#I recognize this incoherence. and it scares me not like literally I just wasn’t my brain to be mine

[cherrysnax]

hello hi howdy what do u do when feel ur like brain deteriorating asking for a friend

[angstyclowns]

Please don’t let me go.

Part 2 to this! Thank you all so much for 2K followers!

Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki did not lose. Not in battles, not in competitions, friendly or not, and he would not lose you.  He refused to. He would not let you go. He loved you too much. He was too selfish to let you go. He fucked up, he’d own that. He fucked up badly, though he wasn’t certain he knew how to fix it. He could hear your sobs throughout your den, making him whine. 

You hadn’t done anything but cry since those blasted words left his mouth and he was beginning (Pshh beginning, he always worried about you) to get scared.  Groaning, he shut off his phone, thanking any and every being out there an old friend of his was willing to take his shift (He had to send her a gift basket for her and Deku). His duffel landed on the ground with a thud before he was running to your guys room, opening the door with zero hesitation. You looked up to him with such heartbreak in your eyes. Fuck, his chest hurt. 

Katsuki was never good with words, you and him both knew this, but he still had to make it right. He had too. Fuck his eyes were stinging as he approached you, making him collapse onto his knees in front of your nest. You watched him, not saying anything. 

“Please, fuck I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Any of what I said. You don’t deserve it-deserve it. You deserve so much better than me- But I don’t want to let you go-” He was crying now, making you cry as well. You understood he was stressed, and you probably weren’t making it any better. Both of you were stressed and anxious and- fuck. 

This wasn’t healthy communication. You and him both knew it. You needed to fix this. With time you would. Right now though, right now you were focused on the arms wrapping around you, and thats all you would focus on for now. 

---

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about with this upcoming pregnancy? This is a safe space.” 

Katsuki smirked at the therapist. playing with the ring on your finger as he held your hand. 

“What is there to say? I’m pumped. The Bakugou genes live on and I’ve got my pretty omega by my side.” 

While marriage counselling sounded terrible on paper, it wasn’t. It gave you both an outlet and coping mechanisms when hurdles appeared in your relationship, and made you both overall a lot happier. 

You purred as you leaned on your alpha, making the therapist smile. 

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m no longer needed here. You both seem to have impressive communication now, and I can’t see this changing when your pup arrives. Though, keep in mind when that time comes, you both will need to be top of your game.” 

You watched Katsuki nod, completely entranced by the therapists words. If you would’ve told yourself about this Katsuki a year ago, when your huge fight broke out, you would’ve laughed in your own face. But now, watching Katsuki work hard to prove he was the alpha you deserve?

Your heart fluttered and the butterflies in your tummy grew restless. While a pup would be a big challenge, you and Katsuki were ready for it. 

And he would be with you every step of the way. 

Shouto Todoroki

His choice was made before his subconscious even had the chance to boot up. His throat closed up and his phone was crushed in his palm when it tried dragging his attention from the fact at hand. It was dropped with little remorse as Shouto quickly ran in the same direction you did, stopping you from entering your guys room. You chirped in surprise when he turned you around, pressing a searing kiss to your lips.

You wanted to fight him but Shouto didn’t let you. He didn’t let you go when you squirmed, he only tightened his grip (Not hurting you). He didn’t know when it happened, but tears were starting to drip down his cheeks. 

Shouto didn’t get angry. But he got upset. He felt so guilty. Just seeing your heartbroken face replay on his mind was torture. Just knowing he had just did the same thing his father did to his mother. He was dismissing your worries and genuine concern because of his job. 

“I-I don’t see how messed up this is. But I want you to tell me- show me. I want to be a better alpha for you. Bonding you wasn’t and won’t ever be a mistake to me. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to. I want to know why it’s such a big deal.”

You broke down as Shouto held you, not finding the words to explain anything just yet. You would need time to do so, and he would give you that time. 

He just wanted to tell you he made his choice. 

In fact, there wasn’t much of a choice at all, and he hoped-- prayed-- you could feel that. 

---

“Shouto, we need you to start up the scenting again. You’re rep is dropping and-” His P.R. manager was halted with a finger, the half-and-half hero quickly dialing your number on a new-- not crushed-- phone.  

“Sho? Aren’t you at work? Why are you calling? Did something-”

“Scenting things that aren’t for you, thats a breech of privacy and demeans our relationship, right?” Shouto cut you off, sending a silent apology to you. 

You paused on the other end. “Yeah? We had this conversation a couple weeks ago. Are you okay?” 

He smiled. “Fine. Just reminding myself.”

You both said your quick goodbyes before Shouto turned to his P.R. manager. “My omega said no.” 

“Who cares what your omega thinks?! Your-”

“I’m nothing without my omega. I care what my omega thinks and what my omega says go. If her word isn’t enough then mine will be. I said no.” 

Silently, Shouto patted himself on the back as he turned, trying to leave for patrol. You would be proud of his newly shined spine. 

“Your-”

“Oh, before I forget. ” Shouto turned, facing the manager who was red with rage. It made him smirk. “You’re fired.” 

Keigo Takami

Patrol was rough. Brutal. He couldn’t focus. 

He had told you he was more important. He wasn’t. 

He was a broken shell of a man. Hawks was this fucking persona he put up, and in that moment those words came from him. Not the Keigo that you dug so hard for. Not the Keigo that you ached for late at night, just wanting to hold him in your arms. 

He was blurring the lines between Keigo and Hawks, with Hawks breaking through as the dominant. He didn’t want that. Not at all. He wanted Keigo to still be there. Be there for you. 

Fuck this. 

He was going to be there for you. Fuck the hero rankings. Fuck the commission. Fuck anything that kept him from you. 

Turning around, he ignored any calls of his name, soaring faster than he had all evening to get to you. He could see you through the windows of the balcony (You both lived on the top floor, enough enough ceiling to floor windows looked nice). You were looking ahead of you blankly, wrapped in one of his sweaters. Fuck you looked like you had gone through the ring. Hair messy and eyes blotchy. 

You didn’t even look over when he tumbled through the door, literally crawling to you. 

Keigo would admit he had never cried since he was six. He was twenty-three now. That was seventeen years. 

He would also admit he cried at your feet. Angry, painful sobs that rocked his body and made him hurt. He didn’t care though. He’d do it all for you.

He tried pleading that he was nothing without you. Hollow and empty. 

To be fair though, he wasn’t even certain he was doing anything other than incoherent babbles.   When your arms wrapped around him and allowed his wings to cocoon around you both, he figured he made some sense. 

For you, he’d go through all the pain seventeen years of hiding would bring him.

---

“Baby bird!” 

Keigo didn’t normally call out to you like he found himself doing, but recently, he’s found himself doing a lot of stuff he never imagined himself doing. 

Domestic life with you was such a nice feeling. 

Having you in his arms every morning, working with you as he got ready for work, watching you yourself get ready for your day. Just you. 

You were perfect in everyway and it made his chest tighten with love every time he saw you. 

You turned the corner with a smile, waving to him before gesturing for him to follow. He did so with a quirked brow, following you to one of the ex-guest rooms. You were giddy, bouncing slightly in your place with your scent so happy and boisterous it made Keigo purr. 

When you decided he wasn’t moving fast enough, you ran back, pulling him forward and into the nursery. His son was laying there, fast asleep in a makeshift mini-nest, bright red wings wrapped around himself as a blanket. 

You cooed and held onto Keigo, watching as your alpha picked up your son, holding him to his chest. The young boy merely ruffled his feathers, quickly recognizing the scent and nuzzling into his dad’s chest. 

While he went through seventeen years of pain in the span of two, he had you by his side. And now, he had his son. His son which you had gifted him. 

He didn’t know what he was thinking back then, but truly no one was more important than you. 

And he would take that with him until the day he dies.

[floofs-headcanons]

Hello hello! Both of your have such awesome writing! I had so much fun reading the headcanons and scenarios of the bodyguard AU! Could I request either college AU or a soulmate AU or your choosing for Zoro? Whatever you feel like writing! Thank you!!

College & Soulmate AU; Scenario

Character; Zoro

Word Count; 1,718

Thank you so much, we’re glad you liked it !! But no, but let me tell you how we screamed at each other for literally half an hour when we saw this request. There were too many good soulmate AUs we ended up using a generator aksjdhas.

The first time you and your soulmate touch you get stuck together for a while.

December is when you find him sleeping on campus grounds. He’s resting on one of the outdoor tables, book open, with arms covering the pages. Snow is falling, and you’re cold even with a heavy fur coat and umbrella keeping the white specs from melting into your hair.

You’re not sure if you should wake him up despite the fact that he was wearing nothing other than a T-shirt and some jeans, but he doesn’t seem very bothered. Well, that is until he sneezes. It’s followed by some incoherent grumbling and nearly scares the shit out of you, but it’s enough for you to decide to help.

“Hey,” you poke his cheek with the butt of your umbrella, not too fond of touching strangers. “Hey!”

He doesn’t stir, and you’re left wondering if anyone else has tried to help him before you showed up and ended up leaving it be because he wouldn’t budge.

Still, you couldn’t leave him here in this type of temperature; so you decide to leave your umbrella behind. It’s long enough to lean against the table and shield him from the ever piling snow without directly touching any part of his body and possibly bothering his rest- not that you think it would. He didn’t flinch even when you yelled at him.

December is when you’re working at Shakky’s bar late into the night to pay off your college tuition.

Those loans wouldn’t pay themselves after all and the salary was good. 

The company at the bar itself was interesting to say the least. You could never truly say you had a dull night while working there. Be it the slurring drunks and their awful attempts at pickup lines, to the terribly sobering tales that would be shared across the counter; it was an eye opening experience. 

Tonight would be much like any other- at least, that’s what you had thought until a familiar man comes through the door. 

He seemed well- that was good. You didn’t give it too much thought, after all, you were on the clock and this was a rather popular bar for the student body to frequent. From the way Shakky greets him, he must’ve been a regular long before you had begun working here.

Setting down the glass you had been mindlessly polishing, your attention is drawn towards a customer sitting near the back of the bar. He’s a bit louder than the other customers, but you were pretty used to that. Eustass Kid came in all the time and drank until he either passed out or his blonde haired friend carried him out forcefully. At the very least he wasn’t bothering anybody.

“Excuse me,” the green haired man raises a hand, successfully catching your attention. It seems he was done talking to Shakky by now.

“Yes?” You make your way over, an award-winning customer service smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I get for you?”

He ends up getting a few, maybe more than a few, beers. This man sure could drink.

December is when your car decides it needs its own break from the cold winter snow. It thankfully doesn’t break down anywhere too traffic heavy, and there’s an auto-repair shop not even five minutes away.

“Oh, hello,” you greet, surprised to see a familiar face working here. He’s wearing a tank-top and some slacks, and this time you think the attire is appropriate given how much he was sweating.

The owner, Franky, had more than generously came to pick up your mobile and gave you a ride along the way, saying it would be done the same day. I have a reliable repairman, he said more than just a bit too loudly for comfort.

The male glances up at you for a second before going back to finish up on the vehicle he was already occupied with. “Hey, there.” You’re not too sure if he recognizes you- it’s a hard to not recognize him- but that’s fine, you just needed your car fixed.

It doesn’t take him very long to finish up on his current project before moving onto yours. He thankfully doesn’t ask any questions, it seems like the owner had already filled him in, and just starts working.

“You know,” he spares you a glance, picking up another tool. “He said it’d be done the same day but it’s still gonna take a few hours. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Unfortunately not,” you sigh. The only plans you had were to go back home and take a long, long nap, but there was no way you were going to walk back in this type of weather. For a while, you’re standing around a little awkwardly, fiddling with the fluffs of your sleeves before he speaks up.

“If you want you could sit inside where it’s warmer. There’s a TV and some magazines you could read to keep you occupied.” You debate that for a bit, looking through the glass door to the waiting area, but ultimately decide to stick around for a bit longer.

“It’s fine,” you say with a smile. You could wait inside later, for now you’d want to wander a bit. It’s not every day you’d get to go to an auto-repair shop and you’ve always been a bit curious with how often Kid yells about it in the bar. “Would it be alright if I take a look around?”

He gives a grunt of approval and you make yourself comfortable, roaming the workshop. It’s quite big, and you hadn’t noticed ‘til now that the walls were painted in vibrant blues, red, and yellow. It matched the owner’s eccentric personality.

“Oh,” a stand hidden to the back of the shop catches your attention; a lone umbrella resting on its handles. Yours- to be more precise. “You use an umbrella during snow time?” You hadn’t bothered to ask for it back, the thought never really occurred to you. Considering they weren’t that expensive buying a new one wouldn’t be much of a hassle. If anything, you were more surprised he’s kept it around.

The male clears his throat, stopping whatever it was he was doing to your car and wipes his hands down with a towel. “Actually,” he admits sheepishly, “I’ve been meaning to return it to you. I just kept forgetting.”

You raise a brow, “You knew it was mine?”

“I’ve seen you use it around campus before,” he admits. “Not a lot of people use an umbrella while it’s snowing, and the color’s pretty vibrant so it’s hard to not notice. I had wanted to give it to you when I visited the bar, but you were constantly busying yourself so I never got the chance.”

A chuckle escapes your lips at his little confession. He seemed like such an intimidating guy, with the furrowed brows and scar over his eye, but he was a lot more awkward than one would expect. “Well,” you catch his attention. “I’m working there again tomorrow night if you want to come give it to me in person.” December is when you’re sparing hopeful glances at the door every time the bell chimes.

“Expecting someone?” Shakky teases, coming behind the bar and pouring herself a glass.

“Something like that,” you mutter before making your way past her to attend to someone in the corner of the room. It’s the same person from around two weeks ago- he’s louder this time, but there were also less customers tonight and no one seems to be complaining any so you let it slide. “Yes? How may I hELP-?!”

What you can’t let slide is how he forcefully grabs your wrist and essentially drags your body to lean over the table. “Ah, damn,” you’re used to drunks, not idiots. He has a permanent grin plastered over his lips and his grip on your wrist tightens. “I can’t let go! Guess we must be soulmates!”

There is no explaining the disgust that washes over your face. “Sir, I’m asking you politely to let go.”

Everyone who goes here knows that it’s simply an unwritten rule to not fight unless you wanted to be beaten half to death. Not by you- dear lord no- Shakky on the other hand was ruthless and you’d never want to end up on the other side of her fist.

Ever.

“Huh?” He slurs, “didn’t I just tell you that I can’t let go?”

“I’m telling you-” before you’re able to get anymore words out another hand wraps around the older man’s wrist, successfully shutting you up. For a second, the dread of it being one of his friends rises, but it’s quickly crushed by the voice that follows.

“I’m sure you’re not deaf. She said let go.”

The bar is dead silent for a few seconds before the man roughly releases his grip on your arm. A bit gentler would’ve been nice, you internally grumble, rubbing the sore area.

“Hey there, could I ask exactly what you were trying to do with my precious barkeep?” Your boss comes over, leaning against the table. She gives you a wink and a slight nudge of her head towards the break room and you don’t think twice before leaving the scene, your green haired friend following close behind.

“Is your wrist alright?” He questions as soon as the door closes. “My bad for being late, I got held back by some work Franky wanted done.”

His hand reaches out to gently hold your wrist and a spark of electricity shocks you both. Usually, your first instinct would be to flinch and pull away, but he has a firm grip.

“Uhm,” you glance down, then back up at him. “It’ll probably bruise tomorrow but it’s nothing to worry too much about...”

His face is unreadable, and after a couple seconds his ears turn a faint shade of red. “I can’t let go.”

You chuckle at his poor attempt of a joke. “C’mon now, we just went through this.” You lift your free hand to pry his fingers off your wrist only to feel the same electric shock as earlier. It doesn’t hurt, only stinging enough to really initially surprise anyone, but you quickly realize he wasn’t trying to pull your leg.

Oh.

“So,” he awkwardly lifts his other hand. “I brought your umbrella.”

[kosmosguk]

5 days of spooktober~ #4: snare

day #4: incubus taehyung x reader x incubus jimin

word count: 1.4k

summ. it’s strange waking up in your car the morning after Halloween with no recollection of last night’s memories except for a foggy dream. But what if what happened in that dream was real? 

warnings:  smut, dubcon/noncon themes (mindbreak, cunnilingus, handjob, vmin giving each other the suck a couple paragraphs in), 18+, explicit language, alcohol, taehyung wwe-smackdowns you at some point

a/n: prr someone needs to stop me from rushing thru fics and not checking over my work. I ‘tis a woman on a time crunch so excuse any mistakes. Can y’all believe Halloween is in a couple of days AND we’re one fic away from the end of this fun lil’ holiday spree? Also, this drabble wasn’t very yandere-ish for some reason whoops. Thank you guys sm for 3.6k; I’m INFATUATED and somehow rly funny rn. 

It seemed horrifically cheesy that you were out in the woods on Halloween on a night in which the moon was full and glinted a waxy blue. You had been drinking something bitter that burned on its way down your throat, and your head was spinning from the music of the party blaring around you.

You had only meant to step away from the party briefly, just to take a breath, but somehow you ended up deep in the woods. You stepped into something that made a squelch and wrinkled your nose in disgust.

God, you really didn’t want to end up as the first murdered side character of some half-assed horror movie thrown together on iMovie. And you even looked the part, with slightly smeared mascara and a short dress that you had to yank down so it wouldn’t expose an ass cheek to the unforgiving autumnal wind. You heard a noise, like the sound of a branch snapping underfoot, and your buzzed mind sobered as it quickly turned towards it.

“Fuck. Oh god, right there.’’

Wow, since when did the antagonist of a horror movie swear? They were always busy doing evil and ruining lives to swear. You blinked as the sound of skin against skin and ragged breathing filled your ears. Oh…oh. Yeah, you really had to get out of here.

You were about to gingerly step away when you heard the sounds shush, and you froze. Come on, come on, resume your activity, you pleaded in your head.

“Who’s there?’’

And you were running now, branches and twigs cracking underneath your frantic feet. No way were you going to meet face-to-face with two people getting it on in the middle of the woods. That would be an awkward confrontation to have.

You made it about another minute before something slammed into you and shoved you into the ground, knocking your breath right out of your chest and into the fall air.

“Literally, what’s your problem?’’ your voice mumbled out. You should have been terrified, and you were—the kind of scared that made you want to piss your pants. But you couldn’t show weakness; hell, if you didn’t die making the audience laugh then what was the point.

“Were you watching us?’’

You shook your head. Well, you tried to. Not much you could do when your face was in mud and your body was being pinned down.

“That’s not the kinky shit I’m into. I got a headache from the music and the sucky booze so I left for a breather. Didn’t mean to catch the two of you fucking, and if you want an apology, then I’ll give you one but only if you get the fuck off my back and apologize for body-slamming me. What are we? The fucking NFL?”

You were nervous sputtering now, and it must have shown because you heard his partner laugh, the voice light and soft and almost sweet if it didn’t sound so sensual.

“Come on, Taehyung. It was just a mistake. Besides, isn’t she funny…,’’ you felt this Taehyung get off your back, and you were being pulled up so you could face the two of them. The moonlight dappled through the leaves of the trees and sent waning droplets of pale light onto your dirtied face.

You could see the two you had interrupted…and wow, they were handsome to the point where it was almost otherworldly. If only one of them didn’t decide to WWE smackdown you into the forest floor.

You saw his partner smile impishly, a glint in his soft eyes, and he said with a lowered voice,” Hey, hey, Taehyung, isn’t she so pretty for a human? It’s been so long since I’ve had someone as cute as her.”

Okay, what the absolute fuck?

You laughed nervously. It was time for you to get out.

“Jimin, you’re right,’’ Taehyung’s lips stretched in an almost feral-like smile,” She is pretty.”

You saw a glint in their eyes, and suddenly, you were unable to move. You felt hot, tingling all over your body with a buzz that the alcohol had not given you, and your breaths were coming out in more rapid heated gusts.

You felt Jimin push you against the nearest tree, and his fingers toyed at the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?’’ his lips curved in a playful smirk, and when you nodded hesitantly, you saw his eyes darken as his soft pink tongue peeked out and pressed against his plush lips in a mischievous look. He was falling down to his knees, dragging your jeans and panties down with him.

You felt shame bloom in your gut but with it the heat intensified, and you were urging him to hurry by spreading your legs a little farther. You felt Taehyung press up closer to your side and the sound of a zipper echoed through the night air. He moved your hand to his throbbing cock, his voice hushed but breathy as you grasped it in your palm.

Jimin was pressing his tongue flat against your pussy, and you jolted, your eyes fluttering shut as he trailed his tongue up your slit and pressed it against your aching clit. He suckled on your clit, and you choked on a moan as he swirled his tongue around it. Your fingers trembled and tightened further around Taehyung’s cock, and you heard Taehyung groan.

Jimin’s movements against your pussy paralleled the intensity of your fist’s movement around Taehyung’s cock. He was savoring your taste, devouring you and playfully toying with you until every one of your nerves was alight. You were close, so close, and your head scraped against the trunk of the tree as your grip wavered around Taehyung’s cock.

“Please,’’ you begged, and your voice hitched on a loud incoherent keen as your legs trembled and quaked, and you felt yourself wet Jimin’s lips in a mixture of juices and cum. You heard Taehyung breath out a more ragged low moan, and something hot and sticky coated your palms and the fabric of your clothes.

You let go, almost sagging against the trunk of the tree, but you heard the two of them move, Taehyung taking Jimin’s place and firmly placing his arms underneath your ass to hoist you in align with his cock.

You tried to whimper, make a sound, but Taehyung leaned in closer—you caught a lustful glimpse of bright red in his eyes—and whispered softly in your ears, his cold breath brushing against the curve of your ear and leaving you trembling further.

“It’s my turn to devour you now, hm?’’

~

You felt lights in your eyes, forced to wake up in the back of your car.

“What?’’ you mumbled out as you heard someone banging on the window. It was dawn now, the sky a grayish-pink hue. You recognized the face of the friend you had gone with through your blurred vision and the throbbing ache of your head. You opened the car door and winced at the ache between your legs.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! Where were you?’’ your friend demanded.

You blinked once, then twice. You remembered taking a breather from the party and then…nothing. Well, not really nothing. You had a good wet dream, the kind that pinned you down and fucked you until you were a moaning whore of a mess. But that was but an alcohol-fueled dream.

Your friend sighed, shaking their head. “I guess whatever they spiked the drinks with did you wrong. Luckily, you’re safe. I heard that there was some kinda ghost in the woods. One of the drunk guys stumbled in and heard a ghost moaning, but he was wasted so it must’ve been a delusion.”

Your cheeks turned red as you felt something sticky on your pussy make a soft squelch as you made a move to try to get up. God, your hips were sore. That dream must’ve been something else. Unless?

“Are you okay? You look feverish.”

You blinked up at your friend for a moment and then shook your head, a silly smile on your face. You didn’t notice the eyes on you, the playful smile toying at the lips of the two beings hidden in the shadowy edges of the forest.

Yeah, one heck of a dream alright.

[nowoyas]

As Long As You’re Here (I Will Live Like This)

A/N: day 14 of @birds-have-teeth​‘s Izumonth collab. little incoherent rn last editing pass probably missed something pls be nice to me. title references the song Twelve Feet Deep by The Front Bottoms.

Summary: Your boyfriend comes to your house one day bleeding profusely. You pick up the pieces and chat about the future. (vigilante!Izuku x reader)

Warnings: some blood/wounds, a non-explicit level of injury + the ensuing first aid

Word count: 2700+

Logically speaking, you know Izuku is up to something when he's not with you. He's accident prone beyond the limits of accident prone. You honestly can't recall the last time you saw him where you didn't notice a new bruise or cut on him. The bruises can be explained easily—he's told you before he takes martial arts classes, he's taught you plenty a thing about self-defense so that's easy to believe, but the cuts?

You have to wonder whether his martial arts classes involve disarming each other with real knives.

The first time you noticed how deep his propensity to injury really went, he had a poorly-bandaged cut over his eyebrow that, sure, scarred up prettily (you'd be lying if you said it didn't make him ten times hotter), but was deep enough that you know it should've gotten stitches, even if he insisted on having just your help in the matter.

That was somewhere in the realm of eighteen months ago.

Tonight, he comes to see you after one of his classes and promptly almost collapses in your doorway, which is infinitely less concerning in light of the fact that he's bleeding all over your fucking carpet. Honestly, at first you don't recognize him. He's got on a hoodie you've never seen him wear before, a cheap mask tied around his eyes, and you almost call the cops before you recognize the tufts of green hair poking out of his hood and then the hoodie itself.

"Holy shit, Izuku" leaves your mouth somewhat before your brain catches up to the fact that you're not just looking at your boyfriend of looking at the vigilante Jackrabbit that's been giving both cops and local pro heroes hell for ages, not to mention the villains. No one could ever seem to figure out his quirk, either, so they couldn't track down the vigilante via the quirk registry, which makes a hell of a lot of sense when compared with that fact that your boyfriend is quirkless.

"S-sorry," he coughs, flashing you a brilliant smile as you pull his hands away from his abdomen. "My base was a bit too far. Didn't mean for you to find out like this. C-can I ask you for some first aid?"

"Okay, okay, okay, just... come on, let me get you to my bathroom so you don't bleed on absolutely everything. Can you walk a bit further for me?"

He nods, biting his lip, and you loop his arm over your shoulder to support him on his way, kicking your door shut behind him.

"Take your hoodie and shirt off and hold this to the wound while I get ready," you order, sitting him down on your toilet and shoving a random towel at him. You rifle through your cabinets for your first aid kit, muttering mostly to yourself. "Honestly, you're lucky I've got a healing quirk and I love you."

"I love you too," he groans, shifting in his seat.

"Stop talking. We can talk about your 'martial arts classes' when I'm done saving your life."

He pointedly shuts his mouth, peeling his hoodie and shirt off in one go in a way that might be sexy if not for the way his blood is smeared across his side.

"What happened?" you ask quickly, kneeling in front of him and pressing the towel back against the wound.

He winces. "Thought you didn't want me talking, angel."

You roll your eyes. "Oh my god, can you stop joking around when you're literally bleeding all over my bathroom?"

"Sorry, sorry. I got, uh, I got shot." He admits this meekly, as if it's not something horrifically concerning. He's got one hand over his face the way he does when he's trying to hide his blush from you after you've teased him and he’s too embarrassed to look at you. 

"Shot," you repeat calmly, gingerly pulling the towel away and preparing to properly clean the wound. "So there's a bullet and-or shrapnel in here, and I can't go straight to disinfecting or using my quirk."

"Probably."

You release a heavy sigh, forcing yourself to stay as calm as possible. "Alright. This is probably going to hurt. I'm sorry I can't hold your hand while I do this, baby."

He nods, biting his lip as you set about cleaning out his wound. When everything's good and clean, you take a few deep breaths and focus your quirk, not letting up until you're sure the wound is completely closed. You're still gentle as you wipe the blood away, though whatever pain he's still in is probably nothing compared to the way he felt before. The spot where he'd been shot is completely healed over, the only signs that it ever happened being the slightest scarring.

When you're certain that he's not losing any more blood and that everything is okay, you finally release a proper breath, dropping your head forward to rest on his lap. "You did a good job," you breathe against his thigh. "You should–you should get cleaned up. Take a s-shower."

"Are you okay?" he asks, like he didn't get shot tonight. Like your adoring boyfriend hasn't been moonlighting as a vigilante for god only knows how long. Like he couldn't have died if you hadn't had a healing quirk, like he couldn't get arrested and go to jail like his life isn't in danger–

"I will be," you say clearly, except it's too fast and shaky and not clear at all.

"Hey. Love. Look at me?" His hand rests on your head, grounding you, and you shift to rest your chin on his leg. He frowns at the sight, tugging you up and leaning over so he can bring you into a hug. "I'm okay," he whispers. "You don't need to cry."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I... [Name], I'm sorry. I never meant to keep this from you." He's slow, careful in his words and the way his hands attempt to soothe you. "There wasn't... When we first started out, I didn't know if I should, and then I wanted to, but it was never the right time, so I..."

