#tune in next time for whatever the fuck else is gonna pop into my brain next

[whollyjoly]

hey so you know how devin kelley said she and oliver have a scene as kim and buck this season??

...yeah i DEFINITELY think we're going to get an uno reverse of the crashed date from 7x05, where buck and tommy are going to be out and about and run into eddie and kim, which leads to some...Awkward Conversations 👀👀

(bonus points if we see eddie ask buck to babysit chris cause he's going on a date with marisol, only for buck to say no caues he has his own plans, and then they run into eddie with kim. the DRAMA)

((double bonus points if we get an 📢📢 EDDIE 📢📢 thats even louder than the buck heard round the world))

y'all this is gonna be MESSY and i cannot WAIT

[y0itsbri]

shameless summer series (s2 era) - based on this prompt posted by @ianandmickeygallavich & @shameless-notashamed ☀️📽️🍿

Mandy doesn’t know why the fuck Mickey is tagging along to her movie date with Ian. He says it’s because the cinema is air-conditioned. She doesn’t believe him, why would he sit through a romantic comedy just to keep cool? And she also doesn’t get why Ian sits in the middle of them.

words: 1.2k

"Ian, come on we're gonna be late!" Mandy yelled from the bottom of the steps outside the Gallagher's house.

"Jesus Christ, Mands, did you want the fuckin' Twizzlers or not?" Ian passed the threshold to the outside and smacked her shoulder with the candy before she smuggled them out of his grip.

"Thank you, boyfriend," she kissed his cheek as he scrunched up his nose at the affection -- especially in front of her brother, who looked onto their loving display amused before returning his gaze back down at the ground.

Mandy kicked Mickey in the shin.

"Ow- fuck! What?!"

"Be fuckin' nice, dickwad," she threateningly whispered.

If Ian was looking closely, he might have seen the tips of Mickey's ears blush red as he muttered a "'sup, Gallagher."

"Hey Mick," Ian smiled at him, unable to help himself.

"'m sorry my idiot brother decided to crash our date." Mandy apologized, emphasizing the last word and glaring at an unbothered Mickey. She led her boys down the side walk en route to the movie theater for the two o'clock showing they had been planning to see.

"Oh, did he now?" Ian teased, threatening to cross into Mickey's part of the sidewalk, but Mickey held his ground and dodged Ian's attempts to bump into him.

"It's hot as balls out and you know damn well Dad hasn't paid the AC in ages." Mickey pulled a piece of Mandy's hair from behind her.

"Bitch! Coulda went to wherever the fuck it is you normally terrorize," she swooped her hair to the front of her shoulders, out of Mickey-the-menace's reach.

"No AC."

"Whatever."

-

Ian caught the side door to the theater as a group of kids were exiting a movie. The three teenagers snuck in successfully.

"'ey Ian, ya want some popcorn? I was gonna get some."

"Uh, yeah, sure -- thanks Mickey," Ian grinned as Mickey turned away without another word.

"Shit! We're gonna miss the previews -- let's go!"

"What about Mickey?" Ian wondered.

"Uh, we'll save a seat? Duh? Do you have worm for brains?"

"Shut up," Ian shoved her and she giggled.

-

Mandy cuddled into Ian's side as they took some empty seats in the back of the theater. She loved spending time with her best friend, but why did her brother always have to cock block? Okay -- not that she was gonna get some, anyways, because Ian's fucking gay or whatever, but it's still the sentiment!

As the final previews ended, Mandy believed that Mickey would truly be a no show. She had no idea why he tagged along to see Perks of Being a Wallflower with them in the first place when she was pretty sure some movies with like fucking superheroes or battleships or some shit were on next door. He hasn't been soft enough to watch a romance movie in years -- especially in front of another guy. It just didn't add up.

She sighed as Mickey finally waltzed into the theater, two bags of popcorn in hand. Mandy picked up her purse from the seat next to her for Mickey to sit down, but he kept walking and plopped down on the other side of Ian. The fuck?

"Mick, I saved you a seat here," she whispered.

Mickey shook the bags of buttery puffs between himself and Ian, "Popcorn." He turned back towards the screen as if that justified everything. Whatever. Ian was still hers at least.

Ian moved his hand from Mandy's arm so he could eat his popcorn.

Motherfucker.

She gnawed on her Twizzlers.

-

Ian had a hard time focusing on the movie at first. Mickey was manspreading and his left thigh was pushing into Ian's -- hand-me-down athletic shorts touching worn denim.

Ian glanced over at Mickey just in time to see him tilt his head back, exposing his throat, and dump the contents of the popcorn bag into his mouth, spilling a few pieces.

Mickey gave him a side eye and cocked an eyebrow up, "See something ya like?"

"You're a messy eater."

"Says the guy with half his food on his chest." Ian looked down. Oh.

Before he could bring his hand up to brush it off, Mickey plucked off a piece of popcorn and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly while keeping eye contact with Ian. Motherfucker.

Ian was not about to be sporting a semi with fucking Emma Watson on screen and Mandy two inches to his left. He wasn't.

Mickey grinned and turned his focus back on the movie again.

-

Of course this movie would have a queer character that Mickey was both repulsed and drawn towards. Some things hit a little too close to home for comfort, okay?

Fuck.

He knew he was frozen and tense. He didn't expect anyone else to notice, but of course, fucking Ian was like an alien motherfucker always tuned into his frequency. He always knew.

Without looking at him, Ian cautiously placed his hand over Mickey's thigh. When Mickey didn't push away - in fact, he leaned into it, - Ian gently stroked his leg with his thumb in what he thought was a loving gesture. An I see you gesture. An it's okay gesture.

Maybe it would be okay.

-

Mandy started tearing up near the end of the movie, so Ian, in his perfect boyfriend role, wrapped his arm around her shoulders -- her face tucked into his chest. Her eyes were glued to the screen, so she didn't even notice that one of Ian's hands was dropped to the side of the seat and inched so close towards the edge, towards Mickey's seat -- so close, in fact, that the boys had been linking pinky fingers for the better part of the movie. Hidden in the dark of the theater. Their fingers had started sweating like half an hour ago, but neither of them could bring themselves to pull away just yet, savoring their little piece of forever in the grimy cinema. Some shit about we accept the love we think we deserve.

-

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom before we go, you guys gonna be fine by yourselves for a minute?"

"We'll see," Mickey muttered. Mandy frowned.

Ian clasped his hand over Mickey's shoulder, "He means we'll be fine."

Mickey flipped him off until Mandy was out of view and then dipped his head towards one of the theater doors, motioning for Ian to follow. The door didn't lead to another theater, but to a storage closet.

Before the door was even able to close all the way, Mickey frantically reached to pull down Ian's pants. Ian's brain worked slower than his dick as he managed to comprehend their current situation.

"Mick, we have like no time," Ian groaned into it, his feeble attempt to not get so turned on quickly failing.

"Imma make it quick, new personal best."

Ian's chuckle turned into a gasp. Okay, damn, maybe so.

Mickey's head rested on Ian's chest and Ian's head fell atop Mickey's, the scent of his hair gel mixed with him intoxicating his senses.

Motherfucker.

-

Mandy exited the bathroom, her company no where to be seen. She leaned against the pole, debating calling Ian or waiting another couple minutes. Sure enough, the boys came wandering over a few minutes later.

"Took ya long enough, where'd you run off to?"

"Uh, Ian wanted to look at the movie poster for, uh-"

"Battleship."

"Yeah, Battleship."

"Nerds," Mandy called, walking towards the exit. They were terrible liars. They all knew it. Whatever, they hadn't killed each other, that's all she cared about. She turned around to face the semi-stunned boys, "Coming?"

They headed back home in the sweltering sun, Mandy leading the group as always.

And if the two boys walked a little closer than before as Mandy turned a blind eye, that was nobody's business but theirs.

[yikesharringrove]

Egg the Cat

Chapter 3

Read on Ao3

-

Billy had to double-check to make sure he hadn't accidentally followed someone else home from the party.

Because Steve lived in a fucking mansion.

“Jesus Christ .” Billy stared at the house. “You didn’t tell me you’re fucking royalty .” Steve rolled his eyes, leading Billy towards the house.

“Can it. You got the booze?” Billy shook the bottle at him.

Steve looked better. Like maybe he had gotten a bit of a handle on himself.

Billy followed him into the pool of light cast over the porch, the unmistakable scream of a very excited cat sounding from inside.

Steve pushed open the door, bending immediately to scoop up his purring cat, holding her close to him as he went inside.

Billy gave a low whistle as he took off his boots, lining them neatly next to Steve’s shoes.

Steve just climbed the stairs, assumed Billy was following.

Steve’s bedroom was nice enough.

Felt as impersonal as the rest of the gaudy house, but there was a cat tree by the window, and a cat bed Egg ignored in favor of curling up on Steve’s lap as he settled in bed, sitting up against the headboard.

Billy didn’t know what to do with himself.

Last time he was in another boy’s bedroom, very different things were happening.

But then Steve gave him an odd look, eyes flicking to the spot next to himself, and Billy took that as his cue.

“I can’t drink a lot. Gotta be home in three hours.” His dad had a very clear rule about curfew: You miss it, don’t bother coming home.

“This is for me, anyway.” Steve gave him the weakest smile Billy’s ever seen, taking the bottle from Billy’s hand, and taking a long pull.

He grimaced at the taste, gasping for breath.

“That’s fucking rank .”

“Not used to cheap liquor?” Steve swatted at his arm, but took one more pull before passing the bottle to Billy.

Egg was still settled in his lap, and Steve ran long fingers through her dark fur.

“She can always tell when I’m feeling bad. Gets extra snuggly.”

“More snuggly than at the diner?”

“Nah, that was the more. She could tell I had been freaking out looking for her.” Her ear twitched and her tail swished, like she knew they were talking about her. “She’s the smartest cat in the world, I think.” He was quiet for a few moments as Billy took a drink from the bottle. “Took better care ‘a me than Nancy ever did. That’s for damn sure.”

“Sucks that she dumped you like that. All drunk and shit.”

“Isn’t there an expression? Drunk words are sober thoughts? Wish she had gotten drunk a year ago. Woulda saved me a lot of fucking trouble.” Egg perked up, standing to pace on Steve’s lap, curling up again, her chin resting on his tummy. “See? Has a fuckin’ sixth sense for when I’m upset.” She purred, her eyes closing as Steve scratched between her ears, down her back.

“How long have you had her?”

“Like five years? Someone was just, giving her away. Said he didn’t need bad omens, or whatever. ‘Cause she’s a black cat. I think that’s fuckin stupid. She’s brought me nothing but good.” Egg purred again, blinking slowly at Steve, nipping playfully at his fingers.

She really was cute.

Billy had never been much of a cat person, always favored dogs a bit more.

But Egg was so human, the way she tracked their conversation, like she could understand it.

“Man, don’t laugh.” Steve took the bottle from Billy, taking another long pull, shuddering halfway through. “I’m already feelin’ this. Haven’t drunk in so long .”

“Pussy.” Steve huffed a laugh, Egg meowed as his stomach shifted, jostling her head. He let the silence sit for a moment, just watched Steve’s fingers stroke through thick dark fur.

“So, uh, are you like, friends with Tommy?” Steve’s voice was way too measured, his tone far too light and casual.

“Who?”

“Tommy. The guy that was parading you around all night.”

“Oh, uh Karate Kid, guy?”

“Yeah.”

“No. He just kinda started talking at me, told me to do a keg stand. Said the guy that still held the record was a poser.” Steve outright laughed at that.

“Yeah, you broke my record tonight. I’m the poser.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Billy turned to look at Steve, found him smiling this stupid fond smile at the cat on his lap. The room was dim, only one lamp clicked on, throwing a warm glow around the room.

“Can I ask you what happened? You said you used to be hot shit.”

“Nancy.” Steve’s smile evaporated like a flash. “I used to be a real douchebag. Ruled that fucking school. I mean, it’s not like I liked myself. I could definitely be called a bully, like, which sucks. But, you know. I had friends. I was popular. All that.”

“But she didn’t like that.”

“Nope.” Steve made sure to pop the ‘p’. “It’s not like she blatantly said that, but I could tell. I think that, I think that the changes have been good, like I’m nicer to people now. But I kinda cut off all my friends. Just hang out with her most of the time. And now-” Steve trailed off, taking another swig of shitty tequila. “Guess it’s just me and Eggy.”

“You say that like I’m not sitting right here.” Steve smiled at him, a real one, not the tight ones he’s been using all night.

“You hang out with me, you’re gonna be a fucking laughing stock, new kid.”

“Oh, come on. Have you seen me? I could literally never be a laughing stock. If anything, I'll make you cool again.” Steve just hmmmn ed at Billy, his eyes going a little far away.

“I don’t know if I really, really care about that anymore, if I’m being honest.” He swallowed thickly. “Some major shit went down last year. Like, more than Nancy shit. Kinda put things in perspective, I guess.” Egg had sat up, kneading at Steve’s stomach, making a noise like a little cat alarm.

Egg was so in tune with Steve it was utterly fucking ridiculous. They must be wired directly into one another’s brains.

“What kinda major shit?” Steve was quiet. Egg began walking up him, stepping softly until she settled on his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder, little pink nose tucked into his neck.

“Just like, major shit. Like, like people died kinda major.”

“Damn.”

“Like, I legally can’t talk about it kinda major.” Egg sniffed in his neck.

“What, you get mixed up in some kinda lawsuit or some shit?” Steve just sighed.

“Man, I just said I legally can’t say anything.” But he had a ghost of a smile on his face when he turned to look at Billy. “Can I ask you something?”

“Free country.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Why Hawkins ?”

“You asked me that like, three times yesterday.”

“And you never answered.”

“I said my dad remarried and wanted a-”

“Fresh start, yeah. But you could move one town over and have that. You could stay in the same damn state and do that. Why Hawkins ?”

There was something more behind Steve’s voice, something strained.

Billy just looked back up at the ceiling.

He had to take a breath, talking himself out of actually telling Steve. Telling him how Neil wanted him out of California, where gay bars were only a short drive away. Where Billy could cruise the piers, where a carefully toned you goin’ my way? could lead to a sloppy blowjob in the car.

Hawkins wasn’t necessarily specific, but Neil had wanted a small, God-fearing town. One where he would know if Billy got up to anything unsavory.

“He found a job here,” he said lamely.

Everything in him was screaming to trust Steve. To tell him the truth. Which was just a fuck of a lot. Billy doesn't trust people. He just does not.

He blames Steve.

Blames those soft brown eyes.

“Well, that’s thrilling .” Billy rolled his eyes, smiling a little to himself.

“What were you expecting?”

“Something more exciting. You moved here from California. That’s like, the coolest place ever .”

“I lived in L.A., too.”

“So like, the coolest place in the coolest place.”

“You ever been?” Steve just gave him a dark look.

“Last time I left the state was ten years ago. My parents took me to Chicago.”

“Damn. You’re like, a true hick, then. Only know this little town.”

“That’s me. Pure hick .” He scratched Egg’s back hip. She purred softly. Billy took another long drink, officially calling that his last one. He needed to be sober by the time he went home. Couldn’t be loud and clumsy as he made his way to his room.

He just pressed the bottle into Steve’s hand.

They spent the rest of the time before Billy had to leave just talking.

It was nice, Steve filling him in on the Hawkins drama, told him which gas stations had better candy selections, that the liquor store on the corner of Haven and Burbank didn’t card. He told him that Andrew Conner always had good weed, but it was cheaper to buy from Lisa Kendle.

And the more Steve drank, the more his eyes drooped, the lazier his smiles got, the closer he scoot to Billy.

He was warm, pressed up to Billy’s side, cat still curled on his chest.

He listened with rapt attention as Billy gave him stories about California, about the boardwalk and metal shows, told him stories of his best hookups, told him they were girls.

He was in the middle of one story, switched out the name from Daniel to something more appropriate, when he looked over, found Steve knocked out, mouth hanging open, tequila dangerously close to spilling, cat sleeping soundly on his chest.

It made Billy falter.

He just took in the scene, wanting to remember it.

He moved slowly, tried not to shift the bed too much, and turned out the light in Steve’s bedroom as he left.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Coffee - T. Holland

Okay, I know I have requests but this song came on at work the other day and I felt super emotional and I had to write. The use of Tom was very last minute because I had no actual person in mind for the fic, and there are very little actual defining characteristics so you can imagine it to be absolutely anybody you want!

This has broken me, so I apologize in case it has the same affect.

TW: This story contains mentions of cancer, allusions to death, mentions of death, sadness, angst, allusion to suicide, a character with cancer, and all round sadness about death.

If this content may trigger you in any way possible, please do not engage with this fic. Your personal safety and wellness is important so please take care of yourself, my lovies.

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17. Please do not copy, translate or share outside of the boundaries of tumblr without my permission. Please do not steal my work and market it as your own. Basically, don’t be a dick. Also, the above gif does not belong to me. Credit to @thollandgifs

Also, sorry the format is shit. I write on my phone so it’s hella bad.

Don't stay awake for too long, don't go to bed. I'll make a cup of coffee for your head. It'll get you up and going out of bed.

While his life stood still, hers moved. Most days he could barely move without the nausea taking over. His head pounding, body exhausted and weak beyond recognition. She had established a routine the minute she could. She made sure he had his morning coffee everyday. Whenever his eyes opened, she would be right by his side with his favourite beverage, bringing him breakfast and a warm, loving smile to entice him to get out of bed. She understood on days that his body fought him more than it already was - she was compassionate and considerate. On those days she would help him prop himself in a comfortable position, switch on whatever show they were watching at the time and curl up next to him with her work beside her.

His heart was often overwhelmed with the care she provided him. They were well into the fourth year of their life together, and he had no doubt in his mind that he would love her until his last days. He often solemnly thought of the ring he still had hidden in his drawer of their shared cabinet. He had made a vow to pop the question if he ever recovered, but the thought of that day never coming simply tore another piece from his already dwindling soul.

He would often sit in his chair, or on the bed in their small, studio apartment, watching her flutter around the house in a graceful way only she could. He had memorized her every move when she conducted the most mundane activity. The way she poured a glass of water, the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh to the tune of a theme song, the way she always made his coffee to pure perfection - in a way that nobody else had been able to do.

He had so much love for her, that he was terrified of it slipping away at any moment.

Yeah, I don't wanna fall asleep, I don't wanna pass away. I been thinking of our future 'cause I'll never see those days.

He was 24, and she was 25. They had already planned a life together. They had steady jobs, an intense and passionate love, names picked out for future children, dinner at his parents house every Sunday, lunch with her parents every Wednesday.

He just knew that he had done something to deserve such a fate. At first he was angry, terrified of the possibility of his soul leaving this earth, but as time went on, his self-deprivation grew. Apparently it was common for people in his situation. The fear of dying was clouded by a justification that this was meant to be. He had done something terrible in a past life, and karma was giving him the painful ending he deserved... but he despised the thought, because Y/N didn’t deserve to watch her boyfriend meet his end in this way.

He had thought of near every scenario in his life in which he hurt somebody - cheating on his girlfriend in his first year of college, letting Y/N down time after time, only for her to forgive him. The hurt he caused his parents when he was a teenager and full of such hate for the world. But now, all he could do was pray for forgiveness. He had hope that there was some way he could make it out of this, but he was losing hope rapidly.

Even as he sat with his love on their bed, watching re-runs of How I Met Your Mother, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander.

“When I’m gone,” his voice was croaky, his throat dry and scratchy. “Please tell me you will find somebody else.” He fumbled around to grab her hand, winching as he caught her head snapping towards his in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t turn to see the expression on her face. “You’re so young, so full of life. Your life is going to be so beautiful.”

Her hand was pulled from his, and he steeled what was left of his nerves to get ready for whatever tongue lashing she had planned, but instead he felt the bed dip further beside him, her hands framing his sullen face on each side and softly turning his gaze to meet her own.

“Don’t you say things like that, Tom.” He forced his eyes to stare into her own. His eyes seemed as if they were always ready to release tears, and the intensity of the hurt in her own made his pool unconsciously. “There is no somebody else when the other half of my soul is already with me. I don’t need anybody else because you’re not going anywhere.”

Her thumb brushed away the tear that slipped from his chocolate orbs, ignoring the dark circles underneath that made his face seem further sunken than it was.

“You don’t know that,” he sniffed heavily, dropping his eyes down to his lap. His fingers unconsciously toyed with the bracelet she had given him years ago. A soft, black, faux-leather band. An unfit symbol charm dangled close to the strap, reminding him of her favourite line from her favourite book/movie - the perks of being a wallflower. He had gone wuth her when she got the titular floral piece tattooed on her forearm. She was so happy that day. “One day you’re gonna be in a nice house, a ring on your finger, watching your husband dote over your little baby and you will be at peace in the way I know you crave. I just... I know that will never be me, who slips a ring onto your hand, or waits for you at the end of the aisle. I won’t be the one who holds your hand when you meet your baby, or the one who can give you the life you deserve - the one you want.”

His eyes snapped up to meet her own when he heard her breath grow shaky, but the action caused his brain to lose its equilibrium and he had to close his eyes for a moment. He hated doing so. Every time his eyes were shut, it was a moment that he lost of memorizing every line, curve, angle of her body. He opened his eyes again when able, and he was met with her own eyes as red rimmed as his, tears streaming down her beautiful face.

“Don’t you every talk like that, Thomas Stanley. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to be the one to do all of those things because you’re going to make it and we are going to love each other until the end of our time, together. I’ll fucking Romeo and Juliet this shit if I have to,” her dark joke was met with a wet laugh from them both, before her face melted back into seriousness. “I’m never gonna need another person, Tommy. I have you, and I will have you forever.”

“You make every day a blessing, my love.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over hers as he gathered the strength in his lead arms to pull her into a hug. “You make hell feel like a summers day, and I cherish every moment I have left with you.”

My life was kinda short, but I got so many blessings. Happy you were mine, it sucks that it's all ending

Their days continued on for another three weeks, the same routine of morning coffee and testing the boundaries of his own fatigue. Three weeks without the dreaded conversation arising again, until she woke to find him staring into the ceiling with such an intense and thoughtful gaze. She knew instantly what was on his mind, and she could feel her heart breaking into more little pieces.

“Tommy?” Her melodic tone was soft, snapping him from his nightmarish reprieve. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing honey. Thinking about us... when we were young and full of life,” he snorted into the dark room, Y/N’s soft laugh pushed through her nose and he felt her smile against his neck. “Just, thinking about how sorry I am for all of this. I’m sorry that I’ve turned your life upside down, that we have changed so much.”

