#and in an effort to tug at the emotions of the party through the dramatic reveal of her tragic past instead made MYSELF cry

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

2:00am on the verge of tears overcome with emotions about the tragic backstory of my favorite NPC in my d&d campaign like I’m not literally the one that did this to her

[the-whumpening]

The Pet Tiger, #9 [nsfwhump AU]

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CW: Dehumanization, treated as a pet, threats of/references to violence and/or noncon, humiliation, pet whump, pet training, noncon touching (sexual), forced use of buttplug (not graphic), emotional abuse, alcohol, multiple whumpers, noncon alcohol use and/or drugging, “it” as a pronoun, lady whumper, violence, blood

(I think at this point I'm just accepting that the chapters will be long, at least for a bit.)

-

9: Helpless

Dammit.

Dammit!

It’s bad enough Ash has to contend with the possible threat of Lady Nandaar, but to add Owen on top?

Owen, who served as Ozmund’s informant and lackey. Owen, who betrayed the party and nearly got them killed. Owen, who Ash was sure he’d killed when they last met. Owen, who has no reason at all to hold back if he wanted to hurt Ash.

“Owen,” Ozmund greets with stiff hospitality. He must not be happy to see him, either, Ash thinks. “What brings you here tonight? Surely you recall I gave you the night off.”

If not for the tension and fear cinching his body together, Ash almost wants to laugh—seeing Ozmund so irritated over such a mundane problem is oddly . . . human. He ducks his head to hide the warbling of his lips that threaten to curl into a grin, pretending to entertain himself with the embroidery of the cushion beneath him.

“Well, since I’m free to do what I like with my time off, I thought I might pop in and say hello!” Ash doesn’t hear the wide smile he usually does in Owen’s voice. It sounds more . . . forced now. Like he’s holding himself back from saying something. Weird—normally, Owen can’t seem to shut up.

Owen drops into a chair across from Ozmund, waving down a servant to bring a glass of wine. “Hard to miss a party when you live in the same house, you know? And to think, you didn’t even invite me! I’m heartbroken, really,” he deadpans.

Owen lives here, in Ozmund’s estate? Ash wonders how they hadn’t crossed paths yet, but Ozmund answers that just as quickly.

“Well, you’ve been gone so long,” he laments in a faux whine. “I thought you might like a break before returning to your duties here. Besides, as our dear little friend here has found, someone like you would be terribly bored. Isn’t that right, darling?” Ozmund lifts Ash’s chin up and hums expectantly.

Not in front of Owen, Ash pleads. Dammit.

His eyes dart to the side, and he mutters, “Yes, Master.”

“See?” Ozmund proudly pats Ash’s cheek and releases him.

Owen shifts forward out of his lazy posture, leaning to close the gap between himself and his employer. “You got him calling you ‘Master?’ Seriously? Oz, I don’t know about all this . . .” Despite his efforts to avoid Owen’s gaze, Ash doesn’t miss the pity in his grimace. Of all the people to pity him—why Owen?

Ozmund, cool as ever, is unfazed. “Luckily, I don’t pay you to think,” he levels, still smiling and nodding at guests passing by. “Now, I’ve got a line of guests waiting to see our friend. Would you care to take your leave, or would you rather I have two experiments to share with my guests?”

Ash had always thought it was strange how Owen was always so willing to push back against Ozmund, ready with a quip or snarky comment at every moment. And yet now, as a green sheen washes over Owen’s pale skin, he immediately retreats. What does Ozmund have over him?

Owen hefts to his feet, fists balled at his side, but he pauses for a moment. “You’re sick, you know that?” he spits through gritted teeth. He hovers beside Ash, eyes full of pity and shame, then slips back through the crowd and out the door.

Although Ash has never truly trusted Owen, he can’t deny the sting of betrayal that tugs in his chest.

Not a single soul is going to help him now.

“Dramatic, isn’t he?” Ozmund chuckles, thrumming his fingers through Ash’s hair. The sensation pulls Ash back into the moment: there’s no time to linger on his daydreams of freedom. If he ever wants to be free, he has to survive the night—and surviving means keeping his wits about him.

Ozmund taps Ash’s temple and directs his attention to a couple of nearby partygoers. “I believe you have guests to entertain, pet. Why don’t you crawl on over and see if they’ll give you a treat, hm?”

Ash’s cheeks burn, and he gathers all the scraps of courage he has left. He wants to plead, to beg, to make some bargain—don’t make me do this. Don’t throw me to these wolves. But he keeps silent. This is the bargain; as long as he follows the rules and suffers this humiliation, then Ozmund won’t hurt him worse later.

As he slinks forward towards his drunken, temporary masters, his gut twists with shame. Why is he letting this happen? Why is he resigned to the fact that Ozmund will fuck him, and his only hope is to make it hurt less? Where is his fight? What would his friends think if they saw him like this? The thought makes his throat tight, but he swallows down the tears. Don’t let them see you cry. Not now.

He tries to block out the world around him as best he can. Ignoring the cooing and laughter aimed in his direction, letting too many hands explore his muscles and trace his stripes, leaning into gentle caresses against his face: exactly how Ozmund had instructed him. He listens for the lilt in their voices that means he should respond, echoing the phrases he’d been taught to say.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No, sir.”

“Whatever you’d like, sir.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

As each small cluster of guests grows bored with petting him and feeding him tiny bites of sweets and snacks, they pass him along to the next, and the next, and the next. But as the night goes on and the drinks continue to flow, a few guests become bolder and more adventurous.

“I hear were-creatures don’t feel pain like we do,” one man slurs to another. “Shall we test it out?”

Through drunken laughter, the man reels back and kicks Ash in the ribs; Ash’s coughs and groans only seem to make him laugh harder and stumble into his chair. He waves over other guests from across the room, and Ash quickly finds himself surrounded on every side.

“Try something sturdier!” someone calls from the crowd. Through the rumble of excitement, Ash can hear a clinking and scraping of metal. He can’t quite place what it is until—

The metal rod comes down hard on his back, dragging roughly across his skin as it’s lifted and brought down over and over again. His knees give out beneath him, and someone kicks him over onto his sore back. Finally, he can see his attacker, and the weapon they wield: it’s the cowardly Chancellor, brandishing a heavy fire poker nabbed from the fireplace. Ash barely has a moment to register his surprise before the poker slams into his gut; he had no time to protect his core, but now his arms clutch desperately at his middle.

For a moment, the onslaught ceases, and Ash cinches his body into a tight ball to guard against the next attack. But as the cheering and laughter picks up a new pace, he flashes a glance towards the Chancellor—maybe if he can see it coming, it won’t be so bad. He raises his head, just an inch, and his stomach sinks. It won’t just be bad: it’ll be so much worse.

The poker, once cold and hard, now glows a bright, menacing orange.

“Stop!” Ash screams, scrambling to drag his weak body away, but his arms are caught by the howling sadists surrounding him. They yank his bound hands above his head and interlace their arms between his, locking him in place. “No! Please! Please!”

He searches for Ozmund among the crowd—surely he won’t let it go this far, will he? This is too much! I, I’d be ruined for him, wouldn’t I? That’s what he said, right? Ash opens his mouth to scream again, even to call for Ozmund, but something stops him.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” a woman’s voice interjects from behind Ash’s attacker. She slips through the crowd with ease to stand between the man and Ash. With a gesture of her hand, the poker cools down. “Don’t you think it’s taken quite enough for now? Look at the poor thing; it’s shivering. No, this won’t do at all. It’s my turn now.” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly, then offers a hand to Ash. For a moment, he thinks she wants to help him to his feet—to let him walk like a man again—but instead, she simply grabs the leash of golden chains hanging from his collar. “Come with me, little beastie,” she coos, gently tugging the chain and making kissing sounds to urge him along.

Burning with humiliation, Ash limps beside her, his attackers grumbling behind him at the loss of their toy. He certainly wouldn’t choose the fiery poker over this, but the shame lays heavy on his wounded chest anyway. Is this his future? Cycling between punching bag and pathetic pet, for the rest of his miserable life—or at least until Ozmund gets bored of him and leaves him to rot?

Lady Nandaar settles herself onto a comfortable velvet chaise, patting the space beside her to invite Ash to join. But he has no illusions—he knows she doesn’t expect him to sit beside her like an equal. He crawls onto the sofa on all fours, letting her adjust his enormous body to drape across her lap, positioned just right for her to see and touch all along his face and body. A sigh of relief escapes his chest before he can stop it; it seems so long since he’s been allowed on real, soft furniture. So long since he’s been allowed to stretch out and let his muscles relax. Despite the soreness in his body and his apprehensive fear keeping him hypervigilant, he’s at least comfortable for once.

“What a good boy,” Nandaar murmurs, tucking Ash’s hair back behind his ear to expose his face. Her voice croons in the condescending, childish way one speaks to an animal. “Those brutes don’t know what to do with a pretty thing like you, do they? No. They just want to hurt you for their own amusement. Not me, pet.” For a moment, Ash is cautiously hopeful: maybe she does want to help him, rather than prolong his suffering. But as her slitted yellow eyes scan his face, he realizes he is wrong yet again. “They didn’t even think of our host—I just want to make you so, so lovely and relaxed for him. Don’t you want that, beastie? To be ready for your Master?”

Unless Lady Nandaar and Ozmund are closer friends than Ash realizes, he suspects her motives aren’t genuine at all. And he’s caught in the middle. He can’t disobey her; either she’ll throw him back to the butchers sulking across the room, or Ozmund will have his head for denying her. Surely, he’s already in for a punishment from begging the Chancellor to stop—he can’t afford to make any more mistakes.

“Yes, my Lady,” he whispers meekly. He curls into her slightly, if only to hide the fear creeping back into his eyes.

“Good boy. So well-trained,” she coos, dragging her long, sharp nails down his back. “We’ve met before, haven’t we? I don’t think I could forget a face like yours.” She chuckles, scratching up and down his sides, pressure increasing with every pass. “Well: face, body, muscles . . . There’s not much of you that isn’t memorable, Ash.”

So she does remember me.

“You used to be so proud, little beast. Boldly announcing your tiger heritage to everyone you met—myself included.” Her nails trace down his stomach, across the firm peaks and valleys, leaving pink streaks in their wake. “What happened? How did you get so shy?”

He can only squeak through shuddering, shallow breaths as she trails from his hip to his thigh. She won’t do anything, will she? Not if Ozmund forbid it . . . right? His eyes squeeze closed, waiting for her next move.

But to his surprise, she doesn’t continue exploring his body. Instead, he feels the cold press of glass against his lips. “Open up, pretty beastie. Drink.”

His cracked lips part, and he allows himself to steal a glance from beneath his lashes. Nandaar tips the wine glass to meet him, pouring the sickly-sweet concoction into his mouth. He takes a polite sip, knowing he’s not allowed much more, but she doesn’t let up. She holds the back of his head over her lap, filling him up with more and more potent wine than he can handle. He tries to keep up, swallowing down the onslaught before it spills over, but it’s just too much; he coughs, a deluge of wine slipping down his cheek and onto the velvet couch.

Lady Nandaar finally releases her hold and takes away the wine. She swipes the mess from his cheek with her thumb, lapping it up with her forked tongue and letting out a hissing giggle.

“Isn’t that better?” Her voice seems far away, almost echoing in his sensitive ears. He clings to her, his head growing heavy and spinning every time he moves his eyes.

Am I . . . drunk? Already? A single glass of wine has never inebriated Ash like this before—with his constitution, he can easily go drink-for-drink with Krumgus most nights. But with an empty stomach, maybe it just hit harder, he guesses. Unless . . .

“You’ve been such a good boy,” she continues, resuming her tantric survey of his body. Every touch burns, like his blood is on fire, but the sluggish churning of his brain can barely react. “I thought you deserved a taste of that fancy dwarven wine. Besides”—she nudges his thighs apart, dipping her fingers below the delicate fabric around his waist—“I want you to relax.”

I can’t relax, Ash’s drowsy mind retorts, not when you’re—

She pulls back the fabric, revealing his bare flesh beneath. With her other hand, she scratches fine, red lines into his chest, stopping only to pinch the hard buds of his nipples. Thick, heavy sobs rise in Ash’s throat, his eyes burning against the building tears.

“Shh, it’s alright, little beast,” she soothes in a soft murmur. Ash can only whimper, his body too disconnected to struggle, as she takes his cock in her hand. “There, there. No need to be shy, my pet.” She slides her hand down his shaft, freeing his head from his foreskin, and hums greedily. “And to think, Ozmund wants to keep you all to himself. How cruel. If you were my plaything, I’d let everyone get a chance to have their fill of you. I wouldn’t need to keep you locked away for them to know you’re mine.”

The hand on his chest curls into a tight claw; his sobs overflow as her nails pierce his skin and leave angry, dripping marks across his flesh.

“That’s how you mark a pet, sweet boy.” She licks the blood from her nails and lets her hand on his cock drift downward. Further, further, pushing his legs apart until she touches the firm intrusion in his ass. “Ah. I see Ozmund has his own way, as well. No matter. He doesn’t need to know—”

“What do I not need to know?”

Even in his limp, drunken state, Ash still shakes in fear at the voice. Ozmund snatches the leash dangling from Ash’s neck and yanks him roughly to his feet, where he stumbles and falls back to his knees.

“Oz . . .mund,” Ash huffs through his sobs. “Please . . .” Ash isn’t even sure what he’s begging for anymore: mercy? Forgiveness? Just a moment to catch his breath?

The flowers in a nearby vase wither and droop from the waves of anger radiating off Ozmund. He seems to nearly scorch the carpet beneath his feet as he walks.

“The party is over,” he growls. “Everyone out! And you”—he cinches the leash tighter, pulling Ash closer until it chokes around his neck—“come with me.”

-

Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba @corbytheking @darke-phoenix515 @lumpofsand

[reciprocityfic]

#5 for amylaurie

5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

From the beginning, it had been marked with tragedy. He adored his mother, from what he can remember. But his memories, unfortunately, are few and far between. He tried to keep her smile, her laugh, the feel of her hugs and her hand wrapped around his tiny one locked away in his brain and his heart, but over the years, they inevitably began to fade. Before he knew it, he couldn’t quite get the tenor of her voice right, couldn’t remember the sweet words she used to whisper in his ear. She was like a beautifully painted picture, rather than a human being.

If there was someone who adored his mother more than he had, it was his father.

His father took her death the hardest. He tried to find a salve for his broken heart in all the wrong places, began gambling too often and drinking too much, frequently leaving his son alone late into the night to go out and drown his pain in whatever way he could. When his father was home, he could hardly stand to be around him. Everything about Laurie reminded him of her - his eyes, his hair, his nose, his smile. He reached his breaking point eventually, and then he sent Laurie away.

School had never been particularly hard for him. He was smart, he supposed, and he didn’t mind the company of his tutor. Boarding school was different, though. He never quite found a way to fit in. He was too quiet, not quite as rich, and Italian, which mattered in a way he didn’t understand. He always found himself at the center of negative gossip, the butt of too many jokes. He hated it, so he stopped trying to assimilate and let himself fade away into the peripheries of his peers.

When his father died, it was almost a relief; at least the man wouldn’t suffer any longer. But again, it threw him into a world of uncertainty and unfamiliar territory. It sent him to America, into the hands of a grandfather he had never met. As he grew older, he’d come to subtly resent his extended family for disowning him and his parents, and wondered if this grandfather would resent him back.

He didn’t. But his grandfather also wasn’t warm, a product of living so many years alone, Laurie supposes. He knows Mr. Laurence has experienced his share of heartbreak as well; there’s a beautiful piano that sits untouched, that the servants tell him belonged to the old man’s late granddaughter. The few times he tried to play it he’d catch his grandfather looking at him in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant, so he stopped.

