join a few tables here?"

"Oh… I guess we're sitting together?" you lamely comment.

"Yup!" he chirps. And before you can say anything in return, he drags you down onto the seat in the booth next to him.

There's barely any room left on the booth, and you're unpleasantly squeezed between him and another teammate, "Ugh, Jungkook, it's too crowded," you complain.

"Then you can just sit on my lap," is his simple solution.

You freeze at that, and almost by instinct, you turn your head to look at where Hoseok sits across the table. He meets your gaze with a raised eyebrow. Flustered, you shake your head, "No way… I'm fine."

"Okay," he happily agrees as he throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you towards him to keep you from touching the member on your other side.

Now, the two of you are sitting hip-to-hip with every line of his body pressed against your and his arm curled possessively around your frame… And you're melting under the overpowering warmth. Someone who is just a friend should not hold you in this way… Someone who will never be your boyfriend shouldn't care if you accidentally touch one of his teammates. And someone who has vowed to never fall into the trap of another unreciprocated love should not be sliding her hand across the wide expanse of his back, slowly creeping closer to his warmth…

***

An hour later, and the game finally ends. It's a disappointing loss, and the whole group is disheartened as they begrudgingly trickle out of the bar.

"The referee was biased," Taehyung bitterly mutters as the group of you trudge down the sidewalk.

You look over at him in surprise, "Didn't he allow Korea three penalty kicks?"

That only makes the blonde boy scowl, "…Maybe."

Your quip makes Hoseok laugh. He jogs to keep up with the two of you and swings his arms around both of your shoulders, "Where are you guys headed now? Wanna find somewhere to drink away your pain with me?"

You perk up at the idea of more alcohol, "Ooh, possibly! Where were you thinking?"

But before he can respond, a fourth person crashes your little huddle. "My place," Jungkook rudely intrudes as he forces his way between you and Hoseok, "Jimin's out tonight and I have the room to myself."

"That sounds fun!" Taehyung exclaims, "I could grab some—"

"Not you—only ___," Jungkook interrupts, "Come on, ___. What do you say?"

You pause at that, hesitant. You haven't seen him since that fateful encounter after his date with Hyejin last week. And just his mere presence makes you crave him again. In the background, you can dimly hear Taehyung cursing Jungkook out under his breath, but you only have eyes for Jungkook. "I… um… I don't know."

"Come on," he begs, reaching over to grab your hand without a second thought, "Please? I've missed you."

And with those three little words, any resolve you might have had crumbles into fine dust. "Okay."

"Aw, so you're choosing that over my offer?" Hoseok says with a playful bump of your shoulder with his own.

Your eyes pop open with surprise as you realize your mistake, "Oh no! That's not what I meant!" You hasten to backtrack, "Hobi, I—"

"Haha, it's cool, babe," he laughs it off, "You can make it up to me later… There's a senior grad party next weekend, by the way… Wanna go with me?"

"Ooh, yes, that sounds great!" you cheerfully agree, flattered to even be invited to the exclusive upperclassmen party, "Thanks so much, Hoseok!"

"Of course," he says with a grin, "It's on Saturday, but be sure to wear—"

"Alright, that's enough," Jungkook irritably cuts him off, "Let's go, ___." He says as he ushers you away from the group.

You know that you should protest. You know that you should hold your ground and give him a taste of his own medicine. But when his fingers tighten around yours to lead you away, you find yourself meekly following him where ever he leads.

***

Less than fifteen minutes later, you find yourself in Jungkook's bed, pressed against the headboards as he impatiently tears off your clothes. You lie there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as you savor the sensation of his hot mouth devouring every inch of bare skin he reveals as he yanks off your shirt and shoves your pants down your legs.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" you laugh when he almost rips your underwear in his haste to get them off.

"I'm not," he lies, even as he almost trips as he angrily kicks his jeans off, "I'm just really horny. I thought I was going to explode for what feels like forever!"

"Why?" you ask as you reach up to give his bulge a squeeze just to frustrate him.

Jungkook keens loudly at the feeling and thrusts his hips forward for more stimulation. You laughingly comply, massaging the hard length in his boxers as you wait for his answer.

"It's not my fault!" he insists, "You've been teasing me and keeping me on edge for the past hour or so!"

"What are you even talking about?" you snicker as you slip your hand into his boxers so you can stroke his bare cock instead.

Jungkook crashes his head down against the crook of your neck with a deep groan, "Fuck that feels so good… Oh god, ___, you need to stop. Or else I'm gonna cum in like 30 seconds and embarrass myself."

"You're so full of shit!" you laugh, even as you relent and slow your strokes so that you're only caressing his erection. "How can you be so turned on from nothing?"

He whines as he rocks his hips into the softness of your palm, "It's not from nothing!" he insists, "It's because you kept touching me in the bar! Fuck, all I wanted to do was shove you in the nearest bathroom and have my way with you."

Your hand instantly falls motionless as your blood runs cold, "… What?"

"Don't play dumb," he lightly reprimands as he impatiently thrusts into your lax grip, "You knew what you were doing back there."

When he grabs your wrist to coax you to start touching him again, you silently obey, still reeling over that revelation. So what you had mistaken as a warm embrace in the booth… he had interpreted as something sexual? You had stroked your fingers over the wide expanse of his back because you had missed him… and were desperate for the feeling of his skin against yours… but the whole time, he was thinking that you were trying to seduce him… How could you have misread each other to this level? Do you really understand anything about this man?

"Oh… I'm sorry," you numbly apologize, even though you don't mean it.

"It's okay," he says, giving up on grinding against your limp hand when it becomes apparent that you won't give him a proper handjob. "You can make it up to me by letting me cum inside of you," he says with a cheeky grin.

Normally, you'd laugh and tease him for being such a horndog. Maybe you'd give his ass a slap and play hard to get… But this time, not a word slips your lips as you numbly peel your underwear from your legs.

A small frown graces Jungkook's handsome face at your unusual behavior, "Are you feeling okay, ___?"

"Yeah," is your curt answer as you position yourself on the bed, "Come here and fuck me."

He bites his lip, wanting to question you further, but clearly tempted by your enticing offer. "We'll talk about this later," he compromises as he shucks his boxers and practically leaps onto the bed to join you. "But for now… I promise I'll last longer than five minutes this time!" He childishly boasts as he nuzzles his face into your chest then grins down at you, as though expecting praise.

The blank stare he receives in return is probably not what he was expecting. "Turn around," you command in a dull voice.

Confused, but slightly relieved that you're taking initiative, he scrambles back to do as he's told, "Like this?" he asks as he leans against the headboards.

You shake your head, "Get flat on your back."

Jungkook is visibly baffled as he scoots up on the mattress to make room for himself to lie down. You haven't spoken to him in such a cold, callous manner since the first time you had sex, all those months ago. It's like the past two weeks had been stripped away. Like the trip to Gwangcheon, where you had held his hand and shared a piece of yourself with him, had never happened. And two of you were back to an emotionless one-night stand.

"___," Jungkook murmurs your name, cautiously raising a hand to trail up your waist, "Can I go down on you or something?" he asks in a quiet voice, uncharacteristically timid, "I mean, if you want, that is…"

"No," you bluntly reject him before grabbing him by the base of his erection and sinking down on him.

His words splutter out for a second from the feeling of you hot and tight all around him, but he still tries to protest, "O-oh fuck, I… Ugh, ___. Let me finger you at least."

"Stop talking," you bark at him before slamming your hips down on him over and over, as hard as you can. It's too rough for you to feel good, especially since you weren't aroused enough to start with, but you can tell that it feels heavenly for Jungkook, making him lose himself in pleasure despite his best intentions.

"W-why are you like this?" he groans as he tightly holds onto your waist for dear life, "Ah fuck, I'll never get used to the feeling of fucking you without a c-condom, ugh."

You shut your eyes tightly at that, refusing to get lost in his ardent gaze. "Shut up and cum," you growl as you raise to your haunches in order to slam down onto him with your full weight. This makes frantic whines tear from the back of his throat, and you wish you could plug your ears against the erotic sounds.

Within minutes, your muscles begin to scream, and your thighs quiver from the exertion. But it's worth it because with one last perfectly aimed drop onto his dick, Jungkook rears up to noisily cum inside of you.

It's quick and messy and the feeling of his cum sliding down your thigh is so unpleasant, yet you can't help but melt when he suddenly pulls you down against his sweaty chest.

"Fuck, that was good," he pants against your hair. "But you didn't come… Do you want my fingers or my tongue?"

You hate the way your stomach dips at his offer, "Neither," you say as you stiffly pull yourself out of his embrace. You're perfectly aware that Jungkook likes to engage in a bit of post-coital cuddling, but you refuse to give it to him this time. Because it's unfair to you.

"Wait, where are you going?" Jungkook asks, sitting up in surprise when you begin to hunt down your abandoned scraps of clothing.

"Back to the sorority house," you inform him as you hastily yank on your shirt.