You sniffle, desperately trying to rein in your tears. "Izuku, you could have died."

"I saved someone's life today, though. I-I can't say I regret it."

You pull away to look him in the eye. "Please be careful. I don't want people I love getting hurt."

He nods, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'll try."

You peck his nose, intertwining your fingers with his. "We need to wash the rest of the blood off you. How are you feeling? Dizzy?"

"No, I feel fine. Got a bit of a stomachache, though."

You roll your eyes. "Huh, I wonder what could have caused that. Strip and get in the bath, idiot."

He lets out a bark of laughter. "Will you join me?"

You pause. You were going to go soak his clothes to get the blood out and maybe order some Chinese, but... "Give me five minutes and I will. I'm going to make sure the blood comes out of your shirt and your hoodie first."

He mock-salutes as you stand, and you leave the room on unsteady feet, Izuku's top and jacket in hand.

You soak them in the kitchen sink, the red of the water making you cringe. That's Izuku's blood. Izuku. Your Izuku. You plug the sink, shut off the water, and return to where Izuku is splashing water over the spots of blood he can find.

He doesn't notice your return just yet. Carefully, you slip out of your clothes, kneeling next to the bath to dip a hand in the water and run it across his back soothingly.

His back muscles jump beneath your touch, his head turning just slightly to look at you. "Everything settled?"

"For now," you hum, eyes trained on his back and the various scars and bruises there. Panic bubbles in your chest at the sight–how many near death experiences has he had that he's been shaking off? "I was gonna order Chinese, but I don't wanna be away from you right now."

"Want me to spend the night?"

"Please," you answer too quickly. "I just... I'll worry if I can't see you." You stand, carefully slipping into the water with him to help him rinse away the blood.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, resting his lips there as he murmurs. "Guess I should just move in so I don't have to worry you, huh?"

"Guess you should," you retort. Your hands roam his body, partially under the pretense of helping him clean off what little blood remains, but mostly because you're searching. "It's a shame, too. Must be a real hassle for you." A bruise under his rib cage. You heal it right away.

Izuku smiles against you. "As if I could ever complain about waking up with you every morning."

"As if you will," you snort. "Move in with me so I can make you sleep on the couch for a week for scaring me like you did."

"Surely there's some other way I could apologize," he declares with a dramatic gasp, one hand clapping over his bare chest.

"Start by laying back and not moving around so much, you'll splash water everywhere and I already have to get your blood out of my carpet."

He reaches for a shampoo bottle as he complies. You lightly slap his hand away with a playful glare. "No, you just got shot. You're not doing anything. Let me take care of you, Izu honey."

"But [name]–"

You cut him off with a soft kiss, capping the shampoo and beginning to massage his scalp. Now that you're at this stage, you're sure he has no willpower left to object. You snuggle up against him, shampooing his hair one-handed as you rest your head on his chest.

"I was serious, you know."

"About?" he borderline purrs, pressing his head into your touch.

"A lot of things, but mostly the scaring the shit out of me and the moving in with me parts. You don't have to, but I'd feel a lot better if you at least came back here after any patrols you do or fights you get into so I can heal you up."

"Won't that tire you out?" he protests. Everything sounds weaker when you're playing with his hair, but he does have a solid point.

"Using my quirk a lot will make me tired, but I get better rest when I'm sleeping in your arms anyway. More importantly, if I can keep you alive and well, I want to do it."

"I'm surprised you haven't said anything about me stopping the whole vigilante thing yet."

Your fingers still in his hair. Sure, you'd love it if he stopped. Nothing makes you feel worse than the thought that Izuku could be risking his life, but... "As much as I love you and want you to be safe, I want you to be happy, too," you admit. "If... If being Jackrabbit and giving all the local heroes and villains hell makes you happy, then I want to support that. Even if I'm really scared for you."

"Oh my god, marry me," he breathes, so fast and so faint you scarcely catch it.

"I'll marry you, but only if you buy me steak first," you hum. 

"Deal. A steak dinner, and a ring. I'll try to swing that."

"You better, idiot. I want to spend my life with you."

It's his turn to go still now, freezing as you tactically drip water on his head to rinse his hair. "I-if you're serious, then..."

Cheeks heat up in tandem. "Of course I'm serious. I love you. I never want to lose you. The days I wake up with you are the best days of my life. I'd adore being married to you."

Strong arms wrap around you and pull you tight. "I-I don't really think I'm good enough to marry you just yet," he says. Firm kisses pepper the top of your head, mixed with a few hot tears, before he continues. "But someday, when I can... When I can be confident enough to not worry you, I swear we'll get married, if you'll still have me then."

You frown. "Izuku baby, it'll be a cold day in hell before I stop worrying about your cute, reckless ass."

"Hell freezes over every year, actually. It's a little town in the United States. Gets ice a lot."

"You would know that, nerd."

"I thought I was an idiot?" 

"You can be both," you say with a pout. He chuckles and plants a few more kisses on top of your head.

The water is lukewarm when you both decide to get out of the bath. Standing before Izuku, you grab the fluffy towel before he can and begin patting him dry, pressing soft kisses against every scar and bruise that litters his skin. Soon, you move to kissing his freckles, too, and before long, you're kissing him indiscriminately as he laughs and tries to towel you off.

You're maybe halfway through kissing every inch of him when he uses the towel to pull you up and meet his lips. His arms are back around you in an instant. "I love you," he huffs. "I love you so much."

"Mm, love you more."

"No," he pouts. "You don't get to make that decision."

"What are you gonna do, stop me?" You punctuate your sentence with another quick peck to his lips, attempting to wriggle out of his vice grip. "Lemme go, cutie, I've gotta order dinner."

"Not until you admit that I love you more."

"Noooo," you protest, “I can’t make myself lie to youuu.”

Several loud knocks sound from your front door, causing both you and Izuku to freeze up. You glance at him with a worried look. "You wait in here, just in case."

"One moment, please!" you shout, scurrying into your bathroom. You quickly yank yourself into a pair of Izuku's sweatpants and a loose top, not bothering with underwear for the time being. Your worst fears are confirmed when you open your front door to find a pair of cops standing on your doorstep.

"Oh! Good evening, officers." You're suddenly very glad for your acting classes when you were still in school. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"We've received reports of the vigilante Jackrabbit being spotted running around this apartment complex," the taller man answers, producing a picture of your boyfriend from above, his face obscured by his hood. "We're asking if you know anything about his whereabouts."

You frown, putting on your best worried expression. "Isn't that dangerous? I can't say I know anything about it, though, officer."

The shorter man peers at your floor, then back to you with a worried look. "Do you mind telling us why your carpet's covered in blood?"

Oh shit. "Oh, that?" Your face goes blank as you try to think of an explanation. "Nothing serious, no need to worry. I cut myself super badly while playing with a pocketknife earlier, but I've got a healing quirk, so it's not an issue! I was more interested in cleaning the wound and getting into not-bloody clothes, so I haven't gotten around to dealing with my carpet yet!"

"Well, glad to hear you're alright, then. Be safe, and be more careful with knives goin' forward."

You nod, forcing a grateful smile. "Right! Thank you, officers. Sorry I couldn't be of any real help."

"You know, I hear that Coca-Cola's great for gettin' out bloodstains. Might help with your carpet, there."

"Oh! Great! I'll look into that."

"Give the station a call if you find any information about that vigilante, alright?"

You nod enthusiastically. "Of course! Anything to keep the peace. You both have yourselves a lovely evening while I try to get all this blood out of my carpet."

You wave the officers a good night, and slowly close your door, listening as their footsteps trail away to the next door in your building. 

You find Izuku standing nervously in your bedroom, anxious eyes searching your face as if he didn't listen in to the whole conversation. Slowly, you press the top of your head to his chest. "We need to set some ground rules for your Jackrabbit hoodie if you're gonna live here."

He nods. "Talk about it over Chinese food? I ordered while you spoke with the cops."

"Yeah. We'll talk about it over dinner."

Tags: @tooloudarts​ @sapid-rose​ @xxangelpridexx​ @birds-have-teeth​ @icythotsenpai​ @warmchoccymilk​ @wesparklebitch​ @izoodles​ @fujimoribaby​ @my-bnha-things​ @denise-the-death-goddess​ @themerpenguin​ @sincerebubbles​ @themmmelissa @fudobaby​

[prongsies]

Baggage Pt. 2 • George Weasley

PAIRING: George Weasley x Reader

SUMMARY: Christmas is the perfect time for the Weasleys to get the family together, and maybe it’s also a perfect time to welcome some new members in

WARNINGS: Language, smol bits of angst

PART 1

_______________________________________________________________

Laughter echoed through the walls of the Burrow, over the faint Christmas music Molly Weasley was playing on the radio. The smell of roast chicken filled George’s senses as he stood in the living room with his brothers and Harry, watching in amusement as the two hoisted Fred up from his wheelchair, helping him as he took a few wobbly steps forward.

A warm feeling made its way into George’s chest as his brother neared him, taking a few little steps at a time to get used to the feeling of having to rest his weight on his legs again. 

Of course, being the ever-loving twin brother he is, he held his hands out towards Fred, making grabby hands at him as if he were a child taking his first steps

“You’re a dick” Fred quips when he finally realized what George was doing. He rolled his eyes as Ron and Harry helped him back on his wheelchair, both stifling their laughter - which didn’t go unnoticed by Fred, “That how you lot see me, eh?”

“Please” George started, patting his twin’s head, hurriedly stepping back when Fred made a move to hit him in his regions, missing him by an inch, “You’ve always been a big baby”

“I beg to differ” Fred protested, crossing his arms over his chest, further proving George’s point.

The younger twin was about to retort when Molly cut him off, “Boys, please” She said, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead from the cooking she had done.

Removing her mittens, she instructed Ron and Harry to help help Fred up the stairs so he could get ready, before beckoning George over, “Fred’s potions just ran out this afternoon. Why don’t you go to (y/n)’s and get some more?”

“Now?” He asked, eyes trailing over towards the clock, indicating it was at least an hour before Christmas dinner - something he didn’t want to miss.

Molly followed his gaze before rolling her eyes, gently nudging her son out the door, which he made a difficult task by planting his feet firmly on the hardwood floor, “”C’mon, George!”

“I was just joking! Jeez” George laughed, finally making it easier for his mum to nudge him out. He stopped, turning to face his mother with a smirk playing on his lips, “It is quite admirable you’ve finally distinguished me Fred, mum! Tell me, did my missing ear give it away or the lack of wheelchairs?”

“I swear to Godric, George Weasley-”

“And I’m out” He rushed out the door, into the street while laughing, managing to grab his oat from the rack along the way. He trudged down the snowy street, giving his mother a thumbs up when she reminded him to invite (y/n) over to join them for dinner.

The walk to the store was shorter now, almost familiar to him as he’d been sent out there a few times after his brother had arrived home. He smiled upon seeing it, glistening with Christmas lights even if the store had been closed for the day.

He made his way to the back entrance, where (y/n) had given him a spare key, allowing him to walk into her home freely. Entering the back entrance to your potions lab, before ascending the stairs the led to your home.

He hesitated at first whether he should knock on your door or not, remembering the incident that had occurred just two days ago when he did - which led to you leaving your potion boiling for far too long, and... well, I guess you know what happened next.

His smile dropped, however, upon opening the door. As he walked in, he realized only the lights in the kitchen were on, bleeding over the kitchen island to partly illuminate the living room. There was a potion brewing in the coffee table, and beside the cauldron were vials of what George recognized were Fred’s potions.

Suddenly, he heard faint sobbing in the kitchen. Seeing noone there, he was quick to rush inside, scared that anything happened to (y/n), only to see you on the floor, leaning against the back of the island across the oven.

There was something baking inside, which George could only think to be pie, but he shook his curiosity off to kneel beside you, opening his arms. Before you knew it, you wrapped your arms around him, him doing the same to you, crying on his shoulder as you mumbled incoherent things muffled by his coat.

“(y/n)?” He said softly after a few minutes, pulling away to get a good look at you. Your eyes were rimmed red and your cheeks were flushed, a clear sign you’ve been crying moments before he had even arrived. “What’s wrong, love? Please tell me”

He cupped your face in his hands, wiping the last few tears that escaped your eyes with his thumbs as you dry-sobbed. “Here,” He stood, fetching a glass from the cupboards and filled it with water, handing it to you as soon as he sat back down. 

He watched as you slowly gulped it down, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest as soon as you finished. “What’s wrong, (y/n)?”

“It’s- it’s nothing really” You took shaky breaths to calm yourself, “You shouldn’t see me like this” You laughed softly, trying to clear the air which felt a little too heavy a little while ago. You looked up at him with a smile, only to see that his worried expression hadn’t left his face, “It’s nothing, George, really”

“How is it nothing, (y/n)?” He asked, “You rarely ever cry-”

“We literally just met a week ago, Gee” You joked, nudging his waist, “Besides, just because I don’t cry in front of you doesn’t mean I am incapable of doing so”

“I know,” He sighed, “I just don’t like seeing you sad s’all. I mean, you saved my brother’s life - you made my family and I happy, but here you are...”

“Looking like an outright mess?” You offered, earning a playful glare. 

Silence passed between the two of you as you both watched the pie slowly bake in the oven, catching a whiff of the blueberries you had put in there as they cook. “I miss my brother - it’s my first Christmas without him, you know?”

He nodded. 

“Merlin, the last time I saw him alive, we just finished arguing because he wouldn’t let me join in the fight” You laughed, “I called him a git and threw in some very colorful words and you know what he did? He stared at me - only for a few seconds - before laughing and hugging me. He told me he’d find me after it’s over but I found him- I found and he wasn’t moving and- and-”

George hugged you to his chest as you start crying again, allowing you to let all of it out because he knows - he knows how hard it is to keep everything to yourself, to not have anyone be there for you when you feel like you’re drowning in your tears.

He had been that person as well, for months. He sat in heir shared flat above the store, crying in the living room after coming home from visiting Fred, slowly losing hope day by day when his vitals weren’t improving, worrying constantly about how they’re gonna pay the bills, how his dad was doing since he basically lives in his office now to get overtime pay.

But the difference was, he had a family to go to - he had Bill and Charle, even Percy, to cry to. A family who visits him whenever he doesn’t make contact with anyone for weeks.

He jumped at the sound of a Ding! from the oven, you pulling away from him as soon as you heard it. With a sniffle, you stood up from the floor and grabbed a napkin from the island, blowing into it before shooting it into the bin. George followed suit soon after you, silently watching you pull the pie from the oven.

With a smile, you turned back towards George, “I’ll get ready, yeah? Wait for me here”

You were the center of praise as you joined the Weasleys in the dining room, everyone raising their glasses to you in a toast for helping Fred recover after everything. Beside you, George smiled, patting your knee in thanks as he used his other hand to raise his own glass.

With that, you moved into your room. disappearing behind the door, leaving George alone. 

____

As the dinner ensued, the table was filled with chatter. Hermione, who sat across you, asking about how much research you had to do to be able to get the potion right, to which you replied by jumping into the story of how you managed to burn off your full head of hair after trying it out.

This reminded Fred of the times he and George would lock themselves in their room, managing to burn off their hair as well trying to come up with something new to add to their products.

Finally, when dinner finished and everyone retreated in the living room to exchange presents, George invited you to take a walk with him outside, just to get a breath of fresh air since majority of the questions asked were directed towards you and your work.

“You family is something, no?” you remarked as Charlie’s laugh made its way into your ears, even if you stood meters away from the home, “They’re very lovely - especially Bill”

“Bill, huh?” He teased, wriggling his eyebrows at you, making your cheeks warm up.

“No!” You slapped his shoulder lightly, “He just- he reminds me of my brother”

“Well, he is the ideal older brother figure” George agreed.

You hummed in response as your eyes settled onto the night sky, marvelling at the stars. You didn’t notice, but he was staring at you as you kept your gaze above, entertaining the warmth he felt in his stomach and chest as he watched you.

“Hey, (y/n)” He cleared his throat, cheeks feeling hot now as well.

“Hmm?” You looked at him. He was fumbling with his fingers as he kept a respectable distance away from you.

“Do you... want to go out sometimes? Just us?”

“Funny, I was actually hoping Bill would come along” You joked, smiling as he gave you a flat look, “Really, though? Me? You know I’ve got a lot of baggage, are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“(y/n),” He chuckled, grabbing both of your hands, “I literally screamed at you the first time we met, do you think you’re the only one with baggage?”

You rolled your eyes, your smile now turning into a full-on grin, “So? Do you?”

“Yes,” You replied.

He grinned as he pulled you back into his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace as you stood in the middle of their garden. When he pulled away, he was still grinning, almost squealing in excitement as he hugged you again.

“George” You laughed, “Come on, let’s go back inside!”

“You just want to see Bill” You glared at him, “I’m kidding! I’ve got a gift for you waiting in there anyway”

“I hope it’s Bill”

“Oh, sod off (y/n)”

You laughed as he pulled you back towards the Burrow, your hand in his as you smiled to yourself, knowing that somewhere up there, your brother is happy you have someone to consider as family even with him gone.

[fivenightslaughter]

Wicked Serpentine (Part 6)

pairing: draco malfoy x femravenclaw!oc

summary: slowburn enemies to lovers fic, a TON of parts. <3

warnings: blood purism, bullying, swearing, descriptive physical danger, violence. Awful Draco 

word count: 3,192

taglist: @gloryekaterina @miso-tang​

I had decided to sit in the very front on the right side. With Malfoy tucked away in the left corner, I felt content with my choice being the polar opposite of his. Snape stood at the front, giving a very subtle and quick nod at me.

He strode forward and placed a book on my desk, swishing back to his original position with eerie ease. I was thankful his gesture went unnoticed and immediately my mood was uplifted.

I was here to learn everything I possibly could. I could already feel in my bones that despite Draco’s (thankfully now damp) presence in the room, this would come to be my favorite class.

Students filtered into the room and I heard booming bell chimes. I assumed that would mark the beginning of classes. I was thankful to have made it on time.

A boy slid into the seat next to me, a broad smile on his face. He was a bit lean and his brown hair lay around his head indiscriminately. Round-rimmed glasses circled his green eyes, which were slightly blurred through the thickness of the glass.

He eagerly turned to me, jutting a hand out for a shake.

“I’m Harry.”

His voice was warm and honeyed. He wasn’t overly pleasant to the point of it being sickly, but it was welcoming nonetheless. Taking note of his house colors, I’d guessed it was a trait likely shared among Gryffindors. Bravery.

I shook his hand, fighting hesitancy from my body. He was the first person who had spoken to me just for the hell of it since I’ve gotten here. Cho didn’t count much in my mind- she was a friend, of course, but we also had to share a room and that was very much a forced circumstance in my book.

“Eris.” I replied, facing the book Snape had placed on my table for me.

He seemed to wait a beat, as if he was expecting a different reaction. He turned to face a redheaded boy sitting behind us that looked rather bewildered.

“You know, he’s bloody Harry Potter!” He yelled in a rather hushed-whisper tone.

I turned in my chair like Harry had and faced him, my head cocked to the side as soon as I met eyes with him.

“Hey, you must be one of George’s brothers, right? A Weasley?” I spoke, my eyes raking over his mop of orange hair.

The two of them met eyes immediately, both shocked this time, and the redhead paused before letting out an incredulous laugh.

“Sweet hell Harry, she recognizes me instead of you? I must be moving up in the world!” He spoke endearingly as his hand traveled up into his hair. His face spilled into a crooked grin and Harry gave a short laugh.

I tried holding a straight face but couldn’t help myself as I quipped again, attempting to match their humor.

“Whoa, I saw you at King’s Cross when I met Fred and George. I wouldn’t call you famous just yet, Weasley. I don’t even know your first name.”

I saw Harry’s eyes widen and his mouth broke into a half smile.

“She got you there, Ron. You could be any damned redhead Weasley.”

His orange brows furrowed and he sucked his teeth, his grin beginning to teeter down.

“Lay off, mate. You’re just sore she won’t kiss you just ‘cus you’re the Harry Potter.” A brown haired girl elbowed him, pursing her lips.

There was his full name again. I’d be sure to ask someone later what the big deal about this kid was. Snapping us all out of conversation, a book banged loudly on our table and I whipped around to see a scowl evident on Snape’s face.

Not that it wasn’t the usual expression on his face, however, it hadn’t been directed at me in this way so far. I attempted to brush it off, going silent for the rest of the lesson. I still heard Harry and Ron exchange a couple jokes and words, but I’d decided it was ultimately not in my best interest to continue interacting.

Most of the rest of the lesson went on without a hitch and I noticed that whenever I’d hover my hand unsure of an ingredient, Snape would narrow his eyes at me. He wouldn’t look away until I’d palmed the correct one, and thus ensued an unspoken language between us.

Without it, I’m sure whatever I was concocting would have blown up in my face by now. Much to my enjoyment, there were a few times where Harry looked over and would exclaim positively about my progress.

I felt good. Great, actually. I wasn’t the best by far and I had a lot of room for improvement, but I hadn’t been an utter failure. I could swear Snape’s sourness had decreased just enough for the room to feel a tiny bit brighter.

As I furthered in my work, Harry and Ron started to become a bit of a distraction. They seemed very absorbed in themselves and their conversation as their volume slowly increased. The minutes ticked by and they were becoming less bearable.

I felt myself growing agitated but unable to express it. I couldn’t scare off two people I’d just met, my first two friends. If you could even call them that. I found myself rereading the same lines of instruction over and over, stress starting to become evident on my face.

I craned my neck to find Snape stood at the back of the classroom near the door as he surveyed other students. He wasn’t looking in my direction as my face pleaded for some kind of escape. My nails bit into my palms as the conversation next to me overrode my senses.

A sharp, hissing voice spoke from the back of the classroom, just to the right of my view of Snape. My eyes darted to the sound, accidentally meeting the speaker’s silvery ones as he spoke.

“Must you keep blathering with your boyfriend, Potter? Your voice carries worse than a mandrake. It’s all rather foul, honestly.” He faked a disgusted shiver and elbowed a boy next to him humorously.

His lips curled into a smirk when we broke eye contact and went back to whispering with the boy sitting with him. I scanned his partner at the table that he’d elbowed; he was rather attractive as well. He had smooth, dark skin and his hair was trimmed short and cleanly cut. He had reclined comfortably in the seat, his arms crossed behind his head as he tilted towards the wall.

Were all Slytherin-sorted boys plagued with an air of pretension? I turned back to face my instruction book, hearing Ron mutter under his breath behind me before likely doing the same.

“Malfoy, Zabini and that whole lot…” The rest was incoherent and I wondered what words he could be cursing at them. Harry nodded, pressing his lips in a tight line.

I wondered what kind of secret language they had and if it was anything like the one I shared with Severus. It didn’t matter to me now, though, as Snape strode to the front of the room. I was finally able to read and I stirred final ingredients into the cauldron on my table.

It bubbled and Snape raised his eyebrows questioningly as he stopped by our table. He placed a hand on the dusty wooden top, peering into both of our cauldrons.

“It’s decent…Ravenclaw. As for you, Potter, I suggest you learn to pay attention. Your… Inability to focus… Is hindering your classmates.”

Snickering erupted from the back corner, bouncing off of the walls.

Snape turned to fully face the entire class before he drawled,

“You all may thank Potter for arrangements… That will take effect next time we meet.” He spoke Harry’s name with a certain malice and it made me wince. The class gave a groan and I could see redness creep up Harry’s neck to his cheeks.

I felt guilty for thinking he deserved it considering I had literally just met him within the last hour or two. He was a bit intolerable, but perhaps that was good enough reason for why I’d been sorted where I was. Away from them.

I wasn’t exactly the brave or sociable type. I just wanted to learn and succeed here. I wanted to learn magic. If I couldn’t gain that from a friendship with these two boys, perhaps it wasn’t detrimental to my time.

I watched Harry check his watch and shove his book into his bag and I figured they’d be leaving soon. I wanted to talk to Snape first, though. I’d have to wait for everyone to leave and stay behind.

As suspected, the large bell towers on the grounds chimed within the minute and everyone eagerly left, rushing off to wherever they had to be next. I sat, not in any particular hurry as I pushed the book and parchment I’d taken a couple notes on into my bag.

Snape eyed me carefully, striding over to my table. He seemed to have something to say as well.

“Do not get involved with Potter. He is nothing but a vile trouble to this school.” He spoke sternly, every sentence with Harry’s last name was spoken with venom so far.

I gulped, nodding. “He seemed surprised when I didn’t recognize his name, who is he? Is he popular?”

Snape swept away deliberately, gathering items from a desk and purposefully setting it somewhere else. I wondered if it was genuine or busywork.

“You could say, yes… Popular.” It seemed bitter coming from his mouth and I decided to not press on any more Potter related matters.

“I wanted to say thank you. For the box.” I breathed, changing the subject and feeling a bit sentimental.

He gave no indication that he heard me, but the room was quiet enough for me to know he had. I took that as a signal he was done with conversation and I finally stood up, tucking my chair in and leaving the classroom without another word.

Much to my surprise, the hallway was not empty. In this lighting and proximity, the boy who stood outside the doorway looked as if he were of the same marble as the stairs in the entrance hall, still and pale.

“Took you long enough.” He spat.

Confusion etched itself onto my face and I was beginning to tire of twisting my features every time I didn’t understand something. His light grey eyes rolled at my expression, mouth looking as if he’d just eaten something sour.

“Charms.” He stated brusquely, his nose scrunching in disgust as he began walking off in a direction. He glanced behind him in a way that made it clear I was supposed to be following. My legs working faster than my brain, I hastened after his long strides.

Many thoughts attacked my brain. Had Snape told him to wait for me or something when I wasn’t paying attention? I couldn’t piece together why he’d be assisting me but against my better judgement, I decided not to ask.

Instead, I walked nearly by his side. It was a little unsettling how much he’d slowed and allowed me to do so. Sweat formed at my hairline and all I could hear were the taps of his shoes on stone.

“Thank you,” I started uneasily. I felt like I was gulping a brick.

Just as Snape had, he ignored me. Slytherin definitely made sense for him. It seemed like he fit so easily into a category and had his entire life planned out. The way he carried himself, it was obvious he never doubted a single step he took.

I envied it. In a way, I envied him. Likely growing up fully submerged in the most glamorous pieces of the wizarding world, rich parents, freedom to say and act however he pleased.

Even rudely, terribly, horribly. He could do whatever he wanted, couldn’t he?

His lips parted, exhaling lightly. He continued walking as he spoke, looking slightly agitated.

“Stop staring, you damned pest. I know I’m irresistible, but keep the drooling to a minimum.”

I scowled, narrowing my eyes at him. I didn’t react to his usage of pest, but it certainly made this adventure clear it wasn't of his own volition. At least he indirectly answered the nagging question in my mind.

“You’re too full of yourself. Definitely not an irresistible trait.” I snipped.

I could see his jaw set tight at my response. The defined bones in his face made him look picturesque. His hair reminded me of pearls, moon-white and fine, almost iridescent. I suppose he was rather attractive, but it was clouded by his nasty attitude.  

“Hasn’t stopped you from ogling something you’ll never deserve, you lowly creature.”

The air got much tenser. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides and I stopped walking in stride with him. I stood still in the hall and he had halted only a few steps down, noticing I’d paused. He spun to face me, his eyebrows pulled together, likely attempting to dissect what was happening.

“What the hell are you doing?” He spoke sharply, now impatiently leaning on one foot.

Frustration was evident on my face. I hated how easily he could talk to me like that. With the tension snapping, I wondered if I was capable of replying calmly and moving on to Charms in silence. The answer was no, I was not capable.

“I’d rather wander aimlessly and miss a lesson than spend another minute with a foul git like you.” I enunciated, internally declaring a battle between my brain and feet. I wanted to turn off in the opposite direction and dart into the depths of the school alone, as long as it meant being away from him.