John Brooke - his new tutor - was pleasant enough, earnest and determined to please his grandfather by giving him the privilege of an excellent education. They often butted heads when Mr. Brooke tried to teach him; he couldn’t find him in himself to care much about learning anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to care about much of anything.

Then, he met Jo March.

His grandfather had noticed his melancholy and sent him to a party to try to lift his spirits. He doubted it would work - how exciting could a party in Concord, Massachusetts possibly be, after all - and quickly found an empty side room to disappear in for a while until he’d spent enough time there that he could plausibly tell his grandfather he’d made an effort to be sociable.

It was there that Jo literally stumbled into him, and changed his life forever.

He’d never in his life met a girl like Jo March, one that was so boisterous and bright and unapologetically herself. In his world, every girl was trained from an early age to be prim and proper and polite, so that someday she might make a good wife and a fine young woman. Jo was anything but, and when he met the rest of the March family, he learned that they all were, in their own way - whether it be Meg and her unabashed love for dramatics and pretty things, or Beth sitting at her piano, playing until her fingers ached.

Or Amy, marching around in a pair of fairy wings and declaring that one day, she would be the best painter in the entire world.

His childhood memories of the Marches were all Jo, her fire and harsh edges and iron will, but Amy was always there at the edges, making herself known. She always seemed to be at odds with her older sister, but he thought that was because the two of them were the most alike in a way, like two opposite ends of the same string. He would always take Jo’s side when she recounted their latest feud, of course, but he couldn’t help his amusement at some of Amy’s antics. He remembers, when Jo told him that Amy had burned her novel, how his sympathy for Jo had existed right alongside of his wild amusement that little Amy March had the gall to even come up with such a thing, let alone follow it through.

But even though Amy was there, along with Meg and Beth, Jo was undoubtedly the main attraction, the sun at the center of his universe. His world was filled with her, with her smiles and laughs and hair and voice, with her words and her thoughts and ideas, and soon his heart was, too. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be a part of his life always.

So, he’d asked her to marry him. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

When she turned him down, he almost hadn’t been surprised. A part of him almost expected it; he hadn’t been particularly excited to ask her, after all. Rather, he’d dreaded it, dreaded the moment that the delicate balance they had built would have to tip one way or the other. He’d always known there was a chance she’d reject him.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though. He thinks it hurt even more when she left; he’d always known Jo to dive into every challenge head-first, but then she ran away to New York. She ran away from him. So he followed her lead, as he had learned to do so well over those years with her.

Heading back to Europe was much more bitter than it was sweet, and even the grandeur of cities like London, Paris, and Rome couldn’t stop the vibrancy from slowly bleeding out of his life. What had become a kaleidoscope of colors was now just grays and blacks and whites.

So he drank, and smoked, and gambled, and fucked his way through life, and in a macabre way, never felt closer to his father. Except he wasn’t heartbroken, not anymore - he realized more and more that he never expected her to say yes, not really. That she was right, as she usually was - it would have never worked.

He just felt lost. Unmoored, with nothing to anchor him. And he started to believe that maybe he was simply supposed to live his life this way, alone and adrift and apathetic.

Then, Amy March came barreling back into his life.

She was different, of course - namely, she was no longer little. She had traded her fairy wings and braids for beautiful gowns and carefully coiffed updos, and all her lofty childhood wishes had been replaced with a stoic, resigned realism. It would have worried him, that the world had taken her and hardened her, but he knew that the woman that threw her arms around him and happily shouted his name on that Parisian street, the world around her momentarily forgotten, was the Amy he had always known and cared for, however proper she might be now.

And she was proper, but he found it didn’t bother him like he thought it would. Instead, he admired her for it, that she had managed to grow up so gracefully. She was lovely, he decided. Lovely and refined and determined, so much so that it got him in trouble with her, sometimes. She was constantly after him to be better, to stop his drinking and laziness and make something of his life.

She wanted him to respect himself. He’d never really done that; all his life, he’d known himself to be a bother or problem, a thorn in someone’s side. He didn’t really know how to respect himself, but for her, he wanted to try.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to leave her side. She painted in his life with strokes that were insistent, but soft, and he found that her world was just as colorful as her sister’s. It was her own, of course; if Jo had been a red flame, then Amy was a golden glow, like sunshine. But he found that he didn’t mind the differences, that he maybe even preferred Amy’s version. It made him warmer than anything he’d known before.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell for Amy. It happened slowly, gently, and before he could stop it, she’d taken up all the emptiness in his heart, filled it with light and life and love. Not that he would’ve wanted to stop it; he found he was quite content belonging to her. Even when she rejected him that first time, he didn’t try to remove her. He didn’t resent her, as he had temporarily resented Jo. He knew it was futile, that he was irreparably hers, and he decided that if he couldn’t be with her, he would at least make himself someone she could be proud of. He wanted to be someone she could respect, if he couldn’t be someone she loved.

But then, God had smiled upon him - for perhaps the first time - and she’d changed her mind. She loved him, she wanted him, she loved him. And when he kissed her that first time, she ignited something in him that no woman ever had before. He loved her, he wanted her, her and her only, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

His heart sang for her with its every beat. Every breath she took gave him purpose, every smile gave him joy, every kiss and moan and tug on his hair made his blood run hot through his veins. He was so full inside, wanted for nothing. He felt like all his life he’d been trying to shove himself into places where he didn’t fit, whether it be at school or with his father. With Jo. But there was a spot beside Amy, one in which he fit perfectly, like it was created with him in mind. And as long as Amy was beside him, he could do anything, be anything, survive anything.

One of the things that he loves most about her is her beauty. He can’t help it; he is only human. A weak one when it comes to Amy. When she hugged him that first time in France, he’d noticed how the autumn sun had caught the strands of her blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from the way she ran to him. He first let himself realize it in her studio, when she went off to meet Fred Vaughn. There was something about the way her cream-colored blouse laid against her pale skin, the way the blue accents brought out her eyes. How her pinned-up hair showed off her neck. He could do nothing but smile shyly at her, any coherent words suddenly caught in his throat. And every time he saw her, he noticed something else that added to her beauty, whether it be the delicate way she sipped her tea, her lips a pretty pink against the white china, or the way she blushed when he complimented her. Eventually, in a room full of women, she was the only one he could see, as captured as he was by her.

Almost three years later, nothing has changed.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty. He’s almost positive he knows where she is, and almost rolls over and closes his eyes. But he can’t get her out of his head, so he gets up and throws on his robe. The moon shines bright enough that he doesn’t need a candle, and he leaves their bedroom, creeping to the next door down the hall. It’s ajar just slightly, and he slips inside.

And there she is, just where he thought she would be. Standing at the window, staring out into the night. She’s barefoot, dressed in a white nightgown, long hair cascading down her back. The moonlight illuminates her hair and skin. She’s breathtaking. More beautiful than any painting he’d ever seen.

Cradled in her arms is their newborn baby girl.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he knocks gently against the door. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, but quickly goes back to gazing at the newest addition to their family.

He walks over to the two of them, placing a kiss on the top of her head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and embracing her. There are a multitude of reasons why she might be in here - the baby could’ve been crying, it could’ve been time for a change or a feeding, or Amy simply could’ve missed her, could’ve wanted to hold her and watch her breathe. He suspects it’s the last one, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene in front of him.

He reaches a finger down to their baby, taps at her hand, until she opens her fist and wraps all of her tiny fingers around that one of his. Amy turns her face and nuzzles his shoulder, relaxing against him.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

But standing here now, both his wife and his daughter in his arms, he knows nothing but.

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Hi I need to ask a favor of you... Can we get like,,, the reader trying to set cc!dream up with a friend of theirs and he actually likes the reader so we get like dream trying to say that he likes the reader. Idk if this makes sense but I just want a dramatic like "ARE YOU DUMB" moment. Thank u, I'll exit the stage.

Okay so long story short, I had a series about Dre that I was going to write (like a million years ago even before e!k) and I tuned up the confession scene because it fit with the request. Idk idk. It was back when I was having my romance novel phase. N E WAY. happy reading :) ♡ g

𝐄𝐆𝐎 & 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: language, angst, being so overdramatic, mentions of rivals to lovers, being in a shower, kinda cringe ngl

Dream eyed you over his glass from across the table, his legs long enough that he was invading your space beneath the surface. His green eyes burned into you, which you attempted to let roll off your shoulders innocently. Your friend was talking up Sapnap, completely destroying your plan put in place. It seemed like Dream could tell what you were up to as well, and by the look he was sending your way and the tension in his shoulders, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for it. Sapnap asked the girl beside you how she was doing in her classes and before he could boast about his own achievements, you butted in. “You know, Clay’s ranked fourth in our sociology class.” Dream rolled his eyes as your friend’s brow perked at your statement.

She cracked a grin in his direction. “Oh really? You some kind of a genius?” She joked, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Dream chewed the inside of his cheek and folded his hands together on the table, uncomfortable now that you had shifted the subject matter to him. “Uh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s an intro course so…” he mumbled. She hummed in response and he wet his lips.

You jumped into the small bit of silence. “Come on, don’t downplay! He’s also helped me pass calculus last year,” you boasted. Dream shut his eyes briefly as if it were taking every ounce of his being not to scold you. You didn’t care.

“That’s awesome! I’m actually a mathematics major,” your friend eased. “Maybe if you are some kind of genius you could help me figure out homeomorphically irreducible trees sometime,” she jousted with a small wink. Dream chuckled and you thought maybe… finally… they were clicking. You knew you were right, you knew they were a perfect match. Dream just had to put forth a bit more effort.

Dream’s eyes flashed to you again briefly, as if a symbol of telling you he’d kill you for pushing this. “Oh, I don’t know anything about math really, but Sapnap knows a lot of the math professors,” he turned over with a soft smile, sending your friend back into Sapnap’s metaphorical tract. The two started rambling to each other and Dream shot you a dirty look. “Cut it out,” he bit, barely loud enough for you to even hear. You took this as a challenge.

Another round of drinks came to the table, Dream had yet to completely finish his first as it seemed like something was weighing on his mind. You had gotten into the habit of picking up every subtle tick he had and picking at it. You silently listened to the conversation between Nick and your friend as it wound down, giving you the opportunity to strike up something else about Dream. “So Clay, what was your beer pong average last semester?” You asked, taking a sip from your straw innocently.

He sent you a deadpan expression, but Sapnap answered for him. “Oh, trust me, Clay’s the one you want on your team at every frat party,” he praised. You knew how much your friend liked the whole idea of winning pointless party games.

“I think it’s time I walk you home,” Dream mumbled after standing before you could answer. You followed him out of the restaurant, sending your friend and Sapnap an awkward grin. They had barely noticed anyway; too caught up in their own conversation. You jogged a bit to catch up to Dream as he shoved his fists in his pockets. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He grumbled.

You furrowed your brows, nudging his arm playfully. “What do you mean? I’m trying to get you laid!” You chided. He rolled his eyes again. “Loosen up! Come on, she’s pretty isn’t she.”

Dream sighed deeply. “Of course she’s pretty. Just quit with meddling in my sex life,” he hissed.

You laughed mockingly. “You are so tightly wound!” He pushed the door open to your building. You could tell you were pushing his buttons as he pursed his lips instead of firing something back at you. “You’re such a killjoy,” you joshed, pinching his side.

He swatted your hand away, attempting to ignore you. “Quit.”

“Fine, whatever. Go home and make fast with your hand.” That was it---the last push.

Dream grabbed your arm and yanked you down the hall behind him. You could practically see the steam rolling off his shoulders as he turned a corner and you began to grow tense. You knew he'd never hurt you but the sheer anxiety of what he was going to do next weighed on your conscience. Had you gone too far this time? You'd pushed him past his limit before, but he'd never taken you with him when he needed to remove himself from the situation.

You were shocked as he threw open the door to the communal showers, your brows knitting together in confusion as you began to claw at his hand. "Clay, stop! What are you doing?" You gritted, struggling against his grip. He threw open one of the stall doors and tossed you inside, your back hit the linoleum tiling with a quiet thump and you glared at him with scolding eyes as if to bite ‘don't you dare touch me’ into his skin.

He pursed his lips as if his anger was threatening to boil over and he turned the knob behind you, instantly soaking you and your clothes in freezing water. You painstakingly jumped for the dial and he grabbed your arm again, pulling you inches from his face. "You need to cool the fuck down. I'm serious!" He snapped.

Your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your head in disbelief at the audacity he had. His jaw tensed as he glared at your features and you drew his arm closer, turning on your heel so he replaced you in the water. His reaction was subtle to the dowsing; instead, he released his grip on you. "What the hell is your problem!" You yelled. This was unknowingly becoming your breaking point. You hadn't woken up that day and realized today is the day I choose violence but Dream's medieval form of communicating with you was striking a hidden nerve.

"My problem? MY PROBLEM?" He let out an exasperated sigh, turning slightly to twist the knob for hot water before laying into you. Why he didn't just turn off the water was unbeknownst to you. "My problem is you!"

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Me?" You tsked at him. "Why don't you get a fucking life-"

"Are you really that fucking stupid?" He bit. Your disgusted look you made sure to exaggerate twisted something behind his eyes. The shower began to produce steam over his shoulders. Dream's hair had begun hanging in short ringlets around his ears. His long-sleeved t-shirt clung to his body enough that you could see every dip in his chest. Every breath he drew in to calm himself down rippled through his silhouette. In the slightest way, it seemed as if the dragon was finally baring his soft underbelly to you.

His hands balled into fists at your look of disbelief at him calling you dumb. He groaned deeply, bringing his palms to his eyes and gritting his teeth. He then pushed his fingers into his wet hair, plastering it back from framing his face. Dream's bright eyes studied you with his features set in stone. "How could you not realize?" He let out a short exhale, his hands seemingly gripping for his own thoughts as they moved with his search of words. "I know you aren't as aloof as you put off. I know you know that I-" he stopped himself short with an aggressive shrug of his shoulders. It was almost humoring to see him standing like a wet dog in front of you and at a loss for words. That big head of his was proving to be a difficult landscape for him to form sentences. "... That I-" he bit into his lip, frustration settling into his brow.

You rolled your eyes again, your wet clothes feeling uncomfortable as they began to shrink against certain parts of your body. The steam from the water was enveloping the two of you in the small space, but your close stance kept a breath of clearance in your visions. "Spit it out, Clay. Obviously, I'm too dumb to put two and two together. You're gonna have to man up and get over it," you snapped and his eyes flashed up to the ceiling.

He gritted his teeth again. "Fuck. What am I trying to say?" He hissed. The gears in his head were beginning to rust with overstimulation, and you could tell. He was hesitant as if debating what would be his next move. The tall man before you was slowly unraveling into unarticulated emotions. The minuscule thought tugged at your mind that Dream was attempting to tell you he felt something for you. It was oddly satisfying to juxtapose your ill-fated seven minutes in heaven experience when you had met him with the close, wet atmosphere you were in now. Even back then Dream couldn't figure out what to say.

He swallowed, his anger had melded into something less aggressive and more inwardly scorning. "I care about you," he blurted, his voice coming out uneven. He wasn't nervous and it seemed as if he'd practiced this in the mirror yet was crumbling under the pressure of you actually standing before him. "I care about you," he repeated, his face still tense and severe.

You were taken aback by his simple statement, awaiting his next move. You didn't dare arrest your eyes from his, your mind blurring about what to say to his confession. You knew that was big coming from him at the way it tugged at your heartstrings, making you blush in the ferocity of the steaming stall. The beat of silence was broken as he took a step toward you, taking your face into his large hands in a gentle gesture. His fingers threatened to snake into your hair as his thumb traced the bend in your jaw. Droplets of water fell off of him to splash against your sopping wet clothing, the warmth of his figure nearly pressed against yours sending rushes of goosebumps across the plain of your skin.