"Why?" he asks, his lips automatically settling into a pout at the very idea, "Wouldn't you rather sleep over?"

"You've had your orgasm, Jeon," you scoff without looking at him, "What else do you want from me? I'm not your sex slave on standby, just waiting for you to get your fill."

"That's not what I meant!" He exclaims, horrified by your accusation, "I just wanted to hang out, I swear. We're friends, aren't we?"

From anyone else, you would've been delighted to hear such a genuine statement. But from him, it only serves to devastate you.

"Yes," you say through gritted teeth, "Yes, we are."

"Then where are you going?" he asks in bewilderment, "Oh god… ___, you're not ditching me to go drink with Hoseok, are you?!"

The sheer audacity of him to sound upset at this… "So what if I am?" you snap back, "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" he retorts at once, lips twisting into a scowl. "Do whatever you what. I don't care."

"Fine," you say as you tug on your underwear and shove your legs into your jeans. "Just like you don't care if I go to that graduation party with Hoseok next week?"

That makes him pause, his eyes popping open briefly before he catches himself, "You can do whatever you want," he hastily says, "But I don't know why you'd want to… That party… It doesn't seem fun, does it?"

"…What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know…" he scratches his head, "I mean, there are just a million better things you could be doing that night…"

"Like what?" you bluntly ask.

"I don't know…" he says again, face tinging with a hint of pink, "Maybe we could…"

"Could what? Go ice skating again? Or are you sick of it after your lovely date with Hyejin?"

His eyes widen, "Wait—who told you about that?"

You scoff, "Does it matter?"

He awkwardly breaks eye contact to stare down at the sheets covering his legs, "It was so fun skating with you that I thought it would be nice to take Hyejin as well…"

"Ah… I see…" And as hard as you try, you can't keep the iciness out of your tone.

Jungkook looks up in alarm, "___, you aren't jealous, are you?"

You narrowly resist the urge to laugh in his face at that, "Jealous, me?" you say with an arched brow as you collect the rest of your clothing, "Don't be ridiculous."

And before he can respond, you grab your bag and stomp out of his room.

***

Mijoo still isn't home by the time you get back to your shared room. It's as expected, since you can still make out faint streaks of light across the midnight black sky, even from your bedroom window. Your roommate must have the best view on top of the observatory right now… and you can't even imagine how warm she must feel in Jimin's embrace.

As a result, the sound of the door swinging open nearly makes you jolt out of bed in surprise. There's a moment of silence as you hastily squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep in order to avoid the undoubtedly awkward conversation sure to ensue. Another frigid beat of silence. Then you feel an unexpected dip in your mattress.

Startled, you jerk your head to the side, eyes widening when you find Mijoo slipping into your bed, "Mijoo… I thought you had your date with Jimin at the observatory."

She simply shrugs in response, "It wasn't fun."

"What? But the meteor shower just started! You're missing it."

She shrugs again, "I can watch it perfectly fine here."

You're quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say to her. Instead, you stare fixedly out of the window, watching as pinpricks of light continue to streak across the sky. The dusty, foggy panes of your window do the shooting stars no justice. But you can't bring yourself to move one inch, not even for a better view.

"I'm sorry," Mijoo whispers after another long minute.

You bite down on your bottom lip as you continue to stare determinedly out of the window, "Why?" you ask in a quiet voice, "Everything you said was true, after all."

"But still… I shouldn't have said it in that way. And I'm truly sorry, ___."

"Don't be… You were just looking out for me, like always."

"Oh, ___..." She sighs. "I'm serious though. I won't let a man come between us. If you want Jimin, you can have him."

Your insides twist painfully at that, "I don't though… Because you're right… I only want—shit." You curse noisily, flushing with embarrassment at what you almost admitted out loud.

The two of you fall silent at that, content to lie there in the darkness, covers pulled up to your chins as you watch the luminous silvery stars burn out across the night sky. Your eyes have long adjusted to the dark, and each streak burns your irises like a direct glance into the sun. Yet, you can't look away as you continue to stare unblinkingly through the murky window.

"I like him," you abruptly confess, your soft voice breaking through the tense silence the same way the brilliant meteors abruptly burst across the darkness of night. "I like him so much."

It's equally horrifying and an absolute relief to finally admit this deeply harbored secret after so long. After all these months of repression, it feels like a dam has burst with the way your emotions come tumbling out, threatening to choke you and sweep you underwater.

"Mijoo," you gasp, "What do I do?"

Your best friend says nothing in response, but one of her hands slips under the covers to hold yours. You clutch onto her hand like it's a life preserver in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. And it's the only thing keeping you from drowning.

"I love you," she says instead, "And I'm here for you. Always."

The sound of her voice soothes you like honey filling the cavern of your chest. "I love you, too," you confess in a small voice.

And with that, the two of you fall silent to watch the shooting stars fall from the sky, with your fingers tightly knit together, neither one daring to let go.

***

"I'm so excited!" Yerin exclaims, practically bouncing up and down in her seat as you attempt to help her straighten her hair.

"Yah, watch it or I'll accidentally burn you," you grumble in response as you move the hot iron away from her fair skin just in the nick of time.

"Whoops, sorry ___. I'm just too excited! I've never been to an upperclassmen party before!"

You grunt in response, "It's not that great. Just drunk, handsy guys and cheap beer. But you'll get as much of this as you want once we initiate you into the sorority in a few weeks."

"But this is a party just for the graduating seniors," Yerin corrects you, "You needed to get an invite from a senior to even attend. This is totally different!"

"Alright. So drunk, handsy older guys instead," you correct yourself. "Big whoop-de-doo."

Yerin looks horrified by your lack of enthusiasm. "___," she says in a hushed voice, "Jung Hoseok only had one invite, and he used it on you! Aren't you honored?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess," you sigh deeply, "He's a nice guy."

"Yoongi says that he's only nice to you," she snickers, "He says that he's never seem him act so stupid and spineless before."

You roll your eyes at the exaggeration, "Yeah whatever. Yoongi's just a rude ass jerk as always… Speaking of which, what is even going on between you and that punk bitch?"

"Nothinggg," she says in a singsong voice, but the way her eyes dance with mischief give her away.

You sigh deeply, "This jerk is about to graduate when you just entered college. And now he's inviting my poor innocent baby to these fuckboi parties. Do you not see how wrong this is?"

"I think you're just overprotective," she snickers, "If you had it your way, I wouldn't date until after I was married."

You grow dreamy eyed at the very thought, "Wow, wouldn't that be amazing…? Please let me arrange your marriage, Yerin. I'll find you someone nice and respectful… Like Taehyung… Yes, he'd make a great son-in-law," you say with a nod of approval.

The pretty blonde glances at you in amusement, "Are you forgetting that you're not my actual mother?"

"You're right," you say with a frown, "Even Tae isn't good enough for my precious daughter… Is Park Bogum single?"

Yerin bursts into laughter at that, "Oh come on. Maybe Yoongi isn't your church-loving, grandma-saving Park Bogum, but he's not that bad! He's genuinely a nice guy."

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, "I will give him my blessing… But if he so much as even upsets you, Mijoo and I will corner him in a dark alley with a baseball bat."

"I'm more scared of Mijoo's kicks to be honest," Yerin says with a giggle, "So that doesn't sound so bad in comparison."

"She'll send that puny elf flying!" you boast with confidence.

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," she laughs, "I mean she even kicked Jungkook's ass! If Jimin didn't hold her back, she would've pounded the shit out of your man."

You freeze at her casual use of that term, "He's not my man," you quickly correct her. "That night was just a huge misunderstanding."

"Okaaay," she sings, doubt shining through in her tone, "Denial's not just a river in Egypt!"

"I'm serious, Yerin," you say, ignoring her jabs, "I'm here with Hoseok today, aren't I?"

That makes her fall silent for a minute. You sigh quietly, glad that you've finally convinced her otherwise. But a second later, she turns to you with shining eyes, proving you wrong. "This is why I admire you so much, ___," she says in a hushed voice, "Jungkook's the hottest guy in your grade, but Hoseok's not only the hottest senior, but the captain of the soccer team, and he just got an offer to train with the national team once he graduates. How are you so lucky?!"

"I don't know," you say, "I don't feel lucky…"

"And rumor has it that your ex-boyfriend from high school was the Kim Seokjin?! The best defensive player of all of South Korea two years in a row? How could you have never told me about this?! I'm so jealous!" she whines.

You tense at the very mention of your ex, muscles tightening painfully before you force them to relax, "You really shouldn't be, Yerin…"

"You are my ultimate inspiration in life," Yerin happily continues on, "I want to be just like you in the future!"

You smile faintly at that, unsure how to respond. She's so wrong that you don't know where to even start… But what she doesn't know won't hurt her. "You wanna be like me so badly, huh? Wanna go to another women's march with me then? There's one this upcoming summer."