I dug into my bag and grabbed the stupid green box from earlier this morning, angrily tossing it at his chest. He didn’t react as it hit him, which had made my heart begin to race. This didn’t feel right. Why was he just staring at me?

He stepped closer to me, his face eerily calm. He was dauntingly slow and careful. It was enough to make me step backwards, a tiny stumble kicking me into the beginning of a run. I was seconds from darting.

He lunged at me like some kind of predator. My body was twisted halfway behind me, partway in a run. I was mid-turn when he caught me. He had gotten as close as he could to me before grabbing my wrist, as if I had been a wild animal. My heart felt like it had completely torn its way from my body.

I felt his icy fingers begin crush my hand, the searing cold of a metal ring biting into my skin.

He quickly shoved me towards the stone wall of the hallway. The hand he caught me with released me, snapping back to his side. He looked furious, genuinely. I noticed his wand in his free hand, angled towards me. I hadn’t known he could look any angrier than his resting face but being in this position, I was fucking terrified.

Absolutely fucking terrified.

Seconds before, he was an intolerable teenage boy with an insufferably outdated blood bias. A typical pureblooded school bully. But right now, he looked like an adult. No, not just an adult. He looked like the scariest man I’d ever laid eyes on - and he definitely had the means to hurt me.

It felt hard to breathe. My chest heaved as if I’d just run a mile. My shoulder blades pressed uncomfortably against the rock behind my body and I felt paralyzed with fear. All I could think about was the way the frigid stone nipped at the back of my neck. I felt myself sliding down the wall, ever so slightly as my own weight slugged me down.

His head was upturned, looking down at me. His hand gripped his wand so hard his knuckles were white. I could tell from his eyes that he was deep in angry thought.

I felt tears prick my eyes as I turned over what could be going through his mind. I laid my palms flat against the wall, my fingers twitching at the sudden brisk. 

Everything felt hot and cold and I couldn’t look at him anymore. I squeezed my eyes shut, my head turned in a flinch and I nearly ground my teeth together clenching my jaw.

What was he going to do to me? What were school rules about killing a girl no one knows? Was it something his father could find a way to pardon, regardless of the rules?

I had slid all the way down to the floor without realizing it and my arms guarded my chest. I was curled up into a ball on the floor against the bricks behind me. I felt and looked utterly pathetic and powerless.

I didn’t realize I was actually crying until I tasted salt in my mouth.

After what felt like an eternity of stillness as I waited to die, I opened my blurry eyes. I took in a sharp, quick breath of shock when I noticed he was bent down, his face parallel to mine and only an arms length away. I jolted backwards, smacking my head on the wall.

The pain seared and my breathing was still unsteady. His face was filled with curiosity and what looked like a twinge of guilt. I must have been imagining it, though, considering I wasn’t sure a reptile like him was capable of guilt.

He slowly outstretched a hand to me, straightening his legs back to a stand. I eyed his hand and his face wearily, back and forth, searching for some kind of falter. Some bubble of amusement. Something to tip me off to whether or not he’d drop me or laugh in my face for accepting his help.

There was nothing. The guilt and curiosity had evaporated, leaving a poker face.

My stomach lurched as I shakily put my hand in his, expecting him to make some rude comment about needing to wash away the dirtiness he was convinced coursed through my veins.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pulled me up, one hand around mine and the other on my elbow on the opposite arm. Once I was fully upright, he retracted his arms to his own body, dusting his hands off on his pants.

There it was. He had wordlessly done it. Attempted to wipe his hands clean of merely touching a muggleborn witch as if I'd been some kind of nasty task. He noticed my narrowed eyes at his action and rolled his.

“Your robes were dusty.” He muttered, surveying me up and down. It made me feel a bit sick noticing that he felt the need to give an explanation. 

He motioned to the hall ahead of us, swallowing and examining the corridor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“At the end, turn left and take the stairs up. It’s Flitwick’s class- your head of house. I’ve got better things to do.”

He turned and disappeared back down the hallway we came from before I could utter a word. Unlike earlier, he’d walked without much noise at all. It was as if he had become a ghost.

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows XXIII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: It’s a little short for the time it took, sorry!

On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

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The mind is a tricky place.

Effortless to become lost in, easy to meddle with, hard to break, difficult to control, and nearly impossible to put back in its place.

The mind requires both precision and respect. Neither can be given as a gift, only learned. Usually, they are developed together along with the ability to penetrate the mind. Wanda was given the ability without the required time for respect. Perhaps deep inside she knew it, that that was why Loki was placed in charge of the mission of Y/n's mind. She was still sharpening her magic's blade to be a steel knife. Loki, on the other hand, was sharper than obsidian.

That's why in the heat of battle, the Avengers were put in charge of keeping the opposing agents at bay and away from Queen and Loki while also defending themselves from attacks. It is well within Loki's abilities to multitask with mind magic and dueling, but this was a special case. Loki hung closer to the back and threw up a shield for good measure. He put minimal attention to the battle around him with occasionally taking out an agent if needed.

The rest of his focus and energy was put into exploring the folds and shadows of what used to be Y/n's mind. The surface was worryingly dark to him, not at all what he imagined the original Y/n's mind to be.

He dug deeper and found it somewhat difficult, every mind is different and has a different 'texture' and consistency, but Y/n's functioned differently than anyone he had ever seen. It was like it was actively trying to keep him out, with half a moment of pushing through sludge, to falling forward suddenly with thin and lightning-fast decisions of battle. It was puzzling, usually only those with mental abilities are able to protect themselves or even sense someone was infiltrating the mind unless the infiltrator specifically makes contact. As far as they knew she didn't have any mental magic, but he pushed through to see what was bouncing around in there. He was able to get far enough to start seeing flashes of assignments and missions that were numbered many times more than they had ever thought.

Some were horrific and brutal. Some were stealth with her blending with the shadows like she was born there. It was fascinating... and almost nauseating. Eventually, he had to refocus himself on what his actual mission was: make contact, try to see how much of the old, the good Y/n is still in here, and find if there are any weaknesses they could use.

He repeated her name over and over to himself to keep him on-mission. As he did so the pattern around him changed as if she was only then made aware of his presence.

A voice spoke to him that sounded only vaguely familiar, 'Y/n is not here.'

Loki realized he must have mistakenly projected his thoughts into telepathy instead of privately. At first, he wondered if he remembered her voice incorrectly since it has been so long since he's heard it, but the dark and almost unnaturally smooth quality told him otherwise. He believed her--partly--he believed that he was not talking to Y/n. 'To whom am I speaking then?'

'I've gone by many names as I'm sure you've seen on some of those files. Around here they just call me Queen. Y/n seems to think that I've evolved and have always been here, she calls me Noxy. You may call me what you like.'

There was a spark of hope at her words, 'So Y/n is here.'

There was a pause, 'She won't be for long. I'm actually surprised that she's lasted this long. Existing anyway. Not surprised at the state she's in.'

That was all it took for Loki to dig deeper into her mind, leaving whatever abomination was controlling Y/n's body to try to find something, anything to stop the rampage and hopefully save the woman he would like to call his friend.

He went farther past the missions, the strategies, and manipulation 101. He was about to give up on trying to find Y/n and start scavenging to find weaknesses when he approached the far reaches of her mind. That's when he began to hear faint traces of music. He followed it to a small corner that didn't reflect the dark sludge around him. It was colorful and light, but he didn't fail to notice the fingers of dark shadows invading the area, causing it to fade and turn a bit grey.

The rhythm of decisions being made now made sense. The brain does not have the ability to truly multitask. Instead, it switches back and forth between tasks quicker than we can register. Her mind wasn't trying to keep him out, her mind was just switching between this Noxy character and Y/n.

The song seemed familiar, but the lyrics being sung hardly made sense.

He tried to reach out to her, calling her name, but nothing seemed to snap her to pay any attention to him. It was just that snippet of a song playing on a loop and scrambled flashes of pictures, memories, all of them incoherent.

Blinded by the light...

revekjsmed up like a dochewekf.

Ansldkjthor rumner in the night!

He would be lying if he said it didn't scare him. Not even his own thoughts were ever this disarranged, and he has been called mad far more than his fair share of times. It became abundantly clear that he wasn't going to get through to her and he began to lose the small spark of hope that he got before.

Loki did the mental equivalent of sitting down with a huff and tried to think of what to do next. This was becoming more difficult than he had hoped. As he sat there he really paid attention to the music since that was the only thing Y/n was giving him.

He must admit that it took longer than it should have for the song to click and that maybe Y/n was trying to tell him something through it. It nearly broke his heart that even when she didn't have all of her pieces put together that she was still trying to give them something to work with. Something to beat her with.

At least, that's what he hoped she was doing. He kinda wanted a deep moment.

Loki snapped back to the battle outside of his mind and smacked his head for all of them being so stupid, including himself, but he wasn't going to say that out loud.

"Stark!" Loki yelled through the comms, throwing himself back into the battle.

"What? What have ya got?" Tony continued to blast at black spears being launched at him and Hydra agents that kept coming and didn't seem to have an end.

Loki flung daggers with deadly accuracy while slicing down any agent that came into his path, "What is the opposite of darkness?"

"Really? You're gonna give me riddles? Light... Light is the opposite of dark."

"And if there is enough light?"

"No darkness at all."

Loki nodded to himself, "Do you think we can get enough light?"

There was a pause while Tony did some calculations, "I don't know, but we can damn well try."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had that feeling when you're zoned out and someone calls your name but you don't notice until five minutes after the fact? I was so focused on the song... It was so important. When I snapped out of making sure the song kept playing, something was different.

I couldn't put my finger on it--figuratively or literally--what exactly was different, I mean, I'm the only one who could rearrange things in my little corner, so maybe I was just going crazy. More crazy anyway.

I spent a moment puzzling over the strange feeling before I felt her body succumb to waves of exhaustion out of nowhere. I hadn't felt that kind of exhaustion in a long time, but I knew what it was all too well. It reminded me of the lightroom.

I was scared, I hadn't been in the lightroom since Noxy took over, but maybe something changed.

I finally decided to see what was going on in the outside world and I wasn't sure if I was going to like what I saw. I didn't want to see the stark white walls and the electric shocks. I tentatively paid attention to what was going on and a bittersweet feeling overcame me.

Noxy had her hands out and tried to shoot her spears of darkness at the Avengers... and others I didn't recognize. The pitch-black material that made up her weapons became smaller and smaller, not flying as far as they normally would, and some even fizzled away at her fingertips. I could tell that we didn't have the energy to keep the fight going.

The reason why is that everywhere I could see there were lights shining on me. Lights from the building behind me, some sort of aircraft above me had a spotlight trained on me, and every Avenger that was able had some sort of light fixed on me. They weren't perfect. There were shadows that Noxy was pulling energy from, but they were small and the sheer force and brightness of the light coming from Thor's lighting, Tony's repulsors from both of the suits, even Cap had his shield reflecting light at me, it all made it so the shadows weren't enough.

Nevertheless, the light wasn't enough to drop us.

Since she could draw upon the shadows, Noxy pulled out a gun and a whip from her belt.

All at once, I could hear everyone I had ever met, including myself say, "Kinky."

I didn't remember ever seeing it before, let alone using it, training with it. For a moment I felt like Indiana Jones with the bullwhip at her side. I could see it wasn't perfectly smooth and that there were bits and pieces of shiny material woven into it. I instinctively knew that it would be extremely painful to be hit with.

Noxy cracked it easily and began to advance towards the heroes. She only took two steps before there was a sharp prick in the neck. Noxy pulled out what looked to be a horse tranquilizer. Her eyes snapped to the direction it came from to see Clint crouched in a tree, bow slung across his back. He emptied the barrel in one fluid motion and shot a loose salute in our direction, but despite the lightness of it, there wasn't a smile on his face.

I could feel her body begin to shake as it became difficult to stand steady. She raised her gun to shoot at Clint, but her hand was trembling too bad to take aim. Noxy dropped the whip to steady her gun, but her eyes drooped in exhaustion. My already limited range of sight began to shrink even more and then the world became dizzy, I became dizzy? I wasn't sure anymore. The one thing I did know was that as I was falling to the ground it felt like there was a whole new presence in my head. It was soft, hardly noticeable, but before I could figure out what was going on, we blacked out.

[themysteryofwriting]

for your bthb, how about logan as "the collector"?

@badthingshappenbingo

The Collector (Sanders sides fic)

Word Count: 3003

TW: Kidnapping, Taxidermy on a person, blunt force trauma, character death, implied use of a date rape drug, major character death

Everyone collected things.  Some people collect stuffed animals, other people collect pins, and even others collect stamps.  So why was Logan so different just because he collected people.

He had collected quite a few people throughout the years.  There was Patton, who had been there the longest.  He was a sweet guy.  Always cheerful, even now, trying to keep the others upbeat and happy.  Patton had been here since Logan’s senior year of college.  They had met at a small cafe.  Patton trusted way too easily.  It wasn’t hard to get that ball of sunshine to come with him.

The twins came about a year after Patton.  He saw them during a show he went to and knew he just had to have them.  The twins being Roman and Remus of course.  Named after the Roman legend and just exquisite in every way.  They took a bit more planning to get then Patton.  Which was no surprise considering Patton had literally walked with him until Logan had decided they were close enough for him to drug him. But nevertheless, the twins were added to the Collection.  It was such a shame he couldn’t talk to them anymore, but they had made their choice.  If they had listened, then Logan wouldn’t have to have gone to such extreme measures.

A little bit after that, and before the twins made their massive mistake came Dee.  He was a shy boy, who didn’t trust many people. He also had a burn on the right side of his face. He had actually met him before the twins, but it took nearly a year for Dee to trust him enough for him to get him.  He had only been with them a few weeks before the incident with the twins.  But it was clear after that that neither Dee nor Patton would be trying anything.

And his most recent edition, at least until today, going only a few months back. He had met him on the way to work and got the same feeling that he had gotten for the twins.  He just had to have Virgil.  Virgil took a little bit longer to get but he was with them now.

And today, Logan had found a new target.  He would have probably passed right by her if he hadn’t noticed the missing posters she was putting up.  They were missing posters for Virgil. He had seen them around here and there and had tried taking them down without arousing any suspicion.  He didn’t realize who had been putting them up though. Before doing anything, he had to find out more about her.  He picked up one of the flyers she had and walked over to her.  “I think you dropped this.”

“Oh thank you,” she said, smiling take the flyer.  “Sorry, I’m probably dropping them everywhere.”

“No, it’s fine,” Logan said with a smile.  “Do you mind if I ask who that is?”

The girl shook her head.  “He’s my older brother, Virgil.  He went missing a few months back.  Everyone else seems to think he’s run away, but I know my brother better than that.  We’re really close, he wouldn’t have left without telling me.”

Interesting. Virgil hadn’t said anything about a sister.  And she would be both a good addition to his Collection and a good way to keep Virgil in line.  “...You know what I think he looks familiar.”

“Really,” Virgil’s sister asked hopefully.  “Do you know where you could have seen him?  Was it recently?”

“....You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, he’s my older brother, we’ve always protected each other….,” Virgil’s sister winced as she realized something, “I’m sorry, I realized I forgot to ask for your time.”

Logan smiled softly at her.  “Logan Berry,” he said introducing himself, using a fake last name just in case she decided to do some research.

“It’s nice to meet you, Logan,” she said, smiling up at him, giving off the same energy as Patton, “My name’s Rachel.”

“Why don’t we go to the cafe so we can talk this out.”

“Well I need to finish putting up these posters first,” Rachel said, “Someone keeps tearing these down, I’m free tomorrow afternoon though.  Maybe around 2ish?”

Logan nodded.  “Then we can talk then.”

Rachel nodded.  “See you then,” she said before heading off.

“Rachel Bosque,” Logan muttered, knowing her last name because of his research on Virgil.  He grinned a bit.  She would be an excellent addition to his Collection.  He abandoned his original plan of what he was going to do and head home.

“I’m home~,” Logan called out as he walked inside the house.  If you could even call it a house with how gigantic it was.

Before going to work, he went to check on the rest of his Collection.  Dee and Patton both glanced up and clearly knew what the look on his face was.

Virgil, like he had been the past couple months, was sulking in the corner, glaring at Logan.

“You’re back early Lolo,” Patton said with a smile that wasn’t entirely real.

Dee just sat next to Patton, already scared for the newcomer.  He knew by now that Logan wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t mess up, but he was still quiet.

Logan nodded, smiling a bit.  “I think I found a good addition to the Collection.”

Virgil’s eyes widened in disbelief, where Patton and Dee nodded, having recognized the look on Logan’s face.

“Who is it,” Patton asked.

“You never told me you had a sister Virgil.”

That made Virgil growl.  “Leave her the fuck alone. She has nothing to do with this!”

“Ah don’t be like that Virgil, you know I’m not going to hurt her.  Besides, don’t you want to see your sister again?”

“I don’t want you to have anything to do with her.”

Logan tsked.  “Now Virgil, I don’t want to have to punish you again.”

Virgil flinched slightly before going quiet, he was still glaring at Logan though.

Logan smiled and hummed before going to do research on Rachel.  He hummed a bit as he did so, wondering how he hadn’t come across her before.  If he hadn’t already known that they were related, he might assume they were dating with the number of her photos Virgil was in.  It seemed like she worked in a theatre, working on props and stuff like that if the theatre’s page was any accurate.  The more he read, the more he was certain she would be a perfect fit for his Collection.  If his interaction with her earlier was any indication, she would be easy to grab.  He could probably slip something into her drink when she went to the bathroom and simple as that he would have her.

Noticing the time, Logan got food for himself and his Collection before planning everything for tomorrow.  He would have her before dinner time tomorrow, he just knew it.  After he finished getting everything together he headed to bed so he would be refreshed for their meeting tomorrow.

Upon waking up, Logan did his normal routine for himself and his Collection before double and triple-checking that he had everything he would need.  After being sure, he headed out to the cafe that they had planned to meet. He didn’t have to wait long, as Rachel showed up soon after he did.  

“Hey Logan, you weren’t waiting long were you?”

“Not at all, should I order us drinks?”

“Sounds great,” Rachel beamed putting her stuff down.  “I’ll go to the bathroom while you’re doing that.  Get me a hot chocolate, I’m not really one for caffeine.”

Logan nodded, ordering the drinks as she headed to the bathroom, slipping something into Rachel’s while no one else was looking before heading back to their table and putting their drinks down.

Rachel soon came out.  “So do you know where you might have seen him?”

“Well I’m going to have to think about,” Logan said as he watched Rachel take a sip of her cocoa and started a mental timer.  “I think it was about a month ago.”

“You saw him a month ago,” Rachel asked, a little too excited, “That’s so much sooner than anyone else has seen him!”

Logan smiled a bit.  “Well let me see if I can remember where.”

Logan kept listing places, with Rachel scribbling them down until he noticed Rachel struggling to keep focus.  

“Hey you don’t look so good, maybe you should head home.

Rachel nodded, starting to stand up before she stumbled again.  “....I don’t think I’ll make it home,” she muttered, her words slurring.

“Well then I can take you home,” Logan hummed, “What’s your address?”

Rachel muttered something incoherent as Logan started ‘taking her home’.  Of course, that wasn’t necessarily her home.  Before too much longer she fell unconscious and Logan picked her up, a little surprised with how light she was, as he started walking home.

It didn’t take too long for them to get back and quickly injected her with the tracker he injected all of them with and quickly set that so he’d be alerted if she tried to leave or anything like that.  As soon as that was set up he brought her to the others.

“What did you do to her,” Virgil practically shouted upon seeing Rachel.

“Oh calm down Virgil, it was only something to keep her unconscious a bit.  She’ll wake up soon.”  Logan put her down on one of the beds and as soon as Logan stepped away, Virgil ran up to her to make sure she was okay.

“I’ll come back to check on you later,” Logan said with a smile as he left.  Virgil just growled at Logan, trying to protect his sister.  Logan just smiled, needing to get everything else ready for when she woke up. Well, technically most of it would be coming tomorrow but he still needed to get it ready.  He wanted his Collection to be happy after all.  He kept an eye on the time for when he knew Rachel would be waking up.  

Once the time approached, he got up and headed back over.  Sure enough, Rachel was starting to stir.  Virgil started glaring at Logan as he showed up, to which Logan only responded with a smile.

“...Virge,” Rachel asked quietly, starting to sit up.  It was almost like if she was afraid if she spoke louder he’d be gone.

And just like that, Virgil turned away from Logan to pay attention to his sister.  “I’m right here Ray, I’m so sorry.”

Rachel practically tackle hugged Virgil and sniffled a bit.  “You’re okay, you’re really okay.”

“Depends what you mean by okay,” Virgil muttered, glaring a bit at Logan again.

Rachel noticed and finally got a good look at their surroundings.  He watched as her eyes glanced around the room, which he made sure had things for all of them to do, before her eyes landed on him and she realized what happened.  “...Logan you….drugged me?”

“I’m sorry, but I needed to grab you quickly, and besides, now you’re reunited with Virgil,” Logan said.

Logan could practically see the moment she realized.  “You….you were the one who took him.”

“He was just a perfect addition to my collection, just like you.”

Virgil clung tighter to his sister as Logan said that.

“Now I’m sure the others can explain everything to you, but the most important thing.  As long as you listen to me, you won’t get hurt.”  Upon saying that, Logan walked away, hearing Patton starting to explain everything to Rachel.  

And with that Logan went back to his normal schedule….at least for the next 3 weeks.  Once Rachel had been there for three weeks, just when Logan was about to go to bed, he got an alert.  

He glanced over to see who it was.  It looked like it was Virgil and Rachel.  Logan sighed and got up to check on the situation.  Fortunately, they weren’t anywhere close to the door so Logan headed to a good place to meet up with them, hoping the situation was like he thought it was.

Soon enough, they showed up, Virgil all but pulling his sister along.  Rachel glanced around looking scared and actually freezing upon seeing Logan standing there.  

Virgil growled upon seeing Logan.  “I’m not going to let you keep us here.”

“Did Patton and Dee never tell you about the twins?”

“The twins,” Rachel asked quietly.

“They are part of Collection too, but they tried to escape, and...let’s just say they’re not with everyone else.”

Virgil realized the implication and pulled Rachel behind him, protecting her.

“Now you have two options.  You two can either go back to the others and have a small punishment in the morning, or you can fight me and lose, and find out firsthand what exactly happened to the twins.”

“Virge I-,” Rachel said, clearly terrified.

“Well I choose option 3, I knock you out and get my sister and me out of here,” Virgil’s voice softened before speaking to Rachel.  “Don’t worry Ray, I got this.”

Logan just smirked, prepared to fight.

Rachel nodded slightly and stepped back, not wanting to get caught up in the fight.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil growled, immediately lunging at Logan.

Logan sighed and literally just stepped to the side and avoided him.  “You know you’re going to have to try harder than that,” he said with a scoff.

Virgil just growled again and changed into a fighting stance before going into attack.

Logan easily fought back.  He was almost a little bored with how easy this was.  “I’ll give you one last chance to go back to the others, Virgil.”

“Fuck no,” Virgil hissed, still trying, and failing, to knock Logan out.  Not that knocking him out would have stopped him anyways with the chips in their arms.  

“So be it,” Logan sighed grabbing an encyclopedia from the desk and while Virgil was distracted, he swung with all his might, making sure to hit him in the temples.

Logan smiled a bit as Virgil crumpled to the ground and he checked for a pulse.  Had to make sure he was dead first after all. First, he held his hand up to Virgil’s nose and mouth.  No breathing.  Good.  Logan then checked for a pulse and smirked.  Just one last check.  He grabbed a penlight from his desk and shined it in Virgil’s eyes.  No reaction from either pupil.  Perfect he was dead in every way that mattered.  

Upon hearing a sob from the doorway to the room, Logan remembered Virgil wasn’t the only one there besides him.  He got up and Rachel flinched and stumbled back.  “P-please I-I'll go b-back.  I-i don’t w-want to d-die.”

Logan only smiled, leaning down to Rachel’s height and caressing her cheek. “Oh I know, you were just following your brother’s terrible decisions, weren’t you?”

Rachel nodded, possibly from fear, but to Logan that didn’t matter.

“Let’s take you back Rachel,” Logan said with a smile, trying to hide Virgil’s body from her.  It didn’t matter that she had tried to leave as well., she needed time to process before seeing that.

Rachel nodded softly, letting Logan lead her back.  Logan smiled a bit as she was brought back to the others.

“Rachel,” Patton asked, shooting up in worry, “Oh thank goodness you’re okay!  Wait...where’s Virgil?”

That one question and Rachel broke down in a sob.

“Patton, you can make the next couple of meals,” Logan said, “I’m going to up late tonight with a project.”

Both Patton and Dee paled slightly upon hearing that.  “Alright Lolo,” Patton said, moving to comfort Rachel.

And with that Logan set off to get to work.  He needed to at least get the basic stuff down today before the body started rotting. He picked up Virgil’s body and brought it over to the same place he had worked on the twins’ bodies and quickly got to work.  Once he had finished the basic work, gotten rid of everything he didn’t need, and preserved the skin so it wouldn’t dry out, Logan headed to the bed for the night.

It took about a month to finally finish, with breaks to get the stuff he needed to get done and to check on the rest of his collection.  Once done, he moved it to the same place as the twins.

He figured Rachel would want to see what happened so he came to get her.

“Lolo please,” Patton said, knowing what Logan had planned, after all, he had shown the two of them after he finished with the twins, “No one deserves to see that.”

“Just consider this….a punishment for trying to escape.”

Patton nodded and turned to Rachel, who was hiding a bit behind Patton.  It seemed like she was a little scared of him now.  Not that he could blame her.

“Logan’s not going to hurt you, he’s just going to show you something.  And we’ll be right here when you get back,” Patton told Rachel softly.

Rachel nodded, mutely getting up and following Logan.  

Logan smiled a bit as he led her to the room.  “I just thought you’d like to see what became of Virgil.”

Rachel glanced up at him in confusion as they arrived at the room and Logan gestured inside.  He let Rachel walk inside first and waited until he heard her drop to the ground before following her in.

Rachel had dropped to her knees and was just staring up at the taxidermy of Virgil Logan had worked so hard on.  

“You don’t have to worry about any of this as long as you don’t try to escape again,” Logan said, “And listen to what I say.”

Rachel nodded mutely.

Logan smiled and brought him back to the others.

Most people collected objects, but Logan collected people.  So what if that made him different.  It’s not like he was doing anything wrong as long as he kept them happy.

[theprodigypenguin]

👀💚

A Slyther-heart, my first one!!! In honor of it, I’ll show you a WIP I was writing called “The Malfoy Lie”. Cursed Child Compliant and taking place the summer after Scorpius and Albus’ fourth year and all that mess with Delphini. It was my attempt to write about Drastoria, Scorbus, and explore Draco’s character and his relationship with Scorpius as well as his parents. NO this is NOT Dr@rry, I need that to be understood. I did intend to explore Harry and Draco slowly becoming legitimate friends, but there is NO ROMANCE. We good? Alright:

The Malfoy family was decidedly not sentimental or nostalgic. They didn’t normally dwell on memories, maybe because there were very few worth remembering, but ever since Scorpius had been born, some, at least, the majority in fact, had started to hold memories more closely.

The relationship between Draco and his parents was notably strained, and had been since he announced his intentions to marry Astoria; no, in fact, his relationship had been strained long before that. Back when they decided to open their home up to a monster. Lucius insisted, Lucius didn’t give his wife and son a choice in the matter, bowing and backing away as a dark form cloaked in black drifted across the floor like a phantom.

“Yes, this will do,” Draco remembered the voice perfectly, soft and silky and horrible. “An absolutely abysmal disgrace of a home, Lucius… but it will do.”

No surprise that he would insult the house Draco’s father was so proud of. A mansion, a manor, that had been in the Malfoy family for generations, millennia even for all he knew of it.

When he was small he used to love his home. It was big, the interior was like its own little town. He had vague memories of playing hide and seek with his mother, remembered she lost interest when he got a bit older so he made the house elf play with him instead, remembered he stopped once he started school. A lot stopped once he’d started school in fact.