His eyes searched yours as he hesitated, as if savoring being close enough to taste you, yet the anticipation of sealing the fated and quarrelsome air between the two of you with his kiss was nearly too unrealistic for his mind to comprehend. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly against the flesh of your bottom lip as if he were wondering if the shade was their true color, all of his movements completely foiling the way he'd always handled you.

His look of desire and unsteadiness gave him the appearance of an explorer wandering around a foreign planet with the consistency of practice but restraint. You'd heard other girls talking about being with Dream---a fumbling night of drunken fun or a quick use and jading---but the Dream standing before you now seemed to be his own breed. You let your mind flicker to the fantasy that maybe the boy itching to mark you was a figment of him reserved and stocked only for you.

You found yourself leaning on your toes as his eyes began to close, drawing you in with his subtle caress. The water thundered down against him as his towering frame shielded you from the shower, the sound of its stream bouncing off the floor and your matted articles of clothing mixing with Dream's soft breath. As he pressed his lips against yours, it seemed like he was hesitant as if you'd snatch yourself away from his cradling like you always had, but sure enough, your sneakers were glued to the floor beneath you. Wherever you were going in the next few minutes would be to follow his lead.

His fingers dipped into your locks, bringing you deeper into his gesture of passion. Your mind clicked into the reality of the situation as your shoulders sank into a sense of calmness. Your hands found purchase around his waist, wanting to reassure him that you were reading his actions as your fingers traced the lines and dips in his back.

He kissed you with a needy passiveness that bled into the echoing taste of mint, bitter coffee, and the soft embrace of his mildly chapped lips. You'd been close enough to him in the past to dig your nose into his clean scent, but as he pressed against you, it was all you could focus on. He kissed you as if his lips were studying to be experts on your own; a kneading of exploratory gentleness met with a keen sense of wanting to pour everything unsaid between the two of you into this action. It was like he hungrily wanted to know the curvature of your mouth like the back of his hand.

He broke away from you breathlessly and your floating sense of calm clouded and compacted your words. You hesitated to open your eyes as you felt him settle his forehead against yours, not wanting to extract himself from you yet. You subtly enjoyed the fact of sharing air with him as you drew in a deep breath, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth. You wanted that taste to live on your tongue.

Clay stepped back, shrugging out of your hold reluctantly. His hand moved to settle over his mouth as if he was silently apologizing for the suddenness of that action. Your mind was running wild with the thought of him. You parted your lips, stunned enough that you could barely remember how to stand on your own let alone string together a sentence.

He swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your eyes. "I- um," his tongue darted across his lips and you yearned at the fact that you wanted to be pressed against him again, selfishly needing to be tangled among his long limbs or you'd surely die. "I'll see you around," he stated, undoubtedly noticing how verklempt you were and what kind of effect he'd had on you.

He moved to step around you and your eyes glued to where he was standing before. He halted when his shoulder brushed against yours, his gaze turning to trace against your features as you struggled to meet his eyes. You knew he was biting back a smirk as he went on his way again, leaving you to decompose at the mental imagery of him.

You heard the door swing shut behind him and you pushed your wet hair away from your face, turning off the water. As you stepped from the stall, you met eyes with a girl who perked an eyebrow in your direction. She froze in the middle of brushing her teeth, having obviously seen Clay leave, and at the sight of you, she smirked. “Alright, alright. I see you, Elizabeth Bennett,” she winked, swaying a bit before continuing on with her routine.

Dream Tag List: (follow this link to be added ;))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy

[nincompoopydoo]

LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.

[snorlaxlovesme]

Walk Me Home

So I guess I wrote this fic for a SoMa week prompt last year and then didn’t post it??? I found it in my drafts and was really confused what a fully completed one-shot was doing staring back at me lmao

So. Here’s a fic for I think the “2am” prompt. Title a reference to the P!nk song, since I’m pretty sure I spammed it while writing this.

                             ____________________

“Hey. Hey!”

Maka hears Soul’s voice call out from behind her, but she doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t want to talk right now; she wants to leave.

“Jesus, why are you walking so fast? Slow down, fuck’s sake.”

The grit of the sidewalk digs painfully into the heels of her bare feet. It doesn’t slow her down, nor does it stop her. In fact, when she hears Soul’s panting from behind her, she petulantly picks up her speed until his hand is landing on her shoulder and pulling her to a stop. He tugs her around despite her best efforts to keep walking.

“Hey, you wanna tell me what the problem is? Why did you leave the party?” He doesn’t even look mad at her, just concerned, which somehow makes her just feel worse. Soul continues, “I went to go talk to Kid for a few minutes and when I came back everyone said you left. Did something happen?”

Clearly something must have happened. She knows he can see it all over her expression, in the way she bolted away from him. Hell, he can probably feel waves of it coming directly from her soul.  

But she doesn’t want to talk, so she pulls her shoulder away from his grasp and keeps walking, marching towards the direction of home, probably. She’s still a little tipsy, even though she only had a couple drinks at the party. But whoever Kid hires to bartend at the Gallows Mansion has a heavy hand when it comes to mixing drinks. Either her cocktails were stronger than normal or Maka really is the lightweight every assumes she is. She keeps walking despite her protesting feet and the way the world is swaying around her.

“So you’re just not gonna talk to me?” Soul asks, still trailing behind her. She can feel his hand come to rest on her shoulders every now and again, steadying her when she tips a bit too far in one direction, but pulling away once she’s righted herself. Protecting her while also respecting her boundaries. It’s infuriating.

Soul keeps talking to her back. “Was it something it something Black Star said? You know how Star gets when he’s drunk. He’s got no fucking boundaries.”

It’s not Black Star. It’s not anyone specifically. It’s just everyone. It’s everything. It’s nothing. She doesn’t want to explain it, because that would just be another weakness to add to the ever-growing pile.

“I can kick his ass if you want,” Soul keeps trying, knowing full-well that he could never take Black Star in a fight. The pathetic offer almost makes her smile, but she gulps it down and tries not to cry.

Soul circles around in front of her. “Look, you don’t have to tell me, but could you please stop for a sec? You’re not wearing any shoes and your feet are gonna get all fucked up. There could be glass or something.” Maka, being Maka, doesn’t give a damn about potential dangers to herself, and continues marching forward, leaving Soul to roll his eyes and pick up his pace to catch up with her again. She’s trying not to look at him, but she can see the way his eyes widen in his ‘I have an idea’ face, and two seconds later he’s transformed into a scythe in front of her, hovering a few feet off the ground beside her. His wings flap quickly and silently to keep steady beside her.

“Please?” His voice comes his weapon form, tinny and desperate.

Now Maka is the one rolling her eyes. His winged-form only rubs salt in her emotional wounds, but her feet are admittedly in a lot of pain after almost a half mile of walking on cracked concrete. She concedes and throws a leg over his handle. She grabs onto him with both hands, expecting him to whisk her away to their apartment above the buildings of Death City. Soul surprises her by hovering another foot in the air, so her feet don’t drag on the cement, but flying at the same pace she was walking.

The quiet extends before them into the night. The farther they get from the Gallows, the harder it is to hear the booming bass of the music. Soul lets Maka direct them with her soul through the residential neighborhoods and away from crowded streets. She started this walk with the intention of being alone.

But, ten times out of ten she’d rather be with Soul.

She swallows. “Do you care what people think about you?”

On a normal day he’d snark at her for finally deeming him worthy of conversation, but today he’s quiet as he thinks of what response she might be looking for. She can feel he’s trying to pick apart the meaning of this starting question, but eventually just decides to answer honestly.

“Yeah. All the time.”

It’s the truth, Maka can feel in his soul that it is, but she still doesn’t believe it. In the time that Maka has known Soul, he’s grown so much. She’s always admired the way he just lets things roll off his shoulders, not giving a shit what others think about him. Maybe he’s just been faking it, but he does a damn good job playing the Cool Guy he’s always wanted to be as a kid. He makes Maka’s version of the same kind of make-believe feel like child’s play. No one believes in her flimsy brand of confidence.  

“Do you care what people think about us?” she asks.

There’s always been something in the way people talk about the two of them. Soul, the powerful, confident demon weapon that took down Arachne and helped save the world from madness on the moon. Maka, the meister who just managed to hold on for the ride. Maybe that’s not exactly what they say, but it’s implied. In the way other students will look at him with admiration, with appreciation, and then how they look at her, like they’re surprised it was little unstable Maka Albarn who managed to produce a Death Scythe. She knows she’s weak, but do people have to throw it in her face all the time? Like she was the last person they expected to be helpful in the apocalypse?  

Even at a freaking party there are people coming up to Soul and asking him for autographs while Maka stands right next to him. Like somehow they know the exact imbalance of strength between Soul and Maka and they’re disappointed in Maka the same way she is with herself.

Just thinking about it has her unconsciously pulling Soul forward down the street a little faster. She breathes deeply. Just a few more minutes and she’ll be home.

Soul finally speaks, breaking her out of her own internal pity party.  

“No.”

Maka blinks.

No?

“Our partnership is no one’s business but ours. If people have something to say about it, whatever. I only care about one person’s opinion when it comes to our partnership. And that’s you.”

God, it’s such a simple yet complete answer. And he’s totally right, like always. She doesn’t know why she gives a shit what other people think about her and Soul. None of it matters in the end, but God, does Maka wish for once that when she thought of the word “strength” she could picture herself embodying that word instead of never measuring up. Instead of feeling guilty for somehow always thinking she’s holding Soul back.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

Maka’s soul spikes so suddenly in surprise that Soul comes to a halt in the middle of the street.

“I’m serious. I know you wanna be the best meister you can be, but you’re too stuck in your own head to realize how fucked I would be without you as my partner.” He quiets in a way that means he’s gathering his words, and Maka listens with bated breath.  

“You’re the smartest and bravest person I know, okay? And you’re also a reckless moron who pulls some of the craziest shit in battle that I’ve ever seen in my life. It sucks that I have to keep saying this to you, but I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it. The only reason I ever had a prayer of becoming of a Death Scythe was because you’ve been my meister. Stop thinking that you’re not good enough, because you’re better than every asshole at the party. You did something they never could and now never will be able to do.”

Maka closes her eyes for a few heartbeats, allowing this to sink in. Even now, at 2am with the sky pitch dark because of the blackened moon, it’s hard to imagine that she was involved in that fight. She helped save the world and she’s still convinced that she’s somehow not good enough. Maybe Soul’s right, and what they have could only be accomplished with the two of them together. Maybe no one else matters but her and Soul.

“Soul? Transform for me, will you?”

Without hesitation, Soul morphs back into human form, holding her now on piggyback instead of on his weapon form. The shift from being supported by his handle to hanging off his backside is so natural that Maka doesn’t even have to think about it, just adjusts her arms so they’re tighter across his shoulders. She presses her face into the side of his neck in gratitude.

“You always know what to say, you know that?”

Soul snorts and hops a little to scoot her higher up his back. “It’s easy when your soul is practically screaming at me what you’re upset about.” He starts walking again, refusing to put her down because of his stubborn insistence that she’ll hurt her feet. “So. Party sucked for you too, then?”

Now it’s Maka’s turn to snort. All of a sudden the night’s whole emo conclusion feels very overstated. She feels foolish for being so dramatic but remembers that Soul thinks she’s strong even when she’s a drama queen. Depends on her even when she gets caught up in her own head. The reminder calms her soul down considerably.

“Think I drank too much,” she says, nestling closer to his back and laying her arms heavily over his shoulders to remain balanced. “Ox said some dumb shit about me being the weaker partner and it made me sad.”

“Alcohol is a depressant,” Soul says, kind of snooty. He’s repeating what she’s told him on his Moody Drinking nights.  

“Wait a minute,” Soul says. “Did you say Ox? Who the fuck is he to talk about being a weak partner?”

“I thought you said you don’t care what anyone thinks about us.”

“Yeah, but that was before I found out it was fucking Ox Ford who was talking down to you. I could totally take his ass in fight.”

Maka laughs for the first time all night. Soul continues ranting all the way home about how he’s going to beat Ox’s face in the next time he saw him (he won’t) and Maka thinks that maybe real strength is remembering that you always have someone on your side.

[ragingbookdragon]

Should Judgement Come To Pass

Asra x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: My spin on Book 20: Judgment, 1. The Red Room. Enjoy! -Thorne

           It was the oppressive emotion that kept his throat tight, heart hammering in his chest as he gazed from his plate to the other members of the Devil’s dinner party. Even if he wasn’t under the compulsion like Asra and them, his movements made him feel like he was. Too focused on trying to fit in, to keep the secret of his freedom hidden, it was eating away at his usually reserved demeanor. His eyes shifted to Asra, just a second is all it took for the other to nod and he inhaled deeply, glancing towards the Devil, an inviting smile growing underneath his mask. And the Devil smiled back, but it was anything but friendly.

           “See, (Y/N). All of this isn’t so bad.” He raised the silver goblet in his hand, and (Y/N) took a moment to glance at his own wine, imagining one of those vampire eels swimming around in it.

           “There’s food and wine, all of your favorite people in the same place. What more could you even ask for?” (Y/N) knew he had to play this by ear, and his answers had to seem like the most selfish he could possess.

           “I’d like…power.” He allowed a mock look of greed to come across him, voice dark and lusting. “If this is how it’s going to be, I want power.” The Devil burst into a roaring laughter, Valdemar and the others following.

           “Power!” The Devil repeated with a low chuckle. “Perhaps you and I are not so different after all, (Y/N).” He gave him a knowing look. “I bet you want to return to the great monster hunter you were before, hmm?”

           (Y/N) took a moment to think it over. “I can’t deny it’s crossed my mind.” His eyes flitted to Nadia and he sent a silent plea that she would play along. “When I was as powerful as I was three years ago, I had princesses tripping over themselves to make me their consorts.”

           Nadia was one smart cookie because she scoffed and spat, “You are just the same as Lucio.”

           He winked and flashed a pearly grin. “I can’t deny that power has its benefits.”

           “All mortals want power, Nadia,” the Devil tutted before turning his attention back onto (Y/N). “You desire to crush your enemies and to befuddle your betters…” his eyes darted to Asra. “To protect the ones you love dearly.”

           A bolt of white-hot anger thundered in (Y/N)’s chest, but he merely smiled through his clenched teeth. “What can I say? I’m a greedy bastard.”

           Some of the attendents laughed, and that was when (Y/N) felt the cool whisper of Asra’s magic was over him and Faust. Averting his gaze, he absentmindedly ran his pointer around the rim of his wine glass.

           “So, Devil?”

           The dark, maroon eye fell on him. “Yes, (Y/N)?”

           “Can I ask you something before the world is shot to hell?”

           The Devil snorted. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. The world isn’t going to end, it’s just going to be…altered.”

           (Y/N) met his stare head on. “Why go through all this trouble? You’re an Arcana. You have control of an entire realm, and anybody stupi—understanding enough of magic to deal with?”

           Tutting once more, the Devil sighed. “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). Do you have any idea what any of what you just said means?” He scoffed. “Of course you don’t, do you? You’ve never even stopped to consider it. We Arcana are masters of our own realms, but in the rest of existence, we are confined. Restricted to our unchanging roles.” The Devil offered a sympathetic look. “Surely someone as talented and smart as you can see how awfully tiresome it would become to stay unchanging all the time?”

           (Y/N) opened his mouth to respond when he heard a voice that sent his heart pounding against his chest.

           Help!

           Before he could even do a thing, Asra jolted in his seat, knee banging the underside of the table, fork clattering against the porcelain dish. The Devil was silent, but (Y/N) could tell that in the way his crimson eyes focused on Asra that he was suspicious.