Yerin boldly lifts her chin at that, "Yes, please! I'll make signs and everything!"

Her admiration is so endearing that you can help but tickle her under her raised chin, "God, you're so cute. You know I adore you so much… So why did you have to fall for a mean goblin like Yoongi?" you bemoan.

Yerin laughs at that description, "Because he's cool… and really good to me."

You groan loudly, "Please don't tell me that he's already proposed or something."

"I wish," she sighs, "He hasn't said anything… But he invited me to go with his to this party… So that's a good sign, right?"

"I guess…"

"But he's moving so slowly, ___," she complains, "I think… I think that if he doesn't make a move by the end of the week, I'm going to confess."

"Really?" you ask, eyes widening in surprise.

"Yes," she says, taking a deep breath for courage, "I want to be more like you, ___. And you wouldn't wait around, stuck in this strange limbo with a guy."

"No," you say in a small voice, lying through your teeth, "I wouldn't."

Yerin beams in response, "Then it's settled! I won't be a scaredy cat anymore! I will confess."

You hesitantly smile in response, "I'm proud of you, kid."

***

"What are you even wearing?" Hoseok exclaims with a loud bark of laughter as you greet him at the party half an hour later.

"I'm a GI Joe!" You proudly inform him as you spin a full circle to reveal your outfit.

"Not an army hoe?" he asks in amusement as he admires your head-to-toe camouflage, complete with oversized fatigues and a bulletproof vest.

"I'm also an army hoe," you laugh.

"Really?" he says with a raised brow, "Aren't I more of an army hoe?" he asks, turning to show off his sleeveless muscle tank and cargo shorts.

"No," you say as you playfully swat his hard chest, clearly outlined through his tight wife-beater, "Are you saying that you have to dress a certain way to be considered a hoe?" you ask, eyes shining in a threatening fashion.

He gulps, "N-nope! Of course not! I'm just surprised by you, that's all. As always…"

Normally, you might take offense to that ambiguous statement. But he says it with such fondness that you can't help but grin at him, "Why's that? I'm just a basic hoe."

"No, you're not," he quickly counters, "You're different."

That makes you frown, unsure how to respond to that. "Um… Thanks?" you say, although something about the way he says it makes you feel uneasy, "Anyways, are we going to continue to stand around like idiots, or are you going to offer me a drink?" You hastily change the subject.

Hoseok grins at that, "Well, we have a fine selection of lukewarm beer or cheap tequila. What will be your choice?"

"Lukewarm beer, please!"

"Excellent choice!"

***

An hour later, you feel fully settled in, and almost content at a frat party for what feels like the first time in your life. You and Hoseok managed to join up with Yerin and Yoongi in the spot they secured on the couch. The four of you lounge around across your seats, sipping warm beers as you comment on the bizarre and often scandalous outfits the other party-goers present themselves in.

"Whoa, he's like naked!" You exclaim, diving to cover Yerin's precious eyes as a frat brother suddenly struts in, decked in only a pair of tight camo-printed shorts… and nothing else.

Yerin peeks through your fingers with curiosity, "Ooh, he has a nice body though. What's wrong with showing that off?"

"I just don't think you would be so nonchalant about this if it was a woman dressed like that," you mutter under your breath.

Yerin and Yoongi exchange a look, "Uh oh…"

"Look! Everyone's just laughing and clapping him on the back!" you exclaim, pointing angrily across the room where a group of frat boys good-naturedly make fun of their friend, "Whereas they completely objectified that group of girls who walked in earlier with their camo bras! That's so unfair!"

"Why did you invite her, man?" Yoongi bitterly asks to his roommate. "For once, I'd just like to relax and have a good time without ___'s annoying voice killing my buzz."

"Even the theme of this party is sexist!" you continue on, undeterred, "Why is there an automatic assumption that the women are the army hoes and the men are the G.I. Joes?! Why does skimpy clothing equate to hoe-ness?! Why can a man show up half-naked and be applauded, but a woman automatically objectified and labeled as a hoe?! Please explain this to me, Yoongi."

Your editor sighs deeply, "Because of systematic misogyny…"

"That's fucking correct!" you roar, nearly splashing him with beer in your gusto, "I think I'm going to start a protest to boycott these types of sexist, themed events in the future! Are you guys down?!"

"Sure," Hoseok says with a grin.

The other two members of your group turn to him in horror, "Stop it, Hobi!"

"Yeah, please don't encourage her!"

That only makes him laugh, "Why not? It's cute. I like how tough ___ is. She's not all meek and mellow."

Once again, you're conflicted about how to feel over his strangely worded compliment, but you offer him a hesitant grin, nevertheless. "Thanks, Hoseok. You're the only one who understands me!"

"Speaking of objectification… Look who just walked," Yoongi says with a lazy incline of his chin at the door.

You turn to glance where he's pointing… and your heart falls to your feet at the sight of Jungkook strolling through the front door, Hyejin molded to his side like a second skin. You can't imagine Jungkook allowing anyone to cling to his side in such an intimate way in public… and the way they're decked in matching outfits; Hyejin in a green camo sports bra and Jungkook in similar shorts that reveal the entirety of his muscular thighs… They look so good together. Like a formidable power couple set on overtaking the world together. You swallow the lump in your throat and forcibly look away.

"Is it sexist if I disapprove of their outfits in the exact same way?" Yoongi's drawl breaks you out of your reverie.

You can't help but laugh at that, "Maybe it's a bit of slut-shaming, but not sexist, no."

Yoongi makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, "Forgive me if I don't want to see Jeon's dick bounce in those obscenely tight pants when I'm just trying to have a fucking drink."

"That lime green camo print doesn't look like it'd be very effective for disguise," Yerin adds, making your mouth split into a brilliant smile.

"You guys are ridiculous," you say as you bite back your smile. Thank god for your friends. They are clearly attuned to how you must be feeling, and doing all in their power to make you feel better. And surprisingly, it's working.

Jungkook's eyes scan the room, and it takes a moment to spot you where you lay, curled up in a secluded spot in the very corner of the room. His eyebrows furrow when he notes how Hoseok sits on your other side, arm stretched across the back of the couch where you rest. And then he's setting forward to approach your group of friends.

"Hey," he greets you, even with his arm slung around Hyejin's bare shoulders. "I didn't realize you all would be at this party."

"We were invited," Yerin says with unexpected venom in her usually placid tone. "How did you get here?"

"I invited him," Hyejin says with a giggle as she rests her head against Jungkook's shoulder.

"Oh… cool," you simply say, then immediately curse yourself for your lame response. Why can't you be the cool, unaffected Ice Queen you're famous for in a situation where it actually matters?

That makes the beautiful redhead look at you for the first time. A perfectly groomed eyebrow shoots up at the sight of you, "Wow, ___, what are you even wearing?" She asks, judgment lacing her tone as she eyes you up and down, "Aren't you a little warm in that… interesting outfit?"

Heat rushes to your face, and you struggle for the words to defend yourself with, but someone beats you to it. "At least she won't be freezing her ass off for the sake of looking good… Oh, and ___ already looks good, no matter what she wears."

You turn to Hoseok in surprise, equal parts flustered and flattered by his bold compliment. "O-oh… Thank you…"

Jungkook's frown deepens. "___," he says your name suddenly, "Do you want to get a drink with me?"

The unexpected offer takes you by surprise. You have no idea what his intentions are behind such a request, and you're unsure how to respond. But with the way Hyejin's fingers claw possessively at Jungkook's sides, the heat of her glare burning a hole into your skull… You drop your gaze to your lap, "Not now."

His face twists into a scowl, "Fine," he snaps, "Let's go, Hyejin." And with that, the two of them march away, leaving you feeling strangely defeated. Like you've somehow lost in this situation.

"What an asshole," Yoongi breaks the awkward silence that ensues.

"The kid's still young and dumb," Hoseok adds, "He doesn't know any better."

You shake your head at that. They're just trying to reassure you and make you feel better. But you don't need them to do this for me. "Nah, don't worry about it," you shake them off, "He didn't do anything wrong… But anyways, who wants to play King's cup?" you ask, gesturing with exaggerated enthusiasm at the deck of cards on the coffee table.

***

The discomfort in your chest remains for the rest of the night. A few minutes after the wearisome encounter with Jungkook and Hyejin, your friends manage to get over it, easily distracted by the excitement of a flashy drinking game. Yerin and Yoongi have surprisingly awful luck, and are drunk in the matter of minutes, turning into rambling idiots before it even hits midnight. But you stay sober throughout the game, no matter how much tequila you pour into your red plastic cup, painfully aware of the way Jungkook's hands smooth down Hyejin's sides as they sway on the dancefloor.

Every time you catch yourself looking in that direction, you take a swing from your cup that is quickly becoming more tequila than juice, praying that the intoxication numbs your mind so you can't think anymore. So these terrible thoughts overwhelming your mind will finally leave you alone. The ones telling you how much better Hyejin is than you How much prettier and sexier and better for Jungkook. How Jungkook will never return your feelings. And how you're an idiot for thinking that you could ever be good enough for him.