Draco started to hate his home after his fifth year, when his father was arrested and sent to Azkaban. It became lonely, Draco remembered how scared he was, how he tried to look brave, how his mother cried with hands shaking, but placed a face of steel on her face, not letting anyone break through.

The memories of that time were contorted and poisoned into nightmares, sitting alone in his room hugging his knees to his chest, feeling like a child at seventeen and trying to remember how to breathe as he heard the screams of muggle borns enduring the torture of the Dark Lord.

Horrible, the laughter of his aunt, it contorted to something not as high pitched, morphed into a different voice, and the shrieking screams lowered in octave, into something distinctly male, distinctly familiar.

Delphini.

Scorpius. 

She was hurting him.

Draco woke with a start, jerking and gasping in the burning air around him, hands sweeping the bed unconsciously searching for Astoria, though he knew she wasn’t there. His night clothes were damp with sweat, his entire body shaking as he shoved away the covers and grabbed his wand from the bedside table, storming from the room and towards his son’s.

He tried to be as quiet as he could, hands shaking as he cracked open the door and slipped halfway inside, whispering lumos to light up the room in a dim glow, his heartbeat slowly starting to settle.

Scorpius was in bed, curled up and hugging his pillow, no creases to his face, peaceful. Draco leaned his back against the doorframe and drank in the air until his lungs had stopped hurting. Scorpius was fine, he was safe.

Draco wandered to the bed and reached down, pulling the covers higher over his son and sweeping his hair back, watching him burrow his face deeper into his pillow and murmur something incoherent. He was fine.

Draco, though, was not.

He ended up wandering the halls in a state of disturbed nostalgia, his night clothes sweat heavy and cold, drying in the hours he wandered and making him feel heavy and disgusting.

In the past when he had these kinds of nightmares, Astoria would be there to cradle his head and play with his hair, kissing his temple and promising he was safe, and so was Scorpius, and so was she. She was gone now, though. There was no one to help him through his nightmares, he certainly couldn’t expect his son to do anything about it. That was hardly his responsibility.

When Scorpius woke up that morning, Draco was in the drawing room at the mantle, staring somewhat blankly at the painting hanging above it, at the memorabilia and knick knacks sitting on the mantle, wand still in his hand and eyes heavy. He could see a different painting there, a hallucination from the past, one that Lucius and Bellatrix had hung, a profile of that… monster. He felt something sour in his mouth.

“Dad?” He jumped at least a foot in the air and spun around to look at Scorpius, who seemed puzzled, mostly awake with his hair a mess; it was getting longer, Draco realized. “You okay?”

Draco just blinked, but his son stayed in his place standing there, then nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius further questioned, and Draco felt a little bit of that pain lift.

He was so good, Scorpius was, so kind hearted. He was just like his mother.

Draco gave a nod, not wanting Scorpius to waste time worrying for him. “Hungry?”

“Oh, yea,” Scorpius answered, still looking very puzzled, and Draco put a hand on his shoulder in passing.

“Go sit down before me, I’ll join you in a bit.”

“Take your time,” Scorpius said. “I have a book to keep me company.” He grinned proudly, and it was contagious enough to bring a small, equally proud smile to Draco’s lips.

It was a task to wash away the nightmare from the previous night, more than once Draco had his face in his hands and something beastly in his throat, a scream he barely contained by reminding himself it was fine, Scorpius was safe, healthy, happy, sleeping peacefully and currently eating his fill.

When Draco stepped into the dining room, he felt a little more like himself, though he didn’t bother to do more with his hair than tie it away from his face, he was too tired to do much else with it.

Scorpius was sitting at one side of the table at the far end, closest to the window. He was leaning over the table eating with a fork held clumsily in his left hand, right hand holding open his book. He kept missing his mouth when he attempted to maneuver the forkful of food into it, stabbing himself in the cheek and chin but not appearing too terribly bothered by it.

Draco smiled, waving his wand to open the curtains further and bask morning light over Scorpius, who looked up and smiled in greeting.

“You look a little better,” he said, and Draco arched an eyebrow as he took a seat at the head of the table just next to Scorpius.

It was a huge table, meant for banquets, but most of it was never utilized. So many meals, Draco remembered either eating alone, or down the table from his parents, and feeling so isolated from them. He didn’t want Scorpius to feel that way, so he and Astoria made it a point to always sit close to their son.

With the light coming in from behind Scorpius, there was a white glow around him, particularly against his hair. He looked almost out of place, something so perfect stuck in a house so cursed.

“Did I not before?” Draco asked, taking a cup that seemed to fill quickly with black coffee; he didn’t particularly enjoy it, but he needed the caffeine.

Scorpius just shrugged, closing his book and taking his fork in his right hand. “You just looked really tired. Did you sleep last night?”

“No,” Draco lied with a straight face. “I was finishing a crossword puzzle.”

Scorpius made a face. “You were not!”

Draco had to grin, looking at the window when there was a tap. Scorpius was on his feet before Draco, opening the window and letting the owl swoop into the room, landing on the table with a small bundle of post that Draco accepted as Scorpius sat back down and offered the large owl pieces of his sausage, pouring water into a small goblet for the bird to have.

Draco flipped through the mail, brandishing the first letter into the air. “Something for you,” he said, and Scorpius lit up. 

“Really? Who from?”

But honestly who else could it have been from? Scorpius eagerly accepted the letter with a grin that seemed to light up the entire room, and Draco went back to the mail in his hands. There were several things addressed to him aside from the Daily Prophet that he was half dreading to go through. Some of the handwriting he recognized without opening, and he held three of the letters with a tight look on his face.

Why would three former schoolmates be writing to him, after having a falling out with each of them and getting cut off from them all for more than fifteen years? He set them down to go through later, feeling very suspicious, and lifted the letter that was clearly from his mother.

He already knew what it would be about when he got it open, Narcissa saying she and Lucius would be stopping by to see them. Draco couldn’t imagine why they would need to, even when she explained she’d heard from an acquaintance that Scorpius had gotten into some trouble at school and they were going to stop in to see what happened. That was literally the last thing Draco wanted, and he was half ready to tell them not to come.

For the first time since the delegation at the Ministry discussing Delphini and the strict hold on her existence, prohibiting the Prophet from disclosing little more than her being a dark witch, Draco was grateful. At first he was furious with the Ministry, and Hermione, for withholding information that could both warn the wizarding community of the presence of a new, powerful dark witch, and successfully stamp out the rumors that Scorpius was Voldemort’s son.

Now, though, he was glad. His parents didn’t need to know Voldemort had a child. Who knows what they would say or do? His father especially. Sometimes Draco got the aching suspicion that he was still hoping for redemption in the eyes of an evil wizard, to be brought back up to the height he was at before his arrest. Lucius was old now, and desperate. Draco worried about what he might do to get what he wanted. He didn’t want that man around Scorpius.

“Dad!” Scorpius was practically glowing. “Albus invited me over for the weekend! Can I? Please? He said they got an extra pass into the Scamander Center! The wizard zoo! We went there with mum once, ages ago, you remember? Can I go?”

Draco stared at him for a minute. In the past, whenever Ginny had written asking if Scorpius wanted to stay over with Albus, he’d bitterly told her no, because he didn’t trust her, he didn’t trust any of them, he was just too protective. Now… he was even more protective, especially after the events of the previous school year, but… if Narcissa and Lucius were really going to show up…

“Sure.” Scorpius absolutely glowed. “Write to him and let him know, finish eating first, I don’t want you going there already hungry, and prepare an overnight bag.”

“Yes, sir!” Scorpius spun and jumped up, scrambling over to a table near the window that held a menagerie of items like quills, ink wells, paper, books, and cups.

He quickly scribbled down a reply and enclosed it before writing Albus’ name on it and giving it to the owl, who flapped its wings experimentally and puffed its chest proudly before swooping out the window.

He then dropped back into his seat and started to eat, a bit too fast. Draco told him to slow down, but of course he didn’t, hiccuping and laughing into his cup as Draco chuckled with him. Seeing Scorpius so excited made him feel a little lighter, even though he knew he’d have to deal with his parents, and the letters from his old peers, as soon as Scorpius was safely out of the house.

Draco figured if they were quick enough, they could be at the Potter’s before his parents showed up, and how gleeful it would be to make them wait. Maybe Draco would linger and talk with Ginny and Harry, just to make them wait longer. He could almost see the affronted scowl on his father’s face when he’d returned. It made him feel quite happy.

Not as happy as Scorpius of course, who was bouncing on his heels as he scrambled around getting ready, throwing clothes into his bag, taking the fastest shower in history before hopping on one foot down the hall trying to yank on his shoe, tripping halfway to his room and falling on his face.

“Calm down, Albus isn’t going anywhere,” Draco said through a huge grin, but Scorpius just scrambled to his feet with wide eyes.

“I know!”

They were so close. Narcissa’s letter hadn’t given a time for when they’d be showing up, but Draco would only assume noon. No doubt his father couldn’t be bothered to come any sooner, not for something as unimportant as his own grandson. That’s what Draco had hoped for at least.

Until they got to the fireplace, Scorpius still bouncing in place as Draco reached for the floo powder on the mantle. “You told them we’d be coming by floo?”

“Yes!”

“Good, faster this way anyway,” but before he could even touch the powder, the fireplace erupted in green fire.

Draco backed away rapidly and stood in front of Scorpius, face twisted in irritation as his mother stepped out first. Her age was apparent in the lines of her face, but she wore it well, hair so neat and pinned up with silver clips, dressed pristinely and holding a small black hand purse. Lucius came next, exiting the fireplace with a single hand dusting ash from the shoulder of his black coat.

Draco felt himself steel in absolute indignation, keeping one arm down to keep Scorpius behind him, and Lucius tipped his head in both greeting and question.

“You won’t even greet your parents, Draco?”

“What’s the point in that? I know who you are, not like I’ve never seen you before.”

Scorpius gave a barely audible noise, something like a squeak, one hand clinging to the back of Draco’s coat. He wasn’t surprised. For all intensive purposes, Lucius Malfoy frightened him; and that was something Draco had never tolerated. 

He could never stand up to his father on his own before, but with the most important person in his life hiding behind him, Draco never felt braver.

“You’ll have to wait if you want to talk. We were just about to go out.”

“Out? When we’ve just arrived?” Lucius walked forward, still moving with a haunting elegance despite his age, sitting down on one of the couches and pointing to the one across from him with his walking stick. “Take a seat.”

“I’ll have to decline,” Draco said stiffly, his eyes set in a glare. “I’m taking Scorpius to a friend’s house. If you’re still here when I get back, I’d be happy to talk, but until then-”

"Sit down, Draco,” Lucius ordered in that familiar tone, and Draco knew if he wasn’t careful, this could end badly.

He didn’t want Scorpius exposed to this.

“… fine,” Draco relented, reaching back to wrap an arm around Scorpius, who was as stiff as a board, but had a brave look of defiance on his face that Draco felt extremely proud of.

He and Scorpius took the couch across from Narcissa and Lucius, and the coffee table separating them wasn’t nearly enough. Draco kept himself sitting as straight as he could, arms folded and hand lingering near the pocket of his coat where his wand was tucked away.

Scorpius was keeping the same posture, bag at his feet and hands clenched in his lap as he stared at the table top. For a long moment there was only silence. Draco was prepared to sit there until Harry realized they were late and came to investigate. Lucius would leave immediately if Harry Potter showed up; but not long after, Lucius finally spoke.

“Not even going to offer us a drink?”

“No,” Draco answered, and Lucius’ eye twitched a little. “Say what you want to say and get out.”

“Don’t be like that, Draco,” Narcissa chided him. “Did you not read my letter? We’re here for Scorpius.”

Scorpius glanced up through his eyelashes but didn’t raise his head as Draco spoke. “I read it. I just don’t care.”

“We were worried-”

"What did you hear? And from who?” Draco demanded.

Lucius was the one to answer him. “An old friend at the Daily Prophet,” he explained in a haughty voice, like he thought having newspaper friends made him so high and mighty. “He mentioned there being a bit of trouble at the school because of Scorpius and that…. Potter boy.”

Scorpius cringed, his face contorting in something like anger that he desperately hid by keeping his head bowed low, face shadowed. Draco was unsurprised. Of course he’d get angry that Lucius was spitting Albus’ name around like it was poison.

“What of it?”

“We only know vague details. One of the boys got hurt?” Narcissa asked this in a rather gentle voice, glancing at Scorpius, and Draco had to thank everything in existence she had a soft spot for her grandson, despite how he hadn’t been raised ‘correctly’.

“Albus broke his arm,” Draco answered.

“We heard someone was killed,” Lucius said, and Scorpius seemed to shiver. “It was left from the papers, the details of his death. A freak accident on the Quidditch pitch. Craig Bowker Junior.”

“That has nothing to do with Scorpius or Albus, and nothing to do with you.”

“Of course.” Lucius’ hands flexed around his walking stick. “It isn’t like Scorpius is our grandson or anything of the sort.”

“Since when did you care, father?”

“Do not patronize me,” Lucius snapped, but Draco had long since stopped caring about the bitterness in his tone. “I’m asking what happened out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware you had one.”

By now, Astoria would be laughing so hard she’d be snorting, half trying to get Draco to stop riling his father up and half goading him on. Lucius’ face was growing redder and redder as his eyes bugged, even Narcissa looked utterly taken aback by Draco’s shortness and clear disinterest in discussing the situation. 

It was none of their business in the first place. He didn’t trust them enough to tell them the details, he would never risk his son like that, and… how truly sad it was that he didn’t think he could trust them.

“Al and I got into some trouble before we got to school,” Scorpius’ voice took Draco by surprise, and he turned to gape at him, and the look his son gave him. “It’s fine.”

“Scor-”

"Albus was trying to do something good, his heart was in the right place. The only thing that went wrong was who we trusted. We were manipulated by a witch who was falsely masquerading as the niece of an old wizard that Mister Potter knew from years ago.”

“Is that so?” Lucius eyed him with a deadly look in his cold eyes, Draco quickly put an arm around Scorpius and glared back at his father. “And you were foolish enough to follow along with her?”

That had Draco bristling, but Scorpius just twisted his fingers together. “She seemed genuinely nice at first. She helped us, she… even helped me with Albus, when we got in kind of a fight. We just… were too distracted.”

“She killed that boy?” Narcissa assessed easily, and Draco nodded to her. “What happened to her? Did she hurt Scorpius?”

Draco inhaled sharply, Scorpius winced and rubbed at his wrists; there was a slight discoloration around them, scarring left over from Delphini’s bindings. Draco didn’t have to answer his mother as she covered her mouth with a hand, but Lucius just squinted.

“Where is she now?”

“Where do you think?” Draco asked. “Azkaban, and she’ll stay there.”

“No trial?”

“She’s awaiting trial, but she killed a student, kidnapped two more, and tortured Scorpius. She utilized two of the three forbidden curses, either one would have set her down for Azkaban, and she used two. What more proof do you need to convict her?”

“What was her reasoning for manipulating the boys?” Lucius asked, and Draco started to feel increasingly confused, suspicious, on edge, at all the questions.

“What did you say your friend’s name was? The one at the Prophet?”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I-it was from a prophecy.” Scorpius looked at Draco anxiously. “Something her… her step father told her.”

“That’s enough.” Draco met his eye. “You don’t have to say anymore. No, I’m asking you not to. No more. They don’t need to know. It’s none of their business.”

Scorpius actually seemed to relax, nodding slowly, and Lucius scoffed. “Is our grandson’s health not our business, Draco?”

“You don’t give a damn about his health, or mine.” Draco stood up. “We’re done here, feel free to leave any time. I’m bringing Scorpius to his friend’s house.”

“Friend. That Potter.” Lucius spit the name again. “What a disgrace you are-”

“Lucius!”

“-allowing your son to fraternize with the likes of them.” Lucius got to his feet. "It’s Potter’s fault our family is in shambles, don’t forget.”

“No, father.” Draco looked him dead in the eye. “Our family is in shambles because you were stupid enough to welcome a murderer into our home and our lives. You’re the one who soiled the Malfoy name, father, by disgracing it with dark magic. Me, a disgrace for trying to fix the mess you made. I revel in that disgrace.”

Draco supposed he should have seen the hit coming, but it happened so suddenly, half of him was distracted by the burst of green from the fireplace that he only noticed because his head had been forced in that direction when Lucius swung the back of his hand and the silver snake head of the end of his walking stick straight into Draco’s face.

A ring rose in his ears and a burn spread across his cheek as he staggered, somehow managing to stay stubbornly on his feet as Scorpius yelled for him, jumping up to grab his arm to help him stay standing. Draco had his wand in his hand and pointed at Lucius an instant later, and was dizzily stunned at what he saw.

Narcissa on her feet with her own wand in hand, the tip stuck under Lucius’ chin and digging into his throat, eyes wild. Lucius had both his hands held out in a type of submissive manner, there was blood on the silver snake head topping his walking stick, and Draco could feel it on his cheek.

What really took him by surprise was Harry Potter, standing at the end of the coffee table with his wand out, pointed at Lucius, eyes wide in both shock and fury. Perfect timing as usual, to see Lucius sucker punching his own son. Brilliant, really.

“How dare you.” Narcissa hissed, very much like a snake, and Lucius stared down at her across the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t look scared though, he looked annoyed and inconvenienced, cold eyes snapping to Draco, then Harry, then back again to his son.

“This isn’t the end of the discussion,” he said simply, taking a step back to alleviate the pressure of the wand digging into his neck. “There’s much of the situation you don’t understand, Draco. For your sake, and your son’s, I recommend reassessing what side you’re really on.”

“I’m on whatever side you aren’t,” Draco snapped. “Get out.”

Lucius glared, then looked at his wife, who sneered in anger, something told Draco they would be having a chat later. Then Lucius disapparated with a pop. Narcissa slowly lowered her wand, so did Draco, returning it to the pocket in his coat before lifting the same hand to tentatively touch his cheek.

“What exactly did I walk in on?” Harry asked suddenly, and Narcissa turned to glance at him, then at Draco.

“Family reunion,” Draco said bitterly, turning to Scorpius, who was shaking furiously. 

He had a look of anger on his face, fear in his watery eyes, clinging to Draco with both hands, staring at the spot where his grandfather had been just moments ago.

“I’m sorry, Scorpius. I wanted you out of the house before they showed up.”

“Dad… dad your face.” Scorpius shook, his voice trembled, Draco tried to keep his cheek covered so Scorpius wouldn’t see.

“Just a scratch, can’t really feel it.” He looked over at Harry, who was watching him closely. "We’re late then, are we?”

“… Albus was getting anxious,” Harry admitted slowly. “Suppose he had a right…”

“I had it settled.”

“Of course.”

“Dad.”

“I’m fine Scorpius.”

“But-”

“You know what that man is like.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This was hardly your fault.” Draco wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close into a hug, hiding Scorpius’ face against his shoulder and pulling his hand from his face to squint at the blood before covering his cheek again.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, speaking to Harry, who had a wince on his face. “Would you mind taking him ahead? If your invitation still stands.”

Harry nodded. “It does. Albus is excited about it. This is the first time you’ve written back actually accepting a day out for them.”

“I like to think I’ve grown a bit more on that level this past year. The last thing I want to do is keep two good friends apart.” He arched an eyebrow and Harry rolled his eyes up in a sigh, turning.

"Come on, Scorpius.”

“But- dad-”

“I’ll stop by later,” Draco offered when Scorpius pulled back, running his hand into his blond hair to ruffle it. “After I’ve fixed myself up.”

“Do you want to come now?” Harry asked. “Ginny wouldn’t mind helping.”

“No, I think I still have some things to do here.” He glanced at his mother, who met his gaze with a painful one of her own. "I’ll come by floo later.”

“Fine.”

Scorpius still looked like he wanted to protest, torn between staying with Draco and going to see his friend. To alleviate the panic on his face, Draco squeezed his shoulder, shrugging.

“You have to admit, Scorp, that was pretty brave of your old man.” Scorpius’ lips twitched a little. “Think your mum would be proud of me?”

This made him smile, thankfully, and nod. “Yea, and mad you riled him enough to hit you. She’d probably call you an idiot.”

"That’s true.” He slid his hand down to Scorpius’ back and lead him towards the fireplace, picking up his son’s bag and handing it to him. "I’ll see you in a couple of hours, go enjoy yourself.”

“Okay…”

“No worrying about me.”

“Okay…”

Draco met Harry’s eye again, and in a few moments both he and his son were gone in a flare of green fire. When he turned to his mother, she had a strained look on her face, swallowing thickly and opening her mouth.

“Draco-”

“Wasn’t your doing.”

“No… we need to talk.”

“What about?”

“Your cousin,” Draco didn’t know what she was talking about, until she continued slowly, her voice low, like she was afraid Harry might still be around to hear her. “Delphini.”

[beca-mitchell]

dj, turn the radio up (1/1)

Entry for @bechloe-week Day 2: Coworkers.

Summary: PP1 AU. Beca never joins the Bellas. Chloe and Luke are good friends, which leads to Chloe occasionally working at the radio station. Shenanigans of the FWB kind ensue.

Rated M/E because of sexual encounters. Huge shout outs: @zentamaus, @chloes-yellow-cup, @the-orange-orange, @cotebdepablo, @shadowsinwinter, @snowbritt, and @myhatsbeonbackwards (and a few others) who read over my work and assured me it wasn’t completely crazy while also catching as many blips and errors as they could. 💕

Word count: 11,572

Read on AO3 or below.

It’s not that Chloe’s annoying. In fact, she’s quite the opposite. She’s probably the most caring person Beca has ever encountered in her life. She’s attentive and intelligent about things that Beca can barely bring herself to care about. Things like ensuring everybody’s tea is an appropriate temperature. Or that everybody is appropriately bundled for a chillier mid-winter evening.

And somehow, Chloe manages to do it all without coming off as a mother figure – or in Aubrey’s case, a dictator, from what Beca can tell. Chloe is friends with everybody. Beca thinks that she can’t go anywhere with Chloe on campus because people are always stopping her to say hello or worse – to flirt with her.

Beca’s not jealous, not at all.

It’s just kind of an inconvenience, especially when Beca suddenly has to push through no less than two broad-shouldered seniors who are just dying to hang out with Chloe.

“I’m going to class,” Beca tosses over her shoulder, not caring to see if Chloe responds.

  -----

  How they become friends is kind of an accident.

Friends is probably a strange way of putting it.

-----

 Beca has been vying for the coveted evening supervisor position for the school radio station and she thinks she’s busted her ass enough to deserve it over the course of the semester.

So it’s kind of a surprise to her when Luke greets her one evening with a very happy Chloe Beale standing by his side.

Beca vaguely recognizes her as the girl who interrupted her shower and tried to make her sing an impromptu duet.

And further tried to make her join an acapella group.

Beca dodged a bullet there, but she must have really pissed off somebody in the past because Chloe is standing in front of her, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Chloe’s going to be taking over for me tonight.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Beca says angrily.

Chloe looks startled at Beca’s sudden burst of anger, but collects herself quickly enough. Luke looks unphased. Beca almost wishes Jesse were there to look appropriately scared.

“Chloe’s a good friend of mine,” Luke says lightly. “She–” 

“I’m sure she is,” Beca mumbles. She’s mostly grumpy that Luke obviously still doesn’t trust her enough to let her oversee the radio station by herself. Granted, it has only been a few weeks. She doesn’t care that Chloe is ridiculously pretty or that her eyes are somehow the clearest possible shade of blue. It is just incredibly annoying that Luke refuses to let her take the reins, even just for a little bit–

“I know you,” Chloe says, interrupting Beca’s inner tirade. She clearly decided to weather the storm of Beca’s personality. “We sang in the shower together.” Chloe’s brow furrows then. “You didn’t show up for auditions.”

Luke splutters incoherently. Beca’s blush rises up to her cheeks and possibly her forehead. Chloe grins.

Bitch, Beca thinks, without any real bite.

  -----

Maybe in another life, she would have been given the opportunity to get to know Chloe the old-fashioned way. Beca’s favorite way: where her walls are sky high and people struggle to climb over them.

Maybe in another life, Chloe would have been her friend first. A leader of sorts, maybe.

Maybe. 

Beca’s just counting her lucky stars that she didn’t join that acapella group. That would have been as lame as she originally suspected.

Lame, mostly because what woman bursts into another woman’s shower only to ask about her singing?

The memory of Chloe’s voice still rings through her mind.

“How high does your belt go?” Chloe had asked, too focused and too serious for Beca to think of this situation as anything other than a literal recruitment attempt. Beca had stifled the disappointment, then subsequently the confusion that followed.

Mostly though, Beca had barely remembered to respond because she was too busy trying to focus on not letting her eyes wander inappropriately, though the time for inappropriateness had long passed. “My what ? Oh my God.”

So maybe in another life, she and Chloe would have come together in more ways than one.

  -----

 Okay, Chloe’s attractive. Like almost unfairly so. She’s all unrestrained smiles, blue eyes, and gentle waves of the prettiest shade of red Beca has seen in her life.

Beca has eyes and enough of a grip on her own sexual preferences to acknowledge that she’d probably flirt hard with Chloe (maybe awkwardly) if Chloe weren’t so damn happy all the time. Or so into acapella.

She’s not against sleeping with Chloe, she thinks. That alone is enough to startle her out of her reverie and she quickly stacks the remaining CDs before Chloe can catch her staring at her from behind the shelf. That would be–

Too late.

Beca narrows her eyes at Chloe who is smirking at her from behind the glass of the booth, oversized, worn-out headphones on her head.

She shouldn’t look that good, considering she’s hellbent on ruining Beca’s life.

She makes sure Chloe can see her eye roll.

  -----

 Chloe Beale is most annoying whenever she brushes past Beca to grab a CD off the stack or shelf, clearly intent on messing up Beca’s hard work.

It has nothing to do with the way Chloe’s breath ghosts hot and sure against her ear. Or the way Chloe’s breasts feel pressed against her arm or back, even for the briefest of moments.

It’s incredibly annoying. Frustrating, maybe.

(And to be fair, Beca plays dirty when she needs to. She knows what she’s doing when she’s bending over in full view of the booth. She knows what she’s doing when she takes off her plaid shirt and ties it around her waist, leaving her shoulders bare and her neckline more visible.

Her father would be devastated to know that student funds are going into this decrepit radio station so Beca can shamelessly rile up her supervisor.

Oh. Is that what she’s doing?)

  -----

 “Beca, come here.”

“Freshmen aren’t allowed in the booth,” Beca parrots back at Chloe, crossing her arms. Chloe leans against the doorway, an eyebrow raising in a somewhat challenging manner. Still, Chloe somehow manages to make it look pleasant.

As Beca nears, she wills her heart to stop beating so quickly and finds herself wondering if Chloe is doing the same. If Chloe is struggling with her own internal turmoil.

It’s subtle, but Beca catches the way Chloe’s gaze drifts to her chest. 

Checkmate.

She only barely resists smugly pushing up her breasts higher by tightening her arms, but she figures Chloe actually does have something she needs to talk about and she’s not about to risk getting into Chloe’s good graces if it means Chloe will eventually talk to Luke for her. 

Beca can be rational. Beca can be focused enough on her career.

Her ‘career’, she repeats in her mind, her father’s disdain in his voice filling the empty spaces where her own voice fails.

“Beca, ” Chloe says, voice sharp with something akin to warning.

Beca obeys, walking into the booth.

“I get the feeling that you’re…” Chloe twists in her chair, facing Beca. “Annoyed or upset about something.” She fixes Beca with a sincere, concerned expression, which is surprising enough that tension flows out of Beca in response. “And that something might be me, So I just wanted to...apologize,” she continues, in the same genuine tone. “I wanted to also apologize if I made you uncomfortable back when...you know. Shower.” She gestures vaguely and openly.

Beca swallows hard.

Chloe makes her anything but uncomfortable.

(Okay, maybe a little uncomfortable, but it’s Pleasant.)