           (Y/N) sucked in a breath, eyes darting wildly around to find some form of distraction, all the while Asra and Faust were conversing. It was too confusing, trying to focus on them while trying to distract the Devil. If he didn’t find something to say, something to do, they were doomed. They were—

           “…no one wants you here, Devil.”

           The voice was quiet but firm, and (Y/N) turned his attention to Muriel who gave him a small nod. It was just the distraction enough because the Devil turned on Muriel, but he met the glare with defiant green eyes.

           Across the table, Julian cleared is throat too, voice carrying over the table. “He’s right you know. I can party with just about anyone, even Lucio, but you have to be the exception.”

           Soon, everyone was following along, and Nadia was the next to get her shot in. “And I do not recall inviting you to my Masquerade. You have been such an ungracious guest.” (Y/N) fought viciously to keep the smile hidden as he looked over his frien—no, his best friends.

           The Devil paused a moment to regard them all, as if he genuinely cared what they were saying to him, though the way his clawed hands started clenching and unclenching told him otherwise.

           “Courage in the face of inevitable fate.” His voice turned downright mocking. “How…admirable.” Smiling, he added, “I hope something of you remains when the new world dawns. Perhaps I’ll have new toys to play with.”

           A flickering next to (Y/N)’s silver chalice caught his eye, something that could’ve been a trick of the light, but he knew what it really was. The red wine rippled, then stilled, and next to him, Asra slumped back in his seat, exhaustion seeping down his body. (Y/N) inconspicuously lowered his hand to Asra’s thigh, trying to pour magic into his lover. Whether it worked or not, he didn’t know, but the way Asra sighed in slight relief made his heart calm. Cool snakeskin ran behind his ankle as Faust wound her way up.

           Done…

           Even she sounded exhausted. His heart picked up again, but he was too afraid to even look in Asra’s direction for fear that a single glance would give them both away.

           The Devil raised his chalice and smiled. “To all of you. Thank you so much for playing the wonderful parts you’ve been given.”

He passed the chalice to Julian, and try as he did to resist, the compulsion was too strong, and he took the goblet. His normally pale complexion seemed to whiten even further after he swallowed the wine. The chalice made its way around the table, and one by one the dinner guests drank from it before it finally reached Asra and (Y/N).

           Raising it, Asra said, “To you, (Y/N).” he took a long sip before passing it over into (Y/N) hands.

           He took a long look at it, the dark crimson stains across the sides of the polished silver made his stomach curl. Before he lost his nerve, he grunted and knocked the remaining wine back, forcing himself to keep the sickly saccharine liquid down.

           Asra’s hand fell to his, worry in his voice. “Are you alright, my love?”

           He didn’t have a chance to respond as the Devil chuckled and shook his head, eyes falling on the two of them. “Love. Tell me Asra, what do you think your love managed to accomplish?” With a clawed hand, he vaguely gestured to the rest of the guests at the table. “Everyone is here. Everyone drank the wine. Even your darling (Y/N).”

           Grinning evilly, he finished with, “All your efforts were for naught. You and your love achieved nothing.”

           And that was the bridge too far. (Y/N) could take the Devil mocking his failures, but not those of Asra’s. His lover had worked for too long, worked far too hard, and suffered enough to be subjected to such abuse.

           The screeching of his chair sounded through the room as he stood to his feet and to his full height, ripping the mask off his face so the Devil could look his straight in the eyes.

           “You’re wrong,” (Y/N) condemned with the most withering glower he could muster.

           “Oh?” the Devil merely looked amused as he steepled his fingers. “Indulge me then, (Y/N). Tell me how wrong I am about this mortal delusion you call love.”

           Everyone fell silent, and with the weight of their gazes on him, (Y/N) inhaled and exhaled before he picked up the empty goblet and turned to Asra.

           “Asra, the first thing I remember in this new existence is the feeling of your arms wrapped protectively around me, the relieved and joyous tears seeping into my shirt.” He reached out, taking his lover’s hand. “You have always and will always be the greatest part of me, the truest friend and partner. The man I love the most.”

           (Y/N) raised the chalice to Julian. “We discovered the truth and redeemed an innocent man…not that he made it easy on us.” Julian’s face flushed a light pink as he laughed and gave a dramatic bow.

           “We have traveled across the realms of magic with nothing but our wits and ability to save us. We saved your parents and unraveled numerous mysteries great and small.” Asra’s eyes shone with crystal clear tears and he squeezed (Y/N)’s hand with all he could.

           “I couldn’t’ve done this, any of this, had you not been by my side the entire time.” Flashing him a smile, “Well, I probably could’ve, but not as stylishly of course.” Asra merely giggled and nodded.

           Sighing indulgently, the Devil glanced at them. “Yes, yes, this all so very touching. Dare I ask what even your point to all this is, (Y/N)?”

           (Y/N) tossed the goblet away, not caring that it bounced along the marble floor with a clang. The Devil’s eyes briefly darted to it, then back to him, an anger drawing into them.

           “Love’s the one thing you don’t understand Devil. It will always matter, even if you can’t comprehend it.” He tugged Asra to his feet and turned his attention to the beautiful mauve eyes he as well as his own. “It’s important to me. Important to us. And that’s all I need to be happy.”

           Raising his free hand, he caressed Asra’s cheek. “I don’t need anything else as long as you’re by my side, beloved.”

           “Is that so? Love has driven many passionate mortals, the same as you, into my open and waiting arms.” He grinned deviously. “Always craving more pleasure, more novelty, more control. Your kind are never sated. You’re greedy—like me.”

           (Y/N) shook his head, but never took his eyes off Asra’s. “The feelings you’re describing aren’t love. That’s pride and arrogance. Greed and loathing.”

           Finally, he looked over at the Devil. “However, I’m not surprised that the likes of you can’t tell the difference. It’s almost pitiful. But it makes me see just how delusional you’ve become in this whirlwind of a masterplan.” Expecting a barb back at him, (Y/N) was unnerved to see how conspicuously silent the Devil became.

           Asra looked as though he was seeing the sunrise for the first time after a life in the darkness as he confessed, “(Y/N), you didn’t have to say all the on my behalf.”

           He grinned at his lover. “Probably not…but it made me feel all manly to defend your honor.” Pressing a quick kiss to his cheekbone, he murmured, “Like a knight in shining armor defending his damsel in distress.” Asra snorted, pressing his face into (Y/N)’s shoulder to muffle his laughter, and it made his heart feel bubbly and light despite the gloom and darkness around them.

           “Well, I do feel safe and defended, so thank you, (Y/N).” Peeking his head up, he gazed into (Y/N)’s eyes. “And remember, whatever comes next and becomes of us, I love you too.”

           His heart swelled in his chest and it was only then that (Y/N) realized that everyone was watching them with grand smiles on their faces. It was enough to stun him and Asra, mainly because they’d forgotten they weren’t alone—Asra more so.

The Devil on the other hand was barely containing his annoyance. “Are you quite finished filibustering, (Y/N)? I’ve an agenda to keep up with.”

           (Y/N) shrugged and deadpanned, “Technically you asked me, asshole.”

           Ignoring the insult, the Devil huffed, “A moment of idle curiosity, nothing more than so.” Not wanting to push the envelope farther, (Y/N) fell silent and let the conversation stand. “Nevertheless, now that your sickenin—heartwarming display is over…”

           With an earsplitting ring, the Devil’s hands clapped together. (Y/N)’s teeth rattled, ears ringing as every nerve ending was set aflame. By the shock on Asra and the other’s faces, they felt it too. As quick as it came over, it was gone, and Julian was the first to break the silence.

           “Uh…was something supposed to happen? Because I don’t think it’s happening.”

           “Patience,” the Devil commanded. “One can’t rush these things.” Clapping his hands again, the same outcome applied. “What…is this? It should work.”

           (Y/N) sighed wistfully, and with humor. “Ah well, performance issues are not uncommon.” Asra choked on his spit as he tried not to laugh. “Running an apothecary, I’ve seen it’s about one out of five. I could recommend—” A deafening screech echoed through the room and they all spun to see Volta screaming at the top of her lungs.

           “Oh! Oh, what is happening to Volta? Volta feels…light? Volta feels so strange!”

           They stared in shock as the other courtiers started squirming uncontrollably in their seats, even Valdemar who was the strongest of them appeared particularly rattled. Something didn’t seem right with them to (Y/N) and before he could speak his concern to Asra, his vision fell into a hazy red, nausea threatening to turn his stomach inside out. What reeled him more was the true visage of the courtiers—constructed shells, thin as frost, and barely containing their real, nightmarish forms. He drew his eyes away only to catch sight of the ghostly chains binding everyone to their chairs. The vision began to fade, and the chains started unraveling, link by link by link.

           When it all cleared, the first thing (Y/N) saw was Asra’s face. “Come on, (Y/N). Deep breaths. You’re here. You’re with me.”

           He breathed a sigh of relief. “Asra, we did it. The plan worked.”

           “What? How do you know? What did you see?” Asra’s questions were rapid-fire.

           Nadia cut off any response, rising from her seat gloriously like a phoenix from the ashes. “Whatever you hoped to accomplish has failed, Devil.” Her voice held a barely contained, seething rage. “If you are quite done with this perverse little charade, get the hell out of my Palace.”

           Everyone began to rise as though they were awakening from a long, hellish dream, standing as they were no longer bound by the ritual. Asra and (Y/N)’s smiles grew by the moment.

           Asra looped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, hugging him tightly. “We did it! It worked!”

           (Y/N) yanked off his mask and took hold of Asra’s chin, sealing their lips in a searing kiss. As they pulled away, Aisha and Salim leapt from the chair and ran over to hug them.

           “Oh, thank the Gods you’re both alright!” Aisha exclaimed, pressing kisses to both their cheeks.

           “What of you two? Are you hurt?” Asra’s hurt was palpable. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. We—”

           Salim rested a hand on Asra’s shoulder. “Asra, don’t be sorry. We’re alright. And you two did marvelously.”

           “And we’re so very proud of you two,” Aisha added with a smile.

           “Ahem.” The Devil exaggerated and everything fell silent once more. Asra took his place before his parents, and (Y/N) before him.

           “We drank your wine and ate your food, and nothing has happened. The ritual has failed. It’s over. Let us go.”

           All at once the shadows darkened as he rose from his seat, form distorting until he towered over the guests.

           “Over?” he laughed coldly. “Never.” He reached out a shadowy clawed hand to seize them, blackened fire erupting around the room.

           (Y/N) raised a hand, instantly cooling the fires around Asra and he. “It’s over, Devil. Fate says it is. We say it is.” His eyes narrowed with determination and he fiercely declared, “I say it is.”

           “You’re not going anywhere you foolish mortals,” the Devil countered and (Y/N) willed the magic to his fingers, an ethereal blade forming in his hand.

           He pointed at the Devil, took Asra’s hand in his free one, and dared fearlessly, “Watch us.”

[specterchasing-a]

People Like Us || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Morgan’s House

PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems​ & @specterchasing​

SUMMARY: Eddie needs help accepting the truth about who he is, and who better to lend a hand than Morgan Beck? 

CONTAINS: Internalized homophobia tw, domestic abuse mention tw (section is tagged)

Eddie learned Morgan didn’t pull punches the day he came across her picnicking among the headstones of Jericho Hill. She took one look at him and effortlessly seemed to understand what made him tick. At the time, he didn’t realize she went easy on him. He knew better now. After their last conversation, he doubted she wanted anything to do with him, or that she ever would again. Unfortunately, that didn’t change how badly he needed her help.

He pulled his car into her driveway and put it in park. Unsteady breaths staggered the rise and fall of his chest. “In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Eddie quietly instructed himself as he exited the car, flinching when the car door slammed shut upon its release from his hand. Moonlight assisted the mansion’s porchlight in illuminating the path to her front door. If it weren’t for the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, he might have appreciated the sleepy suburban ambience.

Eddie reached the door and raised his fist, hesitating at the last second. If he turned around now, he could probably still make it to his car before Morgan noticed it in her driveway. He swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat, and felt his eyes begin to sting with budding tears. Leaving now would only prove her right for calling him a coward. “Shit,” he sighed before finally knocking.

Morgan couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard someone knock on the front door. When Bex and Mina stayed, they had keys. Urk rang the bell or called out, blubbering, through the window. An unexpected knock on the door was the wrong kind of normal. Even the cats complained with tense ears and whiny meows. Make it go away.

“Yeah, I’m working on it,” Morgan mumbled. She hesitated before approaching the door, bracing herself for the worst, then decided that maybe there was no such thing in White Crest and flung it open only to find… “Eddie?” She was too surprised to keep the incredulity out of her voice. As far as she was aware they had nothing left to say to each other. She frowned, struggling to process. “Uh….can I help you?”

The sight of Morgan instantly inflamed Eddie’s precarious emotional state. He blinked as the budding tears started to blossom. More people had seen him cry in the past few weeks than he cared to admit, and Eddie wasn’t eager to add another name to the list. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he had a say in the matter once a stray tear fled down his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “God, Morgan, I’m so sorry.” Eddie bled as much sincerity into his apology as he could muster, she needed to believe him. “I can’t do this.” He shrugged helplessly before his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You were right about everything, and I want to set things right. With Bex, with you, with myself.” His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek momentarily. “But I’m scared and I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have anyone else I can go to about this. Only one other person knows about me, and he doesn’t know Bex the way you do.” 

Whatever hostility Morgan had been holding onto against Eddie melted as soon as she saw his tears. And then his arms over his chest, the way he seemed desperate to hold himself together when the truth was he couldn’t, his guilt, his hurt. Morgan had seen it dozens of times, almost half of them in the mirror when she was even younger than Eddie. She didn’t know what else to do but come out and wrap him up as best she could. 

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. You’re gonna be okay, Eddie. It doesn’t feel like it, but you will be.” She pulled away, searching his face to find his comfort levels, and gave him a little tug. “Come inside, tell me what you’re worried about, and we’ll come up with something, okay?” She gave him the softest smile she could; nothing was so bad if you could smile a little about it.

Morgan didn’t yell at him, or slam the door in his face like Eddie thought she would. Instead, she hugged him, and that wasn’t something he prepared himself for on the drive over. His throat tightened as he returned the gesture, arms wrapping around her as he grounded himself within the moment. Eddie didn’t receive much physical affection. Usually, he was the one dishing it out, but he appreciated the role reversal more than he could say.

She spoke to him in words of affirmation so kind he almost believed them. As far as he could tell, ‘okay’ was officially out of his reach and would be for the foreseeable future, but he decided not to argue. He caught her eye when she pulled back and he made an effort to smile, but the best he could do was purse his lips together. Eddie followed her inside, nodding along with everything she said. 

“Thank you,” he said softly now that they were surrounded by the mansion’s walls. “Sorry, I didn’t get this far in my head,” Eddie admitted after a beat of silence. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “What I’m worried about is essentially everything.” He didn’t intend to sound so dramatic, but his entire world was changing around him, and he didn’t know how to talk about that nonchalantly. “But, uhm, we can start with Bex. I have to tell her. I don’t want to, but I have to, and she’s going to hate me. I don’t have a lot of friends, Morgan, so losing her is gonna suck for me.” 

Morgan led Eddie into the kitchen and started on some tea. The last thing he needed was to dehydrate while he was this tense. She smirked to herself, remembering that everything went wrong between them around a teapot last time. Maybe this could be a good do-over for both of them. While the water boiled, she put her hands on his shoulders and guided him to sit. 

“Eddie,” she began, warm and gentle. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Why, exactly, do you think Bex is going to hate you? For that matter, why do you think anyone who really cares about you will?” She brushed back his messy hair, sighing. After all these years, not much had changed, not for the kids she knew, at least. “Eddie Carridine, there is nothing wrong with being the person you are. There is nothing bad or ugly or inferior about the person you were made to be. Who told you that there was?”