He felt weaker. His body was fighting to hold on, and he felt that they both knew that. He was being eaten up from the inside out, but he couldn’t bear to leave. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t leave her alone. He needed her, he loved her. He wanted to be her husband and give her everything she wanted in life. He wanted to live, for her.

“I would change everything if it meant I could be here with you,” her voice was heavy, riddled with sleep. Neither of them get much rest anymore. He is always up and down, and she frets too much to sleep through his late night jolts and retches. “You’re worth every minute of every day, Tom. You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not like you chose to have Can-“

“Don’t say it, baby, please?” He pled, silencing her before she could say the word. He hadn’t once uttered it since the day he found out. She had relayed the information to their families, holding his hand the entire time as he sat motionless. “Makes it more real than my emo ramblings.” His laugh was humorless, but he didn’t intend it to be so.

She apologised softly, snuggling closer to him. She knew how much he loved the feel of her body on his, how the intimacy of the comfort made him feel warm. Back when he could handle the weight, she would sometimes wake up curled on top of his chest because he had sought her out in his sleep.

“I would do anything for you, Tommy. I would give up everything I have just to see you smile. You’re the other half of my soul, my infinity.”

He felt a tear slip down his cheek. Her words always had that affect on him, but he loved the way she could send his heart beating with no effort. He loved her. So intensely.

“Sing to me, please?” A request he had let loose so many times before. He adored her voice, and the soft melodies that fell from her lips and lulled him to sleep.

She obliged with a smile on her face, and let the words tumble into his pale skin.

“If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do...”

Soon you'll be alone, sorry that you have to lose me

Two more months passed. His doctors were satisfied, stating that he was slowly improving. His body was beginning to regain strength. He had begun to grow more hopeful, slowly but surely.

Until there was no chance for hope left.

Y/N made his morning coffee, but when she went to rest it on his bedside, he could barely breathe.

Her fingers dialed emergency services faster than she thought possible, her voice cracking as she sung to him over and over, hands cradling his head in her lap as he whispered his love for her.

The coffee went cold as the red and blue lights approached.

Don't stay awake for too long, don't go to bed. I'll make a cup of coffee for your head. It'll get you up and going out of bed

Tag list: @starshonerose @snookiebrookie @another-lonely-heart @mantlereid

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[shinsorokiri]

UA Idol | Chapter Seventeen

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Word Count: 2,225

Warnings: Language, mentions of hangover, banter, big nerves

A/N: Ah and we are BACK. Sorry for the long ass and excessive break, school got to be a little bit too much and mentally I was ~struggling~ quite a bit, but here I am now. Finals week is soon and I’ll be on break and my brain has been pumping out the creativity again which is great!! I have gotten so many ideas for what I want to happen, so stay tuned! Also, if anyone has any song suggestions or anything like that let me know! I might put them in for someone! Okay, that’s all! Thank you for dealing with my inconsistency, and I hope you enjoy loves! 🖤

───────────────────────────────────

Luckily, you both woke up without Denki and Mina coming back to the room. You also were feeling so much better than before. And maybe it was because after the two of you woke up, Shinsou just refused to let you leave his arms. For like a half an hour. “Okay, Shin, I really think we should get up. It’s literally one in the afternoon and Mina and Denki probably think we’re like, dead, or something,” you say, wiggling out of his grasp. He frowns and sighs overdramatically, causing you to giggle before going to your suitcase. Maybe you’d go out to a coffee shop or something and figure out what you were going to sing there? That could be very beneficial to you right now. Or maybe you should just stay in and mess around with your guitar? Browse through your playlists? Sweatpants, or shorts? “(Y/n).”

Shinsou’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to look over at him. He’s sitting up now, his hair is still a mess, but he pulls it off and just looks… well, hot. Not to mention that little smirk he has on his face and the way his hand is running through his hair. “Hmm?”

“You were just staring at your clothes without doing anything else. Are you still hungover? Because if so, I think you should come back to bed and let me hold you for a few more minutes.” You roll your eyes at his cheeky ass. “No, Shin, I need to prepare for sound check in two days and so do you, so no more of that. Even if I really want to,” you mumble the last part, but Shinsou still hears it and boy oh BOY does it make his heart swell. “You make some fair points, do you have any ideas yet?” he asks, reluctantly getting out of bed. You shake your head no, reaching down to grab some things. “No, I was going to try to figure it all out all day today but we’re getting… a late start now… aren’t we?”

“Well, how about we go grab some coffee or something and talk about it together? I’ve noticed we do our best work with each other, and I don’t mean to sound like, the word that ends in friend and starts with b, but I would like to spend some not hungover time with you,” he walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you. You feel your cheeks burn and you would be lying if you said you didn’t smile because godDAMN he’s a cutie. “Fine, fine. You’re right, we do do our best work together… so I guess I can get behind it…”

“Mhm, that’s the only reason why,” he teases, and you roll your eyes wiggling your way out of his grip. You make your way to the bathroom to change and freshen up considering you just felt like you were dying for the past multiple hours. Somehow you managed to make yourself look presentable again, and honestly you felt so much better afterwards. You may have also been in a good mood because halfway through you getting ready, Shinsou began strumming away on your guitar and singing some songs he probably came up with on the spot. You’d be lying if you said his voice couldn’t instantly put you in a better mood. You walk out of the bathroom, and when Shinsou looks up to see you all smiley and happy his heart skips a beat. This is crazy to him. This little agreement y’all made was about to be a challenge. How could he not fall in love with someone like you? Well, he can’t mess this up, so he’s not going to. No matter how hard it might be. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well actually cleaning yourself up after feeling and looking like death personified does things to you. You should try it.”

“Woah now, hold on. Are you saying I look like death right now?”

“Well, you don’t look alive. But that doesn’t mean you don’t look good. And that is unfair and makes me upset so because of that, you must change and freshen up,” you say and he scoffs. “Oh please. You could literally draw all over your face with sharpie and super glue and you would still be the most beautiful person in the room, miss me with that shit.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face betrays the façade you’re trying to put up. “Shut up and go get dressed, loser,” you say and he grins. “Well, considering you’re all ready to go, come on up to mine and Denki’s room. Then we can just head out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You grab your bag and make sure you have your phone, room key, laptop, and some money before the two of you make your way out of your room. This is honestly crazy to you. Not only are you literally on television and you’re going to be watched on television as well, but you met Shinsou through this. Of course, you probably would have met him regardless because Denki and Mina were bound to catch up again at some point, but it’s still crazy to you that you met this man. He was actually amazing, and not only are you in his presence, but you’ve kissed him. A lot!!! At this point you don’t think it would be too crazy to say that you, in fact, are the main character. “Here we are. Hopefully Denki and Mina aren’t passed out in there.”

“Wouldn’t matter if Mina is, she could genuinely sleep through anything,” you inform him, and he opens the door. “Looks like we lucked out,” he says, holding open the heavy ass hotel door for you. You walk in and can immediately tell which bed is Denki’s and which one is Shinsou’s. Denki is chaotic, even in his living spaces. “This shouldn’t take long. Question, though.”

“Answer.”

“Should I deal with this heat and wear long sleeves or actually wear something appropriate?”

“Appropriate. It’s fucking hot here dude. Besides, save your good outfits for the stage,” you say, and he gives you finger guns. “You’re absolutely correct. I’ll change and then we can head out.” You nod, and he goes into the bathroom leaving you alone to look at Shinsou’s things he brought with him. And that’s not weird. You two are… kissing friends? Huh. Maybe you should work out whatever you guys are while still not putting a label on it- no you know what, you two are just friends. Friends. Friends who platonically sleep together and are extremely attracted to each other. That’s all. You shake your head, trying your best to stop thinking about this situation. You sit on his bed, picking up his guitar just like he did with yours in your room. You start absentmindedly stumming, probably playing some song you learned years ago. But you weren’t singing because you’re too busy thinking of a song to sing for an audience. It has to be written by someone already which sucks for you because you hate doing that, but it’s necessary. And it needs to be well known so everyone else can enjoy it as well. Oh God this is harder than it should be. “That’s pretty.” 

You jump slightly at Shinsou’s voice, and you expect him to laugh but instead he just sits next to you and looks genuinely concerned. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been spacing out a lot…” You can tell he’s very worried, and he reaches out and grabs your hand causing you to feel actually a lot better about this decision weighing on your mind. “I’m just stressed about this next performance. It’s in front of people and it has to be a song already written which means I need to put my own flair on it and like that should be easy, but it also won’t be because the audience needs to also recognize it and-”

“Slow down, (Y/n). You’re going to be fine, believe me. Remember, the judges are still the ones sending us through right now and they adore you.”

“Anything could happen though! And I just don’t know if I’ll even be able to do well in front of an actual crowd of people, like Mina has natural stage presence and so does Denki and Kirishima and somehow even Bakugou has a way with a crowd and don’t even get me started on you, I mean seriously Shinsou everyone lo-”

“Hitoshi.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Hitoshi. Or Toshi. Whichever you prefer, but you’re a little too close to me to not call me by my first name now.” You just stare at him for a moment, giving him the chance to continue on. “And relax, (Y/n). You’re literally amazing. And I know you’re humble but trust me, you have one hell of a presence onstage and you’re more talented than the majority of the people here. I’ll help you pick a song; all songs are up for grabs. And luckily UA Idol doesn’t care if you use explicit songs because explicit songs are some of the best ones and I know a few that I think you would fuck with. Calm down, kitten. It’s gonna be okay.”

Jesus. Christ. This man. This man will be the death of you. “Okay?” he asks, placing his hand not holding yours on your shoulder, forcing you to look in his eyes. You just gulp and nod. “Okay… Toshi,” you say, his name felt great coming out of your mouth. He finally grins. “Let’s go, coffee is on me.”

“Wait what? No, it is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

The two of you actually bicker over that the entire way to the coffee shop, and sadly for you, he makes sure he’s the one who pays. You throw some choice words at him before the two of you sit down at a table outside. “Alright, so let’s brainstorm some songs.”

“Alright, well, I think best bet would be popular songs, something a lot of people know and something catchy enough that people can vibe with even if they don’t know it.”

“Mmm, yeah. Good call. Tragic call, but good call,” he says, pulling out his laptop as you pull out his. The two of you pull up your playlists, starting to compare and contrast songs until you both have a list. “Right, so I could sing That’s What You Get by Paramore-”

“Not pop.”

“No, but it is well known. And I could play guitar with it if you really think about it…”

“Tempting. Others?”

“Undrunk by Fletcher, vulgar but a good option.”

“Both true statements.”

“And then there’s My Consequence or Clean by Hey Violet, it’s catchy, but not a lot of people… know… about Hey Violet.”

“That’s true. Their biggest song is technically Guys My Age, so those two are not as well known. These are all really good options though.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“Well, there’s Riptide by Vance Joy, a classic and I’d get to shred on my ukulele skills.”

“Nice, nice, others?”

“Oh. No, I’m doing Riptide. Safest bet, really. Everyone knows it, I can put my own spin on it, catch me playing a uke. All good things, so let’s decide yours, kitten.”

You roll your eyes at him, shooting back the last of your coffee and looking at your list. Would you prefer to do something like Clean or My Consequence because they tend to be your songwriting vibe? Yes. You would. But not enough people know about it and if you want the crowd to interact with you, you need to pull out the big guns. “I think it’s down to That’s What You Get or Undrunk,” you say, rubbing your chin. Why was this so hard?”

“Okay, so instrument playing or dancing. Because I know you and I know if you do Undrunk you will have a dance routine that goes with your whole performance, so everyone knows you mean business.”

“You’re right. But… I honestly, I don’t know.”

He frowns. He knows this decision is literally eating you alive, and he wants to help. He knows you don’t necessarily want to sing either of the songs you’re choosing between, so he makes the decision for you right then and there. “You’re doing My Consequence.”

“What? I can’t, it’s not known enough.”

“So what? You want a real challenge? Sing a song not everyone knows. You can also definitely put your own spin on that song, play some instruments, come up with an original (Y/n) arrangement, use Mina and me and Denki and literally anyone you need to do the back-up vocals. You can do that. Easy,” he has full confidence in everything he’s saying, and you definitely already thought about doing all of that and had ideas for it in your brain before he even said it. You pause for a moment to consider what he said before glancing up at him. “You really think that’ll work?”

“I don’t think. I know it will.”

You smile at him. He’s right, why were you even trying to talk yourself out of this anyways? “Thanks, Toshi.”

“Any time, kitten. Now what do you say we head back to the hotel and get to work?”

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

“Don’t pass out on me! Please! Don’t pass out!”

Fun fact! I didn’t even have to think about a topic for this one for once lol. This is actually based off part of an rp I have with @kakerunotanurse! The two chunks of dialogue in the ‘flashback’ is torn straight from the rp lmao. I played Spot, Hotshot and the twins while he played Race and Splasher. Naturally, I’ve changed a lot to fit the prompt a little more plus I wanted to add more angst lol

Now, a bit of backstory for this (well mainly two of the characters). Viper and Jumper are two of my ocs and they’re asshole twins:

Viper: Older by a few minutes and the most dangerous of the pair. He’s known for manipulating anyone he could and waiting for the right moment to strike, hence his nickname. His favorite target is Jumper, who he’s convinced that he has to listen to/do everything he says because he’s the elder of the two and the only family he has left. He’ll drop Jumper the second he could if it meant he’d get an advantage. 

Jumper: The younger of the two and easily manipulated. He doesn’t like what he does but does whatever Viper orders him to. He’s the one who will ‘jump’ into a fight and do the dirty work needed. 

The two got kicked out for a range of things including beating up the little kids and trying to overthrow Spot and Hotshot. Due to their behavior and threats, Spot sent runners to the other boroughs to warn them about the pair and each borough decided to blacklist them both. After being kicked out, Viper got super pissed and decided the best thing to do would be to oh you know attempt to fucking kill Spot and overtake Brooklyn like that. After a while, the two started working at the refuge (something else Jumper hated) but Viper got even more pissed after the strike because it got shut down and ignored Jumper’s urges to get a job somewhere else. 

Jumper has slightly redeemed himself. He got so tired of everything and decided to stand up for himself. How? He just dragged Viper to a police offer and turned them in so they’re now behind bars!

Anyway, onto the story! 

Tw: Attempted murder via gunshot, implied sexual content.

Race shivered slightly as he hugged himself tighter, wondering what he was going to say to Spot. Now that he had time to think about it, he knew he had overreacted this morning during the argument but he hated laying in the bedroom, all alone in the lodging house as everyone else was out selling and having fun...But he could understand why Spot was worried about him. Newsies couldn't afford to be sick and Spot was protective of his boys and that included him.

Shaking his head, he sighed softly, empty pape bag lightly bouncing against his leg, he decided to say whatever popped into his head when he was standing face to face with his boyfriend. Looking up from his feet, he froze, blood running cold as he noticed a small crowd gathered by the pier. Before he even registered it, he found himself shoving his way through the startled crowd, freezing once more when he spotted what was going on, brain both running a thousand miles an hour yet blank and empty at the same time, eyes darting between Spot, looking calm as ever on this makeshift 'throne' at the pier and the set of twins, one with pure rage on his face while the other shifted from foot to foot, fingers clenching and releasing around the handle of the old wooden bat that rested in his hands, his eyes too darting between the Brooklyn leader and his angry twin, eyes pausing when they noticed Race frozen on the other side of the dock.

He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the blond as Spot spoke voice level and calm as he looked down at the twins, unaware that his boyfriend was in the crowd. "Viper, you need ta clear out. Hotshot 'nd I gave you three chances and you ruined them all. Now take ya brudder get out."

"We ain't fuckin' leaving Conlon! We fucking lost our jobs causea you damn newsies! You blacklisted us from all the fuckin' boroughs!"

The newsie leader sighed and jumped down from his post. "You did it to yaselves. You 'nd Jumper were the ones beatin' on littles and pickin' fights with us older ones. This shit right here is why ya got your asses kicked out. We don't keep toxic assholes around! Same goes for every other groups out there. No one wants some punk coming in and pickin' fights as well as tryin' ta overthrow anyone more powerful than you. So I'ma tell you once more. Get the fuck outta my turf before I throw you out myself."

A soft click of two fingers was the only warning Spot got before Jumper was rushing him, quickly slamming the bat down on his shoulder roughly before stumbling back, pale in the face at the grunt. He knew they shouldn't have come back but his brother was insistent that they needed revenge and Viper was older by a few minutes plus he was the only family he had left so he had to obey whatever he said....right?

"Viper. Put. The. Gun. Down." Spot ignored the pain screaming through his shoulder as he stared down the former newsie in front of him. Part of him felt sorry for Jumper, knowing full well the teen was being manipulated every second of the day, forced to do things he clearly didn't want to but still did in hopes of making his brother proud. "Just turn around 'nd walk away. I ain't changing my mind, nor am I giving up my role as leader and handing it to you of all people."

He knew he shouldn't but Spot took a step closer, not even feeling the pain as five bullets tore into his skin, nor did he hear the startled noises of the onlookers as the twins bolted. No...All that mattered was the blond dumbass that had bolted over and taken a bullet for him. "Race? Ya okay?"

Stumbling over, he did his best to appear strong, keeping the fear out of his voice as he looked at the blond on the ground, blood spreading across the Manhattan's shirt slowly from a small wound located on the side of his stomach. "We gotta get ya back to lodging okay?"

Shaking his head, the blond patted a hand on the ground next to him, a silent urge for him to sit down, one which Spot gladly fulfilled, praying that it would at least relieve some of the pain flowing through his body like a tidal wave. "We can't stay here for long okay? We gotta head back and I'll send one o' the fellas over Jack ta let him know what happened." Carefully, he wrapped an arm around the blond, allowing him to sob and shake against him. Spot would cry later, once he was out of the public eye and safe in his tiny bedroom.

"‘m so sorry spot..I didn’t mean what I said this morning..ya ain’t controllin..i’ll try ta not be so annoyin...an’ I'll keep my mouth shut if ya really want me to.”

"Hey...I know ya didn't mean it. We'se were both frustrated and said stuff we didn't mean. I never meant ta make you feel like you were annoyin' or that you needed ta shut up." He carefully rubbed his arm, matching the soft tone his crying lover was using. "I didn't mean ta go off at you like that."

In the haze of his pain, he remembered the fight from the morning, harsh words thrown back and forth over whether Race should spend one extra day or sell that morning which lead with him storming out and running back to Manhattan.

"I can tell ya holding back coughs n shit! Sides, I'se gonna be telling them all ta sell in pairs n if they'se got a problem wit it, they can take the day off! Ya can wait one more day fa fucks sake so shut up and get back in bed!"

“Spot I sell with Rai almost everyday goddammit! if anything I could use bein sick ta sell more damn papes but you won’t let me cause ya gotta be so damn controlling with shit like this! god, Spot! it’s my job to be a damn newsie so let me damn be one for crying out loud! You tryin ta keep me from doin my damn job just cause’a some cold is getting on my damn nerves!”

"We both meant none o' that and you know it, Pretty Boy...We're fine." Spot forced himself not to smile and kiss the blond's forehead when no one was looking at the sight of a watery smile, one much weaker than the ones that he normally got when he called his boyfriend by his favorite pet name.

He sighed, laying down a bit before closing his eyes to take a few deep breaths and calm himself down, knowing that the twins were long gone by now. Viper may be cocky but even he would stick around after shooting someone with so many witnesses.

Closing his eyes was the wrong thing to do in this situation as Race's breathing instantly picked up, thin hands carefully shaking him. "Don’t pass out on me! Please! Don’t pass out! Spot please!"

"M fine." He smiled weakly, opening his eyes again. "Sun just hit me in the eyes is all." He hummed lightly, tuning everything other than Race out. "It's okay. We're okay."

Finally zoning back into the world around them, he noticed Hotshot running towards the two, closely followed by his own boyfriend, Splasher.

"Shit...The hell happened ta you two?"

"The demon twins is what happened. Assholes got their hands on a gun 'nd thought it'd be fun ta come here and act like smartasses. Well, Viper did. Jumper just did the normal shifting thing 'fore followin' orders."

Hotshot just sighed as he watched Splasher carefully pull Race to his feet before he himself leaned down to help his leader up, fighting back a wince at the look in Spot's eyes. "Good fa you nerds, we ain't too far away from lodging." With a nod to his boyfriend, the two started supporting the others back to the lodging house. Well, more like Spasher supported Race while Hotshot was forced to walk normally with Spot being too stubborn to actually accept help despite the fact he looked ready to collapse.

"Honestly ya moron. Just take the help, Sean. Ain't no one gonna judge."

"Alexander. I'se dunno if the assholes are still hangin' round. Can't let them know they'se got ta me so much."

"You are *fucking* hopeless." He shook his head, gently punching his brother's arm after making sure there were no wounds. Falling silent, the two walked, keeping an eye on not only their boyfriends walking ahead. He couldn't help but worry about the short boy next to him who's breathing seemed to be more and more laboured with each step. If he could, he'd scoop him up and bolt to the lodging house to fix him up, knowing full well that the short one would refuse. He couldn't help but let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw the lodging house down the street.

Hotshot couldn't help but seed up slightly, urging the injured boy alongside him to match the pace. Without looking, he knew people were staring, well, more like staring at the dark stain spreading across Race and Spot's shirts.  

He could tell that Spot was afraid but if it was for himself or Race, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that he had to hurry both of them upstairs so he could carefully pull the bullets out of them and stitch them up. He wasn't as good as their 'medic' but damn it, there wasn't enough time to sprint to the other side of Brooklyn to find the lanky boy and drag him back. No. It was up to him and Splasher right now to save their friends.

Biting his lip, he dragged Spot upstairs as carefully as he could, glad Splasher had already gotten Race into Spots room, the tiny medkit the Brooklyn newsies owned resting on the bed next to the blond.

Hotshot honestly wasn't surprised to see Race stumble to his feet, frantically telling him to work on Spot first, despite the shorter boy's protests that he was okay.

Giving up, Hotshot just gently shoved Spot onto the bed, holding back a wince at how his brother looked. Spot may be a force to be reckoned with, but seeing him lying in bed, pale and shivering while doing his best to appear strong just reminded everyone how young he was...How young all of them were.

Shaking his head roughly he carefully stripped his leader, ignoring all the scars and the hickies on the other, instead focusing on carefully pulling out the bullets from his chest, doing his best not to twitch whenever he slipped the pair of tweezers into each small hole until he felt the bullet, carefully pulling it out before dropping it on the bed, only to go back for another one.

Swallowing after he had pulled out all bullets, he pretended not to hear Race struggle to hold back tears as he watched his boyfriend being worked on, watched as Hotshot's hands shook ever so faintly as he carefully stitched up each tiny hole after cleaning each wound.