Chloe stands from her perch, with enviable poise. “Friends?” she asks, extending a hand, though that’s hardly necessary with how little space there is between them.

Surrounded by stacks of CDs and cassettes, Chloe seems to glow.

A strange, sad thought flits through Beca’s mind: you don’t belong, she thinks. Chloe could never belong here - alongside the dust and the outdated music. Chloe is the kind of person who shines beyond reason. This much, Beca knows. She knows it to be true, as true as her instinct allows her to believe.

So, Beca opens her mouth and for once, honesty slips out. “We can’t be friends,” she says, noting the sudden spike in temperature. Was the booth always abnormally warm? Beca wonders.

Chloe raises an eyebrow, the motion slicing right through her thoughts. “Why not?” she inquires with a hint of confusion and a dash of sadness, like the thought of Beca not being her friend will plague her for the rest of her days.

Because I’m insanely attracted to you and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day.

She kisses her instead.

  -----

 “Fuck, fuck, shit–” Beca scrambles to find her footing because Chloe is suddenly lifting her onto a tiny desk in the corner of the booth. Beca’s hands spread out on the hard wooden surface, knocking pens and papers to the ground as Chloe’s tongue pushes into her mouth. 

“Language,” Chloe murmurs, leaning back an inch or so. The way her eyes just about gleam in Beca’s direction is almost enough to send Beca over the edge.

“Shut up,” Beca retorts, but she doesn't mean it and Chloe knows. She pulls Chloe in for a harsh kiss that almost immediately softens the moment their lips touch. 

Chloe is all about soft curves and gentle caresses, despite the very obvious strength she has over Beca. Beca is a mess of hard edges and roughly drawn lines. She barely has time to process it all, but she’ll start with the way her breast fits neatly into Chloe’s hand, her nipple hard and insistent against Chloe’s palm.

Or maybe she’ll start with how eager Chloe is to feel Beca’s hand beneath her dress and how easily Chloe’s thighs part for her. 

There are too many beginnings and not enough rope for Beca to fully immerse herself in each one, so settles on how well they fit.

But, the fact is, they fit.

  -----

 That’s the first night.

Well, the first night they kiss and touch and do other things–

It’s probably about a week into Chloe supervising Beca, and all things considered, Beca thinks that it’s probably surprising that they don’t jump each other sooner than that. 

Chloe gets a call soon after their heavy-handed make-out and they basically spend the rest of the night clearing their throats from opposite ends of the booth.

Beca tries not to think about how Chloe’s lip gloss tasted like mangoes. And how her tongue tasted like peach.

So she thinks instead of how damp Chloe’s underwear had been – like she too had been waiting for this for a long time.

  -----

 “What the hell?” Luke asks, seeing a mess of pens and papers on the floor that they had forgotten to clean up. 

“Oh, you know how Chloe is,” Beca responds after a moment. She shrugs and turns around so he can’t see the blush spread across her cheeks.

“Unbelievable.”

“I know, right.”

  -----

 Beca’s not sure when she’ll see Chloe again when Luke returns from his mini-break.

She’s almost relieved, but realizes that she’ll miss her. How unfortunate.

She catches glimpses of red hair on campus sometimes, but she never quite makes out the face properly. She doesn’t know that much about Chloe in all honesty. Just based on snippets of various conversations at the radio station, she knows that Chloe is the youngest of four siblings, that Chloe is majoring in Philosophy but wishes she had studied Literature instead, that Chloe ties her hair back into a ponytail when she’s stressed, that Chloe hums when she thinks nobody’s listening, that Chloe’s smiles are all different somehow–

Shut up, Beca tells herself.

It’s not that she’s looking for Chloe Beale, Beca just hates unfinished business.

She doesn’t have to wait long however, because Chloe is grinning at her from across the room at a house party Luke invited her to and God, Beca’s drawn in immediately. She had hoped Chloe would be there, hoped against hope, but something tells her to bottle that sentiment up and keep it close to her chest. 

“Hey you,” Chloe greets happily. Beca notes that she’s alone. “Didn’t expect you to be the fraternity party type.”

“Same could be said about you,” Beca shoots back. She takes in Chloe’s surprisingly appropriate attire that isn’t a cheerfully bright shirt or a sundress. It is instead an appealing combination, most pleasing to Beca: black jeans and a snug, well-fitting tank top. “Don’t you have some acapella performances to arrange?” she asks, pulling her eyes up from Chloe’s chest. “Or whatever it is you do,” she amends quickly when Chloe’s eyebrow rises. “I don’t care.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and pours two cups of beer from the keg nearby. She peers at Beca. “How old are you?” she asks, ignoring Beca’s mild snark.

Beca shakes her head. “Nineteen, but I don’t like drinking anyway.” She says this oddly – at least to her – like she feels the words don’t quite fit. She’s nervous, somehow. Does Chloe think she’s young ? Does Chloe think she’s too inexperienced? Questions drift in and out of Beca’s mind while she watches Chloe’s expression with rapt attention.

Chloe looks oddly pleased to hear that and not at all judgmental, though Beca can’t imagine Chloe judging her for anything. Or anybody for that matter. It’s refreshing. “Good to know,” Chloe states, shoving the cups of beer away to a passing boy. “I don’t need to drink either. Want to dance then, Bec?”

“Not really,” Beca says. Chloe bats her eyes. “Okay, fine.”

Chloe pulls her close and for a second Beca thinks she’s about to kiss her. Instead, Chloe is pulling her, pulling her, pulling her until they’re in a space that Beca assumes used to be a living room. There’s a broken, but still brightly lit disco ball above their heads. The music is loud and reverberates through the floors. People are faceless and numerous. Beca can’t imagine looking at anybody else, not at this moment when the light catches on Chloe’s face at random intervals. 

Chloe is serious about dancing apparently. She pulls Beca close by the belt loops on her jeans, stepping into her orbit again.

Beca never really got the appeal of dancing on makeshift dancefloors. Of being in such close proximity to various drunken bodies.

It makes her shudder at the thought. Recoil in disgust.

Usually.

Now, however, Chloe’s breath is hot against her face - so similar to how Chloe had felt brushing up against her at the radio station.

“How’s it feel?” Chloe asks, leaning in so her lips graze Beca’s ear. “Dancing with your boss.” She hisses on the last word, like it’s a private little inside joke.

Beca shivers. Chloe’s hips are tantalizing and graceful and rhythmic all at once. Beca finds herself enraptured by the beat of the music and the sway of Chloe’s body against hers. She imagines, for a split second, Chloe teaching her how to dance. She imagines that Chloe would be a good teacher, attentive and responsible.

She strikes that thought immediately because she can’t imagine Chloe being her teacher.

“Could be better,” she finally manages to say, quiet enough that she’s surprised Chloe catches it over all the noise. "Since you're not my boss."

Chloe’s raised eyebrow - that damnable eyebrow - spurs Beca into action.

She presses one hand against the small of Chloe’s back, bringing her closer than before. The slow movement of Chloe’s hips shifts so it matches Beca’s. Chloe’s legs brush her own and almost immediately, Chloe’s thigh slips between her own, solid and firm unlike anything Beca has felt before. She suddenly craves that skin-on-skin contact. She wants to feel exactly what Chloe’s thigh feels between her own thighs. Exactly how soft Chloe’s skin must be.

She tries not to let it show that Chloe is affecting her - that Chloe’s body is eliciting all kinds of responses in her own body. 

But she’s sure it’s obvious enough. It's in the way Chloe’s hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull Beca in for a kiss. 

  -----

 Beca gasps out a shuddering breath against Chloe’s neck, unable to help herself from coming alongside Chloe’s orgasm. Her fingers twitch and flex inside Chloe, snug and warm. She hesitates in pulling them out, determined to make Chloe feel every last movement until she tells Beca she’s had enough.

“God,” Chloe murmurs, lazily sliding a hand into Beca’s hair. She tugs and Beca moans immediately, lifting her head obediently to meet Chloe’s lips in an equally lazy kiss. Chloe’s thigh presses up against the seam of Beca’s jeans and she’s once again reminded by how wet she is. How wet her jeans must be – damp at least – considering her underwear is completely ruined. “I knew it would be like this with you.” 

Beca doesn’t know what to say to that, but finally has the sense of mind to remove her fingers from Chloe.

She has the strongest desire to taste Chloe, so with her eyes fixated on Chloe’s half-lidded gaze, she lifts herself up on her elbow, just so she can hover above Chloe. Then, she brings her fingers to her mouth and does just that. She swirls her tongue repeatedly around wet fingers, cognizant of how hard her heart pounds in her chest.

Chloe’s gaze flashes with renewed desire. She sits up and pulls Beca close and astride her lap completely. Beca barely has time to remove her fingers from her mouth to grip tight to Chloe’s shoulders or to tangle her fingers in Chloe’s hair. The messy waves feel thicker somehow, easier to hold on to. The strong grip Chloe has on her back, paired with the sure hand creeping up her thigh. Heat spreads beneath her jeans. Chloe is quick in how fast her hand navigates beyond the waistband of Beca’s now-uncomfortable jeans, but her wrist twists and flexes and suddenly she’s so close to where Beca aches for her.

Beca moans - not caring how desperate she sounds anymore - into the kiss and her hips jolt forward of their own volition. 

A sharp rap on the door startles them out of their moment ( their moment, Beca thinks gleefully), just as Chloe’s fingers are mere inches away from Beca’s aching clit. Her hips rock forward again, even more impatient and more eager than before, trying to speed Chloe along.

“Impatient,” Chloe rasps, voice low and strained. She doesn’t sound like she thinks that’s a problem at all. Beca grasps her jaw and tilts her head up for searing kiss, aiming to distract her. It works for a few moments and Chloe’s hand is almost there–

“Hey, who’s in there! This is my room.”

Chloe curses under her breath – Beca, loudly – and just like that, her hand is gone. Beca almost whines at the loss.

Suddenly, Chloe is helping her re-button her jeans and readjusting her own clothes and they’re slamming the door open. They lift their eyes to meet a surprised-looking frat boy with boring wind-swept hair and an equally boring polo.

“Were you guys…” He grins, though without much malice or leering. He mostly just looks amused. “In my room?”

Chloe rolls her eyes, pulling Beca behind her as they beeline their way out of the house. “None of your business, Brandon,” she calls over her shoulder.

(Because of course Chloe is on a first name basis with everybody at school. Friends with frat boys and acapella girls alike. Everywhere all at once. Perhaps it was inevitable that Beca got swept up in her orbit, helpless like the rest of them.)

Whether he makes a noise of derision or not like Beca expects him to, she finds that she doesn’t really care and the fleeting thought of what they just did in a random bedroom dissipates.

They can’t get out of there quick enough. After a brief stop in the bathroom to rinse her hands, her face, and to let Chloe’s lips trail up and down her neck lazily, Beca thinks she feels a million pair of eyes on her in the house. Almost like they can tell she’d just spent the past little while getting Chloe Beale off in a nondescript frat boy bedroom. She’s not upset about the fact, not at all. Just amazed that this is the turn her life took when she decided to acquiesce to her father’s request that she attend school for at least a year. 

Chloe’s fingers twitch in hers and suddenly Beca is no longer present. The memory of Chloe coming apart beneath her fingers. Chloe’s hair sprawled in many directions across plain navy blue sheets, in every direction like the way Beca’s heart suddenly bled with unexpected desire and passion.

“Wait,” she calls, as they round the side of the house, the sounds of the party finally dying. Her fingers flex in Chloe’s hand. 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks, pausing. She isn’t ready for an armful of Beca - of the way Beca all but throws herself at her, lips and hands exploring desperately and suddenly. She moans, long and low, into Beca’s mouth, sure hands coming up to grip Beca’s hips.

How long they kiss like that, in the shadows next to a house party, is a mystery to Beca. She focuses on how soft Chloe’s lips are - how soft they had been when she had been buried in Chloe’s pussy, two fingers deep.

Chloe’s whispered “more” echoes in her head. Her underwear dampens more at the memory.

She’s drunk on Chloe, she’s sure. She’ll never be curious about alcohol again, not when Chloe satisfies her so wholly and fully in a comparable intoxicating manner.

“Your place,” Beca breathes. “P-Please.” She hates the stutter in her voice.

Chloe lifts her head from Beca’s neck, eyes dark beneath mild eyeliner and full lashes. “Yeah?” she asks, like she needs Beca to be certain.

Beca is half tempted to shove Chloe’s hand between her legs to just feel how certain Beca is.

“Yeah,” she chokes out instead. Chloe’s chest heaves against her own. “Yeah, please, Chloe.” Beca feels desperate enough - so close to combusting again - that she pulls Chloe in for a hard, fast kiss. Their teeth nearly clash, but Chloe props herself up against the side of the house - one hand on hard brick, the other tangled in Beca’s hair.

  -----

 Chloe’s apartment is cozy. Beca almost feels calm.

Almost.

Almost, because Chloe, at some point, decided that it was her mission to give Beca reasons to have consistent heart attacks. She exhales hard against Beca’s skin, all warm breath and barely-there touches. “Careful, don’t wake Aubrey,” Chloe mumbles, lips pressed tight against the curve of Beca’s jaw. She then lets her keys clatter against the bowl and Beca jumps, pressing herself tighter and closer against Chloe’s body on instinct. Chloe snickers. “Kidding, she’s away for the weekend. You’d like her,” she comments, like she’s not about to fuck Beca well into the night.

At least, Beca hopes that’s what is about to happen or she’s going to need to take a shower immediately.

By some great stroke of fortune that Beca does not at all anticipate or eagerly hope for, Chloe reads her mind. She tugs Beca towards the bathroom. It is small and cozy like the rest of the apartment, warm highlights and comfortable bath mats. If Beca is going to venture a guess, she’s going to assume that Aubrey – assuming that was the other young woman Chloe was with that day at the activities fair ( Why are these memories so vivid? ) – did not have a say in the decor.

Beca doesn’t have time to dwell because Chloe drops her hold on her wrist and works on shedding her jeans, then her underwear. Beca blinks, trying to let her brain catch up with her. “Are we taking a bath?” she blurts, a little slow from sudden fatigue, though perhaps more accurately stated, slow from the sight of new skin suddenly visible to her.

Chloe pulls her tank top over her head before responding. “I’m going to take a shower because I need to get that house off me.” She wrinkles her nose. “But you can feel free to use the shower after me.” She steps into the shower. “Or…” Chloe’s tone implies that Beca has some catching up to do.

Beca doesn’t need to be told twice.

When she steps in under the warm spray, she blinks up at Chloe taking in the sight of water dripping off her forehead and nose.

Chloe’s hands come up, surprisingly soft and intimate, to stroke her cheeks and her jaw, like she’s committing some part of Beca to memory. “Okay?” she asks, finally speaking after a long moment of staring at Beca with undisguised desire.

It sends the most pleasant thrill up Beca’s spine. Mine, she thinks abruptly and without warning.

Beca nods, swallowing back the heat that rises and threatens to escape in the form of something horribly cheesy, but words erupt before she can help herself. “This is familiar,” Beca comments, unable to help one last bite of snark before Chloe completely overwhelms her senses. She prides herself on waiting at least two seconds before her eyes drift below Chloe’s collarbones. “Are we going to sing now?”

“Are you ever not annoying?” Chloe asks. She presses Beca right up against the wall of the shower and kisses her hard and suddenly Beca can’t remember anything else. 

Chloe’s tongue is deft and sure, pushing into her mouth to explore. 

  -----

 They’re doing everything out of order, Beca thinks.

She was never one for order anyway.

There is no order, not when Chloe’s hands drift up her thighs, her lips following the same path. Not when Beca can only crumble against her touch, like the ruins of a fortress long gone.

  -----

 Texting enters the rotation of things they do together.

Wish you were here, Chloe texts from out of town. 

She knows Chloe is at some acapella competition. Beca shudders. Lol where? Beca texts back.

here, Chloe replies. And Beca can almost hear her voice - the smooth timbre of it. Especially paired by the very vivid photos Chloe sends her.

  -----

 Luke’s rule is simple enough: no sex on the desks. He slaps a desk cheerfully sometimes whenever Beca is sitting, minding her own business (often trying not to think about what Chloe looked like the previous night, errant strands of hair plastered against her sweaty forehead. Sweaty perhaps because of the utmost concentration on her face, lips pulled between white, even teeth. Sweaty, most likely because of how hard her hips grind into Beca, their centers meeting repeatedly and deliciously and over and over again until Beca comes apart–). She fixes him with a reproachful expression and ignores Jesse’s delighted laugh.

None of that matters though.

It turns out that Chloe is the very reason for that rule from a time before Beca.

She smirks at Beca when Beca asks her about it. It is unfortunately the first question out of Beca’s mouth when she sees Chloe push through the glass door, before she is confused by Chloe’s presence.

“Are you jealous?” Chloe asks nonchalantly, dropping her bag next to Beca’s. Chloe is somehow at the radio station even though Luke is there and Beca is there and nobody told Beca that Chloe would be coming.

“No,” Beca replies immediately, frowning for good measure. “Gross.”

Chloe laughs.

Beca realizes she doesn’t want to know, not at all. Her stomach rolls unpleasantly.

“Get to work,” Chloe tosses over her shoulder, climbing up into the booth to greet Luke.

  -----

Chloe’s radio style is all fun anecdotes and cheesy lines. Chloe speaks to everyone at once, inclusive and vibrant. It’s not that Beca wants to like them at all because Chloe’s anecdotes completely go against everything she thinks this station should be – 

(“Beca, it’s just like five kids out there listening to this, and they’re all probably high.”

“So?” Beca grumbles back. “They deserve quality content.”

“Oh?” Chloe chirps with interest. “They do, do they? So you don’t think the story about how I got my scar is quality content? You were laughing about it last night.”

She tries not to completely melt at the affection in Chloe’s eyes.)

– it’s just that Chloe is annoyingly adorable sometimes and Beca hates that she wants to keep listening to Chloe’s voice whenever she can. Almost in a greedy, selfish way. She wants to hear Chloe’s voice directed at her more often than not.

  -----

 Sometimes Chloe sits on Beca’s tiny school-sanctioned bed and recites Russian Literature aloud while Beca fiddles with her latest mixes. Beca pretends not to care, until she realizes that she had been listening to dead air through her headphones for the past fifteen minutes, if the timer on her computer is anything to go by, just to listen to the sound of Chloe’s voice.

She glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye, comfortable in her oversized sweater and gray leggings. Without looking, she knows Chloe is donning a pair of Beca’s cabin socks and for some reason that makes Beca shift in her seat uncomfortably and clear her throat.

Chloe’s reading doesn’t falter, but Beca finds herself wishing that Chloe would focus on her for just a moment.

  -----

 Car sex is somehow both terrible and fulfilling.

Beca feels various limbs nearing dangerous cramping territory, but she can’t bring herself to care at the moment. She can’t. Not when Chloe’s tongue is unforgiving between her legs, pushing through wet folds and pulling almost-foreign sounds from Beca’s chest.

“Say my name,” Chloe rasps suddenly, breath hot and heavy against Beca’s bare center. Her eyes glitter up at Beca from between her thighs. The sight alone is too much and Beca nearly concusses herself with how hard her head rocks back against the car door. 

“No,” Beca grits out, simply because she can.

Chloe’s fingers are suddenly on her clit and she’s tugging at Beca’s hip with her other hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “Beca,” she whispers, now hovering over her. Chloe’s hair is curlier than before. Before, as in earlier in the evening when she had smiled at Beca from across the table in a charming old diner. Undeniably messier. Her lips are parted and glistening. Her tongue comes out to trace her lower lip, to catch some moisture and shine.

Beca thinks she looks beautiful, but somehow her eyes bely any trace of happiness.

She looks sad. Anxious.

Beca’s throat tightens in a way that has nothing to do with the way Chloe’s fingers slip down to her entrance, gently probing. Chloe leans into her, her hips pushing against her hand so her fingers slide into Beca with ease.

Beca gasps, words dying on the tip of her tongue. So many words, so many phrases. Chloe swallows them all in a deep kiss.

Chloe takes the opportunity to kiss her – a sweet, open-mouthed kiss, unlike any other kiss they’ve shared thus far – and Beca feels everything.

Heat.

Passion.

Desire.

Possession.

They rocket through her in quick succession or sometimes stacked atop each other. They send heat through her body – a thick coil – like how the first taste of herself from Chloe’s mouth feels. They settle somewhere in her chest, where the ruined fortress rests, a white flag waves and Beca grasps at it – grasps at Chloe’s back, really – in desperation. 

She comes hard, devastatingly so, with Chloe’s name on her lips like a blessing and a curse all at once. 

Chloe pants into her neck, fingers never quite stilling. Instead, her fingers coax Beca higher again, over the edge of a smaller cliff. It’s all Beca can do, really: she follows obligingly, chasing that explosive moment once more, just once more, Beca thinks–

“More,” she whispers. She imagines the stars beyond the roof of Chloe’s car and when she shuts her eyes once more, gripping hard at the back of Chloe’s head, Chloe’s fingers twist just right and Beca thinks of galaxies to call their own.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs, thick against her neck like she might be crying. The moment disappears, however, because Chloe is kissing her again, murmuring thanks against her lips. There are no tears on Chloe’s face and she suddenly looks the same like she did when she let Beca lead her into the backseat of her car after a half-hearted attempt at stargazing. Bright-eyed and almost falsely curious, like she wants to know what new things Beca can show her. False, because Chloe knows all her tricks by now.

(But all the things they don’t know yet about each other – that’s what keeps Beca up at night sometimes.)

“Chloe,” Beca begins, blinking back the haze so she can focus on Chloe’s distress. “Chloe, what –” She accepts her jeans and underwear from Chloe’s outstretched hand. “Hey, no–” she stops, placing a hand on Chloe’s arm. “What’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Chloe says quickly. “Really nothing.” 

“You’ve been off all night,” Beca points out.

“What do you call what I just did?” Chloe cuts back, nearly uncharacteristic bite in her tone.

Beca rolls her eyes. Snark and sarcasm and closed-off responses: she knows them like the back of her hand, so she ignores Chloe’s brief moment of lashing out and pats herself on the back for not feeling the immediate urge to close off and stop. “You can talk to me, I promise.” She swallows. “We’re...friends.”

Chloe’s shoulders pull up in a tense gesture, then and she pauses in rebuttoning her shirt. “We are?” she asks quietly. Timidly.

Beca bites her tongue because her first instinct is to correct Chloe and herself: no, they’re just coworkers who occasionally fuck in the back of dark cars in quiet areas of the local park.

But she knows they’re not just coworkers, well beyond that. She knows too much about Chloe. Every intimate detail and every funny story. They compete uncomfortably for dominance in Beca’s mind and her heart.

“We are,” Beca says softly, because she knows this to be true. “Just friends,” Beca continues because the urge to say that is too strong. She is unsure as to how to navigate this unfamiliar territory because Chloe’s display of emotions are new and unknown. It feels safe to clarify this, to draw boundaries since they eviscerated their previous boundary of mere coworkers.

Still the ache in her chest doesn’t quite ebb, even as she fully catches her breath and the lust and desire dwindle to nothing. She sits in the front again, next to Chloe who drives quietly. If Beca had to hazard a guess, she thinks Chloe is being pensive in fear of her own embarrassment, which is another thing Beca has learned about Chloe. Chloe is not somebody who is easily embarrassed. Many things roll off her back and she never seems to shy away from uncomfortable conversations.

But this is something new.

Beca could say many things.

You’re scaring me. Please talk to me.

You scare me in general, actually.

I’m here, I promise.

I want to listen to you.

But they’re just that: things she could say and words she has never said to somebody in any intimate way. She bottles these words up and keeps them almost selfishly in an attempt to protect her own heart.

Car sex might have left Beca with an uncomfortable lingering strain in her shoulder, but the car ride home is a little worse.

  -----

 Somehow things change and then they don’t.

They don’t talk about that strange night in the darkness of Chloe’s car and it hovers over Beca’s head with a whole host of other problems, like getting her mixes on the school’s airwaves and passing her classes. Her first semester was a surprise to both herself and her father, so she feels a renewed determination to finish off strong enough so she can go to L.A. in peace.

She and Chloe still sleep together regularly enough. Chloe still occasionally shows up at the radio station like she owns the place and chats with both Jesse and Luke amicably. Beca is suspicious that Chloe is gossiping about her, particularly when she sees Jesse and Chloe conspiring together between the stacks, but she figures that it’s probably mainly Jesse trying to pry her for information about Beca. Whenever they see Beca approaching, however, they brush off their conversation and lift their bent heads. Jesse busies himself with a heavy stack of records that he pretends he can carry without straining his back.

“What are you two weirdos up to?” Beca asks, trying to keep the demand out of her voice. Chloe simply smiles and shakes her head, then, she later teases Beca about Jesse’s ever-lingering crush on her.

“Jealous?” Beca asks, irritated mostly by the impossible passage she’s reading. Theory and never-ending sentences float through her mind. Even with all of that, her question still remains with a tinge of hopefulness because it wouldn’t be terrible if Chloe were a little jealous of a woefully incomparable competitor. The thought is a little savage and a little abrupt, but Beca lets it pass with a hint of comfort.

“No,” Chloe responds easily.

Right, because Chloe has no reason to be jealous of Jesse of all people.

Beca returns to her laptop and Chloe returns to her book.

  -----

 Sometimes they go on dates, though neither of them is willing to call it a date. Beca kind of wants Chloe to do it first – to ask her on an actual date – but she wonders if Chloe expects it of her.

Sometimes when Chloe introduces her to her friends on campus, she uses the word “friend” and it haunts Beca at night. She doesn’t necessarily disagree with the label, but she itches to figure out what they could be. It’s the oddest kind of of hunger, one that she hasn’t necessarily had before. 

It’s not that Beca has never hooked up with somebody before in her life, but when she looks at Chloe, it’s hard to see her as just another faceless entity.

So Beca watches men and women alike flirt with Chloe like no tomorrow from the sidelines and waits for Chloe to return to her side. Back into their bubble.

Her favorite moments are when Chloe stares at her from across the table in a diner; when Chloe stares at her from across a candlelit dinner at a surprisingly upscale restaurant (and sometimes she’ll let Beca pay her half or pay the whole bill good-naturedly); when Chloe wrestles her mini-golf club from her in an attempt to stop Beca’s weirdly good putting skills; when Chloe sometimes just gazes at her for no reason.

(Or too many reasons.)

So there are a few changes, sometimes. Beca is still figuring them all out. She’s still figuring herself out.

  -----

  Something that never changes – hasn’t changed – over time is how often Chloe tries to convince her to attend Bellas meetings or rehearsals. Or that time Chloe tried to get her to attend a Riff-Off, whatever the hell that was. Beca had immediately declined, citing illness.

“You have to come at least once,” Chloe begs now.

“But why ?” Beca whines. “I think it’s kind of lame, you know this.” She doesn’t mean it in a bad way. It just...it is kind of lame. Beca had been mildly interested at the activities fair but only because Chloe had been so earnest and open and passionate. Looking back, Beca had thought at the time that it was only because Chloe and Aubrey were both attractive and innocent-looking enough that stopping by their booth would have been just a blip in Beca’s day. Nothing more than a moment.

But she sees now what moments spiral into and how they consume and consume until Beca gives in to the unforgiving nature of the laws of attraction.

It had been so much more then. She knows this now.

“Yes I know, but I promise you won’t think it’s that lame.” Chloe heaves a breath, tapping her fingers dramatically against Beca’s arm. “ And you get to see me in a sports bra.”

Beca makes a choked noise of discontent. “That’s not interesting to me.”

“It is a little interesting,” Chloe assures her, like she needs to convince Beca that seeing her in less clothing is a hard and arduous task. “Come on. We’ll consider it like a little field trip. I swear to God, you’ve never been outside the four walls of that radio station on this campus.”