Eddie didn’t take in much of his surroundings. Morgan’s interior design choices passed by in a blur on their way to the kitchen. He watched as she prepared a pot of tea, the parallel between tonight and their last meeting not being lost on him either. He hoped to actually stick around long enough to try it this time. 

Morgan encouraged him to sit down, and Eddie obliged. His eyes, a little wider than usual, locked onto hers as she kept him from continuing on his downward spiral. The tone she used, the way she pushed his hair out of his face, it all felt so foreign. After Eddie learned to walk and talk, his parents never soothed him with gentle voices or gestures of affection. They preferred to let Eddie work through emotional distress on his own. They told him it would build character, but all it ever did was make him feel desperately alone. Having Morgan, someone he barely knew, do what they refused to without prompting left him feeling conflicted, but mostly grateful.

“Bex is going to hate me because I don’t think we can work through these kinds of differences,” Eddie announced, wishing he could keep the tone light. If he could, maybe the weight pressing down on his chest would start to let up. “Our relationships will be over and, I dunno, I feel like that might upset her.” Bex genuinely seemed to like him, which remained an overwhelming source of guilt.

As far as who told Eddie that being himself was a punishable offense, the list went on and on. “Do you have all day?” he asked dryly. Deflecting didn’t make him feel any better. A sigh slipped past his lips and he decided to take the question more seriously. “My parents, for starters,” he said as the lump in his throat returned. “They, uh, had expectations for me, still do, actually. And I really think this would be the final straw for them. Right now, the only reason I’m still on their insurance and why they pay my car-note is that they’re holding onto hope that I might still grow up to be a normal boy, with a normal wife, and normal kids.”

“Oh, Eddie…” Morgan sighed, brushing through the rest of his hair. “Normal isn’t a real thing. It’s an aspirational lie. No one’s normal. And, sure, you spend your time on YouTube and you can see dead people, but isn’t that also kind of what makes you amazing? Why shouldn’t this also be something that makes you amazing?” She focused on his eyes, willing him to unclench just a little more, to make this easier for both of them. “Also, not every breakup has to end in anyone hating anyone. There’s even a proud tradition in certain circles of staying friends with exes.” Also, Bex had the same secret as Eddie. But that wasn’t hers to tell. 

The kettle raddled on the stove and Morgan went to attend to it. She reached for a jar of something ready-made and dipped a heaping spoonful into the infuser and started preparing their cups. “I want to get to the heart of this with you, I do, but I need to know what level of ‘last straw’ you’re talking about here. I mean, are your parents going to hurt you, if you tell them this? Do you need to secure some resources for yourself or have someone pseudo-indestructible around? Also--” She brought the tea to the kitchen island and slid it toward Eddie before climbing onto the stool next to him. “You still haven’t told me yet. What we’re talking around, what you’re trying to accept about yourself. It might help, if you can name it.”

Eddie wanted so badly to see normality the way Morgan did, but the idea of it seemed incontestably desirable to him in this case. All his life, his parents barely acknowledged his existence and he knew he should resent them for it, but he still craved their approval in spite of everything; in spite of himself. Just once, he wanted them to recognize him as something to be proud of instead of branding him a failure with every step he took. 

“Amazing?” Eddie echoed quietly. The sudden commendation shooed away all thoughts of his parents. He looked up at Morgan like he expected her to take it back. “Most people just think the ghost thing is kind of weird.” His shoulders raised in a soft shrug. Ghosts gave his life meaning, but his dedication to them also made it more difficult to navigate. “Or fake.” Amazing. The word hung stubbornly in his mind as if daring him to believe what Morgan said could be true. “How can something that keeps me up at night be amazing?” he asked genuinely. Before he could take a leap of faith and try to celebrate instead of hide, he needed more answers.

“I’d like that,” Eddie said about staying friends with Bex. “I really do care about her, that part wasn’t a lie.” The calming way Morgan familiarized herself with his hair and seemed to know exactly what to say slowly encouraged him to take refuge in the safety of his time with her. He sniffled, but the tears in his eyes were drying. Breathing came a little easier now, which felt like a miraculous turn of events.

[DOMESTIC ABUSE MENTION]

“Not physically, I don’t think,” he answered honestly, his eyes following her as she tended to the tea. “Dad’s only ever lost his temper with me like that once.” Not a fond memory, but enough time spanned between now and then that Eddie could discuss it without unravelling. “I think they’d disown me though,” he added softly. He caught the cup of tea she slid his way and focused on the steam rising to meet his face instead of his parents. “I make good enough money, but I won’t turn down the other offer, if only for moral support.” He turned his head to face her as she sat down and made another attempt at a smile, this time with marginally more success.

[END OF DOMESTIC ABUSE MENTION]

The hint of a smile diminished when she probed for a label. Saying it out loud to Alfie hadn’t been easy, and maybe he’d been naïve for thinking it wouldn’t be hard the second time around. “I’m—” His eyes closed tightly as his head tilted to the side. He hated this, the way a three letter word felt like Mt. fucking Everest. “This is such bullshit,” Eddie announced with suddenly reopening eyes. He straightened up and took a breath. Try again. “I—I like guys, I guess.” The words shot out of his mouth faster than his usual speech, but he said it. And he didn’t feel sick. In fact, he felt kind of relieved. “One guy in particular, but yeah. I’m gay, probably. I dunno, something like that.” He winced at his convoluted confession, but he guessed it could have been worse. It could have been like the last time she tried to goad him into honesty. 

Morgan ached to see how much Eddie craved comfort,  like he’d been starved for it his whole life. He had the kind of hurt that didn’t show up on the body, the kind that she carried, that was so easy to delude yourself about. And how many times had her throat closed up when she’d tried to tell her mother, Sorry, everything’s my fault because I can only like girls! I’m a lesbian! It had been years before the words came easy to her. Eddie was only just getting started. 

“Hey,” she said softly, reaching for a clean towel and leaning over to wipe his cheeks with all the care she wished for him. “It’s not bullshit. It’s hard, I know it’s hard. But you are one of the dreamiest gay boys that ever popped out of the rainbow, and we are all so lucky that you exist. Maybe even especially the boy you like. I want to hear all about him, but first, new plan: we’re moving somewhere comfy. You’re not a part of the family until you’ve had an emotional moment in the great room, so let’s get moving.” 

She hopped off her stool and took Eddie’s mug and led him further into the house, toward the large plushy couch she and everyone she loved spent so much time on. “Also, I hope this goes without saying, but I will be there for support if that’s what you want. Just tell me when and where to show up. But, back to the main point: you’re amazing, and whatever happens, there’s no good reason for anyone to think differently. Especially because you’re gay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we make the world go round in the most fabulous ways. But, conditioning, parents, society--there’s a lot of bullshit that keeps people like us from understanding that. When I came out to my mother, I was crying and apologizing because I thought I was literally cursing our family with my gayness. So as much as I believe in you, as much as I’m making this sound like some obvious truth--because it is--I can imagine why you might have a hard time believing it. But I don’t want to guess or project too much of myself.” At last, she settled down in her usual spot among the cushions, floating around them for how little she felt their presence. “So, can I ask you? Other people aside, because we can’t control other people’s choices, what about being gay scares you, or worries you or makes you feel...weird?”

Being called ‘one of the dreamiest gay boys to ever pop out of the rainbow’ managed to inspire Eddie’s first genuine smile of the night. Traces of sadness still lingered on his face, but he appreciated the break in tension more than he knew how to say. He didn’t know how to grapple with her saying people were lucky to know him, especially within the current context, it felt surreal. He wanted to thank Morgan in a way that showcased how much everything she said meant to him, but everything he thought to say fell short.

In the great room, he made himself comfortable next to her on the couch. A family of people like Morgan sounded too good to be true like most of what she said. Thinking about it reminded him of what she told him about the importance of hope, and Eddie decided there must have been some truth to it. As scary as it was to picture a brighter future for himself, it began to seem less like a lost cause.

“You apologized?” He didn’t mean to sound so shocked. Even though he knew better, it often seemed like self-acceptance came easier to everyone else. Hearing that even Morgan struggled to come to terms with her sexuality made him feel  substantially less alone. Eddie considered her next question carefully by turning his attention inward, it wasn’t something he often did. Pleasing the people around him automatically took precedence over making himself happy.

“Thinking about it now, I guess most of what scares me has to do with other people,” he admitted. “Rejection, ridicule, judgment, harassment. Those are the big ones and, like you said, all of that’s out of my control.” Eddie took his first sip of tea now that enough time had passed for it to cool. His hands shook a little. “If all I had to worry about was myself, I…” he trailed off in contemplation. “When I’m alone with Alfie, he’s the guy I mentioned, everything else falls away. When I touch him or manage to make him laugh—that’s it. That’s all that matters; just us. And it feels… amazing until I ask myself how people might react if they saw us. Then I start to feel dirty or-or like I’m doing something wrong, kind of like I’m going to be punished for being happy because…. because that’s always how it’s been.” Eddie realized how true what he said was as he said it. “Being gay scares me because it makes me happy.”

Had Morgan apologized to her mother? “Oh, profusely. I actually thought, if I just kept apologizing, maybe I wouldn’t ever have to actually say it and potentially break what little good there was between my mother and me. But she gave me this impatient look, and I had to, so I did. And it was--” She paused, smiling sadly. “It was maybe the only time she was really sorry for anything she’d done. She uh...she took care of me for a little bit. And that was nice. But this was in 1999, and we had an implicit understanding to keep that part of me on a need-to-know basis. But, things are different, in some ways. Maybe not for your parents, maybe not everywhere, but here? So different. So much better.” She ruffled his hair again and tried to look ahead into something better, lighter than the world he was currently living in. What would he even look like if he was really happy?

“Eddie, I really, really mean what I’m about to say. And I am saying it as someone who was literally cursed with eternal suffering during her life. As a lesbian born in ‘81. As someone who knows all kinds of logic-mazes for explaining why happiness equals bad. Okay?” She took a deep breath and turned his face gently to make sure he was looking at her face. “Love itself is never wrong. And so any happiness that comes from love can never be wrong. And you, Eddie, are so worthy of love. The last thing you need to carry is shame for discovering love, which is one of the best parts of being alive. And the last thing you should do is starve your humanity from love because of other people. The people who are happy for you and your love are the ones you should build community with anyway.”

1999 sounded like a lifetime ago. For Eddie, it nearly was. With the current state of the world and the issues its inhabitants faced, he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like back then. A need-to-know basis, that’s how Morgan described the experience. Eddie shook his head sadly. Living like that must have been so draining. Even now, for all his fear and uncertainty, he knew how lucky he was to be alive now instead of then. If he’d been born alongside Morgan in the ‘80s, this conversation likely wouldn’t have been possible. Not with her, and not with anyone else, for that matter. 

Looking to the past and acknowledging the hard-won fights of those who came before him, especially while sitting next to one of the veterans, an unexpected feeling came over Eddie. His journey, although he would be the one most affected by it, wasn’t only about him. 

“It’s different because of people like you,” he said. “I—” Eddie felt a knot form in his throat. “Morgan, if it wasn’t for you, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to reach this point. Years, maybe? And that’s if it ever happened at all.” Harsh as she’d been, her words resonated with him and carried him through confessing to Alfie. “You saw me, really saw me, and refused to tolerate the bullshit. I think I understand why now.” He shifted to face her more fully. “I want to be more like you, Morgan. Someone who makes the world a better place by existing as is, not someone who hides for the comfort of people who don’t love them.”

Love, happiness, community. Morgan said the words and Eddie latched onto them for dear life. He knew better than to think this would be easy, or that his budding bravery would never again waver in the face of adversity, but he felt better equipped to face the future. “I think you’re right,” he ventured as a look of determination shone in his bleary eyes. “I mean, I want to, anyway, and that’s a start. It’s more than I had before.”

Morgan went still, completely bewildered. “I didn’t do much,” she admitted quietly. “I was too scared. I told myself I’d just make things worse all around. But, you know, everyone was kind of scared back then. It was never about some people magically not being scared. It was about not letting your fear trap you into a life so much smaller than what you should have. You--don’t need to be like me, Eddie. Especially not the me I was at your age. I--maybe it’s not fair of me, but I really just want to spare you some of the suffering I carried with me for so long, and the suffering of people I knew. I saw tiny maneuvers that I used to make when we were talking and I saw your hurt and I just wanted to make it stop for you.” She shrugged. “Don’t wait to find the love of your life until you’re at the ass-end of your thirties. I mean, if it takes that long, who cares, because it’s exactly as cheesy and gratifying as every song you’ve ever heard makes it sound and that is worth every star in the universe. But don’t wait that long to try! You are so young, and it is over so fast. What a waste to spend it hiding when you can be testing your capacity for joy?”

She beamed at Eddie and gave his arm a squeeze. “Deciding to is a really good start. All that’s next is doing it. Do you want to figure out what you want to say? To Bex? To your parents?”

Even with Morgan telling him he didn’t need to be like her, Eddie didn’t let her convince him. He wouldn’t argue and insist she accept his purview, that didn’t seem like it would do much good. Instead, he decided to show her his appreciation with his actions moving forward. She thought she didn’t do much, and he imagined it really did feel that way, but it got her to where she was now; teaching him how to love himself in a way no one had done before. Whether she knew it or not, he owed her immensely.

He grinned when she mentioned finding the love of her life. Eddie was grateful she did, and wondered if he might have too. He knew it was too soon to tell even if he and Alfie had known each other for years, but it didn’t hurt to play with the thought. 

Eddie took a deep breath when she asked where he’d like to begin. “Bex, definitely,” he said with a confident nod. “I don’t want whatever my mom and dad have to say about it to throw me off before I have a chance to enjoy myself, y’know? With Bex, at least she won’t hold it against me for just… being who I am.”

“No, she won’t,” Morgan agreed. “She won’t appreciate being lied to, but she’s not a closed minded girl. I think being honest about why you did what you did and why you’re doing this now is a good step alongside, you know, ‘guess what babe, I’m gay’. It’s kind of awful, but coming clean is usually the fastest way to fix something when you’ve made a mess. Even if it also feels like the hardest.” And maybe Bex would have some relief and tell Eddie about all those ‘I love you’s she’d exchanged with Mina by the pool. But as much as that would give Eddie some comfort, it wasn’t hers to tell. And maybe he’d feel braver, going in prepared for the worst and finding his world still intact. “Although, maybe don’t be that casual and literally say that. Unless it helps you say it easier! Once the words have come out, you sort of have to keep going with them, and that can actually be as great as it is scary.”

Eddie’s head bobbed in agreement as Morgan offered advice. He wouldn’t let doubt trickle in and throw him off course, not yet. If she said Bex would understand, he trusted her. They lived together once, made art together, they had to have been close. Eddie momentarily wondered why that all came to an end, but now wasn’t the time to ask questions like that. In any case, it wasn’t his business what went on between Bex and Morgan even if he cared about both of them a great deal.

He breathed a soft laugh through his nose when she advised him against being as casual as her example. “I have… no idea what the easiest way to say it will be,” he admitted. “I try to plan it out in my mind and a wall goes up.” He made a sharp gesture with his hand to mimic the wall being built. “Maybe…” Eddie trailed off as an idea began forming. “Okay, what if you pretend to be Bex and we play out what might happen? I think I’ll do better with a trial run.”

Morgan snorted with laughter. “We, uh--” Could, but there’s no way I can prepare you for her not-girlfriend in the pool. “Yeah! Why not. Bex is not the most predictable girl, but I will do my best.” She took a deep breath and adjusted herself on the couch. “Hey, Eddie,” she said, doing her best imitation of Bex’s speech cadence. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”

Eddie straightened up and mentally prepared himself, but the second Morgan imitated Bex, he burst out in unexpected laughter. “Is that really what you think Mainers sound like?” he asked in a bubbly tone. “Maybe, just use your normal accent and I’ll rely on my imagination. I cannot take you seriously when you sound like that.”