"Right Higgins. Lay ya twink ass down on your side so I can take the damn bullet out of you. Don't worry, you'se'll get a small scar so you can still pull off ya bullshit 'look how cool I am, look at the scar fuckers' thing."

"Yeah yeah okay." Casting a worried look at Spot who had shuffled closer to the window to make room for him. Sighing, the blond carefully lay down  on his side after pulling his shirt off, unable to hold back a wince as his skin pulled slightly at the small movements. Subtly, he clenched the thin sheet below him as he felt cool metal slowly entering the burning wound on his side. It seemed like forever before the tweezers were removed from his body, a soft clink ringing through the room as the newsie above him allowed the bullet to fall into the pile with the others.

After stitching up Race's side, Hotshot nodded to himself and stood up. "Right. I'll leave you two alone fa now. Pull those stitches and you'll be hearin' from me. You don't want that, trust me." He tossed the two clean shirts. "Put those on 'nd leave the dirty ones to me. Now relax 'nd shit. No dirty stuff either! I don't want ta hear you fucking!"

Spot just chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Like we don't hear you two goin' at it all the time. Fuck off 'nd get outta my room." Gently, he wrapped an arm around Race, carefully pulling him closer. "That was 'nd order Alexander."

"Yeah yeah Sean. Just no sex until everythin' has healed ya morons." With that, he pulled his own boyfriend out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Smiling, Spot kissed Race's cheek, doing his best to calm his tense lover down. "We're alright Tony. I promise."

[ceciliavonwrites]

Clownmom and Sonboy

"Sweetie?" Harley Quinn lifted one of her ratty couch's throw pillows. It was too small to hide anyone under, but she had to be sure. She'd only gotten home a few minutes ago. "Where are you?"

She got down on her knees to check under the couch. She was pretty sure that he hadn't gone out; the front door was still locked when she got home.

That, and she knew by now how he functioned. Shadow had a lot of trouble expressing emotion. He internalized things. Multiple times he had chosen to hide and nurse his own pain alone (sometimes literally, with his headaches) rather than let her know that he was struggling.

In theory, with time and with patience, he would emerge on his own. Harley, very worried and tearing apart her living room, was not currently capable of patience.

Now she marched into her bedroom, leaving the living room behind her in more disarray than it had started with. Her room was equally messy, even though half of her things were still in boxes. "Darn it, where is he?" She said to no one in particular. "He'd been doing so well lately, too..."

She heard a noise. Harley stopped, managing not to make any sound for a moment. She glanced around the room, trying to figure out where it came from.

There it was again. A soft shuffling, from under the middle of her bed.

She dropped to the floor, so low that her cheek squished against the carpet.

There he was. A little black and red ball between some of her boxes of stuff, curled up so tight she couldn't see anything but the big red stripe on his head and his ears. He was so small and his little ears were drooping and sad.... She wanted to dive in, drag him out, and hug the shit out of him.

Okay, probably shouldn't do that. She took a deep breath. Stay calm, Harleen. Don't come on too strong. Use that big smart talky psychiatrist brain you have.

"Sweetie?" She said gently. "I can see you. What's wrong?"

He didn't move. Harley waited, as hard as that was.

Then slowly the stripe moved backwards, and Shadow's eyes came into view. The whites of his eyes glowed just slightly, making them very visible in the darkness underneath. In her opinion, he was trying too hard to keep whatever he was feeling from showing on his face.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

"Nothin'? Well...okay." Arguing just made him defensive. "Come on out from under the bed, though? It's almost dinner time. Help me make mac n' cheese."

Shadow glanced down, thinking. He did like macaroni and cheese. "Hm." He uncurled some more, pushing out his limbs and jostling the boxes next to him; it was an awkward motion in such a small space. "Alright."

Harley lifted her head off the floor and scooched back to give him room. It took Shadow some ungraceful army-crawling and squirming to get his head to pop out from under the bed. She offered him a hand to stand up and he ignored it, getting up on his own.

"I'll get the pot and the water," Harley said, "if you set the table."

Shadow nodded, and trailed after her into the kitchen.

So Harley got the mac n cheese box and the pot and the water in the pot. Shadow helped, obeying whenever she asked for something without any enthusiasm. Not that he was normally enthusiastic about chores, but the lack thereof was usually active, scowling, you-can't-make-me rebellion.

Shadow trudged across the kitchen to her side. He handed her a requested big spoon without so much as looking up.

"Thanks, sweetie." With the un-spooned hand, Harley ruffled the bristly fur on his head.

He let her do it in silence.

She lifted her hand and uneasily returned to the stove. He usually hates that.

Oh, she really REALLY wanted to just smother him in cuddles and make him stop being so gloomy and quiet, but that wouldn't actually help. She would know, she's tried. Gotta be patient. He has to initiate the conversation.

She sprinkled some salt into the water to make it boil faster. "So. It's gonna take a bit for the water to boil." Just a little. A pinch. A teaspoon. Half the shaker.

Shadow hadn't moved away, and didn't now. His quills brushed against her leg. "I can't see it from down here," he said.

"Well...no?" What did that mean? Did he want to be picked up? She LOVED holding him. He, less so. "You want up?"

Shadow, staring at the floor, bobbed his head in a tiny nod. Her psychiatrist brain and her holding-cute-things brain, for once, were in perfect agreement. He's seeking comfort. It's good that he feels secure enough to do that.

Harley knelt, and scooped him up, supporting him under his legs with one arm, like she would a baby. Shadow cooperated, leaning against her with his head over one of her shoulders.

She stood up, bouncing him once to adjust him. He still couldn't see the pot, but she suspected that wasn't really the point.

Okay. She's gotten him here. Harley decided to chance it. "How're you doin'?"

It was a moment before Shadow tried to answer. "I'm..." He paused. "I don't know."

She pat him on the back. "That's okay." It was a step. Getting away from complete denial of his negative feelings, which was good.

Still, it means more waiting. That wasn't too out of the ordinary for him.

She passed the time walking around the kitchen and straightening up some of the ever-present mess on the counter, occasionally adjusting Shadow on her arm. It wasn't too long; the water boiled shockingly fast for a crappy apartment stove (the small mound of salt at the bottom of the pot might've helped).

Harley hummed while stirring the boiling noodles. It wasn't any tune in particular. She just didn't like the quiet.

Shadow took a breath. "Doctor...I remembered more about that girl." He said quietly. "Maria."

Oh. That kid he saw get shot. She held him a little tighter. "Yeah?"

"She was... We were friends." He paused. "Last night I received a memory of her and I reading together. This morning I saw us playing hide and seek."

Harley thought about this for a moment. He hadn't had any idea who she was, just that her name was Maria and she had been shot. Unfortunate, and probably disturbing (Harley herself was blasé about violence at this point), but nothing personal. Now that was changing.

"How does that make you feel?" she asked.

"It hurts. She felt...important." He sounded like he was having trouble talking. "They were...happy memories. I should be happy. I don't...know why I..."

He trailed off, and didn't finish the sentence.

Harley set down the stirring spoon on the counter, and pat him on his prickly back. "I think you're sad because now you know she was your friend." She said. "Like, you're discovering that you and her both had some good times together. But you're also aware that she died sometime after that. So it's like now you know that you've lost something, you know?"

Shadow's voice broke. "Oh."

He buried his face into her shoulder. Harley abandoned the spoon and wrapped her arms around him.

The only sounds in the kitchen were the bubbling of the boiling water, and Shadow's quiet, muffled attempts not to cry.

Harley teared up. Broke her heart, every time. "It's okay, hun," she said, gently rocking him back and forth. "Cryin' helps. Honest it does." She turned in place; if she couldn't do anything else she at least wanted to be moving. "Balances your brain chemistry and stuff. It's healthy."

He made a noise into her shoulder. "Mnh..."

Harley stopped turning in place, her back to the stove. "I know, it's not fun. I know. I'm sorry. But I'm proud of you!" Harley snuggled him. "You're doing it. Meeting your memories and your feelings head-on. Doing the not-fun thing."

She could hear and feel him breathe in, the lungs in his little body pushing out against her embrace.

"...I miss her." His voice was almost steady. He paused before speaking again. "It shouldn't hurt this much."

It's working! He's talking! Harley contained her excitement, and asked, "Why do you say that?"

"I should be stronger."

"Strong?" Harley played dumb for a moment. "You can lift a bus over your head. You're plenty strong."

"Not...that."

She waited for him to elaborate. It took a few minutes for him to speak again.

"I hate that new memories can...do this to me." He said slowly. "Knock me down."

"Yeah?"

"I am the ultimate lifeform." He spoke ruefully. "And I end up hurt by something as intangible as my own memories."

Oof, the implications there. If that was a big part of his thinking... "Well, heck, anybody would be rattled by a vision of somebody dyin' popping into their heads. An' if they aren't," she added, "all they are is wayyy too used to seein' people die. That's not a strength, that just means they're fucked up. They're prolly the ones causing all that death in the first place."

She had drifted to an unpleasant subject. Harley hurriedly corrected herself. "Er, but, that ain't the point, that ain't the point. You're not like that. Make sense?"

"You are trying to say that I am not..." Shadow paused, and tentatively shaped his mouth around the unfamiliar phrase. "'Fucked up'."

"Yeah!" His formal little voice saying swears would be funny if they weren't having a serious feelings discussion right now. Actually, no, it was still funny. "Could be a lot worse. You're capable of feeling! That's more than a lotta crooks in this city can claim."

"Hm."

"And, you know, I cry all the time," Harley said matter-of-factly. "Just 'cause stuff happens and I'm emotional. Maybe I do cry more than other people. I don't really care! It helps me be peppy the rest of the time. It ain't me being weak, it's just...you know, feeling."

She softened her voice. "You're doing great, honey."

He was still and quiet for a moment. His breathing wasn't hitching anymore.

Then Shadow leaned back, pulling himself away from her shoulder. Harley adjusted her arms to keep holding him up, smiling at him. He looked tired, but calm, his eyes dry.

"...Thank you."

"No problem, sweetie." Aw, she'd probably have to stop holding him now. "Eh...do ya want down?"

He glanced aside, thinking.

Then he nestled back into her, re-resting his head on her shoulder. "In a moment."

Harley could have cried again, she was so fucking happy. Her baby trusted her enough to talk to her! And to hold him! She was bouncing. She loved him so much!!

Shadow choked. "Y-You're crushing me...!"

"Sorry!" She hastily loosened her grip. "Sorry, sorry...are you okay?"

"Y...Yes."

He caught his breath.

"Doctor?"

Shadow sounded like himself again. Phew. Harley felt a lot better. Everything was okay now. "Yeah, hun?"

"The noodles are drying out."

"What?" Shit, that's right, she had been making mac n cheese! "OH, FUCK!"

[thealphabetmurders]

Laundry Day

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word Count: 3580

Summary: Virgil walks in on Roman with the door unlocked, causing him to realize some feelings he didn't know he had.From the sentence prompt: "I'm sorry, I thought this door was locked."

Triggers: anxiety, suggestive themes

Authors Note: This is my second Prinxiety fic in a month, what is happening to me? 

Thank you to Koko on my Discord for the sentence prompt. This was really fun to write. 

(Read on AO3)

Virgil didn’t mind his roommates, not at all. Sure, living in a city apartment with 3 other people sounded like a nightmare, and it was sometimes, but they worked together great. Logan was a surprisingly component chef, Patton was good at keeping the peace whenever tensions rose, and Roman encouraged them all to be active to match his own fitness lifestyle. Of course, they are also all close friends, but they had all had their own fair share of bad roommates, and after two years of the 4 of them living together, there was no reason to stop or for that to change. They were in a comfortable, domestic heaven.

***

The Home-osexuals Chat

P: Hey kiddos! Remember I wont be home for the next week because of the convention in Jersey, please do not slack on your chores, I will be upset if I come back to the house and nothing is done :(

L: This is Logan. I believe we still have the list you wrote out for us, we will do our best to abide by it.

R: You have nothing to fear Padre, we will complete everything you need us to!

Virgil looked at his phone, smirking, before placing back in his pocket, blasting the music from his large headphones as he gathered up his laundry as well as his roommates. He felt proud of himself for actually being ahead of schedule and doing his and his roommates laundry a day ahead of schedule.

Normally, laundry would be a task left up to the individual to complete, but 3 months into living with each other, Virgil quickly found out that his roommate absolutely despised doing laundry- a formidable task that Virgil had never had an issue with. So, his job was to wash, dry, and fold everyone’s clothes for that week. It was a bit awkward folding his very platonic roommates undergarments the first time, but after doing it for years, he barely bats an eye now.

With a huff, he reached down, and grabbed the three smaller plastic laundry bins and one large one on top of one another, the stacking made the baskets reach his chin. He struggled to the elevator but eventually made it up to the 14th floor and set the laundry down so he could begin folding.

Virgil began with the large basket- Princey’s laundry. It was the biggest and the most daunting out of the 3. With work out clothes and dancing attire and the fact that Roman spills on himself a lot, he goes through a lot of laundry. No matter. He begins his work at a steady pace, folding the shirts and shorts in the way that he knows Roman likes, separating the clothes in the basket by the occasion. Work out clothes and undergarments go on the bottom, everyday in the middle, and dancing/theater attire goes on top. Virgil let his mind wander about a couple projects he has to complete for work and a potential promotion that is in the works at his job. He bites his lip, shaking his head, wanting to distract himself from the pressures of work on his day off. He steadies himself and focuses on the polyester fabric between his fingertips and the sound of Hayley Williams’ voice.

Once he was finished, Virgil put the basket on his hip, feeling like quite the 19th century maid, and made his way up the stairs where Roman bedroom was. Patton and Roman essentially had control of the upstairs (it only being their two rooms and a bathroom) while Logan and Virgil claimed a hallway for their corner of the house. It didn’t take long to realise that Roman blasting show tunes while Logan was studying for his Masters was not going to work out.

Virgil sighed, knocking twice on the door decorated with golden stars and fairy lights draping on the outside. There was music Virgil couldn’t quite make out play from inside the room, so it is very likely he could have just not heard Virgil’s subtle knocks, “Ro, I have your laundry,” Virgil said, to no avail. He tried the door handle and it twisted successfully, so Virgil pushed himself into the room, “Roman, where do you want me-”

He cut himself off, unable to form any sentences after seeing Roman. It wasn’t Roman fault, Virgil caught him off guard. And it’s not like he was doing anything bad, and yet Virgil’s palm seemed to sweat and his throat dry once he saw Roman doing flexibility stretches. Roman was sat on the floor, holding his right ankle with both his hands behind his head, his other leg bent on the floor in front of him. Maybe it was because Roman was also completely shirtless or maybe it was the small and tight shorts that did not leave a lot to the imagination or maybe it was the way Roman’s olive skin gleamed with sweat under the lights, paired with his Adonis like body. Maybe it was all of that. Maybe it was none. But Virgil’s brain just went white as all he could do was stare.

“Ah, Virgil!” Roman let go of his ankle, and relaxed himself cross-legged on the floor, “I’m sorry, I thought this door was locked,” He stood up, towering over Virgil, stretching his arms a bit. Virgil nodded, dumbly, “Yea, uh, I knocked but the music-” Roman walked over to the speakers and turned off whatever cheesy pop song was playing, and now Virgil could clearly hear all the blood rushing in his ears. “The music is… Is no longer playing,”

“You okay there, Raggedy Angst?” Roman chuckled, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

Virgil nodded, feeling the color in his cheeks rising and he is praying to God Roman is dumb enough to not notice the way he is avoiding his gaze, “Yea, uh, just a bit tired, didn’t get a lot of, um, anything to eat today?” He tried that, hoping he would believe him.

Thankfully, Roman did, sucking in a breath through his teeth, “Yikes, no sleep and no eating, that is really bad for you Virge,”

Roman grabbed the laundry basket from Virgil and it took all of his strength to not whine as his fingertips brushed against Virgil’s waist. Roman was talking, most likely about his sleep schedule or eating, but Virgil was not there.

Virgil was transported into his own personal 80’s style fantasy dream sequence, where Roman had him backed up against a wall. He had on that smirk that used to make him roll his eyes but now has him weak in the knees. Roman brushed the loose hairs out of Virgil’s face, which made him bite his lip and hold back a gasp.

Roman smiled, “You’re so sensitive,” And then he was manhandled onto the bed, Virgil imagining just how soft those silky red sheets would be against his back, as Roman straddled him and lightly kissed his neck before nibbling his ear, whispering into it, “You want me to show you how flexible I can be?” And Virgil wanted that. He really, really needed that. But he was shaken out of his daydream by Roman, the real Roman, shaking his shoulder.

“Geez, you really are out of it,” Roman crossed his arms, concern all over his face.

“Huh?” It took him a moment to process what Roman said, “Yea, I- uh, might have a nap,” He swallowed thickly, his conscious eating away at him from what he just imagined, “Do you- uh…” Virgil trailed off, attempting to find the words, “Do you always workout li-like, y’know… Without clothes,”

“Not typically, no,” Roman shrugged casually, seeming unbothered by the question, “It is just you were doing my laundry when I normally do my stretching, and I didn’t have any clothes to wear. You are a day early,”

Virgil nodded, biting his lip, rubbing under his nose, “Right well, uh, I am gonna have that nap now. Uh,” Virgil did a two finger salute, causing Roman to raise an eyebrow at the awkwardness, “Sorry, I am tired,” His eyes flickered to the left and right before exiting the room.

Virgil closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, before groaning, “Well, fuck,”

***

Virgil may have gotten sleep but it certainly was not peaceful. The unwanted thoughts kept plaguing his mind, not even his favorite conspiracies YouTube channel could get his mind off of the golden-toned man.

“So, you’re having anxiety ‘cause… You find Roman attractive?” Remy took a long sip from his coffee before rolling closer to Virgil’s chair, “I dunno babe, this one is on you,”

Virgil spun around, angry, “How is this on me?”

“You should have seen that Roman is hot as fuck earlier,” Remy shrugged, “I look at him and am like ‘congratulations dude, you’re literally a 10’. I am honestly surprised none of you gays had a sexy dream about him sooner,”

Virgil cheeks warmed as he gripped the front of his fringe, “I did not have a…” He looked around, making sure there were no co-workers to overhear, “Have a sexy dream about Roman!” Remy raises an eyebrow and Virgil bit his lip, “Not in… So much detail,”

Remy cackles and pulled out his phone, shaking his head, “Ah man, that’s hilarious,”

“Look, it’s not like I have never thought Roman was attractive before, of course he is, but like, I don’t understand why I am having this… Reaction,”

Virgil and Remy were silent for a while, the the latter spoke up, “Maybe it’s all been like, building up and it just took one thing to make you realise, and that was Roman lewdly stretching out on the floor,”

He nodded, “I guess I do find my self seeking Roman’s company more so than anyone else, and we are like, always talking and texting,”

“So it was just a matter of your dumb brain making you realise you have feelings for him, so you’re not just in denial for the rest of your life,”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “Well, that’s rich coming from you,”

Remy’s expression flickered from smug to sheepish, but blink and you would have missed it, “I don’t know what you are referring to,” He scratched the side of his face and took a long sip of his coffee while Virgil scooted in closer, placing his hands on his knees.

“Oh really? So, you are just never going to address the absolutely giant crush you have on Logan? How you keep having problems with your coursework that only he can help with? How every time you’re around him you always bring your Louis Vuitton galaxy bag in hopes that he’ll ramble about space?” Remy kept sipping his coffee, avoiding eye contact very casually, “We’re not going to talk about that?”

Remy stopping drinking, smacking his lips together and sighing, “Nope,” Virgil rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “Do you even want to date Roman, or do you just want to f-”

“That’s a good question,” Virgil cut him off, as one of their coworkers walked by to get coffee from the breakroom, “I’ve been thinking about that, and I am not 100% sure. I know I am attracted to him in some weird, ambiguous way, but I haven’t even seen him since the- since the ‘incident’ so I guess I just have to find out,”

Remy nodded, “Well, good news is, you can find out right now,” He gestured his now empty cup towards reception where the devil himself was standing, dressed in his favorite form fitting red sweater tucked into black jeans. “Mm, he looks so good in casual wear,”

“Remy!”

“What?” Remy smirked, “Getting jealous? I may not want to date him but I am also not blind,” Roman walked over to the two men, waving with one hand, holding a drink carrier in the other one, flashing a classic 1000 watt smile.

“God, I bet he doesn’t even know how beautiful he is,” Virgil muttered to Remy, who just nodded.

“Hey, gorgeous, this certainly is a surprise,” Remy smiled, standing up. Roman set the drinks down before pulling him into a hug. He looked over to the drink carrier, pulling out the frappuccino he assumed was his, and collapsed back into his chair.

“What are you doing here today, Ro? You didn’t tell me you were coming?” Virgil frowned.

Roman leaned against Virgil’s desk, ruffling his hair a bit that was damp with moisture. His curly brown locks looked like that of a supermodel, or a 1920’s Hollywood actor. He sighed, putting on a soft smile, “Well, I got done with my lessons early and was in the area, thought I would surprise the two boys that are hard at work,” He looked around the office at everyone either on their phone or browsing Facebook on their computer, “Busy day, I take it?”

Virgil groaned, “We all just finished our projects for the month, so there is nothing new to work on, so we are just at work for the sake of being at work,”

Remy rolled his eyes, “I hate it here,”

“Capitalism really does suck sometimes. The 40 hour work day isn’t even productive. Studies find that people in typical office jobs can accomplish all their work in 3 hours, and to force someone to be at their job for more than double than length actually can cause a sharp decrease in productivity, or, what was that called, Virgil?”

Virgil was taken aback, “It’s called presenteeism. Wait, you were actually listening while I was rambling about that?”

Roman shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing the world, “Of course I did, why wouldn’t I want to listen to you, Virgil?” He softly smiled at Virgil, placing a hand tenderly on his bicep.

Remy smirked into his frappuccino, trying not to say anything while Virgil attempted to not scream.

Internally, he let out the biggest groan, “Well, fuck,”

***

Was Virgil avoiding Roman? Yes. Was he doing it in a way that was super obvious? Of course. Did Logan scold him for a little bit for taking over the kitchen table with unfolded laundry? Undoubtedly. When Virgil finally calmed down a bit from his gay panic (and regular panic), he tackled the pile of laundry he had been avoiding. Many of the clothes were now wrinkled from sitting out so long, so he had to get out the ironing board and tend to those as needed.

He hummed to the lo-fi beats coming from his headphones, ironing one of Logan’s shirts, beginning to relax, when his headphones were ripped right off his head, just as he was beginning to get lost in thought and maladaptive daydream.