“That is not true,” Beca corrects immediately. She drops her book so she can shift Chloe’s legs off her lap. Chloe’s protests die in her mouth because Beca is all but crawling up her body, settling on straddling her hips. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“This, uh, apartment isn’t technically on campus,” Chloe murmurs, distracted by the sliver of skin that shows beneath Beca’s shirt when she raises her hands to pull her hair behind her shoulders.

“I’ve been to my dorm,” Beca continues, ignoring Chloe’s statement. She leans forward over Chloe, so she is hovering over her face. She grins down at Chloe when she feels Chloe’s hand sliding up the backs of her thighs lightly at first, then firmly when she reaches Beca’s ass. 

She leans down to kiss Chloe, enjoying the always-appealing ripple of pleasure and heat stemming from her chest and spreading to the rest of her body. She rests her hands on the armrest behind Chloe’s head, slowly lowering the rest of her body to spread out across Chloe’s, careful to distribute her weight evenly.

Slowly, Chloe’s hands move along her back, mapping new and old paths. She holds Beca to her and like that, they kiss gently and languidly. Chloe lifts a hand from Beca’s back to hold the back of Beca’s head to slowly increase the pressure and intensity of their kisses. Beca will never tire of the ways Chloe continues to show her intimacy and physical affection. Even the gentle drag of Chloe’s fingers through her hair, paired with the slow brush of Chloe’s tongue against her lower lip, has devastating effects on Beca’s peace of mind.

Beca doesn’t expect this kiss to go anywhere really and it’s that thought that she fixates on. It thrills her and makes her fingers curl into the fabric of the couch. The fact that Chloe would enjoy these moments of pure intimacy without sexuality makes something almost completely foreign settle in Beca’s body. She files it away for the future.

“I have something to tell you,” Chloe murmurs, when Beca finally draws back to take in deep breaths of air. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. It isn’t a big deal, I promise.”

Beca doesn’t trust herself to speak without her voice cracking at the moment, so she nods. She hates the fear that rises up in her.

“I...I’m going to get my nodes taken out in a few weeks and I’m a little scared of what it’ll mean for me and singing.”

“Nodes,” Beca repeats. “Are those–?” she lifts a hand to Chloe’s throat and runs a finger across soft skin gently. She looks at Chloe questioningly.

“Yeah, and I…” Chloe sighs and gestures for Beca to sit up. “I want to be able to sing and I want to be able to compete, but they’re getting bad and they hurt a lot sometimes.”

“When did you hear from your doctor?”

“I guess a few weeks ago. Maybe a month and a bit. I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Does it hurt now?” Beca asks a little anxiously. She stares at Chloe’s neck, like she expects to see some kind of bulge or noticeable deformity. 

“No, not really. Only when I sing a lot.”

“Then why do it?” Beca asks urgently. “Why do it if it hurts?” 

“Because I love to sing,” Chloe says, looking at Beca so suddenly and deeply that Beca cannot bring herself to look away.

She swallows. “I know you do.”

“And I want you to be able to hear me do it before...I can’t do it anymore.”

Beca opens her mouth to tell Chloe how dramatic that sounds – that of course Chloe will still be able to sing – but she takes in the genuine apprehension on Chloe’s face and the sincerity of her tone. She processes all of that and feels herself relating to Chloe on deeper levels than before. She knows too well what these feelings are: they are too late and last chance and regret – so much regret – all rolled up in anxiety and sometimes indescribable sadness.

She wants to share in it with somebody, but it is difficult to know the repercussions of opening herself up to that kind of vulnerability. 

But, sitting here, near Chloe, next to Chloe, she feels like she could do it. She feels like she could try.

“Okay,” Beca finally says. “I’ll come.”

  -----

Beca vaguely recognizes some of the girls who make up the Bellas. She thinks Fat Amy (though her name is listed as Patricia in Beca’s email list) was who she met at the Activities Fair. A few others, she recognizes from orientation and her dorm.

Then her eyes zero in on Chloe, standing in the middle of the room with her blonde friend – Aubrey? – by her side. Aubrey unfortunately spots her first.

“This is a closed rehearsal,” Aubrey says immediately.

“No it’s not,” Chloe argues. “There isn’t a rule about that. Besides, I invited her.”

“Hello,” Beca says, waving awkwardly. She lets Chloe pull her towards the group. “I...told Chloe I’d come by and watch you guys.”

“Beca’s a really good musician! You should hear the kinds of remixes and melodies she comes up with. She can help us, maybe. Like a consult.”

Aubrey looks increasingly pale even as the other women all murmur with interest at Chloe’s words.

“Okay, she can stay,” Aubrey says when it’s clear that Beca has the support of the room. “We can talk later. I just wish you discussed this with me, Chloe.” 

Chloe’s face falls a little. The sight makes Beca clench her fist and Aubrey’s tone really grates on her nerves. “Hey,” she starts. Both Aubrey and Chloe quickly glance at her. Chloe’s gaze is sharp and she shakes her head discreetly, while Aubrey eyes her challengingly. “Nevermind.” 

The rehearsal ends up being surprisingly fun and lighthearted, despite the initial tension. Beca wonders why they’re singing songs that are twice as old as them, but she holds her tongue. Instead, she watches Chloe correct a few dance steps for a few of the members (she knew Chloe would be a good teacher) and listens to the smooth sound of Chloe’s voice. It washes over her during her solo, but listening carefully, Beca can hear the strain. Knowing about Chloe’s nodes, it makes Beca wince.

But Chloe’s voice is beautiful.

  -----

Arguments come naturally enough. Beca’s personality, while not necessarily volatile, leans towards the side of bottling emotions until they burst from her like an overly-shaken bottle of soda. And not even the good kind. Probably a discount brand Dr. Pepper.

Chloe, on the other hand, is the most expressive person Beca has ever met, sometimes without even speaking. Her eyes shine like two luminous windows into Chloe’s exact emotions at any given time. It is absolutely terrifying.

Another thing about Chloe is that she pries. She pries at Beca’s boarded-up windows and tries to peer in. Beca half-heartedly bats her away and dodges other attempts, but it gets to a point when Beca realizes that she pretty much considers Chloe her best friend. It happens somewhere in between Kimmy Jin happily saying hello to Chloe as she lets her into their shared dorm room and Chloe holding out a hand to read Beca’s recently finished essay.

She watches Chloe’s eyes flit across the page as she reads carefully, nodding along.

“My dad called me again today,” Beca blurts just as Chloe flips a page.

Chloe looks at her with interest. “Oh? What did he want?”

“I let it go to voicemail. He probably just wants to make sure I haven’t joined a cult or done something else to give him a bad name.”

“I’ve always wanted to take a class with Professor Mitchell,” Chloe says lightly.

Beca flicks Chloe’s hand. “Hey.”

“What? He’s a good professor!”

“So?” Beca feels petulant.

Chloe sighs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but honestly it sounds like your father is trying. And you have to admit that this ‘little college experiment’ as you would say hasn’t been a complete waste.”

Beca bristles. “Not you too.”

“What?” Chloe asks, a hint of exasperation slipping into her tone.

“Just...trying to get me to stay.”

“I’m not trying to get you to do anything, Beca,” Chloe says patiently. A little patronizingly. “You’re an adult.”

“But–”

“L.A. will still be there,” Chloe says quietly. “And you’re so talented. I mean it, Beca. You’re going to make it there. But honestly, I can tell you enjoy school. And you’ve enjoyed Barden.”

It’s difficult to admit how right Chloe is. She is right, though. Beca can’t bring herself to admit it because it means having to deal with the truth of it all.

The truth about how Beca feels herself changing and shifting into a new person. The growing pains of realizing what it means to be self-sufficient. Independent. Responsible. 

In love.

“I don’t...I don’t enjoy Barden,” Beca finally says, lying through her teeth. “Stop saying that.” Stop saying things that make me think about how in love with you I am. 

Chloe stares at her. “Look, I’m just saying–”

“Stop!”

Her outburst startles them both.

Embarrassed, Beca tugs the paper from Chloe’s grasp – gently enough as to not give Chloe a sudden papercut – and turns back to her computer. “I think you should go,” she says softly.

“Beca,” Chloe starts, then thinks better of it. She stands from Beca’s bed and leaves quietly.

The door clicks shut, echoing in the silence of Beca’s room.

  -----

 “Do you work here now?” Beca overhears Jesse asking somebody. “It’s cool to see another acapella friend.”

“An aca-friend,” Chloe’s voice replies, too cheerfully for Beca’s taste, especially considering she just created a portmanteau of acapella and friend. Beca almost shudders, but she finds herself slinking past the rows of records to step into the clearing between stacks. “And yes, just a part-time thing because Luke has been looking for some extra help managing you two while he figures out the rest of his life.”

“Beca has been wanting to get into that booth,” Jesse says helpfully. Beca feels affection rise in her. He was listening.

“I know,” Chloe replies. “I–” Her eyes flick up at that moment from where she’s thumbing through a folder. “Oh, look who it is.”

“Hi,” Jesse greets immediately. “You look like shit,” he says helpfully. Chloe cuts him a glance with an unreadable expression.

“You’re back,” Beca says to Chloe.

“Yeah, it was just a weeklong thing for school.”

“No,” Beca says haltingly, gesturing at Chloe. “You’re back here.” 

She feels tired and frustrated. Her conversations with her father have been going nowhere. She and Chloe haven’t really talked over the past two weeks, which gives rise to feelings of anxiety and nervousness.

  -----

 “Hey,” Chloe greets cautiously. “Are you-?”

“I’m fine,” Beca says quickly. “Sorry, I’ll just.” She begins packing up her things. “I’ll just go. My shift ended a while ago.”

“You know, you don’t need to keep pushing me away,” Chloe says as gently as she can. “I won’t pry or anything, but I’m here for you. I care about you, Beca.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Beca argues weakly.

Chloe’s hand drifts up to her shoulder, where she rests it. It feels heavy to Beca. “I know you and I want to continue knowing you. Getting to know you.”

Beca shifts. “I don’t know.” 

“Bec.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

Chloe murmurs an apology and looks so contrite that Beca immediately feels bad. She can’t continue hurting Chloe like this, not when Chloe hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I can’t keep doing this with you,” Beca says before she can stop herself. Now, she finds she cannot stop. It spills out of her like venom. “I can’t keep this up. It’s – it’s too confusing and too stressful. Going out and holding your hand. Sleeping together.” Beca blinks back tears of insecurity. “You...we haven’t even really talked in like two weeks.” Not that she had been counting.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“I just need some space. And no, I can’t break up with a friend,” Beca corrects a little snidely. “You’re not my girlfriend.”

Chloe doesn’t gasp or cry or anything quite as dramatic. Instead, she just looks the saddest Beca has ever seen her.

That speaks more volumes than if Chloe had lost her temper. Beca's tired of people leaving (but she is even more tired of pushing people away).

  -----

 The silver lining comes soon enough: Luke raps sharply on the booth window and points at Beca when she turns. Come here, he mouths. 

“Me?” Beca asks.

Luke merely stares at her with a tired expression. She flushes and immediately drops the album she had been holding and quickly makes her way into the booth.

He grins at her. “That was quick. I knew you had it in you.”

“Did you call me in here to make fun of me?” 

“No, I called you in here to let you know that I have to go out of town for the weekend and you’re getting the Friday night shift.”

“I already work Friday nights,” Beca says, slow on the uptake.

“No, you work out there on Friday nights. This Friday night, I want you in here. Lining up songs. Your own, even.”

“You what ?” Beca blinks and shakes her head. “That – that’s amazing!” She exclaims, unable to hide the glee in her voice. “Seriously?” she asks quickly, just to be sure. “Like this is serious, right? You’re not fucking with me?”

“Yeah. You’ve been responsible and on-time for work. And I’ve seen you fiddling with your laptop from time to time. I’ve listened to your mixes. You’re ready.”

You’re ready.

Beca cannot express how not ready she feels, but she’s going to take the plunge. If only she felt ready in other aspects of her life.

It’s less of a silver lining and more of the barest hint of sunshine peeking through the ever-lingering storm clouds.

  -----

 The shifts get better and better. Beca tries to ignore the rolling in her stomach when she thinks about how sad and disappointed Chloe had looked. 

It’s easy to ignore it when she can focus on being alone in the booth. Just her and music. Her previous radio shows were a success and her mixes were received well. For the first time, Beca feels the strangest wells of happiness and success fill her chest, though she tries not to think about how there are gaps now. Gaps being that she so desperately wants to share these thoughts with Chloe.

It ends up coming out to Luke of all people in a fit of emotional outpouring. Beca stares hard at her clenched fists and admits to Luke that while she did not Have Sex on the Desks, she and Chloe were definitely a thing and they had been for most of their time ‘working’ together in the radio station. Mostly, it’s just an attempt to glean how Chloe is doing from the one person that Beca knows well-enough as a mutual friend between them both.

Luke is surprisingly attentive and lets out a low whistle at the end of her story. “First, holy shit.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t peg you as Chloe’s type.”

“I’m not going to ask why you would even think about any of this, even abstractly.”

“This explains why Chloe hasn’t been around recently.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“You two had a good dynamic from what I saw. I mean, I now know that it was more than just good rapport, but Chloe deserves to be happy.” He squints at her. “Why are you two having issues?”

“I just. It’s too much,” Beca gestures vaguely. “I don’t let people in like that, I just don’t. I literally chose to work here because it has two people. Three, I guess. I like the quiet, I like my space, and I like not having to worry about whether people are going to get up and leave. And besides, we were just...friends anyway,” Beca finishes lamely. She hopes against hope that Luke didn’t catch the way her voice wavered.

Luke stares at her for a long moment.

Beca glances at him, nervous under his scrutiny. “Like, why didn’t she just ask me to be her girlfriend, then? Why dance around this? I’m not...good with this stuff. I don’t do relationships. She probably thinks I’m so fucking young and just not ready for her. But I am. I was. I think?” Beca frowns. “She just scared me a lot.”

Luke sighs. “Yeah, she can be like that. But she only ever cares too much for her own good. Thanks for telling me though.” He smiles. “You’re an interesting person, aren’t you?” 

Before Beca can respond or process any of Luke’s cryptic words disguised as limited wisdom, Luke is leaving the keys on the table and leaving without another word.

  -----

 She thinks that’s the end of it.

She finally responds to a few texts from Chloe and does her best to not make them as lackluster as she initially wants them to. She berates herself a little for her insecurities and makes a note to herself to keep her chin up at work.

Speaking of work.

Luke looks down at Beca from his perch in the booth. 

“No booth today?” Beca tries weakly.

“Beca,” he begins in a tone that she hates immediately.

“I just want to take my mind off things,” Beca interrupts. She doesn’t want to see sympathy or judgement in his face, though at this point, she’s not sure she can differentiate between the two. It’s all the same to her.

“Yeah, about that.”

And there it is. She regrets telling him anything. “Dude, no, I get it. Chloe’s your friend and I should have never-”

“You’re kind of thick, aren’t you?”

Beca is at a loss for words before she realizes exactly what Luke just said. “What?”

“Stupid. It means stupid.”

“I know what thick means,” she fires back. 

“Did you know that Chloe hates the radio station?”

That’s not what she expects at all. “She what?”

“She really does. I mean, she used to work here with me on and off in our freshman and sophomore years, but then she pretty much threw herself into the Bellas and I didn’t see much of her after that. She hated the darkness, the smell, and our other coworker.”

“And now?” Beca asks, a little stupidly, she realizes too late. Luke is already rolling his eyes and brushing past her. She turns just in time to catch the keys he flings in her direction.

“Remember, no sex on the desks!”

He’s so fucking funny, Beca thinks.

  -----

 It’s not quite the greeting her father expects, but Beca thinks there are worse things to say than “I think I’m in love with a girl and it’s seriously messing me up.” 

Her father takes it remarkably well. “Oh, do I know her?” he asks, pouring her a cup of tea.

Beca wonders if that’s his attempt at a joke, but he doesn’t seem to be amused or making light of the situation at all. It’s his attempt to let her know that he does want to know about her life and he wants her to open up.

It’s a pattern in Beca’s life, it seems. Like she’s constantly missing these opportunities to connect – or reconnect – with people every so often.

She knows she’s difficult and she knows she’s hard around the edges, but Chloe makes her want to be better. Her entire experience at Barden this past year has made her want to be better.

Not that her father needs to know, but as she watches him and observes the lines around his eyes and mouth, she sees so much pain and regret. It manifested in her own vulnerability and insecurity, especially around the time her parents split up. She had been so sure that it had been easy for her father to leave – to pack his bags and leave. 

She sees now that it probably wasn’t easy. It didn’t excuse his actions – still doesn’t – that much Beca knows with one hundred percent certainty, but time really wears on people, especially those living with regrets. Chloe had always subtly tried to encourage her to talk to her father, or to at least agree to his attempts to meet up for coffee. Beca had brushed both of them off until eventually her father stopped asking and she had been pleased at the time. But she saw the same kind of familiar sadness in Chloe’s eyes whenever she contemplated Beca, like she knew Beca was lonely. 

Like she knew Beca was sad.

Beca sighs, reaching out to stop her father from adding sugar.

“I’ve missed you, you know.” 

He smiles, causing the crinkles around his eyes to turn up. “So tell me about this girl.”

  -----

 “Hey, you know good restaurants around here, right?” Beca asks, the moment Jesse picks up his phone. Her father’s advice had been surprisingly simple and sound: apologize and talk to Chloe. So that’s what she’s trying to do, but she’s going to do it with some nice take-out and a custom-created mix.

Something clatters in the background. “Beca, what ? Happy spring break to you too.”

“Around the school,” Beca continues a little impatiently. “Restaurants around the school.”

Jesse sighs. “Is this about Chloe?” he asks.

“Why would it be about Chloe?” is Beca’s defensive response. Jesse is silent. “Yes, this is about Chloe.”

“Are you going to take her out on a date ?” he asks, too happy for Beca’s liking. “Finally?” he continues. Beca can see his playful expression. She doesn’t hate it necessarily.

“I just want to do something nice for her,” she says.

Jesse laughs. “This is exactly the conversation I had with Chloe.”

“What? When?” This is news to Beca. She sits heavily, suddenly, already piecing things together despite Jesse’s loud guffaw right into her phone. “Shut up,” she insists. “When?”

“Oh man, it was right out of a movie. She always wanted to talk to me about the kinds of things she thought you would enjoy. And she used to ask me about my favorite places to hang on dates. I mean, I didn’t understand it at first, but I kind of saw you two making out when you both thought I had gone to get Luke a burger.”

Beca inhales indignantly. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“About your fraternizing with your coworker?” Jesse asks. Beca can hear the delight in his voice. “I mean, I always thought it’d be me, but the moment Chloe started working here, I knew I was finished.”

She can’t tell if he’s actually serious, but she’s suddenly laughing. Laughing like a purge of emotion because it makes complete sense. Chloe had been planning dates. So many dates and so many nights out. Never really just a casual, on-the-whim moment.

Chloe had always been laying down the foundation for them, always just waiting for Beca to catch up.

And now, to find Chloe.

  -----

 Aubrey looks at Beca like she thinks Beca is a particularly interesting piece of dust. She peers down at Beca and appears to delight in their (very slight) height difference.

“Chloe’s not here,” she says, her nose wrinkling. Beca privately thinks that she might be envisioning the last time she caught Beca and Chloe going at it on their living room couch. “You’re...Beca, right? Chloe talked about you a lot.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously, then, like perhaps Chloe hadn’t been talking about Beca a lot recently.

Beca tries to smile, but manages a grimace. “I...okay. I can wait until she gets back,” she offers.

“She’s not coming back.”

Beca’s eyes widen. “What?” she squeaks out, fear causing her tone to rise.

Aubrey’s eyes widen too. “No, no, I’m so sorry, I just meant that she won’t be back for a while.”

“Oh, I thought she was staying here for spring break,” Beca murmurs. “She said she was,” she says, pulling out her phone to see her last brief message exchange with Chloe a few days ago.

“She didn’t tell you?” Aubrey asks, her entire stance softening. She looks at the take-out in Beca’s hands and then looks at Beca’s face, as if determining her true intentions.

For once, Beca doesn’t feel afraid. She lets Aubrey assess her and stare straight at her. She hopes Aubrey can see her honesty and sincerity and, if she dares, affection and care for Chloe Beale.

Aubrey seems to like what she sees, at least enough to inform Beca that Chloe is in the hospital, recovering from her nodes operation.

For some reason (many reasons), that makes Beca cry.

  -----

 Beca makes a soft sound upon seeing Chloe sound asleep in the pristine hospital bed. As uncomfortable as the bed itself looks, Chloe looks peaceful - content even.

Somehow making the worst things a little brighter, Beca muses. She gently places the roses down on the window ledge before moving closer to Chloe. As she nears, she becomes more aware of all the various instruments about: the complicated machinery, the wires, tubing both unused and used, the metal – so much metal – lining various aspects of the room. All together, it’s not a pretty sight, but Chloe is safe. Chloe is alive. The surgery was a success. Beca can breathe again.

The sheets rustle and Beca's eyes dart back to Chloe who is staring back at her. Chloe blinks slowly, like the last dredges of sleep are slowly fading away.

“Hi,” Beca says weakly. “Hi. Oh God, you’re awake. Okay, uh–” Chloe points at the rolling table Beca had pushed aside and Beca belatedly notices the whiteboard and marker. “Oh, okay. Sorry, I’ll just…” She quickly snatches it up and presses them into Chloe’s hands. Chloe fixes her with an amused expression. “I’m just nervous,” Beca explains. 

Chloe is writing furiously on her whiteboard.

“I’m going to start with an apology because I’m probably the last person you want to see right now.”

Chloe glances up briefly to roll her eyes, shaking her head. You’re not, she mouths. 

But she still writes.

“Uh, okay. I’ll make this quick, so you can...um, drink water or something. I just want you to know that I’m so fucking sorry about everything. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen the way it did, starting right from the beginning. When you started working at the station and then everything that happened right after.

“Honesty, the way you make me feel is probably just a combination of the happiest I’ve ever been and terrified. More terrified than I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve never had any real kind of close relationships and I never thought I’d be able to feel close to anybody, not when I spent so much time trying to figure out how to leave.

“But something occurred to me,” Beca continues, trying to will her voice from cracking. “And I’m not, like, talking about while we were sleeping together or anything. Though, that was nice.” Chloe flashes her teeth at her in what Beca assumes is a silent laugh. “I realized that I don’t want to leave. Not for the next year at least. And I don’t know what that means for us or anything, but I want you to know that I like you more than a friend and I have for a while. I was just too afraid of my own damn feelings.”

Chloe coughs a little, some sound escaping her and causing her to wince. She smiles at Beca gratefully when she immediately hands her a glass of water from the side table, then picks her board back up again.

“What are you writing?” Beca asks nervously. “You’ve been writing a lot.”

Chloe looks a little teary-eyed, but she slowly flips the board over. 

The inscription is surrounded by dozens of hearts of varying sizes, finally underscored by a postscript.

Beca Mitchell, will you be my girlfriend (again)? Choose one. YES / NO p.s. you’re so cute when you’re nervous. And of course I forgive you, you dummy.

There is so much more Beca wants to say – so many more apologies and explanations. And she’s sure Chloe has more she wants to say as well. 

So she leans in instead and moves closer for a quick kiss. At the last minute, she thinks better of the idea because she’s unsure if Chloe’s allowed to engage in kissing so soon after her surgery. She kisses Chloe’s cheek instead, letting her lips linger for as long as she dares. Chloe shivers a little when Beca pulls back and Beca is surprised to note that her eyes are wet. 

“What?” Beca asks, nervous again.

Chloe taps the board impatiently.

“Oh. Duh, yes.” She quickly grabs the marker and circles the yes. Chloe grins at her, pulling her in for a kiss to Beca’s cheek of her own.

The touch is tender and gentle, a far cry from their very first kiss.

Beca has never felt anything better.

fin.

[paint-pilot]

shit it’s been a second, guess it’s time to update again

edit: holy christ this is long, i’m gonna readmore it. tl:dr tyler has many badweird feelings but is getting through it. fun body changes, including hair growth and an unexpectedly nice voice. surgery and legal matters are Annoying. tw for menstruation

it is truly bizarre to think that i’ll have been five months on t in a little under two weeks. another month after that and it’s half a year. it’s uhh...weird. quarantine has just made this all feel weird. it’s like i fast-forwarded through this whole journey i was supposed to go on i guess? like i got randomly torn out of my life one day in march with no warning and then just as suddenly got spat out in august with a new life - new name, new face, new major, new identity - and no transitional period whatsoever. my classmates, my professors, my students, they all have only known me as tyler. and only ever will know me as tyler. and that’s great! it’s great, and i’m truly just blown away by how markedly easy it’s been and how weirdly good my timing was in transitioning. but it almost feels like i’m still a ways behind everyone else, i guess. i’ve spent so much of my life hiding, and lying through my teeth, and covering my ass every second of every day to protect myself, and i don’t have to do that anymore but the instinct is 100% still there and that honestly doesn’t feel good. of course i’m not making any of it up - i’m happier now than i’ve ever been, and i know i’m making the right choice - but it still persistently keeps feeling that way.

it’s just difficult, i think, to balance wanting to be read as male (and, to a large extent, wanting to keep my transness hidden both for safety reasons and so people don’t start treating me differently) and finding it difficult to hide this truly massive life change that, like, four people are really seeing anything of. and y’all, i guess, lol. it’s one thing to talk about all this in therapy, but it’s another entirely to just be able to share it with strangers and not worry about it being weird.

i was writing this with the intent of it being a mostly happy update but i guess there is some negativity boiling up so. gotta be honest, i guess? there’s a lot of fun trauma stuff i’ve been going through lately that i won’t get into but it’s culminated with this bullshit in this really fun way where my mom gets upset because i get kind of uncomfortable when she shows me childhood photos or tells stories about me as a little kid and then i just break down for reasons i really can’t discern. i’m going to try and articulate this, and who knows how messy it’s going to get, so i apologize if it gets kind of incoherent from here on out. as far as i can tell the root thing that she really gets upset about is that i’ve “thrown away” my whole previous identity. like, not a direct quote, but “you can’t just pretend [deadname] never existed. because she did, for a long time.” and...sure, i guess. i know this has been hard on my mom. i know she was raised in a conservative family, and while she has worked hard to adopt an accepting and open mindset she still doesn’t 100% grasp all of it and will make mistakes. i’ve made my peace with that. and yet. it’s not so much, really, that i was this other person and then became tyler, y’know? tyler did not appear suddenly two years ago where she once stood. tyler put on a mask, even before he knew he was tyler, because tyler was scared and ashamed but people seemed to like her and, for a time, she was an easy person to be. and i hated her. that is so fucking scary for me to say, and i’m not sure i’ve admitted that until literally right this second, but i did. not because she was a bad person. because she had a voice and a face and a body that i hated. because people saw her and assumed they knew me. because even she had many faces, because there was no real base or identity to her, just traits designed to paint a pretty picture and make people like her. because i knew, when i finally threw her away, people would miss her. compare me to her. expect me to be like her.

so i don’t know. i don’t have a satisfying way to wrap this up, because i honestly don’t know how to face this because i know it is absolutely not just the trans thing that created this situation. i’m kinda warring with myself, because i do kinda want to go back through this blog and delete photos of myself with long hair and whatever (because jesus, i’ve had this thing since i was like 14) but i genuinely don’t know if that’s healthy. i know i’m going back on my bullshit, fretting this way and that over whether something is “healthy” as though that’s an objective term without considering what’s going to make me happy, but honestly? i don’t know anymore. i keep sensing the mental block - the swathes of my childhood that i cannot recall, just vague, constant unease - and i don’t really know if i want to dig into all of that and learn what lies underneath because i’m sort of afraid of it. like i said, i’m happy now, happier than i’ve ever been, and i’d sort of like to just leave it like that. but i guess the length and tone of this post might argue otherwise.

anyways. anyways. enough mental health therapy, more actual hormone therapy updates since that’s what this goddamn thing is supposed to be i think? i’m finally starting to grow some noticeable hairs - my chin hair is coming back after my mom made me shave it before i left for school lol, as are a handful of mustache/lower lip/sideburn hairs. i keep feeling phantom bugs on my legs/feet and i’ve only just now recognized that that’s just leg hairs brushing against places i’m not used to. my appetite has picked up like absolute hell again, too, so i don’t know if i’m just having a metabolic spurt or what. also, i’ve started bruising more? idk what the hell that’s about - i fucking never bruise unless i’ve been hit Hard, and i kind of assumed testosterone would make you less likely to bruise, but then that’s probably just not related to the hormones at all. i was gonna put this in the tags but seeing as this post is already so long i might as well put a readmore and just put this here lol: my period is late, like, four days late, which is exceedingly unusual for me and might mean i’m finally done. or almost done. fingers crossed.

my voice has started to settle, it seems like. i popped out an e2 yesterday, which is Sick, but i’m not as focused on that anymore as i am on the actual quality of my tone. which is...good? i’m not just a baritone, i’m kind of a good one, at least it seems like. i’m really working right now on just getting familiar with my instrument - i’m second-guessing my pitch sensitivity a lot, but i think i really just need to drill and practice until everything starts feeling like second nature again. but since the musical didn’t happen for me, my coach wants to enter me in a classical solo competition next spring. so...no more retirement from competitive singing. i’m back! and thank god, because i’m starting to go crazy without being in musical work lol.

jesus fuck, i have a lot to say. i should probably split this into two posts but i don’t care. i am frustrated; i tried to get an appointment with a pro bono legal program for a name change, but it happened today and i wasn’t invited so apparently i’m on my own. and i’m frustrated. i’m trying to look at internships and shit for next summer, but i kind of can’t apply right now because my legal name and sex don’t line up with my presentation, and i don’t really know how easy it is to get away with that in this day and age and especially in my field. genuinely, if anyone has any advice, i’d appreciate it. i don’t know how long this will take, i don’t know what the requirements are, i don’t know if i’m better off just applying now and hoping they don’t eliminate me before ever getting me an interview. and, of course, i’m working on getting consultations for top surgery, but i keep catching myself procrastinating that. which seems weird, but listen. i’ve said it before but i have to emphasize, i am capital-t Terrified of getting this surgery. i know i need to, i know it will make things better for me, i know now is the time, i know i hate binding and can’t really get away with not doing so, but jesus fuck i am so frightened of anesthesia it’s not even funny. but i guess i’m mostly just calling myself out here and telling myself to quit being a big baby, schedule the thing, and give myself a few months to prepare.

anyway. that’s all i have to say. i’d apologize for ranting, but honestly...i dunno. i know at the start of all this a handful of you requested these updates, and i have to imagine it’s because at least some of you are transitioning, are thinking of doing so, or know someone who is or will be soon. and i just hope someone out there can at least relate, because there honestly just aren’t a lot of comparable life changes out there. or maybe this is just therapeutic for me, that’s fine too.

i have two midterms next week i should be studying for. i should do that.