“What? That was totally spot-on!” Morgan said, laughing in spite of herself. She shook out her hair and tossed it into Bex’s usual middle part. “Is this not the spitting image? I don’t have the height, but I’ve got the nervous puppy eyes.” Morgan demonstrated, and not too badly, but only because she already had that face in her arsenal long before she met Bex. “But, okay, okay. I am me and you are imagining me as Bex: Hey, Eddie. What did you want to talk to me about?”

When Morgan insisted her Bex impersonation had been spot-on, Eddie immediately shook his head defiantly. “You have natural puppy dog eyes, doing that doesn’t count towards your score. Let me show you a real Bex impersonation.” He took a moment to get into character. His hands clasped in his lap, his shoulders jutted forward slightly to give the impression of timidity, and his eyes widened with brightness.

“Oh, um, hi, Morgan,” he said, altering his voice to convey Bex’s signature nervous excitement. “You said—You said you wanted to talk to me, right? I was busy studying, y’know, about anthropology—” Eddie nearly made himself break character by laughing, but quickly centered himself. “But I… I want to hear what you have to say.”

Eddie raised both hands palm-side up and leaned back with a satisfied expression on his face. “And that’s how it’s done.”

When Morgan was herself as Bex and Eddie returned to being Eddie, the seriousness of the situation crept back up on him. “What I want to talk to you about is… well, us,” he started slowly. His heart picked up speed within his chest even though he wasn’t actually talking to Bex. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about… about who I am. I haven’t been honest with myself, either, but I want to change that, starting now. Bex, I care about you very much and losing you as a friend would wreck me, but I can’t be your boyfriend anymore.” The words flowed from him with surprising ease. When he talked instead of obsessively thinking about what he wanted to say, it came naturally to him.

“I’m gay, and I need to stop hurting both of us by pretending that I’m not.”

Morgan thought carefully, trying to think of Bex’s worst case scenario and some response that wouldn’t crush Eddie’s spirit. Empathy wasn’t always her strong suit, and this had been going on for a little while… “Oh. When you say that, do you mean, did you know that you were when you asked me out? And when we kissed?”

“Yes,” Eddie responded hesitantly. He needed to be as honest as possible and not allow himself to hide behind excuses. Even if he did, he knew Morgan would call him out. “At the time, I thought it might be something I could change or, at least, conceal by being in a relationship with you. I understand if you’re upset with me, but I… I really do care about you. I never should’ve wrapped you up in my self-loathing. You deserve better than that.”

“I...can’t believe you used me like that. I think...I’m going to need a little bit of time with this. All this time, I was sort of hoping you’d be one of the few people who wasn’t lying to me,” Morgan said, choosing her words carefully. “But I don’t hate you Eddie. I could never hate you. And I don’t want to stop being your friend. Are you--gonna be okay and all?”

Eddie appreciated Morgan’s commitment to letting things play out honestly even though it stung. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. I will try my best to make it up to you in the future, if you’ll let me. Once… once you’ve had time, of course.” At the very least, Morgan elected to have her version of Bex not cut him out of her life completely. It gave him a little hope. “Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna be okay,” he said softly, slipping out of the scene as he struggled a little under the weight of it. He knew he could do this, or hoped he could anyway, but it was hard. And it would be even harder when it really happened. “How was that?” he asked Morgan, not Bex, hoping she would accept that he’d reached his limit. After the past 24 hours and all they entailed, he was starting to feel the gravity of emotional exhaustion take its toll.

fadaMorgan beamed and drew Eddie tight into her arms. “That was good. That was so, so good. And you were so brave. And I need to tell you now, I don’t think it’ll be that bad. But I did think that you might feel better if you’ve practiced the worst-case scenario with her I could think of, and know it’ll be okay. And it will be. One way or another, I know it will be okay with you and Bex. Alright?”

Eddie melted into the embrace immediately. He appreciated how well Morgan already knew to take care of him. After years spent being touch-starved, moments like this were life-savers. “I’m glad you played it that way,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.” Everything felt heavy, but he only needed to carry it a little further. “I trust you,” he said, meaning it with his entire heart. “I think I’m gonna be okay.”

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 30

Read on AO3 here

You stared at Arthur as if he had sprouted wings. 

Get married? That instant? Nothing was ready, you weren’t prepared. 

But looking into his eyes your worries slipped away, one by one, knowing all you wanted was to call this man your husband and never fear again that something would come between you again.

“Yes. Yes! Let’s do it,” you agreed eagerly. Arthur beamed and grabbed your face between his hands, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that spoke the words he was having trouble getting out. 

“Now how are we going to pull this off?”

The two of you sat for a moment before speaking at the same time, “Hosea.”

Not ten minutes later you tracked the older man down and explained in hushed tones your plan for the evening. The look of pride on his face made the mad decision worth it, and he grabbed both of your hands with tears in his eyes before clearing his throat to speak.

“I couldn’t be happier, you two deserve this more than anyone I know. You’ve both come so far,” you brushed off the compliment. “I think we could do with some good news and cheer around here. I’ll take Javier and Sean to get the house cleaned up, you find someone to get some food. Anything would be better than Pearson’s stew on your wedding night.”

The words bubbled inside of you and you couldn't help but smile. Around you the day sparkled, and nothing could dim that for you. 

John grumpily agreed to take the wagon into town thinking it was a normal supply run with Abigail and Mary Beth for company. The three thought nothing of Arthur’s request, used to the man calling shots on behalf of Dutch and Hosea. 

Everything moved around you so fast, but you only had to smile to know it would come together. Arthur would catch your eye across camp and give you that knowing grin accompanied by butterflies in your belly. 

A few hours later Arthur pulled Dutch, Hosea, and you into the gazebo to fill the older man in on your big secret. 

“Dutch, I, well we, have something we want to tell you.”

At first he looked suspicious, but motioned for Arthur to continue. He took a deep breath before speaking. 

“Well, YN and I haven’t been engaged for that long, but the way things are heading we want to be married before something happens that prevents that. I love this woman,” he looked at you and you blushed, “and want her by my side for the rest of my life. Nothing would make me happier if you would give us your blessing to be married.”

Dutch looked at you with softer eyes than you had seen in a long time on the old man, and he even managed to smile as he thought. Finally he clapped his hands and beamed. 

“I’d love nothing more than to help you two. When is the wedding?”

“Well,” you spoke up with a shy smile. “I know it’s rushed, but we were thinking tonight. Here, at Shady Belle with everyone. We could have the ceremony out back under the trees and throw a party when it’s done. Take everyone’s mind off of...well, everything.”

“Tonight!” Dutch looked up alarmed at Hosea. “Are you sure? That’s awful fast.”

“Don’t worry, these crazy kids have everything under control,” Hosea chuckled. 

Dutch looked between the three of you. “Well, then you have my blessing. I’d be happy to even give you away in place of your father.”

Your heart swelled and you threw your arms around Dutch to hide the tears that had formed in your eyes. This little family had changed you so much over the past year, there was no way you could repay them. 

“Thank you, both of you. Truly we wouldn’t be able to do this alone.”

Hosea threw an arm around your shoulder and started walking back towards the house to let Dutch and Arthur have a moment alone. “I’m sure this is not what most little girls dream about for their wedding day, but I’m so glad we’re here for it. We needed something to bring us all together and you and Arthur will be able to truly share your lives now.”

“Thank you, Hosea. Honestly I couldn't see this any other way now.”

Your step was lighter as you made your way up to see how the cleaning was coming. Grimshaw had a twinkle in her eye as you approached, Hosea must have told her why the house had to be special. Everyone really cared, they were putting so much effort in. All for you. That glow carried you through the day and pushed away the nerves that threatened you at every turn. 

John returned with enough food to feed an army and Pearson went to cooking it right away. The smell wafted around, filling the air with heavenly scents. You couldn't wait to reveal the surprise to your friends. 

Arthur finally decided it was time to let everyone in as it was getting harder and harder to keep the story straight throughout the day. Dutch called the gang to the fire and took the lead. 

“My friends, I wanted to let you in on a little surprise we have cooking. Now, things have been rough lately and I want you to know I feel your pain. I want us to be safe and happy far away from here where the law won’t find us. That is our goal, and tomorrow we will take the first step towards that. But tonight?” he paused for dramatic effect. “Tonight we celebrate one of my favorite things, the most basic human emotion we crave and search for. Love.”

One of the girls gasped and Arthur snaked his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and lending you strength. Your heart surged with love and how much this man understood you.

“YN and Arthur have long been our star crossed lovers, hoping for a better future and knowing their love is what gets them through the day. Tonight, with all of us together, they will be joined in holy matrimony to be man and wife forever.”

A small cheer went through the gang. John and Javier clapped Arthur on the back as Dutch looked down at his crew and smiled, holding your eyes and giving you a wink of support. 

“Now! While that is all very exciting it means we have some work. I need each and every one of you to help out if we’re going to pull this off, and for the love of god wear something nice tonight. I don’t want any dirt stains at my brother’s wedding!”

Abigail muttered something and John scoffed, but she rolled her eyes and approached you. Her arm wrapped around your elbow and in that moment you were utterly happy; on one side the love of your life, and the other your best friends. 

“So let’s celebrate what makes us human together, and show this town what a wedding truly looks like!”

“C’mon YN, Mary Beth and I picked up something special in town for you.” Dutch hollered for tasks to be done and food to be cooked, but Abigail tugged you gently. You let go of Arthur after one final squeeze and made your way up to the old house, admiring how everyone was willing to do so much for such a silly thing like a wedding. 

“Now, I know you didn’t pick it out yourself and I had to guess on the size, but I think this just might be perfect for you.”

“What are you talking about?” You laughed as Abigail opened the door. 

Hanging against the back wall was a beautiful white dress. Your hand slowly came up to cover your mouth as you took in the intricate lace work, the long flowing skirt, and the delicate veil that attached. Your eyes couldn't settle on just one part to look at as you took it all in. It was marvelous. 

“Abigail…” you whispered, “this is amazing. How did you find it?”

“Oh, a girl has got her ways.” She watched as you slowly approached the dress. “It ain’t gonna break if you touch it, let’s get it on you!”

The dress somehow fit like a dream. Abigail laced up the backing to be snug and form fitting over your chest and waist as you glowed at the sight in the cracked standing mirror in the corner. Mary Beth, Tily, and Karen had all come to help ready you after getting dressed themselves, and you continually told them how wonderful they looked in their colorful dresses. 

“Oh hush, this day is about you,” Karen finally chastised. You smiled as she combed your hair, knowing the two of you hadn’t always gotten along so well. It was nice to put everything aside that was negative, even if it was just for a few hours. 

Mary Beth loaned you a necklace from her mother and the thought of your own not being there made your heart ache. You knew there was no way, but it still hurt. 

After your hair was brushed and pinned up Abigail shooed the other girls away for a moment of privacy. She stood before you and took your hands in hers, fighting back tears. 

“Abigail! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied as she hastily wiped the tears away. “You just look beautiful. You’re going to be so happy being married to Arthur Morgan, which you deserve. Don’t anybody ever let you tell you different, you hear? I’ve known that man a long time and no one has ever come along that was worthy of his heart until I met you. You’re something else, YN, you're my best friend. I’ve always got your back. Today is about you and him, the rest of us are just extra icing on the cake. If there’s anything you need, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” you pulled her into a fierce hug to hide your own tears. Abigail wasn’t one to show her true emotions often, but when she did it was beautiful. “I’m so nervous, but I don’t know why! Nothing really is changing, but it seems so…”

“Important?” Her eyes looked sad. “Actually getting married is a big deal. It’s a true commitment, no more acting like love struck children. No one leaves because they get scared, you work through that fear together.”

Your mind went to John and how much this must be killing Abigail inside to watch you marry someone and not have it be her. Any resentment she might have had was well hidden, but you knew it coudln’t be easy. They had a child together, after all. 

“I guess it’s time. Will you go and see if they’re ready for me?”

You gave her a wide smile but underneath your heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. Your wedding to Arthur Morgan waited for you outside those doors and it didn’t feel real. The ring on your finger weighed enough to hold you steady and you counted on it guiding you to him. 

After a few minutes Abigail came back up saying everything was in place and handed you a small bunch of flowers someone had picked for you. She left the door open and you took the first steps towards your future. 

The house had really been cleaned; the food and cans were all gone and some of the dirt had even been scrubbed away. Your shoes softly thumped down each step and you admired how much effort your new found family had gone through to make the day special for you and Arthur. It must have been hours altogether they put into it. 

A soft voice called from the bottom of the steps. 

“Miss Moore...you are a vision, my dear. Arthur Morgan is a lucky man.”

Dutch was wearing his best suit and held his elbow out to you. You took it graciously as you needed the support. 

“Thank you, for all of this, for everything,” you said. “I couldn’t do this alone, I’m just so nervous.”

“That’s good! Nerves mean you care, and I know you care so much about that man. Not just anyone could have my blessing like you two do.”

Dutch pressed a kiss to your cheek and flipped the thin veil over your face. Then he opened the door to the backyard, revealing the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. 

The yard had all been cleaned of items and everyone stood together, watching you emerge from the house. All the men had broken out their suits and scrubbed their faces, even Bill had his hair slicked to the back in a gentlemanly way. Mrs. Grimshaw clutched her chest at the sight of you and Tilly wiped away a tear. Little Jack ran up the makeshift isle dropping pink petals and you fought to hold back tears of your own. Charles winked and offered you a smile, and you realized in their own way each and every one of these people was showing you how much they loved and trusted you as well. The setting sun sparkled over the water in the distance and in the trees hung candles someone had carefully placed. They looked like magic fairies, flickering and dancing all around the small clearing.  

It was all so beautiful. But there was one thing you couldn't break your eyes away from no matter how hard you tried. 

He stood the farthest away from you next to Hosea. The black suit he found had been cleaned and his face shaved, all for you. Maybe Bill had shared his hair pomade to style it in your favorite way just a little wavy and back. A bright red flower stuck out of his suit pocket. But his face, oh his face, that was a look you would never forget. 

Arthur’s mouth hung slightly open in sweet surprise as he saw you in your wedding dress for the very first time. His eyes were round and he truly looked like he had seen an angel. Not normally one for large emotions the man let himself be swept up in the moment and his eyes watered at the thought of being with you. Forever. 

Dutch took the next step down off the porch and you made your way slowly down to Arthur and Hosea. Soft guitar strumming came from the front of the group and Javier flashed you a smile as you neared your destination. 

“My dear, it was my pleasure to take this stroll with you,” Dutch spoke softly to you. He smiled wide and moved next to Hosea leaving you fully exposed. 

“YN…” Arthur whispered. You moved to stand in front of him and waited as he slowly moved back the veil from your face, wonder and excitement playing on his features. Once his hands were free you took his in your own and squeezed, needing strength to start this adventure with him. 

“Friends and family, we are gathered here today to join two people in beautiful holy matrimony.”

Brother Dorkins stood next to you looking proud. You wondered who had found him and if he was the only priest in the city of Saint Denis but you pushed the thought aside, happy that someone you knew was there to bind you and Arthur. 

He spoke for a short while about what living a life of love meant, and how even one ray of kindness could change the course of a life that was headed towards the darkness for kindness is the most basic form of love to exist. He went on about how people who needed one another often found the other when they least expected it. That sometimes life played games with us, to make us stronger, allow us to see grace, and to be better on the paths we had chosen. And how sometimes in our moments of great weakness, our strengths emerged to make us more than we ever hoped to be which was something to be shared.