“What the hell?” Virgil looked up and saw Roman holding the headphones on the tip of his finger, an eyebrow raised. He was wearing a show shirt that he cut the sleeves off of as well as most of the torso to make into a 00’s style crop top. “Oh, h-hey Roman,”

Virgil was distracted. Distracted that the object of his fantasies was standing right in front of him, looking a bit annoyed and confused, as well as the fact that he was wearing that particular crop top and Roman always looked so good in white… He was distracted, so he ran over his own finger with the iron.

“Ow, fuck!” He exclaimed, gripping his right finger, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my Lord!” Roman rushed over to the kitchen and began frantically opening cupboard doors, “Where is the first aid kit, where is it,” He muttered to him,

Virgil breathed out heavily, “Roman, don't worry about helping, I- I got it,” He rushed away, making a beeline for his and Logan’s bathroom. He turned on the cold water and thrust his entire hand underneath the rushing water, the cold mixed with the warm from the burn made for an uncomfortable sensation.

“Okay, what is going on with you?” Roman opened the bathroom door (shit, Virgil forgot to lock it) holding the first aid kit, “You have been avoiding me and been weird ever since I came to see you at work. Was it the fact that I surprised you at work, or something?”

Virgil was not sure if Roman could see the bright blush on his cheeks but he would be a fool not to notice the stutter in his voice, as he pulled his hand away from the sink, “O-oh I really didn’t min-”

“Ooh, that looked really bad,” He commented, interrupting Virgil. He manhandled him closer towards himself and held a tight grip on his wrist and he uncapped the burn cream and liberally spread it across his finger, “I have been burned multiple times before, don’t worry, I will take good care of you,”

Virgil is on fire. He is on fire and he is dead. Roman’s eyes twinkled a bit as he hummed lowly an adage that he did not recognize, but it had the melody of Disney. His lips were parted slightly, thankfully not noticing the long minutes Virgil was staring at them. When Roman dragged a tongue across the bottom one and bit it as he was wrapping the bandages, it took all of his willpower to not say something, instead opting to cover his entire face with the hand not being treated.

“There you are, all finished!” Roman patted down the wrap and kissed the bandages, just to add insult to injury.

Virgil nodded vigorously, “Okay, thanks Roman, bye,” He attempted to move around Roman, but Roman’s wide frame compared to Virgil’s small one made it a losing battle.

“Easy, you’re still being weird, what is going on with you?” Roman gripped Virgil shoulders, and he was avoiding eye contact with the beautiful man in front of him.

Virgil should just say something, tell Roman, rip the band-aid off, and they can get on with their lives after a couple weeks of awkwardness. These past couple days have been absolute torture, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up.

But, his anxiety has something else to say.

“Just, forget about it Roman, I’ll tell you some other day,” Virgil mumbled, if the bathroom hadn’t been so quiet, neither of them would have been able to hear it.

The other man sighed, dejected, and Virgil felt a pang of guilt, “Okay, fine, you are under no obligation to tell me, just know I miss talking to you,” Roman lifted his hand to brush the hair out of Virgil face, and of course, his body had to betray him with a involuntary whine, “and I-” Roman cut himself off, raising an eyebrow at the noise. Virgil wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He is sure he is going to be the first person to actually die from embarrassment.

“Virgil?”

He swallowed thickly, eyes squeezed shut, “Yea?”

A beat. “You like me, don’t you?”

Normally, Virgil would respond with some snark or a belittling comment towards Roman, but his nerves were turned up to 10 and he couldn’t even think straight (more so than usual), so in the vast sea of sassy remarks, there was not one to be found.

“Yes,” He responded, honestly.

There were a couple moments of deafening silence in the bathroom where Virgil thought Roman was going to sigh, disappointed in him or hit him or kill him. All irrational, but all seemed very likely in his anxious state.

“Virgil?” Roman asked again, his voice softer.

“Yea?”

Roman placed a hand on his shoulder, “Can you look at me?”

Virgil sighed, slowly placing his hands down to his side, looking up into Roman’s wide brown eyes. He had on a soft smile. Before Virgil could even register what was happening, he was being lifted up by his thighs, his legs instinctively going around Romans waist and arms around his neck. Roman then pushed Virgil back against the wall, holding him there for a passionate kiss.

At first, he didn’t kiss back, so shocked by Roman’s bold actions that his brain was lagging like a 2006 Chrome browser. Roman began to pull away, but once Virgil’s brain caught up with his body, he pulled himself closer to his partner and kissed back with a passion and fervor that he is sure Roman did not expect.

If this were a movie, the lightbulbs in the bathroom would have burst and the music would have swelled, but instead, all Virgil could sense was the softness of Roman’s lips and the heavy weight lifted off of his shoulders. The feeling of ecstasy made his legs tingle, almost causing him to lose his grip on Roman and collapse onto the tile.

Virgil one the one to break the kiss, resting his forehead against Roman’s chuckling slightly, “So, I am guessing you like me back?”

“Have for a while now, Virge,”

The two of them chuckled, peppering soft kisses onto each other’s faces that would normally make Virgil gag, but now it made his heart swell.

They heard the front door open and slam shut and a sigh came from the kitchen, “Really kiddo?” They heard Patton yell, “You couldn’t get the laundry done before I came home?”

Virgil sighed, frustrated, leaning his forehead on Roman’s shoulder.

Roman chuckled, amused that Virgil was about to get chewed out, “Someone is in trouble,”

He groaned, tightening the grip on Roman’s waist, “Well, fuck,”

A/N: By the way, here is the link to the stretch that Roman was doing. I did my best to describe it, but if you need a visual, here. 

[idiosyncrasy-thoughts]

Trust - Yvette Short Story

(a continuation of Empathy)

"The largest cell in the human body is the female egg while the smallest is the male sperm. Now, I..."

I sigh boredly, my ears automatically tuning out the professor's blabbering. I have decided to return back to medical school after the whole assassin versus demon thing. It was an interesting experience to go through and a definite wake-up call for me. Seeing Wrath and her troupe protecting people from demons reminded me of the reason why I had joined medical school; which is to save lives.

Oh please MC, the last push to go back is because of Yvette's interest in biology too.

Speaking of her, it has been more than two weeks since that fight between Wrath and her happened. Things eventually go back to the way they used to be; with no more demons to chase after me, no more powerful assassins to protect my weak ass; no more chaos. I should be happy that I don't have to live in fear anymore.

But somehow, that feeling just never comes.

Instead, I'm stuck with a longingness in my chest, for a certain green-haired girl that has probably forgotten about me. Her gorgeous features ingrained in my memory, there is never a time when her face doesn't pop up in my head.

I doubt Yvette's gonna bother you anymore after getting what she wants. You can go back to your normal life now. Wrath's previous words sink in my head, and I release another breath of defeat.

"You okay?" Serena, my classmate, asks. "You've sighed like fifty times today."

I sigh again. "I'm just...tired. The class is so dry."

"I know, but what do you expect from studying in a medical school?" Serena offers an apologetic smile. "Just hang on for a few more hours."

"Ugh, I can't wait to graduate."

"Feeling's mutual."

When the bell rings to signal the end of school, I mutter a quiet 'yes' before packing my stuff into my bag. Saying a quick 'bye' to Serena, I head back to my dorm.

Being in medical school means there's a need to understand rich content from a heap of thick textbooks, so I'm required to lock myself up in my room and revise daily. Tedious, but it will be worth it in the end.

As I inch closer to my dormitory, a dark trail of green catches my attention. Out of curiosity, I follow the path.

It leads me through a narrow and dimmed alley, taking me further and further away from the sunlit pavement. I take a right turn, stopping in my tracks when I reach a dead end. The strange trail discontinues too, with no other traces in sight.

I decide to examine the green goo, racking my brain for answers as to what has caused this. A faint memory resurfaces, causing the blood in my veins to run cold.

Could it be...?

My stomach churns sickly at the first thought that comes to my mind.

Demon's blood.

"But how?" I mumble to myself, so deep in consideration that I don't realise that I'm not alone anymore.

Heavy footsteps can be heard behind me, and I turn to be met with two strangers. They block the only pathway, leaving no available space to escape.

"Uh, can I help the both of you?" I ask, apparently talking to the walls since they refuse to reply.

A smile spread across their faces; too wide for me to feel comfortable in their presence.

They start to approach me.

"Stop right there!"

They do as I say, still wearing that abnormally large smile. Their eyelids begin to stretch out, revealing huge eyeballs that threaten to pop out. Thin, green veins emerge into sight, spreading far and wide on every inch of skin. Saliva dripping down their mouths, they let out a loud, aggressive growl.

Ah shit, here we go again.

I yell for help when one of them dashes towards me, shoving me hard. Tumbling backwards, my head hits the wall.