Hyejin is wearing silvery heels that pop next to her tanned skin and make her legs look miles long. Her jeans hug her voluptuous hips and showcase her tiny, toned waist, the lean muscles tightening every time she throws her fiery red hair back and laughs at something Jungkook says. And you hate the way your heart sinks as you watch his eyes crinkle as he laughs along with her.

They look so good together. The queen of your sorority who brings men down to their knees along with the star athlete. Individually, they're formidable, but together, they look like fucking royalty. Like they could rule the whole school together.

You wouldn't look so good by his side. You have no such illusions about your appearance. Compared to this epitome of feminine perfection, you look like a schoolboy in an oversized Halloween costume. Next to Jungkook, you would only bring down his perfection and cheapen his worth. Because you know your place. You know your role. You're just the side character—the best friend or comic relief. You have no right to even dream about a life by Jungkook's side—much less to feel this amount of pain and jealousy seeing him with another girl. What has gotten into you?

You snatch the bottle of tequila off the table, dumping the toxic amber liquid your cup without a second thought. Then, when no one is looking, you gulp down the contents, not stopping even when your throat screams in agony and tears form in the corners of your eyes. Because the burn in your throat is still a better feeling than the one in your chest.

***

At a quarter past one in the morning, you're finally feeling drunk. Yerin and Yoongi have long left the two of you, the cheerful blonde girl dragging your editor to the mosh pit and forcing him to reluctantly dance with her. With them gone, Hoseok challenges you to a game of pingpong which you happily accept.

However, you've misjudged how much alcohol you've consumed, and it's difficult to even hold the paddle steady, much less bounce a ball off of it to Hoseok's side of the table. After the third time you try (and fail) to serve the ball, Hoseok gives up to help you instead.

"Geez, ___, how much did you drink?" he asks with a chuckle when you instantly slump against him for support.

"Hehe, maybe a little?" you giggle, blinking to keep your vision from blurring.

"Alright, you're officially cut off," he says with a groan of pain when you accidentally drop the paddle on his foot.

"Shh, don't tell Yoongers," you say as you press a finger to your lips.

"Yoongi?" Hoseok repeats with a raised eyebrow, "Why not?"

"'Cuz he'll be so mad," you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from descending into helpless giggles, "I nearly tore out his back when he tried to carry me home last time!"

The handsome older man smiles faintly at that, "Don't worry, love. I'm stronger than that fairy boy. I'll take you home, no problem."

In your tipsy state, you gravely misinterpret his sentence, "You'll take me home…? Oh, Hoseok, you can't! I'm taken!"

He raises an eyebrow at that, "Are you sure? I'm not sure that he'd agree with that statement…" he says with a pointed look to the left.

You follow his gaze with a frown, and a wave of icy sobriety washes over you when you realize that Hyejin has her arms thrown around Jungkook's neck, holding him close to her on the dance floor as she whispers in his ear. Neither of them are dancing anymore as he listens attentively to what she's saying, but for some reason, this seems a thousand times more intimate.

But it's not the end of the world, you try to convince yourself as you focus on your breathing instead, trying to draw oxygen into your deprived lungs. This doesn't mean anything. They're just talking, and not making out like the last time you saw them together like this at a party. You're not one of those crazy possessive people, and you won't allow yourself to gravely misinterpret the situation and get all worked up. Everything is fine. They're just talking. There is absolutely nothing to be worried about—

Or so you think until Jungkook suddenly grabs Hyejin by the wrist to lead her off the dance floor and up the spiraling staircase.

A few people notice their sudden disappearance, and stop to wolf whistle and cheer after them with encouraging exclamations of "Yeah, man!" and "You go get her, Jeon!" Your pulse starts racing, hot blood pumping through your system at a frenzied pace.

"Hoseok," you catch his attention in a hushed whisper, "What's upstairs?"

"Huh?" he says, pausing from where he's collecting the pingpong balls you've scattered under the table, "What do you mean?"

"I mean… Is there some kind of event going on? Maybe another dance floor up there?" you ask, desperately coming up with excuses, no matter how farfetched they may sound, even to your own ears.

"What are you talking about?" the handsome team captain laughs, "Of course not. All there is upstairs are the bedrooms."

"B-bedrooms?" you repeat, clumsily tripping over the word.

"Yeah, of course," he says with a chuckle, "Why are you so surprised by this?"

"No reason," you hastily say. You take a brief moment to squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, hand pressed hard to your chest to keep yourself from shattering into a thousand pieces. When you open your eyes again, you're smiling, "Come on, Hoseok. Let's go dance."

***

The loud electronic beat is pulsing through your veins with the same painful intensity of the tequila beating against the soft tissue of your brain. You feel like you’re being consumed by the powerful sensations… and yet, it's not enough to protect you from the helpless thoughts drifting across your mind, no matter how much you try to ward them back.

What is Jungkook doing right now, alone in a bedroom with Hyejin? Are they making out? Is she undressing him? Is he touching her with the same gentle affection he does with you?

The very images of them together in such an intimate way make you sick to your stomach. And for a frightening moment, the copious tequila you've consumed over the span of the night threatens to come back out. Somehow, you manage to choke back the nausea and lean into Hoseok's touch, trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him pressed up against your backside, his large hands molding to the curves of your waist.

But you can't help but imagine someone else in his place.

How could you have landed yourself in such a situation? You thought you had learned from your mistakes with Seokjin. Yet, you find yourself in the exact situation three full years later, catching feelings for a man who will never reciprocate your affection. Who will fuck around with other women without a second thought or concern about you. You thought you had grown and matured in the last three years, but you were gravely mistaken. How could you have let this happen to you yet again?

The minutes drag on, each one feeling as long as a year as you anxiously wait for Jungkook's reappearance from the bedroom. It's not healthy the way you stare fixedly at the base of the staircase when you should be enjoying your time with Hoseok, but you can't help it. You should've taken another shot of tequila or something. Anything to blur your mind and stunt your overactive imagination conjuring all sorts of fantastical images of what they could be doing in that room alone… This is fucking miserable.

Hoseok seems to notice your anxiety, because after another ten minutes of the strained dancing, he stops to rest his hands on your stiff shoulders, "___, are you okay?"

"Yes, I just—"

But at that moment, Jungkook and Hyejin rematerialize at the top of the stairs, and you quickly lose your train of thought. You can't see their faces clearly from this distance, but even from your vantage point down on the dancefloor, you can tell that Hyejin's makeup is messed up… Her mascara smudged and her lipstick streaking past the outline of her lips… which could only mean—

You rip your eyes away when Jungkook's gaze flickers to yours from across the room, but it's too late and he's caught you staring. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest in fear when you find him descending the stairs with Hyejin's hand held tightly in his own, approaching the two of you on the dance floor. Knowing what had just transpired between the two of them in the bedroom is bad enough, but you don't think you'd survive it if he came over to rub it in your face.

Panicking, you whirl around in Hoseok's embrace to face him instead. The dread etched on every line of your face makes him frown in concern, "___, what's going on?"

"They're coming towards us," you hiss at him in response, allowing him to notice the couple weaving through the crowd of people to your location in the heart of the dancefloor.

His eyes widen with realization, "Oh shit."

"___!" Jungkook calls out your name, raising his voice to be heard over the thunderous music, "___!"

Adrenaline pumps viciously through your system, your heart pounding so hard that you fear you might have a heart attack. And the only thought on your mind is escape. You stare at Hoseok with wild eyes, then you do the only thing you can think of in this situation—you cup his face in both hands and cram your mouth to his.

Hoseok stiffens from the kiss, unsure how to react in this unexpected situation, and it takes a full second before he begins to kiss you back. It feels wrong, all wrong. The taste, texture, sensations—everything is wrong. But it seems to serve its purpose, because from behind you, the sound of Jungkook's voice abruptly dies out. You're beyond relieved, assuming that you've scared him off.

But when you finally pull back from Hoseok, you're shocked to find Jungkook still standing there, staring at you with eyes so dark that they seem to pierce you to your soul.

"How could you do this to me?"

The whisper that slips from between his teeth is uttered in such a low, gravelly voice that you nearly miss it. But the coldness of the statement seems to cut through the heady thrum of music and intoxication, sliding ice into the confines of your overheated ribcage.

"Jungkook," you murmur his name, hand instinctively held out, as though to touch him.

But with a sardonic laugh completely devoid of any humor, Jungkook shakes his head and turns on his heel without a second glance. You watch him intently until he disappears out of the room. You did nothing wrong… You just gave him a taste of his own medicine. But why do you feel like utter trash?

"Haha, nice one, ___! We got him good!" Hoseok crows, reacting in the way you should be.

"Yes," you say as you plaster on a smile, "Yes we did."