“YN,” Arthur started. “I don’t know how to put into words what you mean to me, what you’ve done to me. But you deserve to hear it so here goes. I...used to be angry, and hateful to myself, never really listening when everyone told me I was wrong. But somehow you saw through all of that. And stayed. I never want you to feel like that. From now until the end of time, I want to be by your side making sure each day that you wake up you’re happy and loved and you know it. I will work my hardest to make you smile, for that is the most beautiful sight I could ask for. I will keep you safe and out of harm’s way for I couldn’t bear to lose you. And I will listen, for this is something we are doing together. You are my partner, and that’s all I could ever ask for.”

Not one for words, Arthur had you wiping away tears at what he had said. His vows were eloquent and perfect, you would remember them forever. 

“Arthur Morgan. When I needed you most, you have always been there. Every dark cloud you chased away, every smile or laugh you shared with me, and somehow it’s always better with you around. I can’t imagine being anymore in love with you than I am at this moment, but I know every morning for the rest of my life I will wake up and somehow my love for you will have grown. You are the best man with a true heart and that’s all I will need forever. I love you and I can’t wait to begin our forever.”

Arthur blushed at your words but never broke eye contact. He knew this was important. 

Brother Dorkins made a few more remarks and then asked for the rings. Hosea presented two silver bands from his pocket and handed them to the priest, holding them for a moment before moving back to his spot. Dutch whispered something in his ear and the two chuckled together. 

“If you’re ready then?”

It was a simple question with a heavy meaning. You nodded as your hands shook, Arthur taking the first ring to place on you. 

“With this ring, I take you, YN Moore, to be my wife. For now and ever more.”

You watched as the band moved into its permanent home and took the second from Brother Dorkins. You repeated what Arthur had said, a slight shake to your voice. Arthur squeezed your hand for support. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Morgan!”

Arthur wasted no time pulling you into his chest as your friends went wild around you, planting a kiss on your lips that sealed the ceremony all together. You gripped his shoulders and dung your fingers in, wishing this moment would never end. It was like pure happiness has been slipped into your coffee and now radiated through your veins. 

Dutch fired a shot into the sky and yelled with glee, Hosea laughing beside him. You took in the sight of joy that danced around the group and kissed Arthur again for good measure. 

“What’s that for?” He asked you, bemused. 

“Just making sure this is official! I’m never letting you go.”

The skin around his eyes crinkled as he laughed and grabbed your hand, raising it to his family. Everything was utterly perfect. 

The dinner Pearson had crafted was spectacular, and Hosea made sure the drink was flowing strongly. John gave a short speech. It was touching and you could tell he struggled with it, but Arthur was so happy it was all worth it. Dutch and Hosea both said a few words and Bother Dorkins agreed to stay for the evening with everyone, enjoying the jovial atmosphere. 

After the tables from the meal were cleared away Molly suggested Dutch pull out his old gramophone so poor Javier could actually dance and enjoy himself for once and he obliged. Lenny and Charles cracked open a case of drinks just as John wound up the music machine and Arthur offered you his hand, asking for your first dance. You accepted at once but were aware of everyone’s eyes on you. 

“Just pretend it’s us, no one else,” Arthur whispered in your ear as you slowly twirled around. He held you flush against him, one hand at the small of your back and the other holding your hand up near his shoulder. 

You chuckled. “You always know what I’m thinking, don’t you Mr. Morgan?”

“That I do, Mrs. Morgan.” 

Dutch and Molly soon joined you, and before long everyone was dancing, passing around drinks and fully enjoying the relaxing evening. The bottom of your dress must have been caked in dirt but you couldn't care any less, the bliss of the night took away your stress. Charles took a turn around the makeshift dance floor with you, as well as John, Javier, and even Lenny. As the night progressed the movements became more wild and erratic mostly in part to the drink that was flowing freely. You saw a sweet moment when John and Abigail danced nearby. Sean and Karen were among the couples on the floor spreading joy. 

“Brother Dorkins! I must say I was surprised to see you. It was a lovely surprise,” you said as you took a seat next to the man. He held a beer in front of him but hadn’t taken a sip.

“You’ve got some compelling friends here, although truth be told for all you and Arthur have done for us it took no compelling at all. I was more than happy to officiate.”

You sighed happily and watched the night continue on around you. Mary Beth had just knocked a drink over and for some reason Tilly was howling with laughter. 

“They’re good people. I do love them.”

“You’re lucky! What a wonderful thing to have.” He mused the drink in front of him and took a sip, making a face. “Will you and Arthur stay here then?”

“I’m not sure,” you replied honestly. “It’s a...unique situation we have here. Hard to just leave.”

“A bit like the church if you think about it. But hard for man and wife to live in a group of twenty something.”

“I know. We’ve thought about it, but no place really stands out. Plus I owe them so much…” you drifted off as your eyes found Dutch in the crowd. It was the first time in a long time he seemed like his old self. “Just not sure yet. For now I’m more happy than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Love has a strange effect on people, doesn’t it?”

You watched Tilly and Mary Beth make their way away from the crowd together, giggling like a couple of school girls. Abigail held Jack’s head in her lap while John chatted with Bill and Pearson about something. Dutch was whispering sweet nothings into Molly’s ear as she laughed and allowed him to lead her around in a dance. All around you love swirled. 

“Wonderful.”

Arthur found you and offered his hand. “One more dance? It’s getting late and most folks want to turn in.”

You said goodnight to Brother Dorkins and Arthur pulled you up. Only a few others were in the dancing space so you and Arthur could talk freely. 

“What a wonderful wedding, if I do say so myself.”

Arthur laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Can you believe everything that lead to this? Blackwater to now? Who would have believed it if someone said I was going to marry you. We were so naive,” you shook your head. 

“Whatever it took I’m glad for it. It brought me here,” Arthur spoke plainly. 

You pressed yourself into his chest and breathed in his scent deeply. It was heavenly, and part of you still didn’t believe it when you realized it was yours forever. Nothing could come between you now that you were married, every battle would be fought side by side. 

“I love you so much Arthur.”

“I love you too, YN.” 

The music swelled and ended on a high note. Dutch clapped his hands together and announced the evening had come to an end after many happy hours. 

You let out a yelp of surprise when Arthur scooped you up under your knees and back, carrying you across the yard and into the house. 

“Arthur! Just what do you think you’re doing?” You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Well, I figured we should make this thing official, Mrs. Morgan.”

“I do love the sound of that,” you sighed. 

Finally up in the bedroom alone, Arthur tugged at the string on your back. 

“What’s that now?”

“Mrs. Morgan.”

He laughed darkly. “Well then, guess I better use it only on special occasions.”

“Only when you’re utterly, blissfully happy.”

Arthur moved his mouth to your neck leaving a trail of hot, opened mouthed kisses as your dress started to fall around you. 

“Mrs. Morgan,” he moaned into your shoulder. His fingers tightened around your waist. The dress fell to the floor in a puddle around your feet as he said the words again and you shivered from more than the night air. He picked you up again and moved toward the bed with purpose, laying you gently on the sheets. 

“Only when you’re incandescently happy!” You panted as his mouth moved lower. 

He looked up and caught your eyes with a smirk. The glint in his eye told you where he was going next. 

The last one came out as a whisper to the night and he swore to all heavens above that nothing could make him happier. 

“Mrs. Morgan.”

[look-ma-im-on-tv]

Happy Birthday Logan!

A/N: This was written on time for Logan's birthday, I just only posted it on AO3 and forgot to post it here.

Summary:

Word Count: 1,097

"Ah, Logan's here, which means I probably did something wrong."

Logan couldn't sleep lately. His thoughts were getting to him too much, which of course was normal in and of itself, but this was… different . It wasn't the normal questions and eventual answers, it was memories and feelings. Feelings of disappointment and sadness. From an analytical point of view, they didn't really make sense, but nonetheless, he felt upset. He felt like he wasn't listened too, like he wasn't taken seriously. No matter how many facts he brought up or how many times he called attention to his serious attire (the necktie!) they still all almost treated him like a child. Especially Patton. Of course, he knew they didn't have the intent of hurting him, or at least he didn't think so, but it still hurt him. Emotionally, of course, words can't hurt you physically.

But still, these thoughts were keeping him up late. He needed his sleep. But he just couldn't seem to get himself relaxed or calm enough. As the light started to pour in through his window, he sighed frustratedly. Another night with no sleep. Thomas was even going to start suffering soon at this rate. Logan got up out of bed begrudgingly and sank down to the commons to brew coffee. He groggily pressed the buttons to set the coffee brewing and sat down at the counter. He laid his head down on his arms and let his thoughts drift again.

By the time he brought his attention back to his surroundings, Patton had already poured him a cup of coffee and started making breakfast. He smiled at the small gesture and sat up. 

"Oh, hey! For a moment there I thought you fell asleep, kiddo!"

Logan groaned at the childish nickname Patton gave everyone. "Well I was not asleep, I was merely involved in my own thoughts."

"That's okay! I made you your cup of coffee, and breakfast will be done in just a sec. Roman should be down soon too. Though we likely won't be seeing Virgil for a while, I heard him up on his phone for a while last night. Sleep well?"

"Ah, no. I did not." Lie of omission.

"Well, I hope you sleep better tonight." Patton turned and smiled warmly at Logan, a smile that was so contagious that Logan couldn't help but smile back. They sat there in silence, Patton returning to his cooking, until Roman came sliding down the staircase. Logan always thought that sinking out was far more efficient, but he wasn't ever able to convince him the same. 

"Good Morning everyone! How are you all this fine morning?" Roman was always so 'extra.'

"Hi Roman!" 

"We are feeling averagely alright."

"Logan, how come you always make things sound so dreary?," Roman said, drooping dramatically.

"I… I do not mean to… I feel like I am simply stating facts."

"Hey, it's okay, Specs. Don't worry about it." Roman walked up to Patton and started talking with him about breakfast as Logan started to get lost in his thoughts again. He really did bring a downer on everything, didn't he? Everyone was always so happy to see the other sides… But never him. Did they ever cheer or get happy when he showed up? He couldn't recall anything… 

He lifted his head at the sound of a plate clanking on the counter in front of him. It was piled with pancakes, hash browns, and sausage, with the obligatory jar of Crofter's next to it. It made him smile, a big smile. How could he have possibly forgotten Logan's Berry? 

"Thank you Patton."

"Of course! Anything to help you smile!"

After eating his food and talking with the other sides, Logan went back to his room to work. Unfortunately, he still couldn't really focus. He appreciated everything, but something still felt as if it was tugging at him. He still felt strangely upset. He lay on his bed, somewhat sulking.

At some point in time, he must have fallen asleep, finally, because a knock on his door woke him up. He groggily stumbled to the door, adjusting his tie and his hair, and opened it. 

"Hello?"

"Logan, hi! I need your help real quick, okay kiddo?"

"Patton? What is it that you would need my help for?"

"Just something! Come on!"

"Alright, fine. If you are not going to tell me, there is no point in continuing to ask." Logan let Patton drag him down to the commons, where it was completely dark.

"Patton? What is going on, why is it so dark? Patton?"

"SURPRISE!!!" 

Logan jumped back in shock, nearly falling on the stairs. The lights suddenly turned on and there were decorations everywhere. There was a huge banner that read, "Happy Birthday Logan!" and blue balloons and streamers everywhere. There were also small rectangles in blue and white on the walls, counter, tables, and every other possible piece of furniture, but he couldn't read the text written on them. 

"What… What is this?"

"It's your birthday party, silly!"

"The decorations are amazing, aren't they? We worked tirelessly on them, so they better!" 

"Look, it's your birthday. Ah, well more of the anniversary of the first day you appeared in one of Thomas' vines, so we all figured it was practically the same. Anyways, we didn't want ya to be alone on your birthday, that'd just suck."

Logan was shocked. They clearly did care, there was so much effort put into this. And it was all for him. They all cared about him. 

"T-thank you?" Logan got up and moved closer, close enough to see the words on the papers. They were social media posts. And every single one of them was celebrating Logan's birthday. "Happy Birthday to our smart and wonderful Logan!" "Happy Birthday Logan, we all love you!" "Happy birthday to the soft logic boy!" And the art. There were amazing drawings in his honor, all made by people who loved, appreciated, and cared for him. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. 

Patton chuckled behind him, "Virgil stayed up late last night printing those out. There are a lot of people celebrating-Logan? Are-are you crying?"

"What…?" Logan held a hand to his face, and it was true. He was crying. There were tears streaming down his face, but he knew they were very happy tears. In a moment of pure emotion, Logan ran over to the other sides and pulled them into a huge hug. 

"Thank you. Every one of you. So much. This is the best birthday ever."

[meow-bebe]

Candy Cane Lane

Pairing: Ateez, Kim Hongjoong x reader

Gender: neutral reader

Warning: minor cussing and mentions of bad childhood memories associated with the holidays

Genre: fluff? I suppose it could be considered slightly angsty but not really

Word count: 1923

A/n: hello again everyone! I'm back with something I actually wrote for the first time in literally months and I'm so sorry that I never actually do anything and yes I am aware that it is after the prime time to post this but I started this weeks ago and just now finished. I also tried to keep everything really open ended because I know everyone celebrates different holidays in different ways and I wanted everyone to feel like they can be included! Hope you enjoy and hopefully I'll be back to writing more soon

Sighing heavily, you gently rolled onto your side, hoping to not wake the boy with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. For probably the fourth time this week, you couldn’t sleep. Stress always kept you awake until ridiculous hours of the morning, and tonight proved to be no exception, the melatonin you had taken being no match for your insomnia. The busy holiday season piled extra stress on everyone what with having to find gifts for friends and family, attending parties you didn’t particularly care about, meeting with too many people than one could stand, the oh-so-oppressive holiday spirit, it would wear anyone out. And, oh god, did it wear you out. The added heaviness of bad memories associated with this time of year dragged you into an almost constant state of melancholy, the polar opposite of Hongjoong’s usual cheery disposition. 

Hongjoong had been trying his best to make everything easier for you, perhaps even trying to encourage you to try and enjoy the festivities. And you appreciated his efforts, you really did, but almost any holiday tradition one could think of had been ruined with family gatherings of the past. Of course you let him go about decorating your little apartment, doing your best not to let your own inhibitions bring him down, occasionally pitching in with something small, yet your lack of enthusiasm for both decorating and the holidays themselves was painfully obvious.

Turning over once again, hoping your mind would finally just let you sleep if you could find a comfortable position, you settled yourself closer to Hongjoong.

“Everything okay love?” Hongjoong whispered, his voice thick and tired.

Shit. Your tossing and turning had woken him up.

“Yes,” you lied, knowing he could see right through you.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, laying a gentle kiss against your forehead.

Sighing again, you sunk deeper into his embrace, silent and thoughtful. “I just-” You cut yourself off, struggling to find the right words. “I feel like I’m holding you down. You enjoy this time of year, I don’t. You’re just trying to enjoy yourself, hell, you're trying to help me enjoy this, and all I’m doing is dragging you down. Every tradition on the face of the earth has been ruined for me, and I feel bad that you can’t enjoy the holidays with someone who loves them as much as you do.”

Hongjoong was silent after you had finished your outburst of emotion. He was still, cheek still pressed against your forehead but you could see the gears turning in his head.

Suddenly Hongjoong threw the covers off your tangled figures, pulling you out of bed, a whispered “Come on!” his only explanation.

Confused, you stumbled after your suddenly energy-filled boyfriend, bare feet cold against the hardwood floors.

“What are you doing?” you asked sleepily, stretching slightly as Hongjoong began to rifle through the closet.

“We’re going out,” he explained, tossing a sweatshirt to you.

“What?” you asked, not even trying to catch the sweater.