[hide-the-cutlery]

The next two days are going to suck.

I’m out of pills. Well, not completely out. I have about 8 of my anxiety pills left — to last me 3 weeks. I’m supposed to take 3 a day. So I have those, and some otc pills that take me out of myself a little, but I have to be careful with those, because, for me, they can trigger panic. I can pick up my pain meds in 2 days, but they usually makes me puke. I thought I was doing better this month with my usage, but I guess not. Then there’s more anxiety pills that supposedly help with my alcohol cravings, which aren’t a controlled substance, so I can probably get those next week. None of this really matters, because I don’t have shit now.

I’m so medicated. Even if I took everything as prescribed, I’d probably be an incoherent mess. I’m a master manipulator with doctors, which I’m simultaneously proud of and ashamed of. I know how to get what I want, within reason. It’s all about building a rapport with them and finding that sweet spot where they believe you need what you’re getting and never trying to push for more. I tried a few times to get another of my anxiety pills a day, but my psychiatrist pushed back and changed something else instead, so I knew I had to drop it.

What boggles my mind is that I’m a fucking alcoholic (addict), and these medical professionals still throw potentially dangerous, addicting medication at me. What pisses me off is how much they don’t listen. I saw my psychiatrist yesterday and brought a list of things I wanted to talk about with him, since the appointments go so fast. I wanted to explain my racing thoughts keeping me from completing simple tasks. My complete lack of impulse control. My delusional beliefs that the universe is trying to get back at me for being a shitty person. That I’ll stay up all night (sometimes for 2-3 nights in a row) and do things like clean. Even if I lay down, turn off everything, and pray for sleep, I just can’t. The fact that I didn’t finish my cleaning (or whatever I started) gets in my head and makes rest impossible. His solution? Let’s increase your seroquel again.

Scary things are starting to happen. Sometimes I go on a “bender” in a store(s), and I don’t remember when, how, what I got, etc. My memory needs to be jogged sometimes. This past time I got twelve bottles of body wash, for a total of 29. And that’s not including hairspray, hair gel, hair accessories, dry shampoo, lotion, makeup, nail polish, and a fuckton of clothes. I am out of control. It’s funny — I want to lose a little more weight (I just lost ~25lbs), but then all the clothes I’ve acquired won’t fit, so the fruits of my labor will be spoiled. I’ll have to start over. That is literally my thought process, and it’s so fucked. Stores know me. They watch me. They follow me. They know my fucking name and know what I do. And honestly, I just don’t care. I mean I care because I don’t want to get caught again, but the odds are seemingly in my favor. Even the LP woman where I actually got the cops called on me said “we’ve been watching you a long time, but you’re too good.” Not saying that as something to brag about, just recalling what happened. Also, I recognize when someone is trying to manipulate me. She was trying to get me to confess to other things because what they must have had on me would never hold up in court. I am not stupid. I don’t know what I did that time to allow them to catch me, but clearly I slipped up somewhere. Either that, or they just went with it, hoping I’d confess. Which I did. I cooperated; hopefully it helps me in the end. I was watching trashy tv this morning, and a woman mentioned she went to jail for two months for petty theft. The host of the show even seemed shocked by that. Maybe she had priors or other factors that played into it. But yeah, I can’t go to jail! It’s not an excuse, and if you look at my actions alone, yeah, maybe I deserve to go to jail, too. But (prepare yourself for some massive excuses) I’m sick. I don’t do it because I want material things. I don’t think I am above the law. I’m not trying to make some pathetic stand against capitalism. I just can’t control my impulses, and I’m sick. I’m working with my therapist, my psychiatrist (at least I make an effort to), and some women in AA to get help, and nothing is working. I thought after I got caught, I’d stop, and for a while, I did. But that apparently wasn’t enough, either. It’s a compulsion — fighting it is futile. It actually started out as excessive spending, but I ran out of the means to keep that up, so now it’s this. I know it’s because of my issues with addiction and mental health. I don’t see it any differently than drinking, drug use, sex, or whatever. It’s an alternative to drinking. I can’t do that anymore, so this filled the void. Every time I have spent money excessively or done this, I haven’t been drinking. The object of my addiction (for me, at least), bounces around until I can’t do that thing anymore, and my brain holds up a sign that says NEXT in glowing, red letters. Like a “no vacancy” sign at a shitty motel.

I know before I went on that little tangent, I was listing some things that are scaring me. Sometimes, after I wake up, I’ll check my phone and find that I tried to write, but it’s total jibberish. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing time. I don’t know where the days go; I wake up and (try to) go to bed. I’ll start to do something, my mind will go blank, and I won’t remember what I was doing. I’m stumbling all over the place. I’ll try to have conversations (usually in the morning), and I’ll be able to hear myself slurring. I seem to talk without thinking. An example: I’ll be in a room with only one other person, talking to them, but it will feel like part of myself has separated from me and is screaming “You LIAR! Shut the fuck up! That’s not true and you know it. Quit pulling things out of your ass and tell the fucking truth. Drop the whole facade; you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, nor do you believe what you’re saying. You’re pathetic. Spineless. You’re fake.” I swear I couldn’t pick myself out of a lineup sometimes.

I feel that third presence with me frequently, but recently it hit a new level of intensity. I had a few job interviews a couple weeks ago and I found myself exaggerating the truth so much that it made me feel uncomfortable. All I could hear in my head was “LIAR LIAR LIAR”. (And forcing myself to make unwavering eye contact made me feel ill.) I tried to tell myself that’s just how interviews go, and that they weren’t really lies at all, just maybe a few embellishments, but I cannot listen to myself when I’m being rational. Irrationality is really all I know lately. I ended up taking a position with a company that seemed sketchy as hell, but I was desperate. I’m tired of being broke and needed the money so badly that it would have been absolutely foolish of me to decline the offer. The me who showed up to those interviews and got hired was not the me who showed up on the first day. The embellishments and feigned self-confidence were gone — all that was left was pitiful, anxious me with one foot out the door in case I had a panic attack and who won’t look you in the face, much less make eye contact. The more and more I learned about the position and the company, the more I wanted out. It turned out to be door-to-door sales, which was not how the job was described in the interviews. If there ever were a job that wasn’t for me, that’d be it. The leader of my team obviously noticed and basically let me quit. So I’m back to being unemployed. Oh well, it was a life lesson. I’m also back to being broke (not that I ever wasn’t). I didn’t even get paid for my training! I’m doing worse and worse things to get a few bucks here and there. It’s shameful. I would have declined the position on the spot, but my family is pushing me so hard to go back to work full time that I couldn’t in good conscience say thanks, but no thanks. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t think I’m ready. Sadly, you can’t look at someone and see what’s going on in their mind. If they could do that, I’m pretty sure they’d back off. I’ve been telling them I have to make my own decisions, and my priority is getting some help with my mental health. That didn’t really go over well. They think I’m capable because I had my shit (somewhat) together a few years ago, but it’s not a few years ago anymore. I’m still recovering and struggling. The tension in this house is almost tangible, and it’s completely my fault. Well, it’s my fault in the sense that I’m not where they want or expect me to be. It’s not that I don’t want to work or contribute financially. I do. I want a normal existence, but “this life I loathe is in my way”.

So because of all this, I’ve decided to look at getting a complete psych evaluation. I’ve never been given any kind of diagnoses aside from issues with depression, anxiety, and substance abuse. I know that’s not all that’s going on. I’ve had potential diagnoses thrown around like bipolar disorder, BDP, OCD tendencies, suppressed memories of trauma... I’m sure the pills don’t help (“but it sure is funny”). I take them because I can’t handle day to day functioning. Every day it feels like there’s a crisis, and I’ve felt this way long before I ever took a swig of vodka or popped some pills. When I discovered those things, nothing seemed as intense anymore. I stopped jumping at my own shadow. No wonder I’m an addict.

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Five

“She found herself able to answer her question of ‘why not’ rather quickly. Why not? Because sitting across from Drew, eating (excessively delicious and perfectly spiced) pasta, felt like a date. Or at least, what she imagined a date might feel like. She’d never been on one, and sappy movies annoyed her to no end so she couldn’t say for sure, but it certainly seemed like one.”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Four

Dwelling Chapter Six

Grease dripped down her fingers, the cheese burned her tongue, and even one slice of pizza made her stomach hurt after so many years without such greasy foods. It was the best meal she’d ever had. 

Even though she felt like she devoured her slice, Drew somehow managed to finish before her. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, staring down at the table. 

“Hm?”

“If you,” he hesitated, and started tapping his fingers on the table. “If you wanted to stay, for a little while longer, you can. I don’t have an awful lot of money, but… well. I mean, I think it’s better than being on the streets, right? So if you wanted to, you can stay and… Editing my work could be your way of repaying me, I suppose.”

Shea held back a sigh of relief. At least now she didn’t have to ask him. “Yeah. Better than being on the streets,” she agreed awkwardly. “Um. Thanks, Drew.”

“We should… I get paid on Monday, and we’ll have to get groceries, but we can put whatever’s leftover towards getting you some new clothes. Sorry, you’ll have to wait another day.”

She just nodded, uncomfortable with being taken care of after so much time spent trying to act independent, and they lapsed into a long silence, not awkward but not comfortable either, until they made it back to Drew’s apartment.

She sat down on the chair to begin reading her books, while he disappeared into his bedroom. As she started on the second chapter he returned, standing in front of her. Though part of her noticed him, she didn’t actually look up until he cleared his throat. 

“For you,” he said, passing over a set of keys. “They’re my spare set. This one is to the building, and this is to the apartment itself. Since you’re staying here and all now.”

“Do I still have to answer questions to get food?”

He smirked. “Maybe sometimes.”

“I’m not telling you my last name.”

“Well, what’s your middle name, then?”

“Marie,” she said with a shrug. Her middle name held no attachment to Shego. 

“Oh.” He looked surprised that she actually answered. 

“What’s yours?”

He quickly shook his head. “No way.”

“Is that because your middle name is embarrassing or because I won’t tell you my last name?”

“One and one.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve got two middle names, one of which is embarrassing, the other I won’t tell you until I know your last name.”

“Fair enough.”

Drew nodded and sat down on the couch to resume grading papers. They sat in amicable silence, save for the scratching of Drew’s pen, and the turning of pages in Shea’s book. Occasionally Drew interrupted her reading to ask her to write a word down for him, or check his spelling. That kind of thing from her brothers would have driven her crazy, but for some reason it didn’t bother her at all, coming from him. Maybe because helping him meant she was allowed to stay with him.

After several hours of this, Shea finished her book. She saw the ending coming but in a sort of way that made her feel proud of being clever, rather than annoyed that things were too obvious. She glanced over towards Drew, who she hadn’t realized had stopped writing. He clutched his head between his hands, his glasses abandoned on the table. 

“You okay?”

“Mmph. Headache.”

“Is that from reading too much?” He nodded, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “When do you need those graded by?”

“Ideally tomorrow, so I have time to get everything in the grade book before class.”

“How many do you have left?”

“Five.” He picked up the stack shuffling the pages between his fingers as they fell back to the table. “Maybe six.”

“Do you want me to help you? Or do you want to finish them later?”

He finally peeled his hands away from his eyes and placed his glasses back on. “I’ll finish them later.” He stood up from the couch and stretched, his back and neck audibly popping. “How’s your book?”

“It was good.”

He blinked at her. “You finished it already?”

Shea shrugged. “I’m a fast reader. What are you gonna do now?”

“Make dinner. You don’t have any allergies or anything do you?” She shook her head and he asked, “How do you feel about pesto pasta?” “Sounds good to me. Do you… I mean, I’m a terrible cook, but if you want help, I’ll help you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, actually. I like to cook.”

“You really are such a mom.”

“Whatever. At least I’m not green.”

“Hey!” Shea shouted after him, trying not to laugh as he escaped behind the counter and into the kitchen. He kept his head down, but she could see him snickering. With great difficulty, she ignored the impulse to throw a plasma ball at him. “It’s rude to make fun of the way people look, Drew!”

Ignoring her, he called back, “how are you with spice?”

She rolled her eyes and settled back down in her chair. “The hotter the better.” She plucked the next book off her pile and opened it. Though she started off with the intention of actually reading, she ended up watching Drew cook, instead.

Just like earlier that morning, she noticed that he moved as if ready to start dancing. His whole body seemed to sway, constantly. It was actually kind of nice to watch, soothing in some odd way- like a lava lamp. Part of her felt like turning on some music and getting him to really dance. She ignored that thought and listened as he hummed some song that she didn’t recognize under his breath, bobbing his head along with the tune.

“What is that?” she asked, after trying unsuccessfully to place the tune. 

“Oh- it’s um. It’s Fancy-Free. You know, from the movie. D’you like chicken?.”

“I didn’t see it. And yeah, chickens fine.” 

“How could you have missed it? It’s incredible!”

“I like horror movies better.” Drew visibly cringed, and she failed to hold back a laugh. “What? Don’t tell me they scare you!”

“I just don’t like blood is all.” He sounded like he might be sick just thinking about it. “I’m not scared.”

“So demons and ghosts and monsters? That stuff’s fine?” 

“I- I guess. I don’t- I guess it’s fine,” he stammered, sounding more and more nervous with each word. He dropped two well-seasoned pieces of chicken onto a grill pan on the stove. They sizzled, causing Drew to smile ever so slightly. 

“Cool,” Shea said, not bothering to hold back a smirk. “Next time we go to the library we should rent a horror movie, something good and creepy like The Exorciser.” 

The last bits of color drained out of Drew’s face, as he gave her a stare like a deer caught in headlights. She felt a laugh bubbling in her throat as she stared back, and forced it down. She needed to see how he would react to her challenging him like this. Well, she didn’t need to, technically, but she sure wanted to. 

“Erm- you know, I’ve got plenty of other movies. We could always watch those.”

She nodded. “Well, yeah, obviously. I still want to watch The Exorciser, sometime soon.”

He grumbled out a number of incoherent sounds, before snapping his jaw shut and turning back to his cooking just in time to stop the water from boiling over.

“Okay, next time we can get it,” he mumbled, while he scooped the pasta into two separate bowls. When he finished cutting up the chicken and adding it to the bowls, she jumped up to take her place on the counter. “Did you- we can eat at the table, if you’d prefer.”

“Sure, why not?” Shea slid back off the counter, took her bowl from his hands and followed him to the small square table at the opposite end of the kitchen. She found herself able to answer her question of ‘why not’ rather quickly. Why not? Because sitting across from Drew, eating (excessively delicious and perfectly spiced) pasta, felt like a date. Or at least, what she imagined a date might feel like. She’d never been on one, and sappy movies annoyed her to no end so she couldn’t say for sure, but it certainly seemed like one. 

 To say the least, she finally, actually, felt a little awkward. For his part, Drew didn’t seem to notice. “Good?” he asked after a few long silent moments spent shoveling food into their mouths.

“Yeah. Really good. Where’d you-” Shea cleared her throat and tried again, “where’d you learn to cook?”

“My mother. Well, in a way.”

“What does that mean?”

“First promise that if you ever meet my mother you’ll never tell her what I’m about to tell you.” He held his hand out to her, pinky extended like a child making a schoolyard promise not to tell the teacher she did something bad. She rolled her eyes but linked her pinky with his anyway. He leaned across the table, and, as if he were telling her his most sacred secret, whispered, “she’s a terrible cook. I mean, her food is unedible.”

“Inedible,” she corrected.

His shoulders slumped and he glared at her for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever. My point is, she can’t cook. But I’ve always liked food, so I started offering to help. And I started experimenting. And I suppose since cooking is just chemistry, I took to it rather quickly. Within a few weeks, I had essentially taken over in the kitchen, and continued to be the primary chef in the household until I first left for college.” A distant, dreamy sort of smile took over his face. “My mother insists she’s a good cook, but she’s always rather pleased to have me take over when I go home.”

“My mom used to try and get me to help when she made dinners, but every time I did something went wrong. Once everyone got food poisoning, and we never knew why because we literally just made veggie fried rice. How old were you when you started cooking?”

“Bad veggies, maybe. And I suppose I was about…” Drew’s voice trailed off as he thought. Under his breath, quiet enough that she wasn’t sure how she heard him, he muttered, “Dad was still around, so…” Then louder, “I must have been around seven or eight when I actually took over in the kitchen.”

“Seriously? You were cooking on your own when you were that little?”

He nodded. “It’s a wonder my mother ever let me. She and my father bickered for weeks about the dangers of removing the training wheels from my bicycle.” Laughing he added, “you can imagine their surprise when my father finally took them off, and I rode perfectly fine. I’d been sneaking off to ride my cousins' bike long before the argument even began.”

She started laughing herself, as she told him, “Merrick, my younger older brother, learned to ride his bike after I did. I was a pretty stubborn kid so I just kinda taught myself one day. The next day he practically begged me to teach him. We lived on a hill, so I took him to the top of the street, promised I’d walk him down slowly the first time, and then I pushed him. He went crying to our parents once he reached the bottom, despite the fact that he figured out how to ride the bike on his way down. He didn’t have so much as a scratch to show off, he just likes attention.” 

“That’s evil,” Drew gasped out between laughs. Something in her brain twitched at that. How odd, to be called evil after so many years of literally being a superhero. Even more odd, was the fact that the way he said it made her feel sort of proud. “I mean, that’s like Evil Enchantress from the East levels of evil.”

“Is that a jab at the green skin thing?”

He grinned at her, and she realized the awkwardness she’d felt when they first started eating had completely faded. “Not intentionally, though I suppose it fits.”

She flicked a piece of chicken at him. “Shut up.”

“Hey! You got pesto on my glasses,” he protested. His face fell into a pout as he pulled the glasses off his face to wipe them clean. 

“Evil Enchantress from the East is from The Warlock of Zo, right?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that either!”

“I did when I was a kid!”

“You still are a kid!”

“I’m sixteen!”

“I was in college at your age, but I was still a kid.”

She groaned. “Yeah, yeah, the super-genius was in college at fifteen. You’re five years older than me, Lipsky. At least I’m not afraid of a little bit of blood.”

The lingering smirk fell away from his lips, as his face flushed. “At least my cooking’s never given anyone food poisoning,” he countered, meekly. 

“Okay, okay. Point to you. I was right though, right? It is Warlock of Zo?”

“Yes. I think I have a copy, actually.”

“So, you don’t count yourself as a kid anymore, yeah?”

“Well, no. Besides, by legal definitions I am actually an adult, unlike you.”

“Then what’s with the kids' movies, huh? You’re an adult living on your own, watching The Warlock of Zo?”

“It’s a good movie,” he yelped, his voice squeaking awkwardly. He cleared his throat, and continued in a more normal tone, “besides, it’s nostalgic.”

She sighed to disguise her laugh, and in an attempt to drown out the thoughts of how cute he was when he got flustered. “You’re a weird guy, Drew.”

“Nygh! Says the girl who catches on fire!”

She held one burning hand up in a half-shrug. “Yeah, so I got freaky glowing hands. What’re you gonna do?” She let the flame die, and went to take another bite of her dinner, only to find that she’d already eaten every bite. “Weird or not, I gotta say you’re a damn good cook.”

“Oh, well, yes. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Watching him blush again, Shea started to suspect that he was as unused to being complimented as she was. For all intents and purposes, creepy old men tracking the number of days that went by before they could technically legally have sex with her did not count as a compliment.

Ignoring her thoughts, she suddenly found herself asking, “what happened to your dad?” Even as the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back, or that her brain had at least given her some sort of chance to think through the words before she spoke.

“Oh.” Drew glanced down at the table, lacing his fingers together. “I’d rather not talk about all that, actually. Maybe… maybe at some point, but just… not right now.”

“Okay, yeah. That’s um… that’s fine.” Instantly two conclusions came to mind. Either he never liked his father, words like abuse came quickly to mind, or something tragic had happened, that Drew didn’t want to talk about with her. “If you- if you ever change your mind, I guess.” She didn’t finish her sentence, but he nodded anyway.

“Thank you. It’s just… it’s a lot to explain, really. And I don’t usually prefer to.”

“Have you ever gone to therapy?” Again, she hated herself for talking. It took all her willpower not to literally slap a hand over her mouth. 

Thankfully, he just laughed. “I cook with pots and pans that I took from students planning on throwing them away at the end of each year and I can’t even afford to buy clothes that actually fit properly. I certainly can’t afford a therapist, whether it may help me or not.” 

“Fair point.” Desperate to change the subject before she embarrassed herself any further she said, “Um, I can do the dishes, I guess. Since you cooked. If you want.” 

“That seems fair enough. You just have to rinse the pot and the bowls out, but otherwise, everything can go into the dishwasher.” 

She stood up, nodding at his instructions, and took both their bowls back into the kitchen. From the corner of her eye, she watched him stand up and walk back into the living room. 

“Do you, um… Would you like to watch a movie?”

She did, actually, desperately. Some part of her screamed that this was exactly how the night needed to go. Nonetheless, she responded, “got anything better than kid stuff?”

“Ny- gah, zip it! We could watch Fancy-Free since you’ve never seen it.”

She stuffed the grill pan into the dishwasher and turned around to face him. “It sounds so boring though.”

“Aw c’mon, Shea! It’s really good!”

“Let’s strike a deal.”

Immediately he looked suspicious and worried. “What kind of a deal?” he asked. She could see him shrinking in on himself, his shoulders slumping, his arms wrapping around his chest. 

“If I watch this with you tonight, you actually have to watch The Exorciser with me, when we get it. You can’t just leave me to watch it on my own.”

“You’re not scared of watching it on your own, are you?” She could tell that he was trying to tease her, but his voice came out so small that she couldn’t even bother to pretend to take his mocking seriously. 

“Course not. I just think watching you act like a baby about will be funny.”

“You’re really such a pest,” he groaned. “Alright, fine. Deal. Since I know you’d make me watch it either way.”

“True.”

When he stood up to set up the movie, she stole his seat on the couch, not knowing why she felt inclined to do so. She watched him as he scanned the shelves full of movies, part of her secretly hoping he wouldn’t find it, the other part of her sincerely worried that he wouldn’t. Eventually, he did find it, and he practically bounced with excitement as he turned it on.

When he finally turned back around he took a startled step back upon seeing her in his spot. “I was sitting there,” he pointed out.

“Didn’t call dibs.”

“What?”

Gah, he was such an only child. “You didn’t call dibs,” she said with a shrug. “Seats open to anyone if you don’t call dibs.”

“Pest.”

“Dork.”

“Oh, just shush and watch the movie, will you?” She snickered but nodded. He hesitated for a moment with his hand hovering over the light switch. “Is it alright if I turn the lights off?”

“All movies are better in the dark. Especially the boring ones, so you can fall asleep.”

“Ngh- I’d keep them on if you weren’t right that movies are better in the dark.”

He sat down again, not on the chair like she’d half expected, but on the other side of the couch. Though it had been true throughout most of the time they’d spent together, Shea had a moment of clarity in which she realized that he was close enough for her to touch. And not just touch as in ‘she could reach him’ but touch as in ‘if she leaned in a little she could rest her head on his shoulder, or grab a hold of his hand’. She hated how much she wanted to do that, and hated, even more, the fact that she knew she probably wouldn’t.

She yelled at her mind to just shut up, as the movie started. Immediately she recognized the opening song as the one Drew had been humming. And immediately, he began singing along. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him happily bopping along to the music. And actually, he had a fairly decent voice.

There were two things she’d hated about the movie, Shea realized as the end credits began to scroll across the screen. The first was that, despite her trying not to think about it, she was still very aware of the empty space between herself and Drew.

The second issue was even worse. “Damn it,” she sighed, as he turned to face her, a stupid grin on his face. “You were right,” she confessed before he even had the chance to ask. “I liked it.”

“I told you so,” he laughed, the stupid grin growing even wider. “I told you it’s a good movie. And you thought you’d fall asleep.”

Just to alleviate some of the desire to touch him that her body seemed to feel, she reached over and pushed his shoulder, enough to jostle him without hurting. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting all giddy on me. The Exorciser is still gonna be better.”

And just like that, the smile vanished. “Well, um, we’ll… we’ll find out, I suppose.” 

She shook her head. “Nah, I already know it’s better.”

“I don’t believe you, but a deal’s a deal. At least we have to wait a while to get it,” he added under his breath. 

“Or we could go back tomorrow. After all, you only have a few tests left to grade.” She’d been joking, but when his gaze shot to hers, all wild and frightened, she realized that it was more fun to make him think she was serious.  

“No,” he quickly burst out. “No, I’m sure there was something else I had to do. I mean, yes, I have to finish grading the tests. And then I have to put all the grades into the grade book. Of course, I’ve got my own homework to do as well. And now that I’m cooking for two instead of one, that’s going to take more time. I’ll have to make up a meal plan for the week, too, so that I know what to get at the grocery store tomorrow, and-”

She held a hand up, and his rambling stopped. “Sounds to me like we’ll have plenty of time to swing by the library.”

“Nygh, no. No, we definitely won’t.”

“Grading and homework will go by a lot faster now that I’m here to help. You’ll be done before you know it.” She tried, and she was fairly certain failed, to suppress a grin at his growing panic. 