***

The next morning, you wake up with a vicious hangover. It feels like your brain is eating itself up, and it takes nearly an hour of lying in bed with your eyes squeezed shut before you can tolerate the nausea enough to crawl out of your room.

This is karma, you think as you messily empty the contents of your stomach in the bathroom, eyes burning with tears as you heave the acidic tequila into the toilet bowl. But karma for what, you're not sure. The guilt hangs heavily in the pit of your stomach like solid lead. And no matter how much you vomit and expel everything in your body, you can't rid yourself of the guilt.

You try to keep as quiet as you can, not wishing to disturb your suite mates, or worse, Mijoo, who would only mother you and suffocate you with questions that you'd rather not answer at this moment. You're feeling lightheaded and almost delirious as you stumble towards into the kitchen, desperate for a cool glass of water. But you stop in your tracks, face blanching of color when you find a redhead sitting in a bar stool at the counter.

She's not wearing a speck of makeup on her face, and you almost didn't recognize her all dressed down in a pair of sweats. She looks exhausted and washed out—not like the usual bombshell you're used to. Looks like you're not the only one suffering from a long night out…

"Oh, hello Hyejin," you greet her with an awkward bow, "How are you feeling?"

She only scowls back in response, "Shitty… But probably not as shitty as you do."

"Yeah… I drank way too much last night," you admit sheepishly.

"Hmm. Looks like you had a great time though."

You frown slightly in response, "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," she says with a humorless bark of laughter, "I just think that this thing you have with Hoseok… It's a good idea. I mean, he's also a fuckboy, but he seems to be willing to actually change for you."

Your mouth goes dry at the unexpected bluntness of her statement, "I… I don't know why you're telling me this," you say as you busy yourself with hunting for a clean glass in the cupboards.

"It's just a piece of friendly advice," she says as she rests her chin on her hand, watching you with sleepless eyes weighed down by heavy bags, "From sister to sister."

You pause in the act of opening the fridge door, "Could you be saying this because of Jungkook?"

She chuckles at that in her tired, husky voice, "You catch on quick. But so what if I'm telling you this because of him? It's the truth. You should just stick with Jung Hoseok and avoid the pain. It's not worth it, ___."

You take a moment to collect the pitcher of water from the refrigerator and carefully pour yourself a glass before responding. "What makes you so sure I'll get hurt?"

Hyejin actually has the audacity to snort at that, "Come on, ___. Get real. Do you honestly think that Jeon Jungkook would ever date you?"

Her incredulous tone feels like a knife straight to the gut. Your hand trembles on the glass, and you catch yourself in the nick of time before you drop it. It's because of you! You want to scream in her face, It's because you've stolen him from me! But you keep your mouth shut. Because no matter how strongly you feel, that would be a lie. Hyejin didn't do anything wrong. Jungkook is a full-grown adult man who can make his own goddamn decisions. And it's not Hyejin's fault that he didn't choose you…

Your grip around the glass tightens for a long, painful second, before you suddenly relax with a sigh.

"Thank you for the warning, Hyejin," you say in a quiet voice. Then, to her surprise, you slide her your glass of water, "Here, please stay hydrated." And with that, you spin around to flee for dear life, desperate to put space between yourself and her devastating facts.

***

You and Jungkook don't talk for the next three days. You're glued to your phone the entire time, half-hoping that he'd have the decency to at least text you an apology for his behavior with Hyejin during the grad party.

Even though your agreement was tenuous, he had still promised to be exclusive with you. And the fact that he could dishonor it without a second concern or even any attempt at amends… it's shocking. Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought.

But after three long days of agony, you finally cave and text him. The message you send him is cold and devoid of the playful banter the two of you normally share.

Do you want to talk?

It takes a long five minutes, which seem to drag on for a century, for him to respond. Really? Shouldn't you just apologize first?

You stare at the line of text across your screen for a long time in utter astonishment, jaw hanging to the ground as you feel the blood surge to your head. Is he fucking serious right now? Why the fuck would I do something like that? You type with jittery fingers, literally shaking with rage.

It takes Jungkook a long time to respond. Then—

I can't talk to you right now… I might say something I'll regret. Call me tmrw.

Wtf? Bitch, WHAT?

But he never responds. You wait and wait for what feels like an eternity, your volume turned up to its highest setting, but you never receive that ding that notifies a new message. And you're left alone to stare at your dry phone for the rest of the night, wondering how you could've possibly misread Jungkook this badly.

***

"I'm really sorry about what happened at the party," you apologize to Hoseok over lunch the next day.

He simply chortles in response, "Don't tell me that you're talking about the kiss…"

You feel your face heat up at the very memory of it, "I reacted very immaturely… and I shouldn't have involved you in this. I'm truly sorry, Hoseok."

"For what?" he chuckles, "I got a free kiss out of it, didn't I? I've got no complaints here."

"Ugh, yes, but I still shouldn't have used you like that… It was so petty and childish and—ugh. Will you ever forgive me?"

"Are you kidding me?" He says with a smile so wide that it brightens his handsome face, "Use away! I mean, I have no idea why you care about that little punk, but you know what would make him really jealous? If you took off your top and made out with me."

You can't help but crack a smile at that, "You're seriously not upset?"

He snorts, "Not at all."

"But what about…?" you pause for a moment, uncertain with how to broach the subject, "Well… I don't want to seem full of myself or to presume things, but… I kinda had a feeling that you might think of me in a certain way?" you mumble, eyes dropping to your plate in embarrassment, "I could be totally wrong though!" You hastily defend yourself, "Oh my god, I must sound like the biggest—"

"You're not wrong," he calmly corrects you, "You're my ideal girl."

Even though you had been half-expecting it, to hear this coming out of his mouth makes you drop your fork with a loud clatter. "O-oh… I… I don't know what to say to this… How are you not upset with me then?"

"Why would I be?" he says with a raised brow, "You're my ideal girl, and the exact type I want to settle down with one day… But that doesn't necessarily have to be today."

Your eyes dart up to seek his in surprise, "What?"

Hoseok shrugs as he takes a sip of his cola, "I wouldn't go as far as saying that I like you, but I can see myself liking you. Right now, I prefer my freedom, but settling down with a girl like you? That's the dream."

"I see…" you murmur, unsure how to feel in response to this. You've never had anyone call you their ideal type before, and it should be flattering… But for some reason, you feel a little uneasy. And you have no idea why.

"Don't get me wrong," he backtracks when he picks up on your discomfort, "If you really wanted to date, sure. I'd give it a chance. But I'm good where we are now. And if you wanna give me a kiss now and then to make Jeon jealous, I'm game anytime," he says with a wink.

You let out a laugh in response, trying to appreciate how chill he is about the situation. But you can't help but feel like it's all a little slimy…

"Hey, should we get ice cream?" you ask, loudly changing the subject.

***

"Ooh, I like your dress, Yerin," you compliment the younger girl as she slides into the seat you've saved for her.

She beams at the compliment, "Thanks, ___! Isn't it nice? I bought it yesterday," she says as she playfully twirls around her bouncy skirt.

"Look how fancy you are," you tease with a low whistle of appreciation, "What's the occasion, honey?"

"The bonfire after the ceremony, of course!"

"Ah… you're going to that?" you ask, scratching the back of your head in confusion.

"Yes of course!" she exclaims, "It's going to be the last chance I get to see Yoongi before he packs his things and moves to his new apartment! Ugh, why do they have to graduate?"

"Because they're lucky sons of bitches who get to taste sweet freedom," you retort, "Yoongi's just graduating. He's not moving to Antarctica."

"Yeah, but I probably won't get to see him that often anymore," she whines in response, "I'll miss him so much! And besides, he probably won't have time for me anymore with his new job."

"How did that lucky bitch score a job at the newspaper straight out of college?" you grumble under your breath.

"What if he meets someone new at the newspaper and forgets all about me?!" Yerin rambles on, ignoring your statement, "Ugh, ___, what do I do?!"

"I dunno. Find someone better?"

She wisely chooses to ignore you again, "I'm going to confess tonight," she says in a determined voice, "No excuses or chickening out this time!"

That makes you turn to give her your full attention, "Really, Yerin?" you ask, amazed, "You're actually going to do that?"

She firmly nods her head and squeezes her hands into little fists, "Yes, I have to!"

You're still unsure how you feel about your baby with the older man, but you can't help but admire her determination, "Alright… I guess I'm going to have to go to that bonfire so I can cheer you on." … or rather, keep an eye on Yerin to make sure nothing goes wrong, but you'll never tell your starry-eyed friend that.

"You'd do that for me?!" she gasps, clasping her hands together in delight.

"Yes of course, baby."

"Eep! I love you so much!" She exclaims as she throws her arms around you.

You happily hug her back, pleased by the display of affection, "Aw, I love you too, my sweet baby."

You'd like to relish the warmth of the hug for a bit longer, but at that moment, Yerin suddenly jerks out of your embrace to point excitedly up at the stage, "Oh my god, ___, look! The graduates are about to start walking!"