Pain penetrates my head like a bullet; darkness engulfs my vision.

~~~

I wake up to the feeling of a soft mattress underneath me. Lifting my hand to my forehead, I feel the material of gauze bandage.

Wha-what happened? Where am I?

"I told you to bring her here, not break her fucking head!" a female voice booms, the familiarity of it igniting every muscle in me.

It's her.

My body snaps up, the quick motion causing a spike of pain to pierce through my head. I gasp, my hand instinctively flying to the back of my head.

The mattress sinks as two warm, gloved hands hold my shoulders to guide me back to the bed. "You need to rest MC."

Obliging, my head rests on the soft pillow again. The tension between my brows leaves and I slowly open my eyes. Air leaves my lungs as my vision clears.

It's none other than the girl that has been running through my mind for the past two weeks.

Yvette.

Seeing her in real life sure relieves the yearning feeling in my heart, and the pain in my head slowly dissipates. I don't hold back a wide grin.

"I...thought I'd never see you again," I speak, a little out of breath.

She smiles endearingly, shrugging. "I thought so too. But here we are."

I stay silent, taking the moment to admire the view before me. The girl's healing from her encounter with Wrath, which is a good sign. A cut on her lip and a square bandage on the right side of her head are still visible, but other than that, Yvette is beautiful as ever.

A cough breaks me out of my trance, and the green-haired girl's not looking at me anymore. A hint of pink colours her tanned cheeks.

Oh my god, she's so cute. Wait, stop it MC, you're making things awkward!

"Sorry, um, It's great that you're healing well."

"Yeah. Now it's your turn." Yvette offers a sympathetic smile. "Sorry about your head. I couldn't contact you or find you at the bike shop. So I sent them to search for you."

"Well, my phone broke after the whole incident, and I've decided to go back to medical school," I explain, sputtering the next sentence unintentionally. "I thought you wouldn't need me after you got the charm."

Yvette blinks at me. "You'd think so lowly of me?"

"No! As in...I thought you would forget about me eventually."

"I would never. Especially when you've helped me immensely."

It's my turn to blink blankly. "I didn't do much though. I was like a damsel in distress."

Yvette strokes my hair out of the way, offering a lingering look that makes my heart do somersaults. "You defended me when no one else would."

"I had to! You looked close to death when you were on the gr-"

"You helped drag the time while I was catching my breath!" the girl defends her ego, in which I roll my eyes amusedly.

"Sure Yvette, whatever you say."

She lets out a laugh, one that sounds so melodic and lovely that it makes the temperature in the room warmer. It is surely a tune that I would love to hear everyday.

"Do you want anything? Water or some snacks?"

"A glass of water sounds nice."

Yvette turns her attention to the regretful-looking demon who pushed me previously. "You heard her. Get me a glass of water. Now."

The demon straightens his posture and nods his head, quickly leaving the room.

"Do demons actually have feelings?"

"Of course. Remember? I'm a demon too," Yvette reminds, a sad smile settling on her face.

Way to go MC. You just made your crush sad.

"Right, I should just keep my mouth shut. Or you could just throw me out now."

A teasing smile returns on Yvette. "I could never get rid of a cutie like you," she teases, pinching my cheek lightly.

I fluster.

"Wa-err," the demon utters, his quiet entrance startling me.

Indifferent, Yvette takes the glass and shoos him. She then aids me in sitting up as I drink my water. The domestic gesture warms my heart.

She's not that horrible person Wrath have described to me. In fact, Yvette's caring nature reminds me of a kind doctor who takes care of her patients dutifully.

"Thanks doc," I playfully comment. "I could get used to this."

"Taking advantage are we?"

I smile innocently. "Just a little."

The woman reciprocates the smile and puts away the glass once I'm done. I shift myself so that I can lean on the bedframe, and Yvette does the same as well, our shoulders brushing against each other.

"How's school so far?"

I update Yvette on the modules I'm currently taking and the upcoming tests I have, not failing to mention that much memory power is needed to survive medical school.

"If you like, I can tutor you," the girl offers.

"Really? That'll help a lot."

I hand my new phone to Yvette for her to enter her number. This reminds me of the first time I successfully asked a girl for her number; the experience both nerve-racking and exhilarating.

We then move on to more serious topics; of the reason why she needed my charm.

"That...I can't tell you. I've agreed to keep this deal with the demons strictly confidential," Yvette explains with a frown. "But I can assure you that your charm will help me greatly."

Hopefully my charm isn't some key to demon domination, or the troupe will come for my head. But Yvette said that it will benefit her, so maybe...it will get rid of the demon essence in her?

Yvette's deepening frown brings me back to reality. Her eyes are studying me, wary of any change of emotions. "Look MC, I'd love to give you an explanation, but-"

"I understand," I cut off the girl, offering a reassuring smile and daring to hold her gloved hand. "I trust you."

Silence fills the air. The girl gazes at me, her eyes a mixture of wonder and vulnerability.

At times like these, where the girl is just silent, I wish I could know what she's thinking about. What she thinks of me. Her impression of me.

"You do?" she asks, tone full of uncertainty.

I ponder.

Do I? Yvette's an intelligent person, and I trust that everything she does, is for a logical reason.

The only concern I have is the intensity of it; of how easily I let myself to trust someone I don't know well; someone with intentions that I have no clue about. It might be to my demise, or benefit; whichever rules out the other.

Returning the gaze, I see myself in Yvette's emerald eyes. The sight of white bandage around my head reminds me that the girl has been nothing but kind to me.

...I'll take my chances.

"I do."

Yvette releases a breath, as if she has been holding it for a while. She interlocks our fingers together, sparking a connection between us. A smile tugs on her lips and her eyes are bright with gratitude and hope.

"I'll make sure that it won't die down."

We spend the rest of the day bantering happily.

[i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships]

A Slice Of My Love. Chapter 8. The One Where I Get Sent Downstairs And Em Gives You One Of The Stupidest Things She's Come Up With.

Hello, my children! If you saw the teaser then you know where this is going. I think writing about Virgil losing his sanity is making me lose mine. Anywho, it’s serious talk time.

Parings: Vilonso/Deathbread. (Oh god that felt weird to write. I’m normally the person who looks at people’s ocs, not the person who makes ocs.)

Tw: Heathers and Be More Chill references, cursing, a slight NSFW mention (if you’ve listened to the song More Than Survive you know what I’m getting at), bomb mention, the death/murder of the fourth wall, and Virgil being insane. (The norm for this book)

Ok here’s a new thing: I’m going to link the four songs that are mentioned/sang/used: 

I Am Damaged (from Heathers tw: explosions, suicide, and suicide mention): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlVxhg-HVCk 

Candy Store (from Heathers): 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQOoTX1Nxx8

More Than Survive (from Be More Chill): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuOrwWdJFEs

Voices In My Head (from Be More Chill): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvpaivDBwQs

(Both Be More Chill songs the original cast recording because I listened to like 6 lines of More Than Survive from the Broadway one and hated it. (Will Connolly is SOOO much better for Jeremy) Look at this!! I’ve only been into this show for two days (on the day of publishing this chapter) and I have incredibly strong opinions already!!! And Heathers is the world premiere cast recording because you can hate me later, I hate the West End version of Heathers. They used the HIGH SCHOOL replacement for Blue!! I can tangent more about how much I hate the West End version of Heathers and the Broadway version of BMC later if you so wish.)

Virgil’s POV

----

“Virgil, could you please go downstairs?” Patton asked me.

Well, good luck to princey. I think we just got Ramen murdered. Oops, I did it again. I played with your- Why are you like this? Why are either of you like this?

I let go of Roman’s hand and begrudgingly went downstairs. I want to know what they were saying. Actually, I think I can find out. 

Em, what are they talking about?

(Now is not the time for you to find out.)

You’re writing this chapter before you write what they’re saying, aren’t you?

(Umm… Maybe!! But I have notes!!!)

Ahh yes, the very “scientific notes” you have that are written in cursive, with the all caps too because you're just extra like that.

“FaLsEhOoD!!!!!!!!!”

I jumped at Logan’s screech. Jesus!! What was that for?

(Dunno, it was funny.)

You know what will be funny? Seeing how you work that into the next chapter.

(Virgil, Virgil, Virgil, I already know how I’m gonna add that to the story. I’m decently smart when I feel like it.)

I can just hear the angry readers. Like I said in chapter 2, there is no fourth wall for this cautionary tale. For my chapters at least. OH!! That’s a funny idea.

(To the tune of I am Damaged)

It is damaged. 

Far to damaged. 

The readers think it’s not beyond repair.

I’ll stick around here.

I won’t make things better.

Cause Em’s beat us fair and square.

Step away from the wall now.

Little further.

I know what this thing will do.

Hope you miss it.

Please don’t kiss it.

I don’t need to know that you worship it.

It won’t trade its life for yours.

(Virgil what are you doing?)

And once it disappears,

(I’m in love with the reference but I’m confused.)

There’ll be a mess down here.

(Why do you have a bomb?)

Say bye to the wall.

Say bye to the wall.

Say bye to the wall.

Say bye to the wall.

(*Snaps fingers* There’s no more wall.)

What the? Why did you take my bomb?

(This is why Roman is JD.)

It would’ve been fine.

(You were planning to throw a bomb at the fourth wall. How would that have ended well?)

Magic!

(Ok. Yeah. We’re done. I’m gonna go now. I’ll still be the present force giving you existence. But I’m done with you. Too much lack of basic intelligence here.)

Well, at least I can have a bomb again.

(Oh yeah! And no more bombs.)

Whatever. 

I was too busy talking with Em to notice Alonso on the counter again. It startled me. But now I had the perfect opportunity to talk to him without getting interrupted.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

He’d been staring at me since I came downstairs I think. He got off the counter and walked over to me. “Ehh. Not too long.”

You know what? He’s like really sketchy. We’re gonna question him to the ends of this Earth.

“How did you get here?”

“I just appeared.”

That’s a constructive answer. “No like the first time. I could’ve sworn that it was only me and Pat in the kitchen.”

“Yeah I kinda just appeared then too. Also, sweety stop slouching and your bangs!! Who the hell gave you permission to walk around with your hair like that?”

That’s who he reminded me of. The critic character from Thomas’ last video. I told Roman that the character was too similar to Remy, as the fans have dubbed the sleep character from Thomas’ shorts. Did he listen? No.

The fans didn’t care though. The love the critic. If I’m not mistaken this one discord server has dubbed him “Critic Anton Dice”. (Shout out to all my wonderful friends in the The Kinds Of Minds You’d Only Find In Hell discord server! Y’all are amazing!!!)

Still something else though. I can’t quite place my finger on it and it’s pissing me off.

That something else is why you think he’s hot. Not true. It is true. Remy pisses us off, the critic guy is an ass. It’s that something else. Both of you need to shut up or I’m yeeting myself out a goddamn window!!

That shut them both up.

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck about my hair or posture. And not gonna lie, your ‘appearing’ is kinda creepy.”

He rolled his eyes at me and fixed my bangs. “Ugh! Fine if you won’t fix them yourself I’ll do it.”

He fussed over my hair for quite some time. Once he finished, he finally brought up the ‘just appearing thing’.

“Don’t you just appear?”

I took mild offense to that. See? We don’t think he’s hot. He’s just an ass. The something else is hot. Can you both just stop? The option to yeet me out a window is still on the table. Just saying.

Anyways. I took mild offense to that. “See that’s the thing.” You have no clue how badly I wanted to say ‘with you plastics’. Not the time tho. “I appear in a not creepy way. You just pop up on the counter and don’t make a sound. It’s kinda terrifying.”

He scoffed at me. “Does it look like I care?” I rolled my eyes. “Anyways, do you guys have any coffee?” He asked.

There we go there is the Remy. You’re not wrong. Ya know, it’s kinda nice to have the voices in your head get along for once. SHUT UP!! BESIDES, HE’S STARING!!! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET HIM COFFEE!!! GODDAMN!!! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!

I played of the incredibly pissed voices in my head like they were nothing and answered Alonso’s question. “Uhh, yeah we have coffee, but it’s like noon now.”

“Do I look like I care? This bitch needs his Starbucks.”

“We have coffee, not Starbucks.”

“Whatever, I just need caffeine.”

Huh. This guy really is Remy, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. I need coffee too so it’s a win-win.

I walked to the kitchen and started making coffee. While the coffee machine was doing coffee machine things, I was sitting on the counter. Alonso had started looking through the cabinets.

I cocked my head to the side messing up my recently “fixed” bangs.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for sugar. You got any?”

“Yeah. It’s in that cabinet.” I pointed out the one that should have the sugar. I have no clue if it does. He went to the cabinet that I had told him that the sugar should be in and started combing through it.

I stared at the coffee machine, waiting for it to finish. I had subconsciously started to drum my hands on the counter-top. “C-c-c-come on!! C-c-c-come on!! Go! Go! C-c-c-come on!! C-c-c-come on!! Go! Go!”

Ok. You have no right to judge me. I fricken love Be More Chill. I continued with the song. Slowly getting louder. “I’m waiting for my porno to load. My brain is gonna fricken explode.”

The coffee finished. I grabbed two mugs, still singing. Like I said, I fricken love Be More Chill. I’m not gonna sit there and only sing 4 lines of More Than Survive. Also, the next part of the song fits. 

“And now, of course, it’s time to hit the road.” I poured some coffee into the mugs “Which means I’ll be uncomfortable all day, but that really isn’t such a change. If I'm not feeling weird or super strange, my life would be in utter disarray. 'Cause freaking out is my okay.” 

If Jeremy Heere isn’t me than I have no clue what is. “Good morning time to start the day.”

“But it’s noon.”

I jumped at the voice. I may or may not have forgotten that Alsonso was still there. I attempted to recover from the very obvious fact that I’d forgotten about his existence.

“It’s called Be More Chill. Have you ever heard of it?”

He had found the sugar and it was sitting on the table. I brought over the two coffee mugs.

He scoffed. “Of course I’ve heard of Be More Chill!! What rock do you assume I’m living under??”

Extra bitch. You’re not wrong though.

Me, being the idiot I am, actually, I’m not an idiot. This rather creepy man is. You don’t just interrupt someone jamming out to a Be More Chill song like that. 

“So why did you interrupt me?”

He gave me this look of judgment. But judgment and something I couldn’t read. 

What is it with you and not being able to read things today? First the something else and now this?

Yet another way I relate to Jeremy Heere. I could feel myself zoning out again.

“And there are voices in my head. So many voices in my head. And they can yell and hurt like hell, but I know that I'll be fine. I still have voices in my head. Yeah, there are voices in my head. Of the voices in my head, the loudest one is mine!” I had started singing again. “Loudest one is mine! Loudest one is mine!”

I was snapped out of my thoughts by Roman walking downstairs and screaming “C-C-C-COME ON!! C-C-C-COME ON!! LET’S GO!!!”

One thing that y’all need to know about being best fucken friends with Roman: He will randomly start screeching lyrics from random musical theater/Disney songs at random times.

In that moment, I was singing Voices In My Head. This added the idea/impulse (you never know with Roman) to his brain to either join in at some random part or jump in once I had stopped, even if that meant restarting the song. We don’t care.

Yes, we. 

Roman doesn’t give a fuck. 

I don’t have any fucks to give.

Anywho, I joined him. “C-C-C-COME ON!! C-C-C-COME ON!! LET’S GO!!!”

I heard Logan groan behind him. “OH MY GOD!! BOTH OF YOU NEED TO SHUT UP!!!!”

I locked eyes with Roman to make sure that we were in sync for the plan that was forming in our heads.

I stood up. Roman steamed “SHUT UP HEATHER!!!!” I very over dramatically fell on the floor. Roman then began to sing the Candy Store riff. I quickly stood up and sang “TIME FOR YOU TO PROVE YOU’RE NOT A LAME ASS ANYMORE!!!” 

We both came in for the end. “AND STEP INTO MY CANDY STORE!!! IT’S MY CANDY STORE, IT’S MY CANDY!!!! IT’S MY CANDY STORE, IT’S MY CANDY!!!! IT’S MY CANDY STORE, IT’S MY CANDY SOOOORE!!!!!!”

We looked at Patton and Lo-, well, he had gone upstairs again. So we looked at Pat. He looked like he was about to flip his lid. 

I mean, Pat had never been one for Heathers, or BMC, because of the death, murder, sex, cursing, drinking, and drugs/smoking in the shows. It’s sad though!!! All of the good shows are the ones that aren’t 100% kid-friendly!!

I looked back at Roman. We began to laugh hysterically.

I realized that Alonso wasn’t there anymore. Like anywhere. 

But I didn’t care. 

Right now wasn’t about Alonso. 

Right now was about me being a theater geek with my best friend.

----

Y’all can judge me later for all of the BMC and Heathers references!!! Heathers is Virgil’s favorite and then BMC. Fight me.

I would say that this chapter is the longest, but it’s only because of my theater tangent (which is a half a page long on google docs) in the first A/N. (The chapter is 5 pages on Google Docs)

Oof. Umm. I don’t like this chapter very much. Well, not as much as the others. I like it more than other chapters, but I still don’t like it. But not enough dislike to rewrite it.

Also, I failed my own goal. I WANTED to make this chapter post 666 on @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships, but it’s post 695. *Sad author/theater geek/prinxietea trash goblin noises* 

But I guess that this is my birthday present to myself? I’m posting this on chapter on September 22. My birthday is September 23. Ehh. Good enough.

----

Ok, so before this gets really confusing:

This is the main voice inside Virgil’s head.

This is the other voice in Virgil’s head.

This is the two voices together.

(This is me, the author, Em, talking to Virgil, adding a random A/N in the middle of the chapter, or just establishing something like a stage direction almost. Ex. (To the tune of I Am Damaged) in this chapter. The difference between this one and the one above it is the parentheses.)

----

The now almost 13-year-old “author” (that isn't really an author),

                            Em

(P.s with the sign-off and this part, the chapter is now just barely over 5 pages long on google docs. I need to cool it with the A/Ns. No one cares/reads the A/N. Why do I tell you guys this random crap?)

----

Taglist (I need to be informed if you’d like to get added, preferably through DMs or the inbox so I can make sure you get added): @winterswishing-reblogs @just-some-gt-trash @thetomorrowshow @iixclementine @an-existing-leah @elatedgiff

[kamino-ink]

Finifugal | Park Chanyeol [02]

✧ finifugal - hating endings; of someone who tries to avoid or prolong the final moment of a story, relationship, or some other journey.

✧ 01 | 02 | ???

✧ Genre: Bodyguard!au, angst, fluff, romance, probably smut at some point lets be honest

✧ Summary: After an ambush that leaves your left shoulder in stitches, your head bodyguard decides to scour the country in search for a new recruit to help up your safety - when Park Chanyeol shows up and his first request is to dye his hair, you can’t help but wonder who in the world Junmyeon just so happened to recruit.

✧ Word Count: 2k [ I swear I am trying to make these longer but my brain just refuses im v sorry friends :( ]

                                         ✧

 “I’m... I’m sorry?” Is the first thing that manages to escape your parted lips as you blink in confusion at the man - who called himself Park Chanyeol - and his rather unusual request.

 “I asked if I could dye my hair pink, boss lady,” Chanyeol snorts at your questioning stare, gesturing a bit crudely to Junmyeon, who is standing beside him and glaring at the new recruit with a stingy glare, “the other boss guy here said I can’t because its like, unprofessional or whatever.”

 You glance over at a fuming Junmyeon, who is vehemently glaring daggers at Chanyeol. Clearly this giant of a man had to be a phenomenal sort of bodyguard if his personality was shining so much that one of your calmest, most patient men was having a difficult time keeping his cool. “Honestly, I could care less. Just try to keep me breathing and you can turn your hair into a fucking rainbow for all I care.” You admit with a soft shrug, purposefully keeping your gaze locked on Chanyeol instead of your head guard who’s sharp glare was burning glares onto your skin.

 “Fuck yeah - okay so far, you are my favorite person here boss lady-”

 “Okay not to sound like a bitch, but I have a name, which is not boss lady,” you cut him off, “its Y/N. Please, no more boss lady.” It comes out as an exasperated plea, and you narrow your eyes at the tall man when he snickers and steps closer to you, now having to tilt his head down to properly look at you.

 “What, not kinky enough for you?”

 Your eyes turn into saucers. “Excuse me-?”

 “You are excused, boss,” Chanyeol takes a turn to interrupt you now, his tongue suddenly darting out to slick his slightly chapped lips, “I’m gonna go and, you know, dye my hair so if you need me, you know where I’ll be.” He finishes with a deep chuckle, running his fingers through his mess of brunette hair before he turns around once, twice, and finally a third time.

 “Hey boss, where can a guy find a bathroom around here?”

                                         ✧

 You really didn’t know how you ended up in one of the master bathrooms with Park Chanyeol. One minute you were being baffled by his bluntness and crude humor, then the next minute you were begrudgingly leading him into your bathroom upstairs and helping him dye his hair a pretty pink.

 Considering you had never dyed someone’s hair before, you had at first tried to convince the man to go to an actual salon where a professional could make sure his hair (which was incredibly soft and naturally curly) wasn’t completely destroyed by an amateur. Yet he had shrugged a bit too carelessly and dragged the stool from your vanity towards the sink, plopping down onto it with a grunt.

 “It’ll be just fine boss, promise. Make me pretty already for fuck’s sake.”

 And so you did - or so your pride said with a smug look once the dye had settled in, the pale but beautiful color coming through even more once you had blow-dried his hair, revealing the curls he had spoken of, curled into soft ringlets now painted pink. “Not bad, not bad.” He hums in content, staring at his reflection in the wide mirror hung onto the wall.

 You huffed in disbelief from where you stood by the tiny trashcan next to the sink, slipping off the blue latex gloves and letting them fall into trash along with the box the dye had come in. “Not bad? I think it looks great, coming from someone who has never dyed hair before.”

 Chanyeol stifles a laugh at your statement, going to rest his chin on the palm of his hand as he turns his attention to your offended gaze. “Ah, so you think I look hot, then? I knew the pink hair was going to be a hit with the ladies.”

 It is in that exact moment in time that you realize this guy is really, really going to get long with Byun Baekhyun.

 Gingerly you walk over to his slumped over posture, abandoning your façade of gentleness the second you smack his bare arm. “Fuck off, Chanyeol, you know what I meant.”

 “Uh huh, I know what you meant.” He hums with a sly, wolfish wink and grin. Before you can protest any further, he’s slid off from the stool and slung the spotted towel you had lent him onto the tiled floor. He lets out a loud groan and bends his back, a resounding ‘pop!’ erupting from his spine. Of course, you couldn’t exactly blame him, especially since you had really taken your time in dying his hair - paranoid that you were going to damage his hair beyond repair. That in itself would have been a loss to all naturally curly haired men in the world.

 Maybe two hours was a bit much. Maybe.

 But he hadn’t complained - not once, oddly enough. That also surprised you, especially since he had muttered complete and utter nonsense about the “fucking enormous” mansion and its “stupid ass three floors and shitty amount of staircases, like, boss, no one needs this much.”

 And you thought you had a potty mouth.

 “Thanks for the assistance boss,” he says casually, straightening out his back and running his fingers through his newly dyed pink hair for just about the hundredth time, “now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go explore for a bit. See you.” Chanyeol does a mock salute that you just nearly laugh at, watching as he retreats from your bathroom and goes about his business elsewhere in the mansion.

 You turn back to the mess that had been made in your bathroom, a disgruntled sigh passing through your lips.

 “Fuck, I really need to hire a maid.” Is the first thing you utter when he leaves, now left to your own devices in the muggy bathroom. The sink had water droplets splashed onto the counter it was dug into, with vivid pink splotches still on the gray steel of the sink itself (and a bit on the marble countertops as well.) Not wanting to leave your own bathroom too messy, you decide to get to work, first picking up a washcloth hung onto the neck of the sink so you could wet it and begin to wash away the leftover dye and excess water.

 For the next few minutes you simply wash away at the sink and counter, humming an old tune under your breath to entertain yourself. In your head, you wonder why you don’t just ask FRIDAY, the intelligence system constructed throughout the mansion, to page one of the boys and ask them to clean up. It wasn’t like they could necessarily refuse - but then again it would be a dick move to have your bodyguards clean up such a small mess.

 Its because you need to take your mind off of things - off of everything.

 You remind yourself of this almost unwillingly, your bottom lip jutting out into a silent grunt of reminiscent pain when you scrub away at a particularly jarring speck of god-knows-what on the marble counter, the damaged nerves in your left shoulder sending prickles up to your head. You are thankful that you didn't change into a tank top after Chanyeol had left, like you normally would have before cleaning, because then you would be able to see the nasty stitches embedded deeply into your still healing skin.

 Whenever you even caught a glimpse of them out of your peripheral vision you were struck with flashbacks. Flashbacks that gnawed at your conscious mind, screaming and pleading with you to just forget everything that had happened that night.

 You shake your head in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of those horrifying memories and go back to scrubbing at the dirty countertops, the throbbing of your shoulder starting to become all too familiar.

                                         ✧

 Once the sun has set over the horizon, you can see the distant dots of the city lights glowing and flickering in the background, a long ways away from the window you had been gazing through. If you were to bother yourself with concentrating hard enough, you might even be able to picture yourself back in the heart of Busan; exploring the bustling nightlife with your friends, tipping a talented group of buskers as you pause to watch how their limbs glide through the air almost flawlessly while they dance to the music.

 You miss Busan, no matter how much it doesn’t miss you.

 Luckily though, the boys have all seemed to welcome Chanyeol with open arms; albeit Junmyeon, Minseok, and Sehun were still cautious around him - which was expected of the trio, as they usually took time to warm up to just about anyone who wasn't you. While you probably would have pushed for the three men to not be so cold and rigid to the generally warm, bubbly newcomer, you knew now it was best to leave them be and hopefully develop a bond with him themselves. You were far past making the mistake of putting your full-hearted trust into someone so soon.

 Yes, Park Chanyeol was relatively kind and incredibly outgoing, a trait that became obvious when he willingly started to drag the ever stoic and quiet Kyungsoo into a debate about whether snakes had feelings or not with Baekhyun and Jongin. Even now you jumped a little whenever you could hear the four of them throwing themselves into a fit of loud, booming laughter - a pleasant sound you had come to miss for some time now. You were tempted by their laughter and joy, wishing to join in their carefree fun, but you were distracted by something else.

 “Is FRIDAY still down?” The man merely a few feet away questions you, to which you turn your longing gaze away from the shadows of Busan and to him, watching as he swiftly chops another onion without shedding a single tear. “Ah, so she is.” He concludes after not hearing an instant reply, noting the hesitation in your silent answer.

 “I don’t understand why she suddenly shut down, Dae. I’m the only one who can deactivate her system besides Yixing, and he’s still in Europe with Taeyong and Doyoung.” You express your growing concern over the intelligence system, pinching the bridge of your nose. It wasn’t normal for your systems to just, crash - in fact it had never happened before, not including the time Yixing shut her down so you would get out of bed and stop telling her to ‘bug off.’ Junmyeon and Minseok were the only other two of the boys who knew FRIDAY was currently out of commission, since you knew it might start a panic if the others figured out the biggest chunk of the security system was down.