“But-but-but,” he stammered, seeming unable to get any further. He wiped his palms off on his jeans. As she had earlier that morning she snapped his suspenders against his chest. “Ow! Would you quit doing that?” 

“Hey, it worked.”

“Worked to do what?” Drew demanded, rubbing at his chest. “Hurt?”

“Worked to make you remember how to talk,” she said, laughing. It took him a moment, but he laughed a bit, too. “Really though, if we have the time to pick it up, wouldn’t you rather just get it over with?”

“Erm… fine,” he groaned. “I guess you’re right.”

“I almost always am.”

“You weren’t right about Fancy-Free.”

“I said almost always!”

He nodded slowly, and yawned, popping his jaw. He glanced at the clock, which Shea saw read well past midnight, then screwed his eyes shut, and leaned backwards, just enough to rest his head against the back of the couch. 

“I’m tired,” he said, without any real emotion behind the statement. 

“Baby.”

“Pest.”

“Dork.”

He lazily grabbed a pillow and smacked her with it with almost no force behind the swing. “Runaway brat.”

She laughed, pushing the pillow back away from herself, and mimicked him, leaning her head back against the couch. She found that she felt pretty tired too, all of a sudden. Once her eyes were shut, she didn’t really want to open them again. 

“We should probably go to bed,” she murmured.

“Mm-hmm.”

Neither one of them moved. After another minute or so of silence, she managed to pry one eye open to see that his head had fallen forward, his chin resting against his chest. His glasses dangled precariously off the end of his nose, threatening to fall off at any moment.

“Drew?” she whispered. He didn’t respond, so she poked his arm. He, again, didn’t respond, but a moment later she heard a soft snore. She yawned, and already defending the choice to herself, she gently pried the glasses off his face and placed them neatly on the table. Just so they wouldn’t fall and break, she told herself. 

She meant to stand up. She really did. But a minute passed, and she didn’t move. Another minute passed, and her head practically fell back against the couch again. Not even another minute passed and Shea heard Drew murmur something incomprehensible in his sleep before she drifted off beside him.

[queenofcats17]

Outbreak 3

@bornoffireandwisdom had a few more ideas about Outbreak, so I’m writing more!

I apologize that this took so long. 

This Murray belongs to @circus-craze

In retrospect, Murray Hill should never have taken this job. He should have known from the moment Joey made his pitch how this would end. He was being tasked with creating what was essentially an ink based zombie plague, with Joey at the helm of the hivemind it would create. But Joey had talked about making a family and breaking the bonds of death so that humanity could transcend. And as a scientist, Murray’s usual motivation did tend to be, ‘I wonder what would happen if I did this?’ His curiosity was hard to satiate and thus had blinded him to the sinister undertone to Joey’s words. He’d charged ahead without a thought as to the consequences of his actions. By the time he realized he’d made a mistake...he was in too deep. 

He really should have realized sooner that he wasn’t in the right, what with all the screaming and the crying. The employees he’d rounded up to experiment on, those who weren’t corrupted that was, were clinging to one another and sobbing. Some railed against their fates, spitting curses at Murray in languages he didn’t recognize. 

“You’re a monster!” One, a band member, screaming as they struggled against their bonds. 

“Progress requires sacrifice,” Murray mumbled off-handedly, using one gloved hand to flip over the employee he was studying. His current specimen was one of the inker girls in the last stages of the infection. She had a large gash in her side that was still bleeding, although the blood was quickly turning black. 

“Progress?!” The band member snapped. “You call this progress?!”

“It will be.” Murray glanced back at the band member. They were pale and sweating profusely, just barely holding on. They looked awful. 

“What do you think will happen when everyone here is corrupted?” The band member asked, their lip curling in a sneer. “Do you seriously think Drew’s going to let you share your great discovery with the world? You think he’s going to let you publish papers about this?”

“I doubt he’d want to keep this discovery a secret.” Murray laughed, although it sounded rather uncomfortable. He honestly was a little uncomfortable with this situation. The band member looked practically on death’s door by this point. Their breath was coming in gasps, as though they couldn’t get enough air. They watched Murray intently, face twisting in irritation and rage. 

“You’re either too stupid to see you’re being used or a stone-cold psychopath.” They spat ink at Murray’s feet. 

“I’m not being used!” Murray said indignantly. 

“The second you’re not useful anymore...” The band member lifted their gaze to meet Murray’s, forcing the scientist to watch as the ink slowly consumed them. “You’ll end up just like us.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Murray scoffed, turning back to the inker girl on the table. “He wouldn’t do that to me.” But...would he? Joey had said this whole thing was about creating a family, finding a way to defeat death. This sure didn’t look like a family, though. 

“Mama.” The inker girl whimpered, her breath coming in quick gasps. Her voice was small and afraid. Murray felt his stomach begin to drop.

“I’m not a monster,” Murray said to himself, laughing nervously. “I-I’m not. I can’t be.” The inker girl began to vomit out ink, whimpering and crying as she did. God, she was so young. She couldn’t be more than 18. She was practically a child. She probably had a family that was going to miss her. An icy weight developed in Murray’s stomach. 

“Oh my god...” He took a step back. “What am I doing?” This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake. How had he not seen this before?! He felt like he was going to be sick.

“I have to get out of here.” He made for the door but stopped in the doorway. He couldn’t run. Joey would find him. The second he stopped being useful, Joey was going to kill him too.

“I’m going to die here.” His voice went up an octave. His breathing sped up. He was practically hyperventilating now. He was going to die here. He’d dug his own grave and all that remained was for Joey to put him in it. 

Speaking of Joey, he’d made his way down to Level 14 to gloat to his very first victim. Norman Polk had been a guinea pig of sorts. Technically speaking, he’d quit the studio months ago. But he’d come back to find evidence to prove Joey was planning something. He really shouldn’t have come back. Norman had found Joey’s journal, one that detailed all his plans, and Joey had caught him reading it. Murray wasn’t aware that Norman was still there. Hell, no one was aware that Norman was still there. He’d been reported missing after the first month and the police had come around, of course, because Polk’s little sister had said Norman had come back to the studio. But Joey had smiled and played the innocent victim and they’d gone on their way. After all, there was no way a sweet young man in a wheelchair could have done anything, right?

“Polk~ Where are you?~” Joey said in a sing-song voice as he slid down the railing to the labyrinth. It felt so good to not be confined to that damnable wheelchair anymore. There was no reply, which only made him smile wider. 

“Are you hiding from me, Norman?” He cooed, practically skipping in. “You should really know better. There’s nowhere you can go anymore where I can’t find you.” He heard the telltale whir of the projector behind him, easily catching the Projectionist’s arm as it arched down toward him. 

“That’s not very nice.” He clicked his tongue as though he were addressing a naughty child rather than a horrifying inky monstrosity. The Projectionist screeched, trying again to swipe at Joey. 

“Norman Norman Norman.” Joey sighed and shook his head, catching Norman’s other hand. “Really, you should have known by now that you can’t overpower me.” The Projectionist screeched louder, struggling against Joey’s grip. For someone so small and frail looking, Joey was surprisingly strong. Murray’s ink virus was likely to thank for that. 

“My Norman, have you gotten weaker?” Joey asked innocently. “I’m so much smaller than you. I shouldn’t be able to overpower you, should I?” He batted his eyelashes in the way that had always made the older society ladies coo and pinch his cheeks. The Projectionist kept struggling, but it was useless. Joey was having the time of his life, unlike literally everyone else in the studio.

“Did your visions see this?” Joey smiled wide, forcing the Projectionist against the wall. “Did your visions show you how badly you would fail?” The Projectionist made a whirring noise that almost sounded like a whimper. 

“I’ve done it.” Joey continued, his smile so wide now it almost looked manic. “They’re all mine now. Everyone in this studio belongs to me. I’ve won.” Norman didn’t exactly have a face anymore, but if he had Joey’s would have been inches from his. Joey’s eyes were glowing an unearthly red. 

“Not even your visions could save you. You couldn’t save anyone.”

.

Grant didn’t really understand what was happening. His mind felt fuzzy and his body felt cold. Cold like he was underwater in a freezing lake. He was sure he had to be doing something. He’d been with someone, hadn’t he? What had they been doing? He felt the telltale rise of anxiety. He had to get somewhere safe. His office. He needed to get to his office. Moving was hard. He didn’t know why it was so hard. His body wouldn’t cooperate with him. This made him even more anxious. His thoughts were swimming in his mind, jumbled and incoherent.

He managed to get to his office, but he couldn’t sit down or relax. He was in his safe place, but he didn’t feel safe. His thoughts were still so mixed up. He needed to do something. He needed to find some way to make himself feel better. He started writing on the walls with an ink covered finger, although the writing was rough and rather worse than his usual handwriting. 

Time is money

Taxes

It doesn’t add up

48128 Short

Money

He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. He had to get the thoughts out somehow. He had to get them out. 

That was when Shawn arrived. He’d assumed Grant would come to his office. That was the place that Grant felt the safest in. It stood to reason that, even in his altered state, he would want to go to the place he felt safe. Shawn stopped in the doorway, so relieved he almost wanted to cry. 

“Grant.” He took a step toward the accountant. “I knew I’d find you here. Are you alright?” Grant turned slowly around. A part of him recognized Shawn, and that part kept him from immediately trying to attack. 

“Sha...wn...” Some ink dribbled down his chin as he spoke, his voice almost a croak. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Shawn smiled, taking another step toward Grant. “I’m sorry for running off like that. You’re probably really scared right now.” Grant made a whimpering sound, nodding slightly. He was scared. There was a deep primal urge tugging at his consciousness, telling him to attack Shawn, to infect him. To vomit ink down his throat until he choked. But Shawn was his friend. Shawn had always protected him and kept him safe. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Shawn said. “I’m going to protect you now.” But they both knew he was wrong. In the doorway, Searchers were beginning to appear. Grant’s eyes widened. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to warn Shawn of the threat. But he couldn’t force any sounds out. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, trying to force himself to speak.

“Sha...wn...” He croaked as the Searchers advanced on his friend. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” Shawn looked on the verge of tears. “I’m here.” 

Then the Searchers overtook Shawn. They dragged him down, pinning him to the ground and doing exactly what Grant had felt so compelled to do. They held his arms and legs, vomiting ink down his throat. Shawn struggled and fought back for a bit, but he knew there was nothing he could do, and so he soon grew still. A wave of frustration, fear, and sorrow overtook Grant and he began to panic. He threw the contents of his desk onto the floor, screeching at the top of his lungs. Unbeknownst to him, when he threw the objects to the ground, he happened to turn on a tape recorder that had been on his desk. 

The sounds captured on that tape were frankly horrifying. They were like nothing anyone would have ever heard before. In his state of intense emotion, Grant was no longer capable of coherent speech. All he knew was that his friend was being hurt and he could do nothing to stop it. The Searchers paid him no mind. He was one of them already, after all. No need to attack him.

It didn’t take long for the infection to take hold and Shawn to come back. The other Searchers left, but Shawn remained. Some unconscious part of him wanted to stay with Grant. He’d wanted to protect Grant, and so he would continue to do so. Grant’s emotions were starting to fade once more and he moved closer to Shawn, whimpering quietly. Grant rested his head against Shawn’s, making a comforting noise. 

In the days that followed, he and Grant stayed together for the most part. They patrolled the corridors with Lacie, always together. Lacie herself would sometimes visit Bertram when she wasn’t with Grant and Shawn and Joey wasn’t having her doing things. She still remembered Bertram. Bertram didn’t mind her company, occasionally talking to her. He knew she probably couldn’t understand her, but it made him feel better to talk to her anyway. Rarely, very rarely, she regained her sapience and they would reminisce about old times and complain about Joey. It made their torment a little more bearable.

[hellholland]

Drunk Me is Stupid Me || Sebastian Stan x Reader

Hope you enjoy this shit! It took me a long time to write it. I’m not fully back on Tumblr and honestly idk when I will be, but in the meantime I’m trying to write for you guys. I’m currently working on part two of remember the pattern and a peter parker request that is insanely overdue. I hope this satisfies you even though it’s not Tom. xx -Ciel 

[IMPORTANT: I’ve altered Sebastian’s age to about 26 for the sake of their friendship timeline and me being shit at math, but it’s still essentially 2018 so that’s a little reference thing]

 Knowing he could see your every move just made you shaky. Sebastian’s eyes followed you steadily, the one drink he had only knocking his perception skills slightly. At parties like this, he was usually watching out for you, as he had for years, but tonight was a different stare. It sent nervous shocks through your body. You were dancing, laughing, smiling, but your eyes betrayed your external feelings. Only you remembered your entire exchange from the previous night, which led to uncomfortable silence between you two since then. He didn’t know why you weren’t talking to him.

For him, some words could ruin  a relationship. In the near seven years of friendship you had, you’d only ever heard him say those make-or-break words to his mother, and in Romanian.

“Te iubesc.”

The day you asked him what it meant three years ago, he only replied “something special.” After sitting in on a few more phone calls with his mom and a Google translate search later, you figured out what it meant and why he refused to say it to anyone but his mother. I love you.

“Anyone you meet, you could lose them at any given moment. I know it sounds selfish, but I guess I’m scared to admit to such a powerful statement. There’s some people you’re kind of stuck with, like family, but you never know how long friends and lovers will stick around. You might think you know that person like the back of your hand, but humans are spontaneous. They say and do stupid things. I’m scared of giving up the control that comes with that sentence. If I keep the use of it limited then I don’t have to worry about giving a piece of me to someone who doesn’t reciprocate feelings...or someone who’s just temporary.” Sebastian rambled, kicking at pebble by his foot, the other foot bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’ve lost people I said that to. Loving people, or at least admitting out loud it makes it real. It hurts.”

“I think you have to lose some of yourself to feel. There has to be a negative and you’ll have to give up things you don’t want to. I guess you have to go through a lot of bullshit to learn and find someone who won’t leave you. That might just be my opinion, though.” You replied quietly, your heart almost dropping after processing everything he said. Someone fucked him over.

You’d known him for maybe twelve years, best friends in high school, drifting apart after senior year. When you both ended up in L.A you reconnected for a bit, but about a year after he began dating his ex, he hardly talked to you. You’d recognized why and to an extent you understood why he stopped, but it still hurt you. They dated for nearly four years till she broke it off.

That was two years ago. He never talked about her, or rather refused to when you asked. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but you knew you’d lose him. You didn’t want to ruin anything you had. He was your world and your one best friend. Why lose that because of a damn crush? Was he still in love with his ex? Would he actually feel the same?

“You look tired,” someone said in your ear, trying to get your attention over the music. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just got distracted. I’m fine, it might just be the drinks.” You turned, dragging yourself out of your mind to identify the voice. “Hi, Chris.” You smiled at him half-heartedly and gave him a hug.

“You’ve only had sparkling grape juice, (Y/N). You sure about that?” His hand rested protectively on your back, his head hanging close to yours so you could hear over the blaring noise. “I feel like you’re having other issues.”

Evans was concerned, he was uncharactiscally good at reading people. He was the peacemaker out out the Marvel friends and probably cared a little too much about how everyone was getting along. You guess this is an important problem to an extent.

Blackout drunk Sebastian confessing his undying love for you about eight hours after you got cheated on was a bit of a big deal. While three or four years ago you were completely sure of how you felt about him, there was the paralyzing fear that came with your jeapordizing your relationship. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. There was something about loving someone that wasn’t available that was painful, but addicting. As long as one of you was off-limits, there was absolutely no risk of fucking everything up. He was safe. You were safe.

“Yep.” God, you hated confessing your problems. You bit your lip, looking up at him. His eyes were focused on you, eyebrows pulled together. “I did a lot of stupid stuff. I felt stupid stuff. Now I don’t know what to do, or how to feel, how to function. You know?”

He took a deep breath, pondering over his words carefully before replying. “Is it Seb?”

Someone saying his name, his nickname especially, out-loud made you wince. Just because you didn’t want to hurt him didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. When Chris saw how you froze when he asked, he already knew.

“Damn. I can guess a little bit of what happened but I’m just gonna leave you with this because I know I can’t get involved at this point. He’s over her, your boyfriend was a douchebag and doesn’t deserve you or your mourning, and this has been going on for what, seven years? Just...talk. I don’t know. Yell or something. Even if it doesn’t fix things, you need to be open. Have discussion on the table, okay?”

“We were kids- I, I don’t know if it’s real? What if this is just gonna fuck everything up? I genuinely don’t know how it’d work? What if I’m still in love with Brendon? Or I’m not over him at least? I’m-”

“For the sake of everyone else, please try?” He looked at you expectantly, moving away slowly, taking your drink with his so you couldn’t hide behind it. “Take it slow.”

“I-I don’t know.” But he’d already walked away.

You stepped back, finding support against a wall, trying to think. You wanted him so bad, but you were only fearful. If you lost him, you weren’t sure you if you could recover. Brendon was a one-year denial relationship that obviously fell through, and somehow you managed to reject the trauma. Nothing was setting in yet, your brain was just a whir of panic and confusion.

Members of the MCU cast littered the room, talking and laughing, the other half of party-goers being staff and plus-ones. The enviroment was perfect, something you usually enjoyed, but with everything going on it only suffocated thoughts you were trying to sort through.

Sebastian was talking to three girls you didn’t recognize, smiling and scratching the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between his feet and them. Flirting.

Jesus Christ.

You spun away quickly and walked out of the party, bolting for stairs you only hoped would go to the roof. Just far enough till you could only hear muffled basslines, no voices or anything.

He kept looking for you, stealing quick glances, but you weren’t there anymore.

One steel door was positioned at the top of the staircase, hinting at a nice view of L.A and air that wasn’t tinged with alcohol. The clink of the metal door handle snapped you into reality as you stumbled forward, taking in everything around you. You swung your feet over the ledge, perched on the edge. There was a branch of the building only eight feet down, promising safety if you managed to fall.

He doesn’t remember anything he’s said to me, and he doesn’t know why I’m upset. I’m leaving him in the dark.

But I’m also in the dark. Everything came out of nowhere. Maybe it was because I was sobbing into his chest with a half-empty plastic Ikea cup of wine that spurred him to attempt to comfort me with his own confession?

I was a kid when I loved him, do I still? Is this dumb? I don’t know how to figure out my brain. I don’t know if any of this is reasonable. Am I the one messing this up or is it him? What if this is all a big mistake and I’m not gonna love him like that in a month? I was a little excited, but at the same time really terrified-

Fuckin’ incoherent.

You stood up, shaking as you paced the cement. Rapid ideas passed through your brain, only perpetuating severe stress. None of it made sense. What is even it? What the hell is going on? Fresh air wasn’t working.

“Goddamnit!” You shouted at the sky, arms thrown up in defeat. “Can someone just figure this out for me?”

“Figure out what?” A raspy, familiar voice asked.

You froze.

“(Y/N)?”

You didn’t want to turn around. You didn’t know what you’d do. Or what he’d do. Am I unecessarily complicating this? How convenient of Sebastian to show up now, it’s like a movie or some shit-

His footsteps grew louder till they stopped next to you, and you kept your eyes shut tight. He sighed. “Please talk to me?”  You could see him, messy dark hair, blue eyes and all, staring at the city lights and wondering how he messed up. What he did to make you mad. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Completely against your mind’s will, you scoffed. His eyebrows tightened, the left one slightly crooked up. Even though you still refused to look at him, you could tell exactly what he was doing. If you made eye-contact or anything, it’d make it real.

“Really?” He seemed to be taken aback based on the tone in his voice.

“How do you not remember? How do you-” You whirled around, a shocking anger bubbling in your chest. “You’re not gonna lose me, I don’t know - we might wreck everything we have as best friends but, God, I’m just kind of freaking out because I literally can’t process anything that’s happened in the past four days-”

“Hold on.” he was just as shocked as you but gripped your upper arms to try and steady you. “What do I not remember? Why would we wreck eve-” His eyes widened after a moment of silence before he dropped his hands from you and pressed them to his face. Realization settling in quickly. “Oh, fuck me.”

“I thought I was hallucinating or something, it’s only a little scary right? Nope! I kind of wanna cry and scream and hit someone right now but it’s fine, cause’ my brain is a fucking nightmare!” Your breathing was still erratic like the past twenty minutes, and nothing was changing.

“Are you drunk?” He inquired, hands sliding off his face, his eyes glossy.

“No but I think I’m having a panic attack, it’s all good--I’m just gonna sit down real quick.” You plopped down, not caring whether or not your dress got ripped or dirty. You kind of just wanted to sleep. You felt like you were just trapped inside your skin, unable to control anything or even your own legs.

“Okay, hey, hey (Y/N), you and me both, right? It’s gonna be fine.” He crouched down by you, hesitant to get too close. If it was any other situation, any other panic-attack of yours he might’ve even picked you up, but now he knew that you knew...

“I just don’t know why I can’t think. I could be happy and smart, but I’m not. Maybe I have a weird complex for all of this? Confused-complex?” You started laughing at yourself and your nonsensical rants. Sebastian didn’t.

He just sat with you, staring at you in concern. It was a slightly stressed stare, too. You couldn’t handle it, so you just shut your eyes again and leaned back, trying to steady your breathing. You tried and tried, so badly wanting to only see the backs of your eyelids. No other distractions. “Can I-” he reached out to you, his hands lightly grazing your back. Your muscles tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

When you stayed frozen he just wrapped you in a sort-of bear hug, pulling you onto his lap. “This doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want it to, I’m-I’m just worried about you.” He mumbled into your hair, where his chin and lips nearly pressed down and stayed there, but he pulled away.

“Au revoir, don’t be stupid,” Seb said, pressing a chaste kiss to the very top of your head. You laughed in response and didn’t whisper a word to try and keep your feelings contained.

This was a pre-date ritual; Sebastian’s blessing could only mean good luck. Anytime you did something big like this he’d end up hanging out at your apartment, waiting there for when you got back to hear every detail about how awful your date was-or nice, and on occasion he’d have to leave before you got back for ‘reasons.’

Every single one of those dates was just a cover-up and distraction. You’d completely convinced yourself you weren’t in love with your best friend anymore, but somewhere in the back of your mind, just a faint idea lingered. What if?

“I’m sorry,” you began, interrupting the silence that had grown between you two. “For all of this. For me. For making a big deal out of this and not talking about it like any other person would do.”

“Don’t be, I’m used to ‘you’,” he said, exhaling sharply as if he wanted to laugh but his heart wasn’t in it. “If it helps, I’m scared too.”

“Yeah?”

“Drunk me is really stupid.”

You paused before responding. “Drunk you is just honest. Honest with yourself and everyone else. Remember when you got drunk at Chris Hemsworth’s baby shower and cried because ‘babies are really cool and Chris is good at making them’?” You started giggling at the memory, earning your friend’s laughter too.

After a long breath he continued his thought. “I just feel like I fucked us up and lost you or something because you clearly don’t feel the same way, and-and this is all exactly what I was terrified of, I’m kinda out of my mind at this point-”

“Who said that?” You cut him off, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“Said what?”

“That I didn’t feel the same way...about you?”

At this he gently pulled you off his lap, but had you slightly turned so you’d be forced to look at him. “You’re serious? You’re not fucking with me?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

His hands went to his face again, and he tugged at his skin in excitement. The man rocked back onto his tailbone then to a standing position where he broke out into a smile. “Oh thank God,” and in his moment of pure relief, you could only awe at his features, his toothy grin, crinkled eyes and 5 o’clock shadow. “Holy shit...wait but then--why Brendon?” The actor sat down again quickly, eager to talk.

“Cause’ I was trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong and I wasn’t in love with you, because as long as one of us was not available I didn’t have the opprutunity to mess our friendship up I guess? That’s kind of my thing that’s stopping me. Being scared of losing you.”

“Why would you lose me?”

“Romantic relationships are unpredictable. I can’t flush the twelve years of my life with you down the drain if something were to happen, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you.” You took a deep breath, your throat beginning to hurt with everything you were admitting. “An old friend once poured his heart out to me years ago. He said ‘I’ve lost people I said ‘I love you’ to. Loving people, or at least admitting out loud it makes it real. It hurts.’”

Sebastian’s face fell when he recognized his own words; a subject he’d mulled over hundreds of times. “I have a friend who said something like that, and you know what that friend’s friend said to him?” You smiled slightly at the response. “‘I think you have to lose some of yourself to feel. There has to be a negative and you’ll have to give up things you don’t want to. You have to go through a lot of bullshit to learn and find someone who won’t leave you.’”

“I can’t give you up Seb, I dont want you to be a messy breakup or the “bullshit”, I can’t lose you, I-”

“Then don’t let me be that okay? Maybe Brendon’s the negative, he’s the bullshit, what he did to you causes you to lose some of yourself, and-and now you can feel. Now you can figure it out.”

Your eyes were swelled up, a few tears trickling down your cheeks. He was desperate, trying to get of his words through to you, wanting any of them to work or be comforting.

“What if I’m the someone who won’t leave you, (Y/N)?” His voice was gentle now, pleading and tugging at your heart strings. He was sitting with his legs crossed over one another, and your legs were folded underneath you, your knees basically in his lap.

He gripped your hands, pulling them to his chest. Butterflies woke up in the pit of your stomach and your heart picked up. You looked up at him, finding his striking blue eyes in the dark immediately. They were scanning your face, then locked with yours. “One chance. That’s all we need. I’m just as scared as you are, but we can make it work. If I’m being honest  I’ve waited nine years for this, even when I didn’t know it.” one of his hands still held yours, but the other hand cupped your face, his thumb resting nearby your lips.

He looked beautiful. His cheekbones almost seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, and his mouth was pursed, still intent on watching you. The noise of the streets was only background noise in your ears, as you could only focus on his eyes. You felt like you were falling, or cliff-diving into them. Eyes you’d known for so long, but now it seemed like you could explore them even deeper.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispered, teetering forward. You mirrored his movement, only slightly unsure of your actions.

God, he’s captivating.

You moved further, hands sliding to the back of his neck. His breath fanned your cheeks as you cocked your head to the side, trying to take everything in. His nose bumped yours till finally, his lips softly landed on yours.

It felt like an explosion in your chest, energy pounding through your body. His free arm wrapped around your back, willing you to press closer regardless of how you were seated. You wanted all of him, to be even closer. You ran your fingers through his hair, something you hadn’t done in since he’d fallen asleep in your lap after his breakup. That time it was in comfort, and now it was purely because you just could.

Together you moved in unison and synced movements till you felt him smile again, letting out a breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Your lips curved upward when you heard him.

“Nothing’s funny.” He looked down, almost embarrassed.

“Then what is it?” Your fingers wandered up and down, linking together behind his neck.

“I’m kissing the fucking (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N),” he announced, radiating happiness. “And she said she loved me. Kind of indirectly.” He shifted forward so you rolled onto your back, him ending up on his hands and knees above you, kissing every part of your face he could, sending you in a fit of laughter.

“You’re gonna ruin your tux Sebastian,” you protested, shrinking up at his tickling touches. “That’s expensive.”

“I don’t care, but you might ruin your dress, so,” he leaned back, pulling you up by your hands, still glowing. “Should we-uh, head back downstairs?”

“I don’t really want to,” you said as he stepped towards you, wrapping one arm around your back, the other resting on the side of your neck. “But we should.”

“Five more minutes then?” The man suggested. “I forgot to tell you that you look really pretty, mostly because you weren’t talking to me but yeah, you do-”

“I’m gonna pretend that I wasn’t a bitch for a minute and that that didn’t happen, so, thank you.” You raised your feet a bit, leaning in to kiss him again eagerly. Your excitement only deepened, his arms tightening around you. He moved lower, pressing fleeting kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping slightly one or twice. By instinct, you tugged at his hair. “Sebastian…” you moaned quietly, eyes widening when you realized what you did.

He looked up quickly, surprised at first, then his shock quickly turned into a devilish smirk. “Well (Y/N), if you keep doing that I don’t know if I can do just five minutes, let alone go back to the party.”

“Then don’t.”

“I love that idea.”

“I love you.”