You look where she's pointing and scowl at the rows of identically robed and capped figures lining up across the stage. "I can't wait until that's me…Just one more fucking year…"

***

"Congratulations, Yoongi!" Yerin exclaims as she happily presents him with a bouquet of flowers when the two of you arrive at the beach an hour later.

"Oh, Yerin, this is really—oomph!" he grunts, flying back a meter when she abruptly throws her arms around his neck and practically tackles him to the sand.

"I'm so, so, so happy for you!" She squeals as she winds all four limbs around his torso.

"Geez, calm down kid," he grumbles, but he can't help the way a gummy smile spreads across his face. You've never seen the older man smile so widely before, and just watching the two of them embrace on the beach makes your heart flutter.

"Wow Yoongi. You're actually kinda handsome when you don't look like you wanna murder someone."

That makes him automatically scowl again, "Yah, don't you go falling for me now. That's so burdensome."

"Pssht, you wish, old man," you say even as you wait for Yerin to finish her vigorous embrace before hugging the silver-haired man as well.

He's less charmed by your hug, "Ugh. Who gave you permission to touch me?" he complains as he awkwardly pats your back.

"Can't you be nicer to your future heir?" you shoot back, "I am the only one who can carry your legacy, after all!"

"Tch, who said I was making you editor?"

"Who else is even close to being qualified?!" you exclaim, "Taehyung?!"

Yoongi pretends to consider that for a few seconds, "Well… He is very creative… and enthusiastic," he says, cringing slightly at the last word.

You know he's joking, but you still gear up to hotly protest. But before you can get a single word out, someone comes tearing across the beach with a bloodcurdling scream.

"MIN YOONGI!!!" The deep voice booms, making everyone within a mile's radius flinch with surprise. The three of you look over in concern to find a golden light streaking towards you. "CONGRATULATIONS!"

And with that, Taehyung full on slams into Yoongi, sending the both of them flying backwards.

"Ah, Kim Taehyung! What the hell?!" Yoongi curses as he tries to detangle himself from the crumpled heap of limbs Taehyung's forced him into.

The younger man only giggles in response and affectionately scratches under Yoongi's chin, "Congrats on graduating! I'm so proud of you!"

Yoongi stares blankly at the grinning boy for a split second before responding, "___, I'm making you editor of the newspaper. Good job."

Surprised by his unexpected statement, you nevertheless fist pump into the air, "Fuck yeah!" you crow in excitement.

"Wait, what?" Taehyung gasps, eyes wide with horror, "Why her?!"

Yoongi only groans in response, "Get the fuck off me, Tae."

***

"So, which offer did you finally accept, Hobi?" you ask in curiosity as you pass him another beer.

"I'm still deciding between two offers," he says as he thankfully accepts the drink, "There's Seoul, of course… But Gwangju sent an amazing offer as well."

"Gwangju?" you repeat with a wrinkle of your nose, "Why would you want to go over there?"

"Hey, watch it. That's my hometown," he says as he playfully reaches over to pinch your knee.

Your eyes widen as you realize your mistake, "Oh… shit. Sorry, Hobi. I didn't mean that."

He chuckles in response, "Nah, I see you. You just don't want me to go, do you, girl?"

You smile faintly at that, "It would be nice to have you around… But you gotta do the best for your career, of course."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared so much," he laughs as he slings an arm around your neck, "I'm flattered."

"Yeah, whatever," you mumble, feeling a bit flustered by his casual touch. But at the same time, it also feels nice, warming you better than the scorching flames of the bonfire before you ever could, so you lean back into his embrace. And for a moment, everything feels peaceful.

The sun has long set in the west, and only a few pinkish rays peek out from the horizon. To the east, you can already see a sprinkling of silvery stars in the milky black night. And the curious fireflies that begin to dart around the bonfire, as though mesmerized by the flames, shine as brightly as the stars themselves.

You rest your head against Hoseok's strong chest, contented as you watch the fellow party-goers rush towards the ocean, shrieking when the icy waves bite at their toes, or creep towards the flames of the bonfire with marshmallows overflowing their kabob sticks. Somewhere on the other side of the fire, a boom box emits electronic, tropical music, and you can't help but unconsciously sway to the beat. The salty ocean breeze is crisp in comparison to the heat of the blames, and cooling your skin as soon as the fire warms it. And in this juxtaposition, on the beach, surrounded by some of your closest friends, sipping an ice cold beer, you feel like your worries have finally melted away… That is, until Hoseok suddenly grabs you by the arm.

"Hey, should we start making out now?" he whispers in your ear.

Startled by his unexpected offer, you look up—and almost topple over in shock when you find a familiar dark-haired man staring at you from across the flames.

"Jungkook…?" You say his name in a soft voice.

But he doesn't respond. His eyes slowly roam over your face before they transverse to where you are leaning against Hoseok's chest. His jaw tightens. Then, he spinning around to rush off to wherever he came from.

"Wait a minute—Jungkook!" You call after him, "Where are you going? Jungkook!" But he never looks back.

You briefly consider chasing after him, before you realize the absurdity of that course of action. Why is it your duty to fix things with him? He's the one who fucked it up, and he has no right to act in this childish way. You did nothing wrong. And with that conviction firmly in mind, you sit back down, and throw your arms around Hoseok for good measure. But you can't help the feeling of ill ease that lingers in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the night.

***

"___, I think I'm going to leave with Yoongi," Yerin informs you approximately two hours later, once you've been thoroughly stuffed with marshmallows and beer.

"What?" You ask in surprise, "It's not like you to go home so early after a party!"

"Yeah, but Yoongi's tired… And besides, I think tonight's the night," she says with a little wink.

Your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline with horror, "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then I am going to fucking flay you alive! I am going to kill Yoongi first, and after I hang his fucking carcass on my mantle, I'm going to fucking—"

"To confess?!" Yerin hastily interrupts, horrified by your threats, "What's wrong with confessing to him my feelings?!"

You pause for a moment, then blink three times in rapid succession, "Oh… that's what you meant?"

"Yeah… That's what I've been talking to you about all week… What the hell, ___? What did you think I meant?!"

You awkwardly rub the back of your neck, "…Nothing. Don't worry about it, angel."

Yerin shoots you a suspicious look, but nevertheless continues, "Anyways… I'm determined to tell him how I feel tonight! But I'm so nervous, ugh. What if he rejects me?!"

"He won't," you say as you place a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Don't be ridiculous. How is it possible for him to reject you when you're the only human being he actually likes?"

She smiles faintly at that, "I think you're exaggerating."

You snort at that, "Exaggerating? More like the opposite. He barely even tolerates me. And I consider us to be friends!"

That makes her smile grow in size, "Really? You really think I have a chance?"

"I don't know much about how you guys get along or whatever, but of course! He'd be stupid not to reciprocate!"

She's grinning from ear to ear at this point, "Thanks, ___. You always know what to say to make me feel better!"

"Aw, of course, my sweet baby angel. Don't be nervous. You'll rock it."

The pretty blonde beams back at you, "I'm going to head over to his car now… Wish me luck!"

"Good luck, baby girl!" you enthusiastically cheer her on, "Go Yerin!"

She giggles in delight and blows you a kiss before gleefully skipping away in the direction of the parking lot where Yoongi's waiting for her. You stand there for a while, energetically waving and shooting her heart arrows every time she glances over her shoulder to look at you. It's not until she's disappeared from your vision that you finally allow yourself to relax. At once, it feels like all the energy dissipates from your body and you have to lean heavily against a moss-covered rock for support.

Despite your reservations about the older man, Yoongi's not a bad guy. Although he's not your first choice for Yerin, is there actually a man out there who is good enough for your precious angel? But Yoongi is as close they as get. Although he's not your beloved Taetae, his heart is in a good place, and you would never worry about him mistreating your baby. He would never intentionally hurt Yerin or cheat on her or anything awful like that… unlike the other men in your life.

Your face darkens at the reminder of the way Jungkook had ignored you at the beginning of the night. That fucking coward. He's probably trying to avoid you out of shame for his actions. Then project his guilt back to you in the form of anger. This asshole. Well, you've been hurt one too many times, and you're not going to stand for this again!

And with that determination burning through your veins, you rise to your full height and stomp back to the campfire, your hands clenched to fists. It doesn't take long for you to locate the dark-haired man sitting at a far-off corner, moodily staring into his untouched red solo cup.

"Jeon Jungkook!" you exclaim, not caring even as every single pair of eyes around the fire turns to stare at you.

But the young striker has the audacity to glower at you in response, "What?!" He snaps back.

"We need to fucking talk, asshole!"

He just rolls his eyes and throws back the rest of his drink, "No thanks," he says before getting to his feet and marching away.

Your jaw drops with indignation, "What? Where the fuck do you think you're going?!"

"To get another fucking drink," he growls, flashing you the middle finger before stomping back to the parking lot where there's a case of beer in the back of someone's truck.