 A panic was the last thing you needed on your plate, that much was for sure.

 Jongdae, who had moved the chopped pile of onions into a glass bowl to the side and was getting started on chopping a few peppers, opened his mouth to speak once more when the house shook a bit, causing him to pause abruptly.

 Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked outside the window once again, the lack of rain or even murky clouds merely fueling your wariness. In the background you could still hear the four boys laughing and chatting to their heart’s content, Baekhyun letting out a high pitched squeal in the midst of their fun.

 “Dae, it isn’t supposed to storm tonight, is it?” You ask him, still gazing outside the window.

 He makes a noise of confusion. “No, it’s supposed to be a dry week until Thursday. Why do you ask?”

 “Because there is no way that could’ve been thunder-”

 And suddenly you were being thrown backwards, your body going limp as the back of your head smacks the wooden floor with a sickening thud.

 There is no alarm, only the surprised shouting of the others and the sounds of shoes scuffling against the floor in a rush.

 And then, there is nothing.

                                          ✧

[your-iron-lung]

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 9

aka ‘Buried in Water’; available to read on A03 HERE

Story Synopsis:  Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 5197

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Next Chapter: 10

Notes: bit of a shorter chapter here lads, but i want the next chapppie to be ENTIRELY FOCUSED on whats gonna happen next  bc buddies. pals. friends and amigos. its gonna be real gud. 

i hope none of u reading have that fear of looking out of a window in the dead of night only to find something standing there staring back in at you :^) youll see ;)

'Liminal' was not a word that existed within Steve's lexicon, but even so, it was the word that best fit how he felt sitting there in Billy Hargrove's curiously empty home, watching him pace the floor in front of him. He was talking, speaking energetically, but Steve wasn't listening; he was finding it hard to focus, too distracted by the revelation of werewolves to actually comprehend what he was being told. It was like his brain had gone numb, blanketing his mind in indifference as he studied the bandages covering the invisible wounds over his hand.

"-I don't know anyone in this hick town, so I'm going to need you to-"

A monster, Billy had said. Another goddamned monster running around loose in Hawkins, terrorizing the youth because why the hell not? They might as well change the slogan of the towns 'now entering' sign to read, 'Welcome to Hawkins: Monster Capital of the U-nited States'.

Billy kept talking, but his words continued to fall on selectively deafened ears as Steve wondered about who he ought to tell. Who the hell would even believe him? The kids, probably; Dustin definitely. But would they be enough to help him? And then, what were they meant to help him with? Exterminating Billy Hargrove? While he was certain they'd jump to arms for a chance to eradicate him, this wasn't a monster problem he felt could be solved by bludgeoning it to death like the last two had.

"-I don't know anything about this shit, but, I think that'll be enough."

"What-" Steve spoke slowly, brow furrowed as he tried to bring himself out of the introspective daze he'd worked himself into. He shook his head a little bit and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

Billy had stopped pacing and was waiting to hear the feedback on whatever idea he'd come up with in the time that Steve had been spacing out. A cigarette was hanging limply out of his mouth, smoke filtering through his lips. "Have you not been listening to a goddamned thing I've been saying?" he growled, frowning sharply when he realized Steve really hadn't. "Before we do anything, I said we need proof."

"Proof…? Proof of what?"

"Holy shit, what the hell are you being so damn spacey for?

"I said I don't know anything about werewolves except for what that b-movie showed me, and even then, how much of that is based on fact? It's just a fucking movie. Maybe this healing of my arm is enough proof that it was something supernatural, but what if that's just like, I don't know, a side-effect of being bitten?" He began pacing again, rambling as he walked back and forth in front of the small couch Steve was sitting uncomfortably on. He smoked the cigarette down to the filter but kept sucking on the butt end, focused entirely on finishing his thought. "Maybe it ends there, and I'm not actually infected or cursed or whatever. Maybe this is all that'll happen with me, but maybe there'll be more. I don't know anything about this, and from the look on your face you know about as much as I do, which is jack shit."

"So, research," Steve said. The idea that he was sitting in on a lecture made him want to laugh; no wonder he'd spaced out so hard earlier. "You want to do research? Go down to the library and have ourselves a good old fashioned study session?"

"Fuck research," Billy said decisively, snarling at Steve's retort. "You can do all the research in the world and still have people who don't buy into it. Fuck that. I don't want research, I want proof. Hard proof. Evidence that can't be refuted."

"Your arm-"

"-isn't proof enough for me," Billy finished, coming to a standstill and glowering at Steve. "And won't be for anyone else who didn't see it before, Jesus, Harrington, you really aren't a good learner, are you?"

"For a guy who was trying so damn hard to get me to believe in all this, you're being awful stubborn when it comes to your own convictions," Steve snapped. "So what, then? What'll be enough?"

Billy studied him quietly, a smoldering expression of pent up exasperation clouding his features. He didn't speak right away, causing Steve to want to fidget under the scrutiny, but he remained still.

"That," Billy finally said, pointing to the TV behind him where they'd paused the movie again on the transformation scene to study and compare the beast. "That'll be enough. When the next full moon comes, then I'll be satisfied."

Of course he was right. There was only one definitive way to settle the question of whether or not Billy actually was a werewolf now, and that meant waiting to see if he transformed under the influence of a full moon. Initially the idea of that seemed ridiculous to Steve, but when he thought about it, he wasn't sure why that notion should be ridiculous to him at all- he'd definitely seen stranger things. If horrific flower-faced monsters that were born out of the depths of some alternate universe could exist and somehow crawl their way into a universe they didn't belong in, then why couldn't werewolves be real? By comparison, werewolves had more rights to exist than the demo-whatevers; at least they belonged in their world.

The digital watch strapped to Billy's wrist began to beep, loud and insistent. Glancing at the display, Billy's face hardened imperceptibly. His eyes flickered to Steve momentarily before he shifted his view to the front door.

"So you're content to wait it out till then?" Steve asked, standing up as Billy walked by him and to the door, glancing out one of the street-facing windows briefly.

"No, but I fucking have to," Billy muttered, eyes scanning the street before he looked back at the readout on his watch. "It's not like we can force the moon to come early. We need a damn plan. Well, I had a fucking plan, but you tuned that right out, didn't ya?"

"A plan for what?"

Turning away from the window, Billy appeared both excited and apprehensive. He was smiling, baring his teeth and running his tongue along their edges, but it seemed to stem more from nervousness than anything else. Steve's first thought was that he looked like a caged animal ready to defend itself, and an uneasy feeling settled into his gut.

"For if I'm right, Christ, why don't you listen? Now get the fuck out of my house, we'll talk about this later."

Billy's dad came home a mere ten minutes after Steve left, angry and without reason for it. He never seemed to need a reason to be angry these days though, and as he felt his father's rage strike him, Billy imagined that Neil must have somehow known all along about Billy's secret meeting with 'that Harrington boy'. The assault was deserved, one way or another, in his father's eyes.

Later that night, Billy came down with another fever. The cause of it wasn't clear to him, as it could've been a myriad of different things, but regardless, he felt its exhausting effects and had to turn in early.

A great heat consumed him, troubling him when he found he couldn't stop sweating; repenting for the sin of having brought another boy into to the house by perspiring to death. The fever was so terrible that when he finally tried to lie down to sleep, wearing only his underwear and lying overtop of the bedcovers in a home that couldn't afford to run the heat in the winter, he opened his bedroom window so that the chilling breeze might offer him some respite.

It was soothing enough to allow him to rest, but his skin remained sticky and sheen when he finally did close his eyes. His sleep was light, due in part to the fever he couldn't stop sweating out and owing also to the nightmares that had begun to plague him recently, offering him horrific visions of what his future might hold in store for him if he didn't figure this 'werewolf' thing out.

It was two hours after he first fell asleep that Billy woke from one of the nightmares with a deep, shuddering gasp, and for a moment as he lay there panting, he thought it likely that he had woken himself up.

He was cold now, the fever abated as he lay shivering in the freezing breeze that flooded in from his window. Some snowfall had accumulated on the sill, leaving small little puddles as they melted down. He was disgusted to note how sticky he'd become as his bedcover stuck to his back when he sat up. When he reached back to peel the fabric from his back, he heard a noise like someone walking- no, running- through the snow outside, a dark blur against the blackness rushing by his window.

Billy froze in place, slowly turning his head to look out the window. His heart rate slowly began to pick up as he heard the shuffling footsteps of something creeping around out there, running in circles. He took in a deep breath to calm himself and realized, suddenly, that he could smell it- a rotting, fetid scent was wafting in on the winter air as the beast outside ran laps around his home.

His blood ran cold in an instant, and for a moment, he didn't know what to do.

'Let's say it is real,' he could hear himself telling Steve all those nights ago. 'What's to stop it from just following you home?'

It had tracked him down, using the pheromones or whatever hormones his fever sweat had exuded to find him at home with the window open, practically inviting it inside to kill him in his sleep.

The darkness of his room was unsettling as he listened to it snuffling around, taking in huge breaths as it skulked around in the night. Carefully and as quietly as he could, Billy slowly began to swivel his legs off the mattress, unsure of what he was going to do but knowing instinctively that he couldn't sit still for it to just find him. His feet touched the cold, hardwood of the floor and he almost recoiled at the freezing touch, and as childish as the thought was, he couldn't help but fear that something was going to reach out from underneath his bed and grab his ankles before he could do anything to combat the monster that was now hunting him.

The noises outside stopped for a moment, as though the creature could sense that Billy was on the move. He himself stopped moving, heart pounding in his chest even as he tried to convince himself that whatever was outside was just a large dog or something; a sick deer just trying to find a bite to eat underneath his window. He couldn't move his eyes away from that deep, dark square of night that was framed by the window as he sat paralyzed on the edge of his bed, and distantly he realized he'd begun to sweat again.

Just as he started to think that perhaps whatever it was had left, threatened by the thought of pretty that could fight back, he heard it again, but instead of an animals feet padding softly through the snow, foraging for sustenance that could not be found, the sound of something hard and sharp clacking against the sideboard of his house began to make his hair stand on end.

It was climbing; scraping its claws alongside the house as it tried to make its way into the open window.

Coming for him.

As strong as he knew he was, Billy felt terribly weak in that moment, unable to contain his panic. He shot up from the bed, disregarding the instinct that told him to just fucking run out of there as fast as he could and instead found himself lunging forward for the window, slamming it down hard enough to shake the frame as thought it would be enough to protect him.

With his heart pounding he stared out into the darkness, face mere inches away from the glass pane he knew wouldn't be enough of an effective barrier to keep it out.

There was no movement from the other side. The night was utterly and completely still; a void of darkness kept at bay by thin glass. It was stupid of him to sit there and keep watch, he knew, but he had to be sure it was gone. Being as scared as he was made him feel like a powerless child, and if he could write this incident off as just another vivid dream, then he'd be far better off for it. Still, nothing moved as he sat there, though the glass had begun to fog up, making it hard for him to see anything. Billy wiped at it with his hand, mistakenly thinking his own heavy breathing had caused the condensation, and found himself rendered immobile yet again when the beady red eyes of the beast surged into focus.

Billy stared transfixed as dread consumed him, rooting him in place, his hand pressed to the cold glass. He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch as the werewolf grinned, spreading its lips in a wide snarl to show off all its teeth, taunting him, challenging him.

I will see your flesh torn asunder, boy; ripped to pieces, chunks in my jaw, your bone between my teeth, down my throat, your blood boiling in my belly.

With a scream rising up in the back of his throat, Billy did bolt then, shooting himself off his bed and launching himself away from the window that the creature was perched at, waiting to bust in and fulfill its promise. He collided against his closed door with a thud, and he fumbled with the handle, trying to open it without taking his eyes away from where he could see it, opening its wide mouth, exposing more, so much more as it pressed its gnarled hand against the glass to finally break through-

His door came open suddenly, spilling him out into the darkness of the hallway to land on the cold floor, chest heaving as he scrambled, trying to get to his feet but unable to find enough traction to set him straight.

"Billy?"

He almost let out a shout when he heard Max say his name.

"What're you doing on the floor?" Her voice was tired and her eyes were heavily lidded with exhaustion as she stepped out of their shared bathroom, the sound of the toilet's weak flush gurgling behind her. She yawned and rubbed her face, waiting for a response to justify his weird behaviour.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was gone. Instead he swallowed, and turned away from her to look back at his window, afraid of what dark, horrible shape would be crawling through it.

But there was nothing to be seen; the monster was gone, if it had truly ever been there at all.

"What're you looking at?"

Max stood behind him, peering into his dark room curiously when he didn't answer her question.

"Go back to your room," he finally said, though his voice was hoarse and he had to repeat himself.

"What are you, the hall monitor? I had to piss," she said, using the snarky tone of voice she reserved only for him. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"I'm not," he replied, finally finding the strength required to get to his feet.

"Well, you were."

"I'm not now, am I?" Billy snapped irritably, turning a mean look on her. Despite his fright, he was careful to keep his voice low. The last thing he wanted to do now was to wake up his father in the middle of the night. "Get the fuck back in your room and go the fuck to sleep."

Max rolled her eyes and didn't move, lingering in the hall. She looked away from Billy's room and back towards her own, biting at her lip.

"I heard something outside," she said at last, speaking quietly. "Something was running around outside the house. It woke me up, but I couldn't see anything when I looked. Too dark."

"Just a dog," Billy replied, swallowing hard, hoping she didn't hear the waver in his voice. He wasn't able to meet her eye as he said it. "It was just a dog. I yelled at it and it ran off, okay?"

"A dog?" Max had an alarmed look in her eye. "What kind of dog? Did you get a good look at it? How big was it?"

"I don't know, what does it matter? It was just some stray," he said. "I told it to fuck off and it did; it's gone now, so go back to sleep you little shit before you wake someone up."

"You're the one shouting at animals in the middle of the night," Max bit back, but despite her attitude, she still looked worried. "You're sure it was a…? Nevermind, whatever, I'm going back to sleep," she grumbled, and turned away to go back to her room, shutting the door just hard enough to let Billy know she didn't value his authority.

Alone in the darkness of the hall, Billy's eye was drawn back to the window. He wondered where the thing had crawled off to, and if it would be coming back. More timidly than he would have liked to admit, he stepped back into the cold enclosure of his room and quietly closed the door behind him.

"Hey, Steve, man, I really just wanna thank you again for offering me a ride home," Dustin said, already breathing hard. In his arms was a box full of the things he'd used for his final presentation in whatever science class he'd taken that semester, the weight of which was cumbersome enough to have him struggling to carry it. Ordinarily, Steve would have offered to help him carry it, but he wasn't thinking straight.

'Later', as Billy had said at the start of the weekend, had ended up being earlier that morning on the first day of finals. Cornered in the bathroom (the fucking bathroom, of all places), Billy had locked the door and sequestered them in the math halls men's room during the downtime between finals. He'd lit a cigarette and leaned against the stained porcelain sink, his shirt unbuttoned and open to accommodate his sling, and told him about his plan. It had been a simple one, but they wouldn't be able to see it through alone.

They needed a private place; somewhere they could quarantine Billy in case something really did happen with him, and the closer it got to the next full moon, the more Billy seemed convinced that something would happen.

"My teeth're starting to come loose," he'd admitted reluctantly, averting his eyes as he ran his tongue along them, prodding at the loose ones in agitation.

"Y'sure that's not just bad dental hygiene?" Steve had joked, but his remark had only been met with scorn.

"Just because I live in a hick town doesn't mean I'm going to become a toothless hick," Billy had snapped, but even through all his bravado, Steve felt he could sense his fear. "I brush my damn teeth Harrington. I take care of my appearance. And it's not just one tooth," he'd said as he rinsed the cigarette butt under a stream of water, putting out the cherry before flicking it into the can, "it's all of them."

On top of that, Billy had seemed haggard when they'd spoken; there was an overall dullness to him that suggested he hadn't been sleeping well lately, but they weren't at the point in their fucked up relationship where he felt he should ask about it. Instead he'd simply agreed to Billy's plan; it wasn't like he'd come up with a better one, but it meant he'd have to drag someone else into their mess. For as large and private as his home was, it didn't offer what Billy felt they needed.

But he knew Dustin's did. He'd been there before; seen with his own eyes what it could contain.

"I really owe you one," Dustin wheezed, his voice sounding strained and distant, and Steve was surprised at how far he'd managed to fall behind him in their trek through the parking lot. Coming out of his ruminations, he turned in time to watch as Dustin nearly stumbled through the gravel, trying to reclaim his balance quickly before he spilled the contents of his science project into the soggy earth.

"Whoa, hey, let me get that," Steve said, backstepping to relieve Dustin of his burden. The box was heavier than it looked, and nearly fell through his unprepared arms as he took it from him. "Geeze, man, you bring your whole damn chem set in or what?"

Dustin whistled in relief before replying.

"Had to, turns out students aren't allowed to use any of the school's equipment on the last day of class because no one wants to stay late to clean it. Myself included, obviously."

"Well that's bogus," Steve absently said, to which Dustin agreed.

"Tell me about it," he bemoaned, cracking his back as they approached Steve's car.

Setting the box of Dustin's things on the rear of his car, Steve dug his keys out of his coat pocket and unlocked the doors. He set the box carefully in the back seat, making sure it was stable enough not to tilt and spill if he took a turn too fast, and stepped back to see Dustin staring curiously at the ugly seat cover stretched over the front passenger seat.

"What's with that? Having some work done?"

"Something like that," Steve replied dismissively. He'd tell Dustin about it later, but for now he didn't want the kid worrying about anything he didn't have to. "But uh, speaking of owing me one, I need to talk to you about cashing that in."

"What, already?" Dustin looked a little surprised, but Steve could only shrug lackadaisically. "When I said that, you know, I kinda figured that you'd be cashing it in waaaay off in the very distant future. Or you'd forget I said anything at all, so I wouldn't have to actually do anything."

Steve laughed, but it sounded forced, and Dustin frowned a little bit at the harsh sound of it.

"I promise I wouldn't actually ask you to do something for me unless it was important. Get in so I can turn the heater on and we can talk about it."

A look of contemplation crossed Dustin's face briefly before he got in the car, preemptively putting his seat belt on as Steve started the engine and cranked the heater on to its highest setting, the airflow tousling his hair. Dustin didn't like the way Steve's brow kept creasing, or the way Steve had seemed so distant during the walk from the school building to the car. And now he wanted to talk.

"So, talking?" Dustin prompted.

"I need to borrow your basement," Steve said, coming right out with the request instead of wasting both of their time by trying to make it not sound weird. There was no easy way to say it.

Dustin blinked; an owlish and slow movement that, for a moment, made Steve feel like Dustin suddenly knew everything.

"I don't have a basement," he said instead. Steve balked.

"Bullshit," he said. "You dragged me back there to kill that lizard pet thing of yours that one time."

"Cellar," Dustin corrected, enunciating the word slowly and precisely. "I don't have a basement, I have a cellar. Mike is the one with the basement, dingus."

Taken back momentarily, it was Steve's turn to blink dumbly.

"Well what the hell's the difference? Nevermind, don't answer," Steve said, speaking quickly as Dustin opened his mouth and took in a breath to begin explaining. "Fine, cellar, whatever; I need to use it."

"What for?" Dustin asked suspiciously. "Wait. Are you planning on throwing an end of semester party? Why not just use your house? Or is it themed?"

"No, man, it's not a party; like I said, this is important," Steve stressed, growing impatient with the way the conversation was developing.

"Parties are important, Steve; you taught me that."

Groaning loudly, Steve tossed his head back and stared up at the roof for a moment.

"Okay, yeah, they are, but this is a different kind of important, okay? Like, it's for something serious," he continued, hoping Dustin would understand without telling him too much. "Trust me, if I was trying to throw a party, the whole school would have known about it by now. Just, loan me your basement."

"Cellar," Dustin corrected again, but without any of his usual haughtiness.

While Dustin wouldn't say Steve was dumb, per se, he would have to say that he wasn't exactly… subtle. Analyzing Steve's behaviour, and knowing what he'd used his own cellar for in the past, it was easy to come to the conclusion that Steve wanted to utilize the space in much the same way he himself had done when he realized Dart was growing up to be something of a problem child. Steve didn't want it for recreational use, but instead wanted it so he could contain something. Even before they'd gotten into the car, Steve had seemed tense, as though he'd been steeling himself to have this conversation, further justifying his line of thought.

"Steve," Dustin asked slowly, turning in his seat a little bit and scrunching up the fabric of the seat-cover to face his friend, "is this a code red?"

Meeting Dustin's eye, Steve saw that he was finally taking their conversation seriously. A graveness had overtaken his usually carefree expression, and he hated the way it made his young face seem to age.

"I don't know yet," he answered honestly, sighing and adjusting the air vent so it wasn't blowing heat directly on him anymore. "It might not be, but it potentially could be."

"Oh, Christ," Dustin groaned, slouching back in his seat and staring out forlornly through the windshield. "I thought we solved all this when El- Jane- closed the rift. What is it this time? More dogs? An Upside Down puppy? Shit, is it a cat?"

"No, no, it's nothing like… nothing like those things from before," Steve was quick to say, but wasn't sure how much information he should divulge. After all, like Billy said, it might not be anything, except… Except he had symptoms now. "If it was, I definitely would've said something about it before now."

Mulling the answer over in his head, Dustin then asked: "Does it have to do with the bear attack?"

Sitting back in his seat, Steve sighed and glanced up into his rearview mirror. Billy was there, a distant, lone figure, but he was there, and he was watching, waiting for him to secure a spot where they would be safe to test their theory.

"I can't tell you right now, but I promise it's nothing I can't handle."

"Alright," Dustin said after a moment, though he sounded dubious. He was frowning deeply, lost in his own thoughts before he said, "When will you know for sure? After you use the cellar? If we need to assemble the rest of the party, I can-"

"No, no, don't uh, 'assemble the party' just yet," Steve said. "I don't want to alarm everyone only for it to be a false alarm, you know?"

"Christ," Dustin mumbled again, looking miserable as he slowly began to slouch in his seat. "Okay, fine, you can use my cellar for whatever fucked up containment bay you need it for, but you have to tell me what the hell's going on afterwards, okay?"

"I will, man, I swear."

"Shit." Dustin heaved a sigh and sat up, rising out of his slump. His seat belt clicked noisily, locked into place as it refused to let out anymore slack.

Steve watched him undo the belt and re-buckle it with a hint of amusement. He hated that he had to give Dustin reason to worry, but at least school would be over soon, and they wouldn't have to split their focus and try to decide which was more important.

"Think I can take the loan out on your cellar this Friday?" he asked after Dustin had resituated himself. "And look man, you and your mom? You guys can't be there. Think you can arrange to get out of the house for the night?"

Groaning loudly, Dustin eventually nodded.

"My mom's been telling me over and over we need to go visit her sister," he said. "Aunt Connie hasn't seen my teeth since they came in and wants to see them; the only girl alive who wants to see them and it's my aunt."

Steve laughed earnestly at his comment, and when Dustin caught the look of honest amusement on his face, he cracked a grin too.

"But the worst part? You wanna know what the worst part is, Steve? She pinches, man! I'm gonna look like I have blisters on my face when I get back!"

Steve cackled with delight, picturing Dustin's face pinched so hard his cheeks would be naturally rosy for days afterwards.

"Hey, I'm real sorry about that; I'll take you out to lunch or something when you get back, alright?" he said, feeling the burden of having to put Billy's plan into motion lift from his shoulders. They had their spot secured; now they only had to wait for the weekend to use, and then, if they were lucky, they would be able to move on.

"Oh, you'll be owing me much more than that if I survive," Dustin muttered, grinning cheekily as Steve finally put the car into gear and began to drive them out of the lot.

"Here's hoping," Steve said with a wink.

[aliciameade]

“Worth It”

Because why not see what happens the morning after "Earned It"?

Rated M

When Beca’s alarm goes off, it’s so loud she falls out of bed from the shock of it.

She manages to smack her elbow on the nightstand in the process and hisses as her arm goes numb. “Shit,” she whispers to herself as she sits up to feel for her phone above her head to silence the chorus of Rita Ora’s “Poison” blasting in her hotel room.

She’s disoriented with the sudden rude awakening and she can’t find her phone to silence the ear-splittingly loud music. So she hauls herself up and spots it sitting on the dresser next to the TV. She rushes over and stops it with a sigh of relief as she leans back against the dresser and closes her eyes.

“Good morning.”

She jumps hard enough to smack her other elbow against the dresser and instinctively slaps her hands and arms over her naked body to hide from the intruder and crouches, not knowing how else to hide in her panic.

There’s a giggle and she hears, “Hey, it’s me.”

Her pounding heart stops for a second, then takes off again as she tracks the source of the voice to her bed.

A sleepy Chloe is sitting up in it, hair a total mess and, with the bedding bunched at her waist, naked.

She blinks, still crouching at the foot of the bed peering over it at her friend and roommate who...yeah, she definitely had sex with last night.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Chloe says with a smile, one that has her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come back to bed.” She retrieves the covers from where Beca had taken them with her when she fell out in utter fear and pats the sheet as she lays back down.