You are beyond shocked by this, "How fucking dare you? Jungkook! YAH! Jeon Jungkook!" But he never looks back. A second later, you plop down on the sand with a loud huff, "What is up with that godawful attitude of his? Emo coconut bitch!"

***

A few minutes later, Jungkook comes back with an entire handle of vodka tucked under his arm that he passes around the circle. You pointedly ignore the bottle when it comes to you, and Taehyung has to accept it on your behalf.

"Damn, girl. Are you trying to ice him out now?" The fashion columnist whispers to you.

You sniff loudly at that, "Why should it be my responsibility to talk some sense into that little brat? I should be dropping his ass."

Taehyung gives you a pointed look, "Are you seriously considering that?"

"Yeah, of course. Do I look easy to you, Tae? I'm not going to let any man treat me this way! Not anymore!"

That makes him grin, "Wow, I love it. This is exactly why I like you so much!"

Your heart softens at that, "You like me, Tae? Forget Jeon. Maybe we should date instead," you say as you playfully nuzzle against him.

But Taehyung cringes at the very thought, "Ew, no thanks. I'm loyal to my one and only princess! …And speaking of my princess… Do you know where Yerin and Yoongi went off to?"

You stiffen at the question, "Um…"

"I think I saw them going to the car… Are they picking up more booze or something?"

"Um…" you hesitate, feeling sweat build at your temples, despite the coolness of the night. "I… I'm not…. Er…"

"Hey, can anyone help collect more firewood?" Someone calls out at that exact moment, "We're running low."

"I volunteer!" you exclaim, leaping to your feet with unnecessary gusto.

"Wait, ___," Taehyung hisses at you, tugging at the hem of your shirt to try to get you to sit back down, "What are you doing?"

"I must provide for the sake of the party!" you dramatically announce, "I will happily gather wood to shelter you all!"

"Alright… great," that first person says, "That woodsy area down over there seems to have a lot of dried driftwood. Do you mind going over there? Jungkook's already there."

"Wait, what?"

"Um… Jungkook's already there… Is that going to be a problem?"

You freeze for a split second, sweating under the heat of everyone's gazes, before you reluctantly agree. "A-ah… I see. Okay. I'm on my way…" And with that, you awkwardly trudge towards the cluster of trees a few hundred meters away, dragging your feet in the sand to prolong the process. Shit… You were really stuck between a rock and a hard place there. But something tells you that this is still worse than breaking poor Taehyung's heart.

It doesn't take you long to spot the broad figure hunched over between trees, his plain white shirt contrasting sharply with the darkness of the night. You automatically grimace at the sight. For a moment, you consider leaving to collect firewood from a different location. But it isn't your style to avoid confrontation. So you square up your shoulders and take a deep breath before bravely marching up to him.

"Hey, you finally gonna square up and talk about this, asshole?"

Jungkook spins around in surprise and scowls at the sight of you, "Oh my god… Are you stalking me now or some shit?"

You scoff at the absurdity of his words, "You wish, dickface."

He sighs deeply and turns back around to collect more wood, "Why can't you just give me some time? I really don't want to talk to you right now." But he's a bit scattered when irritated, and a slender plank of wood flies out of his arms, traveling quite a distance across the beach from the strong ocean breeze. "Fuck," he curses under his breath before dumping the pile of wood in his arms onto the ground and chasing after the flying plank.

"Hey, where are you going?" you exclaim as you run after him, "I was talking to you!"

"Calm down, I'm just trying to pick up this piece of driftwood," he retorts as he jogs onto the shore to reclaim it. 

"Yeah right! As if a little stick is that important. Stop trying to avoid me!" you yell as you rush onto the shore after him, cringing slightly when your sneakers sink into the wet, spongey sand. This is the same spot where you volunteer for the beach cleanup a few times every semester, but never have they made you clean so close to the ocean before. And now you fear that your shoes are permanently ruined. Still, you don't concede one inch as you approach him closer.

"I'm not avoiding you! I'm just trying to—oh great," he groans when the piece of wood flutters in the air for a few second, then plops down on the shore where a wave instantly washes it away.

"Oh no," you gasp, eyes widening as you watch him roll up the legs of his jeans, "Don't you fucking dare—god, Jungkook!" You curse loudly when he suddenly leaps into the water. "Jesus fucking Christ!" He probably expects that this will ward you off. But he seriously underestimates your strength of mind when you suddenly kick off your shoes and socks and wade into the icy water after him.

"Goddamn it, why can't you just leave me alone?!" Jungkook whirls around to face you, already knee-deep in the ocean when it becomes apparent that you won't back down.

You simply run your hands over the gooseflesh that's broken across your arms, resisting the urge to shiver when a particularly robust wave soaks you to the waist, "Because we need to talk, you coward!"

He groans deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and staring up into the sky for a long second before responding, "Fine, you win. You got me cornered. So talk, you crazy woman."

You bristle at that, "Who's the crazy one?! Because from where I'm standing, you're insane for thinking you have any right to be mad at me!"

"You think I don't know that?" he barks back, surprising you, "I know perfectly well that I—fuck," he curses, running a hand through his salt water-dampened hair, "Can't you just let me be petty and sulk for once?"

This conversation isn't going where you expected, and you are perplexed to say the least. Nevertheless, you press on, too fueled by anger and adrenaline to slow down now, "No! Can't you grow up and act like an adult for once?! Just apologize!"

"This is about Hyejin, isn't it?" he asks with a deep sigh, "Can't we sit down somewhere tomorrow when we're soberer and get out of the water at least? It's fucking freezing!"

"No!" you yell, perfectly aware of how childish you're acting, "I've let men walk all over me like I'm trash too many times. I'm not going to let you do that to me too. So apologize, right here, right now!"

"Oh god… why are you like this…?" he groans loudly, "Fine, I'm sorry, okay? Are you satisfied?"

A sudden wave whipping at your back makes you jump in surprise, but you fold your arms across your chest and attempt to look firm, "Is that really the best you've got? Come on, Jeon. Try harder."

"Fuck, fine!" he growls, unintentionally splashing the freezing ocean water at you when he moves too quickly, "I'm sorry. I'm truly terribly fucking sorry, and I feel horrible about how I handled things with Hyejin that night. It was awful of me, and I should've been more considerate."

That makes you pause for a moment. For some reason, you hadn't been expecting him to actually apologize… Maybe you've been too used to men like Seokjin… "Oh…" you mutter, feeling awkward now that you've gotten what you wanted, "Thanks for saying that, Jeon… It was seriously so horrible of you."

Jungkook sighs again, "See, I normally really appreciate this about you. I really like the fact that you stand up for others, and how passionate you are about this… You’re a girl’s girl, and I know how much you care about other women… But can't you give me just a fraction of that same concern?"

That unexpected statement makes your brow furrow, "What the hell are you talking about?"

He takes a second to push his wet hair from his face in frustration before he responds, "I know what I did was wrong… I must have really hurt Hyejin. But what could I have done in the moment?! I didn't want to lead her on any longer. And when she confessed out of nowhere… I knew that a stranger's bedroom in the middle of a fucking party wasn't the best location for a heart-to-heart, but I really couldn't just play her and—"

"Wait!" you interrupt him, hands clutched to the front of your drenched t-shirt as you try to process your dizzying, incoherent thoughts. "Wait… What are you talking about?"

He gives you a puzzled look, "What do you mean? The party, of course. I swear, I never knew that she had feelings for me. And I know that a musty bedroom in a frat house wasn't the best location to turn her down, but I seriously had no choice! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that I made her cry. But isn't it better than leading her on any further?!"

You fall silent by the end of his rant, all anger evaporated in thin air. All at once, you are painfully aware of how cold the water is, seeping through your thin clothing and chilling you to the bone. Now, you are helpless to the way shivers wrack up and down your spine as you stare at him with wide eyes in the middle of the ocean, waves beating mercilessly against your bare skin.

How could you have misinterpreted the situation so horrifically?

But all the context clues… The way they had danced together… the way Jungkook led her up the stairs, his hands clutched tight around her wrist… But then you remember the way she had looked climbing down the stairs an hour later, her eyes ringed with mascara and her lipstick smudged. What you had assumed to be sex-mussed make-up… might have actually been from crying?

And when she had warned you away from Jungkook the next morning, looking as tired and washed out as a ghost. You had assumed it was a stereotypical catfight over a man… but that wasn't her intention. She was just watching out for you. So that you wouldn't be hurt the same way she was.

"Oh my god," you gasp, suddenly dropping to your haunches as your knees give out from under you. The water is at neck-level at this point, and any particularly strong wave would submerge you entirely, but you can't bring yourself to care as you wrap your arms tightly around yourself and shiver. "Oh my fucking god…" 

You should've known better. You should've know that Jeon Jungkook would have never broken his promise of exclusivity with you. You should've known that he would never betray you. Yet you were shadowed by insecurities and traumas suffered from your ex-boyfriend. And your scarred mind has created this fictitious drama all on its own.

Jungkook watches your reaction with expressionless eyes. But you can make out a spark of concern in the bottomless darkness. "I'm sorry for hurting her so callously… and I'm sorry for being upset at you for… for that incident with Hoseok," he says, wincing at his word choice, "It's not like you fucked him or anything. But it still upset me so much to see it."

You look up at him at that, craning your neck from your vantage point at the bottom of the ocean, "I thought you didn't get jealous."

He at least has the decency to blush at that reminder, "I don't want to get jealous," he corrects himself in an embarrassed voice, "But I can't help it… Seeing you with him… I really wished that was me."

His quiet confession sparks a visceral reaction from you, and a hard shudder convulses down your spine that's completely unrelated to the freezing water surrounding you to the neck. You slowly rise to your feet again, but the feeling of the wind beating against your drenched body makes you feel a hundred times colder. "Jungkook…" you whisper as you cautiously take a step closer to him, feet sinking deeply into the soft sand underground.

He licks his chapped lips, "I know what you're going to say…" he murmurs, "I have no right to feel this way… You can do whatever you want."

You pause for a moment as you allow his statement to sink under your skin, absorbing every word the same way the cotton of your clothing soaks up the salty seawater surrounding you. A harsh wave makes you stumble for a moment, grounding deeper in the sand to keep from falling. And when you finally catch your balance, you raise your chin to stare him straight in the eye.

"What if I don't want to, though?" you ask, echoing something he had told you all those months and months ago.

His head snaps up in shock, "Wh… what?"

You don't say anything in return for a long minute that seems to drag on for an eternity. At this point of night, the moon has fully risen overhead, and its silvery rays cast down across the ocean, illuminating everything in white-gold. Awed, you can't help admiring the way the moonbeams kiss the top of Jungkook's black hair and the angles of his face, sheathing his figure like a cold halo.

The waves continue to beat against the sandy beach like clockwork, and you  sway with them, as though lost in a rhythmic dance lulled by the force of the moon. Your thundering pulse acts as a metronome in this dance, pounding away at a dozen beats per each drag across the shore. You are cold. So cold that you've lost all feeling in your hands and legs. But for some reason, you don't feel the need to shiver anymore.

You must look crazy, staring at him in the middle of the ocean without a word. And yet, he doesn't dare break the tension. So you continue to watch him in silence. And he watches you right back. Another long beat of deafening silence. Then—

"Fuck it," you curse.

You run forward, one, two, three steps. Jungkook doesn't move a single inch the entire time, impassive as he watches your rapid accession. A beat. Two beats. Three—your blood is rushing in your ears so hard that you can't even hear the sound of the tides. You screech to a stop a mere foot before him. He is entirely motionless. Probably not even breathing. But neither are you.

Then you raise your frozen fingers to his face, eyes slamming shut and heart pounding painfully in your chest at you lean forward to touch your lips to his for the very first time.

It's a chase kiss—just a fleeting brush of your lips against his. You're pumped too full of adrenaline to really process it. And it's too quick for you to enjoy before you're flinching away from him like you've just touched a hot coal.

Jungkook stares back at you, his eyes so black and inscrutable that panic sparks through your system and your racing pulse goes haywire. And it doesn't slip your notice that he's still holding his breath.

"Sh-shit. I… I'm so sorry… I—I'm just—" Unable to finish your sentence from the crippling embarrassment, you spin around in the water to run for dear life.

But you barely make it a single step before a hard grip around your wrist yanks you back into place. It's so unexpected that you would have lost your balance and fallen over if not for the hands that suddenly materialize on your waist. Your eyes widen when you're suddenly nose-to-nose with Jungkook. And with the way his chest is tight and his shoulders hunched, you realize that he's still not breathing.

"J-jungkook?"

He finally breathes at the sound of his name, exhaling deeply in one long stream. You watch with fascination as his shoulder slacken from the release of tension and his warm breath crystalizes in the chilly night air.

"You better not have done that just to make me feel better."

Your mouth goes dry at the sound of his gravelly voice that's at least an entire octave deeper than usual. You lick your lips, "No… I did it because… because I wanted to."

His eyes catch at the flash of pink tongue. "Good," he grunts, then crushes his mouth to yours.

It's freezing, standing here the middle of the ocean past midnight. You're soaked to the bone and relentless waves collide against you every few seconds like clockwork, threatening to pull you underwater. Goosebumps cover every inch of your skin, and your fingernails have turned blue. But for some reason, bathing under the moonlight with Jungkook's arms around your waist and his lips pressed so sweetly against your own, you feel warm.

***

An hour later, the two of you crash into your bedroom, still soaking wet and unpleasantly crusty in some places from the dried salt water stiffening your clothing, but unable to keep your hands off each other for even a second.

"Ah, Jungkook, we should really change our clothes," you break from the kiss long enough to say.

He settles for the damp skin of your neck and collarbones instead, "In a minute."

You bite your lip to hold back your laughter as he ardently kisses every inch of your exposed skin, "I'll let you sleep over tonight if you shower."

That offer catches his attention. In the next second, he rips himself off of you and dumps his things on your nightstand before rushing towards the bathroom.

"Yah, take a towel first!" you exclaim as you hurl one after him.

Normally, he'd stop to offer you a cheeky retort. But he's so desperate to get clean and in bed with you that he simply nods as he continues sprinting full-force to the bathroom.

As soon as he's gone, you collapse on the bed in a flurry of giggles, beyond amused by his reaction. You roll around for a while, running on utter euphoria and unable to keep the earsplitting grin off your face, when you realize that he's left his phone along with his things on the nightstand. You tsk softly to yourself as you pick up the device and try to dry it with your sleeve. His phone is only water resistant, not waterproof. But in the process of drying the screen, you accidentally hit the home button and turn it on… And when the phone lights up in the dark room, you frown at the sight of a strangely familiar image on the lockscreen…

It's a weird tan and red blob with a streak of yellow down the middle… What the hell could this be? Did Jungkook accidentally take a photo of his foot or something? Wait—is that a human face peeking out under the red? And why does it look so much like—

You nearly drop the phone with a shriek when you identify that face as your own. Which means that the tan blob is… your hotdog Halloween costume?! Why the fuck is that his screensaver?!

Shocked, you hold the phone closer to your face, squinting at the slightly blurry photo. But there's no mistaking it. That's you on the screen, hotdog costume bunched up and mouth hanging wide open in the most unattractive manner as you sleep so soundly sprawled out across his bed. When did he take this?! And if this was from Halloween… then he must have had this image as his screensaver for months.

Why would he do that? Why would he do that if he had no feelings for you? Why would he get jealous of Hoseok? Why would he kiss you so passionately in the middle of the fucking ocean if he didn't want to be with you?

… And how are you so sure that he doesn't like you?

You try to think back to the conversation the two of you had shared on the pavement outside of the sorority house all those weeks ago. You had felt unbelievably rejected by his response… but you never actually did confess, did you? Could it be…? Could it have possibly been a defense mechanism? Was he just trying to protect himself in advance?

You sigh deeply as you set his phone down and take seat at your desk. By chance, the corner of a little black notebook catches your eye. As though possessed, you slowly pull it out and flip through the pages. Like always, you wince when you reach the angry red ink smears that represent the period of time in Freshman year when Seokjin had broken your heart. Unable to bear reminiscing in any of those horrid memories, you flip straight past the red scrawls to the fresh black ink on the next page.

New Rules.

The corners of your mouth lift in a slight smile as you realize that you've broken all the rules… Or nearly all of them…

Two—don't hesitate to confess.

You already fallen for someone when it's unclear if he reciprocates… and worse, you've kissed Jeon Jungkook. But to confess… You can salvage that one, at the very least.

Your smile increases in size when you remember that Yerin is on the other side of town, bravely challenging the same feat. And you're her role model. Who says that men have to be the ones to initiate anymore? It's the twenty-first fucking century. And you're going to woman up and tell Jungkook how you feel.

With that conviction in mind, when you hear Jungkook reentering the room, freshly showered, you spin around in your chair to face him.

"Jungkook, we need to talk."

"Oh?" he says, hesitating in the action of wringing out his damp hair.

You swallow at the sight of him decked in just a towel slung haphazardly around his narrow waist, "Yes… Please sit down…"

Confused, he nevertheless obliges, taking a seat on your bed directly across from you, "You seem serious. What's up, babe?"

The little pet name that rolls so naturally off his tongue gives you courage. You close your eyes for a split second to take a deep breath. Then you open them again to bravely meet his gaze straight on, "Jungkook… there's something I need to tell you…"

***

A/N: Happy 3rd year anniversary, my lovely readers <3 I love you all so very much, and thank you for sticking with me throughout the years!

As for this new chapter, I recommend that you listen to Tequilawine by Olivia O’Brien. Esp during the party scene! And like always, please don’t ask about updates! Thank you!