It takes her a few seconds to process what’s happening (happened) but she eventually gets moving. She crawls up onto the bed and tries not to be embarrassed about her state of undress because she knows that’s moot now, but she must fail at masking it in her rush to get under the covers and hover at the edge of the bed, unsure what to do.

There’s a teasing hum in her ear and she’s jumping again, ready to flee on impulse when an arm wraps around her waist to pull her backward.

Much of her brain is still asleep, and the part that is awake is still coming down from hyperdrive panic mode as it stutters to fuller conscious and she feels it spinning, replaying the more specific details as to why her phone was across the room, why it was still connected to the Bluetooth speakers, why she woke up naked…

...why Chloe has her naked body held against her own naked body.

And then her brain wakes up al the way, lucid and clear, and the night rushes back to her.

Amy’s cocktails and Legacy being goaded into daring her to give Chloe a fucking lap dance.

Standing at Cynthia-Rose’s computer trying to decide if she should be dumb and pick “Who Let the Dogs Out?” or indulge her fantasy a little and pull up a sexy song and see how Chloe reacts to Beca getting a little sexy with her.

She’d definitely been curious about it, about the possibilities, for a while. A long while. A several years kind of while.

The cocktails helped grease the wheel of decision, but tapping that play button on penultimate lady jam crooner The Weeknd it wasn’t as difficult as she thought it should be.

Just like it wasn’t as difficult as she thought it might be giving Chloe a lap dance and tuning out everyone else in the room. Just like it felt pretty natural to tease Chloe with her body and watch her react with a type of hunger Beca had never seen from her before but had definitely fantasized about.

She forgot they weren’t alone and in her haze of self-inflicted arousal almost ending up in her lap kissing her. The moment was interrupted and she rushed off, ashamed of her actions and loss of control once reality snapped back into focus.

The reality was that she’d given one of her best friends a lap dance with every intention of fully seducing her. She got so turned on doing it that she escaped to the bathroom to lock herself in it while the girls hooted and hollered over Legacy making out with the room service waiter while Beca shoved her hand down the front of her pants and touched herself until she was clutching the counter, trying not to collapse or make a sound as she made herself come in Chloe’s bathroom, staring at a tube of her lipstick left by the sink and thinking about how that color would look smeared on her own neck.

She bails on the party after that. It was enough of a battle to say goodnight to the girls, all of them demanding a hug goodnight like they were little kids, after letting them watch her behavior toward Chloe.

Chloe is the only one who doesn’t demand a hug goodnight; instead, she stares at her from the couch and doesn’t bother to say goodnight.

And Chloe never failed to say goodnight to her.

In her own hotel room and alone, she falls face-first onto her bed with a groan. Instinctively, her hips roll into it, the relief in the bathroom doing little to ease the arousal pounding through her system.

She has to distract herself, or at least make an attempt, so she hooks up her phone to the room’s Bluetooth surround sound system (which is awesome to have in a hotel room), pulls up one of her “Chill Vibes” playlists full of instrumental-only tracks, and forces herself into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She strips out of her clothes, kills the lights, and cuddles up with herself in bed.

She stares at the ceiling for a solid 45 minutes thinking about the way Chloe looked at her before grabbing her phone to pop open her texts.

“You’re probably busy w/ Bella, but if you happen to be free, hit me back.”

She taps her fingernails on the hard plastic of her iPhone’s case and is relieved when the three little dots show up to indicate Stacie is replying.

“Hey, B. Isn’t it the middle of the night there? You’re in France, right?”

“Like…2:30 am. Hotel party. You know how it is. And yes.”

“Ooh, I miss a good Bellas party. Never know what’s gonna happen!”

“You can say that again. :\”

“That feels like a loaded response. DID something happen? Is that why you’re texting me at 2:30 am?”

“Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“No, we PLAYED truth or dare.”

“I know. ;) Well? What happened? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

She rubs a hand over her face and sighs.

“Legacy dared me to give a lap dance…”

“To Chloe.”

“To Chloe. Good guess.”

“Literally nothing could have been more predictable than that. You bust out the sexy moves? I bet you were all over that. Literally speaking. Not figuratively.”

“…I don’t really know what happened?

It’s like I blacked out or something? And the way she was looking at me…”

“Whoa, girl. Don’t get me revved up. I gotta give The Hunter a break for a few weeks.”

“Stacie!”

“What? It’s true. Keep going. What happened?”

“NOTHING happened. But I just…I seriously almost lost it. I just wanted…I wanted her SO fucking badly.”

Her entire body flushes with heat and embarrassment at the confession.

“Only took you seven years to admit to that soberly. Or you aren’t sober right now, are you? You’re not, because of the party.”

“Shut up. I’m not NOT sober. But I’m not that drunk.”

“Okay, so you gave her a sexy lap dance (what I wouldn’t give to see that btw – one of those bitches better have recorded it) and you wanted to jump her bones. And you know she wants to jump YOUR bones. Why aren’t you jumping each other’s bones right now?”

“She doesn’t want to jump my bones.”

“OMG, you are so dense. Chloe has wanted into your skinny jeans for as long as she’s known you. If you want her, go get her.”

“You’re nuts.”

“At least I’m not dumb like some of us.”

A knock at her door makes her look up sharply.

There’s literally no way...

She considers waiting it out, pretending to be asleep, but she looks at Stacie’s last couple messages again and it’s enough motivation to get her out of bed to pull her pants back on. She zips up her hoodie while she walks to the door and stretches up on her tiptoes to check the peephole, even though she knows who it is.

She sees a flash of red hair, as though she’s turned to leave so Beca’s quick to unchain her door and open it and she sees Chloe jump and turn back in surprise.

She doesn’t open the door all the way; something about that feels disarming for whatever this moment is going to be. She kind of hugs the door and tries to look like she’s been asleep. “Everything okay?”

The moments after that come back to her in a blur of stops and starts.

Chloe sitting on her bed.

Chloe telling her she was, “so, so sexy.”

Chloe telling her that she turned her on.

Chloe telling her she came to Beca because she’s turned on.

Chloe suggesting Beca could do something about it if she wanted to.

Her serious consideration of the matter while watching Chloe lean back on her bed with an anxious kind of confidence; she’d never seen Chloe that kind of anxious before.

Her decision to act on whatever was sparked back in Chloe’s room and pressing play on a sex playlist she’d made a year ago for no real reason other just to have one should the need for one arise.

Chloe staring at her from her bed in shorts and a very braless tank top asking to be satiated seemed like a pretty sound reason for it.

So she pressed play on a song about riding a woman all night that ironically declared that it “ain’t truth or dare” after the way the night had begun and watched the heat roll over Chloe’s face and right into her own body, Chloe giving her the tiniest nod telling her it was what she wanted.

That’s all it had taken. One nod and one really sexy song and Beca slid into Chloe’s lap to like she’d done it a dozen times with a level of confidence that came out of nowhere.

The memory makes her shiver and she feels the warmth of lips against her shoulder. Then higher, and higher still until they’re on her neck and she shivers again and they’re on her ear.

“I’m still thinking about it,” Chloe whispers before tugging on the edge of her ear with her teeth. “Are you?”

She can’t stop the whimper that escapes her lips at the pull and she feels Chloe’s arm tighten around her. The way Chloe made her feel last night keeps clawing its way to the surface and roars to life when Chloe’s hand wanders over her hip to her thigh to give it a tug.

A request for her to turn over.

To part her legs for her.

Her body moves willingly and she’s on her back with Chloe grinning down at her before she’s even thought to move.

“Let’s skip breakfast with the girls.” Chloe’s hand moves up to pet Beca’s bare stomach.

“Why do I have a feeling you’re about to make an inappropriate comment?” Beca’s surprised at how easy the words flow considering her overall mental state, but she’s starting to think she shouldn’t be surprised by her actions around Chloe anymore.

Chloe’s smile widens briefly then turns into a suggestive one. “What, you think I’m going to say something about how I have plenty to eat right here?”

The way Chloe says it makes Beca’s stomach hiccup. All of this is so, so new and as natural as it feels to flirt with Chloe, it certainly doesn’t feel normal. She shrugs in response because she’s feeling rather tongue-tied after thinking about the implications of Chloe’s teasing statement.

Her lack of verbal response seems to please Chloe, who cocks an eyebrow at her like she’s surprised Beca has nothing to say as she lets her slowly wandering hand move up Beca’s ribs until fingertips are tracing the soft curve of Beca’s left breast.

She can’t stop the shiver it pulls from her.

“Or did you think I was going to say you can have breakfast in bed?”

Beca’s jaw loosens at the statement because Chloe’s hit her with a one-two punch of mental images and she has to run her tongue across her lower lip before she gets caught drooling over the thought of it.

But Chloe notices, her eyes drawn to every move Beca’s mouth makes and as though making some kind of point - Beca’s not sure what point it could be, but it definitely seems like some kind of point is being made - Chloe starts to lean closer and all Beca can do is watch and wait to be kissed.

She’s ready for it and her eyes fall closed but it doesn’t come. She feels the warmth of Chloe’s proximity hovering above and her stomach clenches in anticipation because she knows Chloe has something up her nonexistent sleeve.

“You’d be right. I’ve been craving something since the party.”

Beca feels the air rush out of her lungs and barely has a chance to fill them again before Chloe’s lips are on hers.

She knows she groans or moans or makes some kind of sound because Chloe echoes it before she’s coaxing Beca’s mouth open to accommodate her tongue, which isn’t really a difficult task at all, especially when she feels Chloe ease herself down to fit into the space Beca allowed her to make between her legs. It’s another instant reminder that they’re both naked and Chloe rolls her hips against Beca.

She’s not sure at what point it happened, but she realizes her hands are above her head, pinned there gently by Chloe and she huffs at the feeling that rushes through her at the concept of Chloe being in control of her.

It’s only fair, she realizes as she lets her tongue twist with Chloe’s.

Beca had been the one soundly in control last night, from the lap dances to slipping her fingertips down the front of Chloe’s shorts in a move she didn’t even think about making - she just...did it. She’d let Chloe work her way into her own pants, because honestly, after half a second of trying to deny her, the feeling of Chloe’s fingers on her pretty much erased every hesitation about that.

But she’d remained in control, laying over Chloe as they touched one another and kissed and shared oxygen until they came together, and then again after she managed a wisecrack about thanking Emily for putting them on their path as she guided one of Chloe’s breasts to her lips and reached for her because she needed to make Chloe come again.

It had been transcendent watching it the first time, so much so she’d almost forgotten to pay attention to her own orgasm.

But it seems now, as Chloe’s hips work in slow circles to grind into Beca, she is going to get her own turn at getting to lay back and let herself be taken.

She sighs as Chloe’s lips travel from her mouth to her jaw to her neck where they suck gently, not hard enough to leave a mark, though. Just enough to feel good.

And it feels good.

She can’t stop the chill that runs up her spine and she hears Chloe hum in response and the hand that’s been holding her wrists releases her to drag down her forearm as Chloe shifts backward.

It makes Beca swallow hard and she chooses to keep her arms up because there’s something really fucking sexy about feeling like Chloe has her tied up while she kisses down her chest.

Her lips travel lower until they’re covering Beca’s right nipple and it makes her back arch for more. It’s a new sensation Chloe’s offering her; last night, Chloe’s breasts were the only ones graced by the presence of a mouth because Beca had been the one doling out the majority of the pleasure.

But not now.

She squirms beneath Chloe who’s moved far enough back that the short-lasting friction she’d been offering Beca is gone. She’s left with nothing but the warmth of Chloe’s mouth on her skin - which isn’t a complaint - and the fingernails that are scratching down her ribs to make her break out in goosebumps.

She doesn’t complain because she knows where Chloe’s going.

She’s going where neither ventured last night; last night had been about hesitant desire, the kind of sex that happens when you both want to be doing it, but it’s so new that neither of you wants to get too wild or go too far and risk crossing some invisible boundary.

Beca knows that boundary line is gone now, erased the moment Chloe pulled her onto her back so she could grind her hips between Beca’s legs while she teased Beca’s tongue with her own in the very quiet, very sober, very mentally clear morning hours.

Because Chloe was still thinking about the night before.

Because Chloe wanted to do it again.

She feels that tongue trace her navel and she sucks in her stomach from the tickle. She’s about to threaten violence if Chloe doesn’t stop because Beca does not do ticklish when, while looking Beca squarely in the eye, Chloe backs up the last few inches necessary and lets her tongue slide right from her navel down to her clit.

“Oh my…” she doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out, opting instead for a hiss because it’s easier.

A smile curves around the tongue Chloe’s rather brazenly using on display and then she’s lowering herself to lay down to get utilitarian about things, and Beca watches in near disbelief that Chloe’s really lifting her knees to rest them over her shoulders right now. But she is, and her tongue is tracing slow, gentle trails everywhere and Beca twitches when it rolls over her clit just right. It makes her drop her head back to the pillow and close her eyes, arms still above her head.

There’s a sound from Chloe that’s reminiscent of a scientist declaring, “Eureka!” and Beca’s still thinking about that when she realizes she maybe should prepare for the results of Chloe’s big discovery, but she’s not quick enough.

She’s not quick enough and she’s gasping to catch the breath that gets stolen when Chloe repeats the pattern that made her twitch, but she doesn’t just repeat it. She repeats it so quickly, over and over again, that Beca feels the earth fall out from beneath her.

“Fuck,” she says with a groan as her hands fly down to latch into tousled red hair to ground herself. “Oh my God.”

Chloe hums in response and the vibration makes Beca’s hips grind down into her, suddenly desperate for more, now, faster, harder.

Whatever it is Chloe’s doing, hitting the exact right spot over and over again, has her on the verge of tears because it’s so intense but she’s not staying on it long enough to get Beca there.

She’s just torturing her, making her cling to the edge waiting for that necessary shift to push her over it, and she doesn’t seem interested in doing that quickly.

“Chlo,” she tries whining, as undignified as it may be, but all she gets is a version of a chuckle in return and hands that snake between her own to slide up from her waist to her ribs to cover her breasts.

It makes her forget to breathe for a second and then she’s panting and really starting to not care that it’s possible that whoever is in the rooms next to hers - Amy? Jessica? - could overhear this.

Because fuck. She lifts her head again for a second and the view, the way Chloe’s hands are on her and how her eyes are closed to focus on what she’s doing with her tongue...it makes Beca press her heels into Chloe’s back and try to pull her closer.

“Just...fuck...to the left...right there, oh my God, shit, don’t stop.” It’s a rush of words that trail off into a string of moans because Chloe’s about to push her over the edge. Her fingers twist in messy red hair and she knows she’s pulling a little too hard because she hears Chloe gasp, but Chloe also doesn’t stop so it must not be too bad because fuck she started sucking and -

“Oh my Jesus,” Beca says with a groan when she can think again and her whole body jumps when Chloe, still firmly in her spot, rolls her tongue over her again in the way she figured out makes Beca jump. “Stop, stop,” she laughs and feels Chloe place a chaste (if that can be such a thing) kiss on her and then feels the bed and warmth shift as Chloe makes her way back up until she flops down next to Beca.

“I’ve wanted to know what you taste like for so long.” Chloe’s breathing hard and that combined with the statement makes Beca shiver.

“I, uh...hope I didn’t disappoint?” She frowns at the ceiling and keeps her eyes closed hoping that didn’t sound as terrible as she thinks it did.

She feels Chloe moving but doesn’t realize to where until lips are on hers, tongue slipping past them to slide over her own.

“You didn’t,” Chloe says with a final peck to her lips and then she’s getting cozy next to Beca.

“That’s...good,” Beca replies trying not to sound awkward but Chloe doesn’t seem to mind.

She drapes her arm over Beca’s waist and hugs herself close and Beca sighs. She’d never admit to anyone else that she really likes to snuggle up after sex, but Chloe could barely get through a day without hugging her, so she figured there was nothing to lose in being herself.

It’s not like she needs to hide anything from Chloe anymore.

“You going to let me return the favor?” she asks with a wiggle of her shoulder meant to disturb Chloe’s resting head.

“Tonight,” Chloe answers with a yawn. “I wanna go back to sleep. How long ‘til soundcheck?”

She laughs. “Like, seven hours? But we’re supposed to go sightseeing with the Army brats after the breakfast that we just skipped.”

Chloe squeezes her and then relaxes with a sigh and makes it clear she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. “We can visit France again. I just want to sleep here with you right now.”

Beca’s surprised by the sting in her eyes and the lump in her throat at the casual comment. She swallows and nods. “Okay. We can go back to sleep.”

They eventually make it out of bed after sleeping in to a sinfully late hour, have lunch in the hotel’s restaurant, and take a taxi to catch up with the rest of the girls at the Promenade des Anglais.

She’s feeling well-rested and punchy and she decides to make good on her comment to Chloe last night and finds Emily in the souvenir shop they’ve all stepped into.

“Hey, Legacy. You really did me a solid with that dare last night. Thanks.”

Emily looks at her in confusion, hands frozen in the air with the dolman tee she’d been looking at with I speak French [fries] printed across it. “I did? What?”

Beca just winks and tilts her head toward Chloe who’s an aisle over looking at shot glasses.

It takes her a second but then Emily gasps and drops the T-shirt. “Oh my stars! Did you and -”

“Shh!” She slaps her hand over Emily’s mouth and looks around. “Chill, dude. I don’t need everybody to hear.”

“We already did.”

It’s Amy’s voice from coming from behind her and she turns her head to find the blonde casually reading over a spinning tower of magnets. “You did not.” She thinks back to how she was aware of the fact that she wasn't doing a very good job at censoring herself that morning.

Amy just tilts her head and hums so Beca spins back to Emily. “Be quiet.”

Emily nods behind Beca’s hand still silencing her.

“You’re going to go tell everyone as soon as I leave, aren’t you.” She states it as a matter of fact.

Emily nods again.

And Beca sighs.

She’s about to complain when she realizes that Emily gave her a pretty awesome gift and she’ll be back in bed with Chloe tonight - and the girls can gossip and whisper and comment all they want.

Because tonight she’s finding out what Chloe tastes like - and that makes it all worth it.

[imagining-supernatural]

Dress

Summary: Dean and the reader have a conversation about how women buy dresses with the intention of someone taking it off of them just before she leaves for a date. (see warnings for the rest of it)

Word Count: 3474

Warnings: Partial nudity, slightly dom!Dean, foreplay, implied smut, NSFW

A/N: So, I was listening to this album on repeat yesterday while doing a puzzle and venting to my imaginary Dean and thus this idea was born.

Based off Dress by Taylor Swift

Version en Español: Vestido

“Do girls really do that?” I blurted out.

Y/N spared me a brief glance before turning back to the puzzle she was focused on. “Do what?”

“Buy a dress just so the guy they want will take it off them?” I wasn’t surprised she was tuning out the new Taylor Swift album that had been on repeat all damn day. I would never tell anyone, but it was growing on me and it was entirely Y/N’s fault. “I thought chicks bought clothes they liked and shit.”

She looked up at me for a longer moment with an incredulous expression. “Of course we do, Dean. Do you really think that all those women you see at bars like wearing six-inch heels or dresses that constantly need to be readjusted? Hell no. Women are on the prowl for sex just as much as men are.”

Y/N pushed her glasses back up on her nose and glanced at the clock for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. This was one of our rare nights off from hunting. Why was she so preoccupied with the time? “Have you ever done that?”

“Not for a specific guy, but I’ve bought a few dresses like that for the nights I wanna get laid without having to put in the effort to find a guy.” She held up a puzzle piece to the picture on the box and examined it closely, trying to figure out exactly where it went. The first time I’d watched her do a puzzle, I thought it was the weirdest way to do a puzzle. Wasn’t it easier to just get all the pieces of the same color and fit those together rather than placing the pieces haphazardly in the border and going from there?

Of course, I’d never really thought about puzzles before Y/N came to live with us. There was a lot I hadn’t thought about before she came to live with us.

“Actually,” she said, tilting her head slightly and pursing her lips and she reconsidered her answer. “There is one guy I had in mind when I went shopping, but I never got the chance to use the dress on him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s never been interested in me like that,” she shrugged nonchalantly. I didn’t understand how she could just brush off everything so easily. The only thing that ever fazed her was when we couldn’t save civilians on a hunt. Even then, she was able to recover more quickly than Sam or me.

“What an idiot,” I muttered, watching as she got pulled back into the puzzle vortex. Any guy would be such a lucky bastard to get Y/N’s attention. Even in a ratty t-shirt, baggy sweats I’m sure she stole from me at some point, her hair in a low pony-tail, big glasses, and no makeup, she was still breathtaking.

And I’ve seen her when she did her makeup and hair and shit and she went from her usual adorable, nerdy, funny self to a sexy as hell woman who commanded attention and respect. There wasn’t a single look that Y/N couldn’t pull off.

Then she glanced at the clock again and my curiosity got the better of me. “What’s so interesting about that clock?”

“I have to leave for a date in about ten minutes.”

A date? “Like, an actual date?”

She nodded, forehead scrunching as she tried to figure out where to place the puzzle piece she’d just picked up. “Well, kinda. Mariah’s had a rough week, so we’re going on a double date with the guy she likes and his douchey roommate. I’m going along to make her look good and make sure she has a good time.”

“Make her look good? Shouldn’t you be, like, I don’t know, helping her get ready then?”

“Not that kind of helping her look good.” Her attention was still completely on the puzzle as she answered me. “I mean she’s spent at least an hour getting ready and is gonna look super hot, and I’ll be the friend who isn’t as pretty tonight so she gets all of the attention. I’m the confidence booster tonight.”

I scoffed and closed my laptop, setting it aside. I hadn’t been doing anything on it for the last hour, and it was about time I gave up the pretense. “You really think that’ll work?”

Please. Even in her old shirt and sweats, she was still every straight guy’s fantasy. There was no way anyone could upstage her.

“It always does.”

“Makeup doesn’t make that much of a difference, sweetheart. Especially when you look as good as you do naturally.”

She rolled her eyes at the puzzle, brushing off my compliment as usual. “It’s not just makeup, Dean. It’s the hair and the outfit and the ego boost that give you. Guys can sense when a girl has put effort into her appearance.”

“I’m a guy and—”

“I’m just gonna stop you right there, Dean. You are a guy, which is why I know that you won’t get this. I’ve watched you fall prey to this tactic so many times since I met you.” She finally set aside the puzzle box with the remaining pieces and stood up, coming to sit next to me on the bed. “It’s all an illusion, and in the low lights of a bar, dudes can’t even tell they’re being manipulated.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Next time you’re out at a bar and you see your conquest of the night, take a step back and look at her friends, if she has any with her. I can almost guarantee you that the woman you set your sights on is the one who spent more time on her appearance for the night. I’ve seen you do it so many times.”

I think I was offended. Besides, lately the only woman who had been catching my attention at bars was Y/N no matter how long she spent getting ready. “You’re calling me shallow?”

“I’m calling you susceptible to subtle manipulations.” She reached over and patted my cheek consolingly before standing up. “Don’t worry, it’s not a bad thing. Now close your eyes. I have to change.”

It never mattered how many times we’d seen each other nearly naked as we stitched each other up. Y/N was still more modest than any hunter I’d ever met. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the headboard and got lost in my thoughts.

It bugged me that she was going on a date tonight. Our first night off in nearly a month and she was going to spend it with a douchey guy instead of spending a night in with me like usual. She normally didn’t go on dates anyway. She was more introverted than, well, any hunter I’d ever met. Y/N was pretty much the opposite of what I’d thought of hunters. Quiet and reserved. But still a damn fine hunter.

Oh, don’t worry. I’ve already owned up to my feelings for her. Sam called me out a few weeks ago and, since then, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. But I haven’t told her. So, really, I shouldn’t have any real reason to be jealous that she was going out with someone else. I didn’t have any claim on her.

That didn’t stop me from wanting to wring the guy’s neck, though.

“Okay, you’re good to open.”

Even in jeans and a dark purple, fitted t-shirt, she still short-circuited my brain. Luckily, she was too focused on choosing a necklace to notice my reaction. And she really thought that anyone else would upstage her tonight?

“Will you be back tonight?”

“Yeah. I’m not going to go home with whatever the fuck his name is.” She finally settled on a necklace and began a search for her phone and purse.

“Sweetheart, you’ll have your pick of any guy in that bar.” Why the hell was I encouraging this? I wanted her in my bed.

Besides the pink tinge on her cheeks, she didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “I’m looking forward to sleeping in in my own bed in the morning. I’m not going home with anyone tonight. If Mariah hadn’t had such a bad week, I wouldn’t have even agreed to this stupid date in the first place.”

“All people-ed out?”

Being around other people was exhausting to Y/N. I didn’t understand it, but I was glad that I seemed to be an exception to that rule. She didn’t seem to tire of spending time with Sam and me.

“Yeah. Keep your phone close. I might need you to call me with a fake emergency.”

*****

It was barely ten thirty when I heard Y/N come home. Sounds like her date had been even worse than she was expecting if she was home before midnight. Whenever she went out with Mariah, she was usually gone until at least two in the morning. Then, of course, she would need a few days to recover from all of the socializing.

Staying in my bed rather than going to talk to her took all of my self-control. If she wanted to talk about it, she would come find me. A lot of the time, after a night where she was around people for too long, she just needed a few hours alone.

I could hear her in her room next to mine for a few minutes before everything went silent. She was probably watching Netflix with her headphones on.

You’ll see her in the morning, I tried telling myself, but still couldn’t make myself relax.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard her soft knock on my door. “Yeah?”

Slowly, she opened the door and popped her head in. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” I started sitting up, but she shook her head and slipped in next to me, using a hand on my chest to keep me laying down as she set her glasses on the bedside table. I couldn’t breathe as she curled up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. Sometimes we had to share a bed on a hunt, but I was always too exhausted and ended up falling asleep almost instantly.

Never before had Y/N come in to share my bed in the bunker. And never had I been next to her when I was only in my boxers. This seemed like a recipe for disaster.

“Date didn’t go well, I take it?” I needed to figure out why she was in here before I started overthinking everything.

“No,” she mumbled. “He was a giant douche and way too handsy.”

“Handsy?” Pushing up on my elbow, I looked over her in concern. “Did he do—”

“Dean, it’s okay.” She pushed me back down and resettled herself against me. “I can handle myself. I didn’t let him cross too many lines. But I just need someone who isn’t gross and slimy to hold me for a few minutes and make me forget where his hands tried to go.”

If Y/N wasn’t cuddled up in my side, I probably would have peeled out of the garage in Baby and tracked down the creep she’d gone on the date with to give him a piece of my mind with my fists.

“You sure you’re okay? I can go teach him a lesson if you want.”

Her soft, carefree laugh calmed some of my nerves. “Maybe tomorrow. I promise I’m good, though. You know I’m not the kind of girl who lets anyone walk all over me.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I finally managed to relax and push her creepy date from my mind, choosing instead to focus on her warm body next to mine. “That’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Shit.

Besides a slight hitch in her breathing, she didn’t respond to my slip. It just hung in the air above us and I hoped to God that she interpreted it as a friendly kind of love. She might be good at brushing things off, but I wasn’t sure if even she would be able to brush off any kind of declaration of love like that.

“Hey, Dean?” she whispered a few minutes later. I made a noise of acknowledgement and she continued. “Remember earlier tonight when we were talking about dresses?”

“Yeah.”

“And I told you that I bought a dress for a specific guy who didn’t like me like that and you called him an idiot?”

“You heard that?” I thought she’d been sucked back into her puzzle zone.

Her head moved against my shoulder in what I assumed to be a nod. “Did you mean it? That he’s an idiot to turn me down?”

I shifted slightly to be able to look down at her, but still have my arms securely around her. Her hair was spread across my shoulder, and there was a hole in the old shirt she’d thrown on after her date. She was perfect. “Yeah. I meant it.”

Her eyes held mine for half a minute before she looked away briefly and drew in a quick breath. “It was you.”

“What?” I couldn’t have heard her right.

“I had you in mind when I picked out the dress, Dean.” Her eyes darted up to mine for a second. “I don’t want to make things weird between us, but I just—”

“Go put it on.” Shit, was I dreaming?

“What?” Now it was her turn to be taken aback.

Propping myself up on my elbow, I reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Go put on the dress. We were talking about how girls buy dresses so someone else can take it off of them. I can’t take the dress off of you if you aren’t wearing it, sweetheart.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

“How long have you had the dress?”

Apparently she hadn’t imagined the conversation going this direction, because she was scrambling to keep up. I gave her all the time she needed to wrap her head around this change, but I didn’t move back to give her the space. If she was saying what I thought she was, I was going to grab ahold of this chance and not let go.

“Uh, two months.”

She’d wanted me for at least two months. “Shit, sweetheart. I’ve been trying to keep my hands to myself for weeks. Go put on that dress.”

Her eyes never moved from mine as she finished thinking through the situation. A small, hesitant smile played around the corners of her lips. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I watched her leave, staring at the door as she closed it behind her. Fuck, was this really happening? I sat on the edge of my bed, hoping and praying that I wasn't dreaming. Even if she wasn't coming back in the dress, I knew for sure that she had still come into my room for comfort after her shitty date. I knew for sure that she had chosen me over Sammy to hold her and make her forget about her slimy dates hands all over her.

That had to mean something.

A few minutes later, she knocked lightly on my door. My feet took me over to open it in a daze. She quickly slipped in and closed the door behind her as I just stared.

She was wearing a tight red dress that had one of those low necklines that ended close to her waist, leaving very little to the imagination.

"There are, uh, I bought heels to go with it. But since we're not actually going out, I figured..."

"Next time," I finally found my low, scratchy voice. Next time she would be in nothing but those heels. "Fuck, Y/N. You're—Jesus Christ." How could I possibly string together enough words to tell her just how fucking delicious she looked?

"Pretty sure I'm not Jesus Christ," she joked, glancing away and running her hand through her hair.

Definitely not, with all of the sinful things my head was coming up with.

"You're so fucking gorgeous." My legs finally remembered how to move and I slowly prowled over to her. The dress was soft under my hands as my fingers travelled from her shoulders to her hips. A low sigh escaped her lips at my touch and went directly to my dick. Shit, if that little sound had that much effect on me, I couldn't wait to hear her moaning and screaming my name.

"You really bought this dress for me?"

Her eyes snapped to mine and softened with a hesitant smile. "All for you, Dean."

Self-control: gone in an instant. My hands on her hips pulled her into my body and I finally kissed her like I'd been wanting to for weeks. She stretched up on her toes and one hand reached around to tug on my hair. Her touch made my entire body burn up and I moaned, pressing her back into the door.

"Fuck, Dean," she said, already out of breath. Her other hand wrapped around my wrist and dragged my hand up her stomach to stop on her hot skin between her breasts. "Dean, I need you to touch me. Please. I need to—I need to feel you."

Hearing her beg flipped a switch in me. This was really happening. We were really going to sleep together. She really wanted me.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" My sweet, quiet, independent Y/N was begging me to touch her. To make her feel good. She bought a sexy dress with the fantasy of me taking it off of her. And here she was, right in front of me.

Rather than sliding my fingers under her dress, as she obviously wanted me to, I began a leisurely journey up to her throat. She mewled in opposition and tried pulling my hand back down, but I used my other hand to pull her fingers off my wrist and hold her hand against the wall above her head.

"Dean," she complained quietly, no real objection behind it.

I slid my thigh between her legs to give her a slight release and smiled darkly down at her. "Sweetheart, I'm gonna make you feel so good. Gonna make you forget all about your slimy date tonight." She ground down on my thigh and I had to bit my lip to hold back a groan as her hand on the back of my neck tightened its hold. "Gonna give you everything you need. But you gotta trust me."

Her moan when my fingers landed on her throat nearly undid me. Jesus, the things this woman did to me. I squeezed the sides of her throat gently, testing her limits. Just the sight of my fingers wrapped around her throat, inches from her parted lips was enough to put my self-control on the edge of a cliff. And judging by the way she ground onto my thigh, soaking through my boxers, she was just as insanely turned on as I was.

"I do, Dean. I trust you."

Shit. Hearing her say that made me surge forward and capture her lips in a searing kiss. I'd never heard anything more beautiful in my life.

"You said you bought this dress so I could take it off of you?" I growled in her ear once I got myself under control again. The hand that was at her throat moved under the fabric on her shoulder, slowly starting to slide it off.

"Yes, Dean."

Was I going to have to fight the urge to kiss her every damn time she said my name tonight?

The fabric slid off her shoulder and she removed the hand on the back of my neck to slide her arm completely free of the fabric until it hung around her waist, one half of her body completely bare to me. My eyes travelled hungrily over her shoulder and collar bone down to her perfect breast. I couldn't wait to get my mouth on that later, but I had a game plan to follow, and it involved making her squirm and beg first. I was going to take my time.

My breath caught in my throat when, instead of placing her hand back on my neck, she raised her arm above her head, laying her wrist on the wall above her head, right next to where my hand was holding her other one. She was completely submitting to me. Her desire-filled eyes drilled into mine and she repeated her words from earlier. "All for you, Dean."

This time, though, she wasn't talking about the dress.

"Shit, Y/N," I groaned, gathering her other wrist in my hand as well. "I'm all yours too."

"Show me," she lifted her chin in a challenge.

Challenge accepted.

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[thesides]

born from resistance [can’t keep me tied down]

Fandom: Sanders Sides (duh) Pairings: None, yet! Chapter: 1 Read:  AO3 Notes: I have no idea where I’m going with this, but I promise you the next chapters will be WAY better! Tag List:  @neetrash @lonewolfmemories @trash-can-so-do-i @half-blood-geek @topspintessa @sweetie2136 @tragicrevenge @babyboylittlepupper

“Virgil remembered the nights when he was a kid, begging for someone to whisk him away from the constant judging. He could remember the shrieking and the crying, hoping that one day it would change.

It never did. ”

Sanders Sides Demigod AU

Virgil wasn’t normal.

That much, he definitely knew. Because as he walked down the street, he could practically count every side glance he’d get. So far, he was at twenty, but his high score was fifty in an hour. How bad was his life that his best achievement was how many people looked at him with disgust? Well, Virgil thought, it wasn’t that bad. He had known a lot of other of people who had it almost as bad as he did - sometimes, worse. And it was those people that he managed to befriend, in his own odd, weird way.

Honestly, Virgil wasn’t even sure how they became his friends, but he wasn’t gonna question it. Not now.

Virgil tugged at his hoodie strings, cursing under his breath as he bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered, looking down and forcing himself to keep moving. He could hear them groan about ‘Teens these days,’ and Virgil just kept walking, tightening his fists at the veiled insult. Keep walking, Virgil thought, just ignore them. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, since, at this point, it was practically routine. Go outside, crash into someone, get insulted, go home. It almost made him want to stay inside all day - almost. Contrary to the nosy middle-aged neighbors, Virgil did have a social life, thank you very much. It just… wasn’t as prominent as everyone else’s. Could you blame him, Virgil thought out, shaking his head.

With the looks everyone gave him constantly, you’d think people would understand that ‘Hey, this guy is outed by society! He’s screwed in the friendship department!’

Apparently, Virgil overestimated people’s intelligence. Never again, he thought, people were exactly as dumb as they looked. They didn’t even know him- yet… Everyone knew he was wrong. A dud.

Shoving his hands in his pocket, Virgil walked towards the train. The crowd was forming rapidly, and anxiety shot up in his spine. He licked his lips, fingering the small amount of cash before walking forward. Virgil quickly paid, practically jumping into the train before the doors slammed shut. He looked around for a seat, faintly noting that the train was a wreck. Sure, it wasn’t a dumpster, but… Virgil sat down on a mangled seat, thread sticking out of it on all sides. Yeah, the train was definitely high class.

He sighed, leaning back against the train’s walls. Virgil winced as the chatter of the train picked up. Sure enough, a group of tourists were blabbering right in front of him, and Virgil wanted to groan out. Of course… Virgil whipped out his headphones, thanking whatever higher deity in existence that they weren’t tangled. He popped them in, listening to some song before closing his eyes.

Virgil felt the train move, and he let his mind drift. What was he thinking about, again? Oh… right. According to literally every person in existence, he was a heathen with purple hair and an emo/angsty background. Yay. Virgil couldn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth at that description - damn, he was getting too good at being right. Because he knew that everyone thought of him that way - even people who didn’t know him at all. And it wasn’t even his fault - he didn’t want to be this way. Virgil remembered the nights when he was a kid, begging for someone to whisk him away from the constant judging. He could remember the shrieking and the crying, hoping that one day it would change.

It never did. Such was his life.

Virgil wished he’d accepted that fact sooner.

Everyone knew he wasn’t normal. He was an outlier, the unknown - Virgil wasn’t supposed to exist. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He was supposed to be this, act like that. But it never happened - he was just Virgil.

Virgil gave off this ‘bad vibe,’ according to literally everyone that walked past him. People always gave him that ‘look’, for reasons that Virgil didn’t even care anymore. Some small part of him broke whenever someone would cuss him out under their breath, but for some reason, it only managed to make Virgil come back with a furious hatred for the world.

Virgil knew he wasn’t normal. There was something wrong with him. Especially when he saw things jump out at him in the middle of the night. They were… monsters, in every way possible. He recalled one time when he was walking in a Subway. Never again, he promised. Subway was evil. But there were always things that happened to him. Feral dogs that seemed to be at least double his own size attacked him out in the blue. Buffed out people with only one eye stalked him whenever he walked out in the park - one even tried to kill him. But whenever he tried to explain it to someone… Apparently, that dog was a kitten and that person was an elderly.

Yep, totally makes sense.

Virgil forced himself to open his eyes, feeling the train coming to a stop. He glanced up at the sign, squinting as he tried to make out the floating letters. Nope. Wasn’t his stop. Virgil leaned back, sighing as he turned up the volume.

The train moved again and Virgil hummed along with the tune of Over My Head, tapping his fingers against his leg. If he had to sit on a thirty minute trip across the city, then at least he’d have his music. For a second, Virgil managed to relax, leaning his head back and just enjoying the blast of music.

And then, of course, someone had to sit next to him.

Immediately, Virgil stiffened, instinctively turning down the volume blasting from his headphones. The last thing he wanted was someone to start a lecture about ‘modern music.’ Yeah, so what if the Beatles were really the hit in the 70s? He didn’t. Care.

So Virgil forced himself to just sit in silence, swallowing at the sudden awkwardness bursting between them. Seriously, who sits next to a person when there’s about ten other spots-

“Ah, yes, I forgot to ask, do you mind?” Virgil blinked at the voice, whipping his head around to the person sitting next to him.

“No.” Was all Virgil managed to say, well, muttered as the person sat straight up.

“Great. I apologize for not asking sooner.” The guy was… weird, Virgil noted. He talked like a textbook - looked like one, too. He wore a necktie and a dark blue shirt, matched with black skinny jeans. Oh, and glasses, because this guy was really trying hard for that nerd look. Or maybe he really was one? Wait, why did Virgil care? “I needed company for the experiment I am engaging in.”

“Ex… Experiment?” Oh no, Virgil was not liking where this was going. He swallowed and berated himself for stuttering. Yeah, great English, Verge-

“Yes.” The man adjusted his glasses and pushed them up at the sides. “I was unable to gather any other information via the Library and the ‘Internet. You seem to be in the same situation as I am.”

“What?” Virgil blinked, feeling his hackles rise and his brain started screaming at him. “Look, I don’t care what drugs or thing you’re selling. I don’t want it.”

Traveling around the city, you were bound to run into one of those ragtag groups that practically pressured you into buying some sort of drug. Virgil had had his handful of interactions, and he’d always barely escaped them. But… The guy didn’t look like one of those people. He looked nice.

And he also looked very, very confused. “No…” He began, “That wasn’t what I meant. Was my statement not trustworthy enough? Allow me to rephrase- I believe that another person will help me in my studies. I can’t be the only one experiencing these… anomalies.”

“Yeah,” Virgil snorted, the guy was a living textbook, “Right. You literally just met me and suddenly we’re the same. Keep talkin’, lunatic.”

“I do not appreciate you insulting me. And frankly, I was simply trying to conduct an experiment-”

“Whatever- I don’t appreciate you ‘experimenting’ on me. Can you just lay off?”

People were turning their way, eyes looking at him. Shit, he thought, all he wanted to do was go home in peace.

The nerd had the nerve to huff, rolling his eyes before leaning back in his seat.  “Fine. I will not intrude further. I just…” He adjusted his glasses, and Virgil faintly noticed the bags under the guy's eyes.

Oh no, his mind said, no, we’re not going to feel bad for a stranger. None of that. Weren’t we just insulting the guy two seconds ago? He was but… Virgil couldn’t help but feel just a bit bad. The guy looked- well, he looked just like him. The nerdy look probably didn’t help with being social, and the way he talked probably didn’t get him any points in some club or something. And Virgil couldn’t help the understanding. Sure, Virgil wasn’t a ray of sunshine, but he wasn’t going to ruin a guy’s fucking day because he wanted to.

“Ah, fuck it…” Virgil muttered, turning to face the nerd. “Go ahead, show me what you got.”

The nerd’s face actually brightened. “Very well. I assure you, the time will not be of waste. I have gathered a series of plausible factions and various-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Just tell me what you wanted to do.” Virgil slowly spoke out, and he briefly regretted his decision, just for a second.

“Right- I… I have been seeing these sort of images in the middle of crowds or chaos. Yet, whenever I discuss these with the authorities, it seems as though they never existed. They just weren’t there.” Virgil felt his blood go cold as the geek kept talking, “I have tried to collect photos, but it never worked. I have sketched out diagrams-”

“Wait.” The train slowed, and Virgil could barely make out anything. “Wait- What’s your name, geek?”

“Logan. Logan Everill.”

Someone- Someone was like him? “Logan- Logan, do they ever attack? What do they look like?”

He couldn’t help the pounding in his chest, the beating of his heart, the rapid breathing in and out. Virgil wasn’t alone. Someone saw the things he saw. Normal, Normal, Normal. The words repeated like a mantra, the only thing burning into his mind. Logan Everill was like him. He saw the things lurking in the darkness -  saw the feral dogs growling at him. Logan saw the things he did… he wasn’t alone.

“I… I cannot describe them. They look like-”

Suddenly, the train lurched forward and Virgil felt his back slam into the pole next to him. He gasped, mind spinning before whipping his head towards the front. The tourists in front of him were launched forward, screaming. Logan was right behind him, standing up and gripping the pole desperately.

Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart jumped out of his chest. “No…”

For a split second, Virgil wished for someone to say anything, do anything just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. And then a little girl cried out, screaming. It sunk in, and people started yelling and he could see out of the corner of his eyes the girl was kneeling on the ground. Logan moved forward, eyes wide and fist tightened. People kept on shrieking and Virgil couldn’t help the shaking in his bones.

This… This couldn’t be happening, he thought dumbly. There’s no way…

Because the front of the train was gone and in its place was a dog the size of his own apartment.

“Yeah,” Virgil heard Logan whisper under his breath, “They look like that.”

The dog looked up, and Virgil screamed.

[daddygraves]

Inktober Day 12. Instrument

I’m a butt whose writing gets shittier by the day

Here goes my latest pathetic attempt- featuring drunk Kingsmen, which I may or may not write spinoff fics for when this is over. And Harry Hart is a sap in love. 

@iffy-kanoknit @melisjevisje

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kingsman pub crawl was going as swimmingly as some knights' vision, by this stage. But by all accounts, everything was well. No fights with patrons had ended with gobsmacked drunkards hitting the floor, and no villains had sprung out of nowhere to take advantage of the fact Britain's best spies were all in one place, and utterly sozzled.

Some utterly foolish genius (probably Lancelot) had elected to send an email to all individuals in Kingsman's employ, and invite them all to 'spontaneous workplace drinks'. Because saving the world was rather sobering, and alcohol was a long-favoured coping mechanism of the Kingsman organisation. And because after Kentucky, the destruction of the original HQ, Cambodia and the shock return of a Scottish tech whiz and aforementioned knight, Harry really had a quite a lot to be drinking about.

That, and one other reason. It's half past midnight, Bors is out cold next to Harry, nose nodding dangerously close to his abandoned pint, and the bar is utterly empty apart from the rest of the Kingsman employ who had saved the date. Who it seems, if the shouts and hoots around Harry are anything to go by, are halfway between comatose and catastrophe. Percival is determinedly belting out a 90's pop ballad with Lancelot to the jukebox, despite her crutches -'WE MATCH', Roxy had pointed out to Merlin earlier in the night, gesturing to their common characteristic; leg injuries, albeit a landmine had ensured Merlin's were a little worse off. The Scot is engaged in raucous conversation with Kay and Gawain about the latest rugby match at the sleek table next to Harry's, whacking his fist on the table as he delcares that Scotland will surely triumph in the next match. Gareth is grabbing the next round at the bar, Geraint is determinedly skulling the last of his pint, cheered on by Lamorak, and Bedivere is taking a nap nearby. If anything, this little gathering looks to be nothing more than a bunch of rowdy businessmen, out for a night on town after a tough week in whatever boring desk job they endured.

Harry shouldn't be so sombre, with the comical events unfolding right before his eyes, like Tristan's impression of Merlin and his clipboard, or Percival's dire attempt at dancing. The past year had been a real uphill battle, even moreso for Harry himself, as the head of an organisation struggling to pick itself up off the floor and start again. Normal work as a Kingsman had been draining- what he had endured for the past year, if Harry was honest with himself, was nothing short of psychological and emotional torture.

But it was all done now. The empty seats at the Round Table had ben filled, the mansion rebuilt. Yet Harry doesn't feel the contentment that usually accompanies copious amounts of alcohol, as he reclines in the slightly grubby seats of some oscure pub he didn't notice the name of, staring into the depths of his half-downed pint.

"Whassup, Haz?"

A familiar broad frame slumps down in the booth seat with Harry, giving him a gentle elbow to budge up. This rouses the sleeping Bors, who jerks upright mid-snore, blinking wearily, a bubble of beer foam stuck to the tip of his nose.

"Hello, Eggsy," Harry manages, meeting eyes with the resident Galahad, who gives a lazy, relaxed smile in return. He takes a decidely more liberal sip of his forgotten pint.

"Why're ya so glum for, eh? S'ya night off, ya prick. Loosen up for us," Eggsy jibes, the effect of who knew how many drinks loosening his hackney speech further. Viridian eyes, with no trace of the shadows that had lurked within for months, and just the right amount of colour blushing those sculpted cheeks. Eggsy's top buttons of his standard white dress shirt are popped, bespoke jacket long since discarded. Toned, forearms emerge from messily rolled-up sleeves, with the lightest dusting of hair.

"Just tired, I'm afraid," Harry returns modestly, tearing his eyes away from his former protege with some difficulty. Because Harry might be tired, and more than a little inebriated, but he sure as hell is not blind. And Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin, who's firm, capable hand claps harry's shoulder reassuringly, has never been more inexplicably beautiful than he is right now.

And that unavoidable truth, as Eggsy wiggles his way out of the booth and goes to cheerily accost Roxy, is the root of Harry's melancholy spirit.

Eggsy has never been more available. The boy had no sooner become a married man, to newly coronated Swedish Queen Tilde, darling of Scandanavia, than a scandalous divorce had been announced. The princess, as it turned out, had been seeking to allow her seriously ill father to abdicate with dignity. And Eggsy had been a cog in her well-oiled plan to allow such a thing to happen.

"T' be honest, I wasn't even that upset," Eggsy had confessed to Harry one night in Kingsman's rented office complex, as the news of the premature split broke on worldwide media. The boy had swilled his martini pensively, considering the olive spiked on a toothpick. "Wasn't too keen on getting married anyway. Sorta did it cos' I felt bad after the whole rash thing."

And Harry had tried so very hard to not let his helium hopes grow any higher that night, as the stars sank, and Eggsy confessed tearfully he loved Tilde, but never in that way.

Oh the heart was a fickle, fickle instrument. It had taken a gunshot wound to the head for Harry to truly understand what the feelings he harboured for his Lancelot proposal truly meant.  But it was so very hard, when the one thing you love more than anything, more than butterflies, good whisky (without the e) and good manners, is sitting right across from you, utterly oblivious to the fact that he was the last thought in Harry's brain when Valentine pulled that trigger. Because who in their right mind would confess their love for a young man, no matter how lovely, when said young man had just admitted he had a girlfriend?

Not that it mattered now. Eggsy is a 25 year-old divorcee, happy as larry, and their relationship was going from strength to strength. Harry could honestly say that despite only being acquainted for just over two years, he feels he knows Eggsy, and vice versa, similarly to the level of understanding he and Merlin had garnered in close to thirty-five years of companionship.

Yet despite this all-time high, Eggsy still feel so...unobtainable. Nevermind the enormous age gap -Harry was  almost old enough to be the boy's grandfather-, nor the perils of romancing a colleague, should things go awry. Harry was certain he was more likely to be shot in the head by Richmond Valentine again than have Eggsy develop romantic inclinations towards him.

The chant of 'Eggsy, Eggsy, Eggsy!' pulls Harry from his solemn stupor, and he directs his attention to the small linoleum dancefloor space just in time to see Eggsy being shoved towards the proferred microphone, depsite many protests, by his traitorous colleagues. Laughing, despite his embarrassment, the boy takes it.

"Alrigh', alrigh', ya wankers. But none o' this shit. Ya got a guitar at all back there?" he directs to the barkeep, who disappears momentarily into the back room. But reappears nonetheless, clutching a battered Yamaha, much to the excitement of the knights, who whoop and whistle.

A stool seems to materialise out of nowhere, along with a microphone stand, which Eggsy accepts gratefully, plonking himself down on the seat. Harry watches with focused interest as practiced hands fiddle with the tuning keys for several moments.

Eggsy could play the guitar? The boy truly was full of surprises, as Harry had proclaimed on the very first day of their meeting. But Galahad's talents were seemingly not just limited to musical performance, as the small gathering of sophisticated yet drunken spies in a deserted bar in Kentish Town were about to find out.

"Anyway, here's Wonderwall." Eggsy giggles, and starts to play.

The first few strums of the familar chords send more cheers and cackles around the gathered Kingsmen, who cease all tipsy chatter to listen ardently to the Oasis hit.

"Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you-"

Holy mother of Christ. Not only was Eggsy one of Kingsman's finest recruits, with a spotless portfolio and a dedication that only came along once in a century. The boy could play like a professional, and he could sing. It truly was unfair. But when several knights begin to sing along, off key and out of tune, it takes everything Harry has in him to not scream at them to shut the actual fuck up. Because Eggsy's voice was that of which Harry imagined would accompany the sweet, white embrace of death. The clear melody of raw talent that spilled from capable lips as Eggsy continues on the verse.

Until entrancing malachite eyes fit themselves with Harry's.

"I don't believe that anybody, feels the way I do, about you now."

Harry can't help but break the gaze, eyes immediately finding his glass and draining it. It was a coincidence, you fool, his conscience shrieks internally, even as his heart begs him to consider otherwise. It wasn't possible. No.

"There are many things that I, would like to say to you, but I don't know how."

Harry dares to sneak a glance upwards, and almost shrinks down in his seat when Eggsy's green eyes bore into his again. Was it the Guiness, or was there a sheen of regret, or even sadness in Eggsy's eyes? For God's sake, he was fifty four, and the sounds of a young man's voice had Harry grasping at song lyrics like straws.

"Cos maybe-"

He can't bring himself to look away, he's caught, like in deer in those bright green, mesmerising headlights-

"You're gonna be the one that saves me-"

Couldn't Eggsy look at someone else, for Pete's sake? All this intense staring was giving his inhibited heart far too uch fodder to make stupid decisions.

"And after all-"

Sing for me, Eggsy. Sing for me forever, sing to me only. Was it just Harry or it was awfully hot in the room?

"You're my wonderwall."

Outside, now. Harry's brain finally turns the cogs to make a rational decision, and in a heartbeat, he's striding towards the back door of the pub. Fresh night air in a dark alleyway, and cool, slightly grimy bricks to calm his hot skin, and the heart that was beating far too rapidly for a man of his age.

Oh the heart was a fickle instrument, alright. Because it played in perfect harmony with a guitar, to the tune of 'Wonderwall'.