“We’re going out!” he repeated, tossing a pair of socks which joined the sweatshirt on the floor in your direction. “You said all of the traditions under the sun had been ruined for you, so we’ll make new ones!”

“But it’s -” you checked the clock sitting on the bedside table - “two in the morning.”

“So?” he asked, crossing the room and circling you in his embrace once again, “it’s not like you were asleep anyway, we may as well.”

“But-” you protested again, only to be cut off by Hongjoong pressing his face into your neck.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to if you really don’t want to.” His voice was low, the earlier energy faded and replaced by a sweet, comforting tone. “From what I’ve gathered, you feel like you’re sucking the joy out of everything for me right now. And I really just want to show you that you are not, in any way, shape, or form. If you want to go back to bed, then we will. But I think this would be fun.”

“I…” you drifted off as Hongjoong rested his forehead against yours. “Ahh, what the hell. Let’s go.”

A grin split across his face as Hongjoong squished you even closer to him in a hug, pecking your lips sweetly. “Get dressed then,” he said, pressing the socks into your hands.

You picked up the sweatshirt next to you on the ground as Hongjoong slipped away from your embrace to get dressed himself. As soon as you had pulled on all of the necessary clothing to stay warm enough he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the bedroom. He snatched a set of keys off the counter, tucking them into his pocket as the two of you maneuver your way through the dark apartment.

You let go of his hand to grab your coat and boots, tugging them over your feet and slipping you arms through the sleeves of your coat, fingers immediately finding Hongjoong’s again as soon as you had both sufficiently bundled up.

Pulling a scarf down from the line of hooks beside the door, Hongjoong wrapped it around your neck before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smiled, heart warming at his sweet gesture.

Hongjoong pulled the door open and started out into the hallway that would lead you to the snowy outside world, pulling you gently behind him. You turned, grabbing a pair of gloves and shoving then into your pocket before swinging the door shut behind you.

You grinned up at Hongjoong, feeling like a teenager sneaking out of the house as you pulled ahead of him, pressing a finger to his lips as a reminder to stay quiet as most of your neighbors were probably sleeping.

~~~

You spun in slow circles, arms straight out to the sides. The gentle but incessant snowfall swirled around you, the added spinning effect of your gentle twirling effectively turning the dark city street into what felt like living in your own little snow-globe.

A contented sigh left your lips as you slowed and let your arms fall back to your sides, dizziness finally claiming you.

Laying your head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, you said “The snow is so pretty.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist he tucked you closer. “Not as pretty as you,” he said, laughing as you pulled away from his side and playfully slapped his shoulder.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Admit it,” Hongjoong said, bumping said shoulder against yours, “You love my cheesy jokes.”

You giggled, adoration obvious in your eyes as you stared at him. “You’re absolutely right. I do.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you returned to watching the snow swirl in the bright street lamps. For once, the world around you was peaceful, no rushing off to dance practices, no essays that were due in two days and haven’t been started nagging at the back of your mind, no friends frantically calling because they needed your help. Just you, your amazing boyfriend, and the snow blanketing itself across the city.

“Y/n?” Hongjoong broke the silence, his soft voice gentle against in the night air.

“Mhmm?” you hummed in response, too lost in the peace that the calming atmosphere had lulled throughout your body.

“My hands are cold.”

You turned your face towards him, making that infamous “are you serious?” face that Hongjoong knew was more exaggerated exasperation than anything threatening.

He grinned sheepishly, adding “I guess in my excitement I forgot to grab gloves.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically before pulling off one of your own gloves and extending it towards him. Eyes widening slightly, Hongjoong shook his head, saying “Oh no no no, I didn’t mean you should give me your gloves, you should keep them, I’ll be okay-”

“Hongjoong.” You cut him off, thrusting the glove at him once again.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his gratitude for your small act of kindness shining through the tiny smile he flashed in your direction. You slipped your own uncovered hand into his, entwining your fingers with his and tucking your clasped hands into one of the large pockets of your coat.

Smiling at Hongjoong for a moment, you let your thoughts drift off into nothingness, letting the void claim you once again as you stared off into space, the whirling of the snow completely mesmerizing.

~~~

You weren’t sure of where you were going but it didn’t matter. Going out was exactly what you needed, some of the stress clouding your thoughts dissipating in the fresh air. Hongjoong had never mentioned if he had a destination in mind, but you didn’t need a place to be going, perfectly content to aimlessly wander the dark city streets.

As though he had read your mind, Hongjoong gently tugged at your intertwined hands, still tucked into a pocket, saying “Here, lets go this way.” With this, he changed direction, heading for a little alleyway between two of the taller buildings on the block you were currently traversing. He dragged you along, walking quickly, although it might have been the comparison to your earlier ambling pacd along deserted sidewalks that made his burst of energy seem so sudden.

Rounding the corner, you caught sight of a little park, bright decorations set up between the paths and trees.

“Joong,” you said, stopping in your tracks as you observed the tasteful decorations, “what is this place?” You rounded on your boyfriend, grinning as you squeezed his hand, still clasped in yours.

“You said that there weren’t any holiday traditions that hadn’t been ruined for you. So I thought that we could make some of our own,” he said, setting a sweet kiss against your lips before taking you hand once again and walking deeper into the park as you wandered next to him. “I used to come here quite a bit before I met you,” he explained, “especially on those nights when I couldn’t seem to sleep, no matter how tired I was. But again, then I met you.” With this he turned his head to look at you, and you swore you could see all of the stars in his eyes, or maybe it was just the reflection of the fairy lights wrapped around tree branches surrounding you. You didn’t care either way, he was absolutely beautiful, and all of the love that was held in his gaze? It was directed towards you.

“You’re too good to me,” you said, adoration filling your voice.

“No,” he said, “you deserve everything the world has to offer and more.”

Your heart swelled with happiness, feeling as thought it would burst out of your chest. He was your everything and knew just how to make you fall in love with him all over again. Knowing that he could read your expressions, knowing everything that you wanted to say without you having to stay anything, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him tightly against you and simply whispering “I love you” as he slipped his arms around your waist.

And with that, you kissed him under the tunnel of plastic candy cane decorations tilted toward each other to resemble hearts, no doubt designed for moments between lovers just like the two of you. The gentle filter of light from the white lights decorating the park illuminated the snow falling around you, and everything felt so right in that moment, the boy you loved most kissing you tenderly under the stars. He knew you so well, and you loved him for it.

[artificialqueens]

Underneath The Mistletoe, Part 4 (Bianca/???) - Albatross

AN: So this story is finally done!

I haven’t forgotten about Worlds Collide, I still am working on it but very slowly. There’s a lot of things taking my attention away from that story but I hope to get another chapter out soon. But here’s a shocker; the biadore chapter is looking like it’s gonna be long (who’s surprised by that?) so I’m gonna break it up into two parts (as heavily suggested by @VeronicaSanders).

Over the last few years, Bianca had come to learn Katya and Trixie’s routine for entrapping guests at their apartment for hours on end. While Katya blindsided their friends with small talk, or even something a little deeper if she were in the mood, Trixie would supply booze and food to keep them all quite distracted and their inhibitions lowered. She could be quite the cook, particularly with desserts, and with Katya’s help in the kitchen, they often made tremendous batches of sweets, especially around the holidays. But all of those treats were just a decoy; more than once Bianca had spotted Trixie watching with a mischievous glint in her eye as Katya talked off the ear of another victim. It made sense why she loved to have guests; it meant less of an opportunity for Katya to tease her with whatever antics she managed to come up with that day. But with a little bit of careful wording, Bianca and a few others had learned how to turn Katya’s attention back to Trixie and then quietly slip out the door. Without this knowledge you could easily be trapped in the women’s apartment long into the night before they’d let you leave.

Come Sunday night, Bianca had her plan of action ready and waiting so off she went to Trixie and Katya’s apartment first. She’d expected a fair amount of their decor to be in keeping with the holidays but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer amount of tacky Christmas knickknacks or glaringly bright holiday decorations hung up around the women’s living space. Even their artificial tree was loaded with more tinsel, lights and ornaments than Bianca had thought to be possible….or reasonable.

Wandering inside in a sort of dazed state as she took everything in, she very nearly found herself walking beneath a haphazardly strung clump of mistletoe left hanging from a lighting fixture in the middle of the room. She might have had the misfortune of walking directly underneath it had Katya’s eyes not lit up in expectation and glee. Immediately suspicious, Bianca stopped in her tracks and cast her gaze around before finally spotting the offending object just 2 feet away.

“Nice try,” she rebuffed her friend as she sidestepped the fake plant and made her way towards the kitchenette.

Trixie was already set up at the kitchen’s island reading through their mail with an inviting plate of cookies laying out in front of her. She’d watch the short scene play out and with a long-suffering but amused smile, she murmured, “I told her she’d have to do better than that to catch you.”

“Much better,” Bianca agreed with a laugh as she made her way over.

Trixie pushed the plate in her direction and as soon as the gifts had been set down on the counter, Bianca was quick to help herself to some of the cookies. Katya soon joined them, munching away with a distinct air of disappointment, but her antics gave Bianca an idea. She could easily use the mistletoe to her advantage to sneak a quick kiss from Trixie. With any luck, she won’t have to disclose any information to either of them about her own misadventure at the party or sit through any of their bickering about their own drunken antics from that night.

The tricky part however would be getting Trixie beneath the mistletoe, as by now she’s probably gotten used to avoiding it whenever Katya’s around. And then, of course, keeping Katya at bay in the meantime.

But with a little help from her friend, Mr. Alcohol, she was soon able to create an opening. Trixie already had a glass of wine in front of her and seemed to have been enjoying the rest of the bottle earlier in the night. Only half an hour into the visit and she was already giggling and talking far more loudly than usual (quite a feat in Bianca’s mind). Conversation seemed to flow out of her like a rushing waterfall, especially with Katya spurring her on. The two bickered playfully as they all bounced from one topic to the next until Katya recalled somehow or another that Bianca’s gift might’ve already been wrapped and ready to give away. 

As she rushed to the tree to look, Bianca’s eyes drifted to the mistletoe. A devilish little smirk tugged at her lips and with a light nudge of her elbow, she brought Trixie’s attention to the fake plant. There was a suggestive look in her eye as she jutted her head towards the mistletoe and then back at Katya, still searching beneath the tree.

“She’d be so disappointed,” Trixie pointed out calmly before taking another sip. Lowering the glass, a devious smile of her own stretched across her face as she whispered gleefully, “I love it.”  

With that mutual understanding the pair left their seats at the kitchen island and made their way towards the tree. Stopping beneath the ceiling light, they waited until they heard a triumphant “Found it!” and for Katya to spin around. The joyful grin on her face disappeared into a look of shock as her eyes traveled upwards to the mistletoe hanging directly above the women. 

Feigning innocence, Bianca cast her gaze up to the fake plant to and said, “Oh, look at that. Mistletoe.”

Struggling to restrain herself from laughing, Trixie chimed in, “Guess we have no choice, huh, Bianca?”

“Guess not, Trixie.”

When their lips connected, Bianca swore she heard some kind of squeak from Katya, probably of indignation. She’d have loved to see the look on her face but the majority of her attention laid focused on the kiss. Every ounce of her was praying for some kind of sign that Trixie was her mystery person from the party, just so this could all be over and done with and she’d finally have her answer.

No such luck.

Though the kiss was fun, Trixie even throwing in an exaggerated moan for good measure, she was not the person Bianca was looking for. Her kiss was firm and deliberate. No passion, simply just playing up the dramatics for an opportunity to annoy Katya. Unlike Phi Phi and even Willam a little bit, there was simply no spark. Merely a simple press of the lips without any emotional attachment.

It was a let down but Bianca did her best not to let her disappointment show. She still had a wonderful chance to toy with Katya, after all.

And as expected, Katya didn’t know what to say or make of the situation as the pair all but made out in front of her. The two might have let things go on for just a moment longer but Trixie’s laughter soon forced them to break apart. She buried her face in the crook of Bianca’s neck as she tried to regain some of her composure. Even Bianca couldn’t help but join in after seeing Katya’s frazzled expression.

“Fucking cunts!“

“Sorry, Katya,” Bianca replied insincerely as she shrugged her shoulders, “Better luck next year!”

“Wha-next year?!?” she cried out as she stormed up to the women, “That’s not fair! Trixie wasn’t even trying-”

Her rambling went on for a good minute and Bianca was inclined to just let her continue but she had a change of heart when Trixie gave her a little nudge and whispered persuadingly, “Let her have it just this once. She really was trying her best to kiss you. And she probably won’t shut up about it until next year anyway.”

Very true. Katya probably would keep bringing it up until next Christmas.

Giving a dramatic roll of her eyes for good measure, Bianca stepped forward and pulled Katya in for a kiss, if only to shut her up for the time being. There was a moment of shock from the other woman, as if she couldn’t believe this was actually happening, but all that soon disappeared as she let herself become lost in the kiss. 

Katya was enthusiastic, enough that it even surprised Bianca, but that wasn’t what ultimately forced her to pull away. Katya had pulled Bianca in closer and though she was receptive at first, she had to draw the line when she felt an all too familiar pressure against her lips.

Drawing back, she gave Katya a stern look, and warned her, “No tongue.”

A dazzling, charming smile was shot back at her as Katya replied far too innocently, “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I sure as hell can.”

Despite her best attempts at a glare, nothing seemed able to phase Katya. She simply looked too proud of herself to let anything bother her now that she finally got what she wanted. Recognizing the futility of any further efforts, Bianca opted to change the subject so she could get on with her evening and decide what she ought to do next.

“So, we gonna open gifts or what?”

*******

Trixie: AAHHHH!!!! YOU GUYS ARE GONNA FREAK OUT!

Jinkx: What happened?

Vanessa: Something good finally?

Mariah: Come on bitch, out with it!

Sharon: Wait

Sharon: Why is Katya texting me?

Willam: me too

Mariah: Same

Willam: mass text

Willam: SHIT!!!!

******

Half an hour later, Bianca had said her goodbyes to Trixie and Katya, and left to deliver a few more gifts before calling it a night. For another 3 hours she drove around the city to visit her friends, pausing to chat for a few minutes here and there before excusing herself to continue her trip.

About midway through her journey, she received a text from Willam. Not surprising on the surface…until she read the subject.

Willam: you kissed katya?!?

Highly perplexed, Bianca responded back with ‘Trixie too. How’d you find out?’

The answer came back minutes later and was nearly enough to make Bianca slam her head into her car’s steering wheel…repeatedly.

Willam: katya told us.

Already horrified at the answer, Bianca typed out, ‘’Us?’’ Who is ‘us’?’

Willam: uhhh

Willam: there’s a lot of people

Willam: she sent a mass text

‘I’m going to kill her,’ Bianca repeated like a mantra as she traveled from one home to the next for the rest of the night. Why did she think that Katya wouldn’t go around telling someone about what happened? Hell, after all she posts of Trixie and their life together it should have been expected that she’d blab about this to their friends. Bianca’s only hope was that she might keep it off social media but even that she strongly doubted.

‘I’m going to kill her!’ Bianca seethed in silence as she walked up to Alaska’s apartment and knocked on the door.

The second the door opened, she was immediately greeted with, “You kissed Katya!?!?”

‘With one of those gaudy Christmas decorations,’ Bianca thought ominously, ‘I’ll fucking kill her with one of those hideous Santa figures.’

“See you got the text too,” Bianca noted bitterly as Alaska moved to allow her inside.

“Yes!” she all but yelled, glancing between the phone in her hand and the woman in front of her. “Wha-How? Fuck that! Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? There was fucking mistletoe. Or didn’t she tell anyone that?”

“No, it’s there!” Alaska snapped back in irritation, “But that doesn’t explain why! You don’t kiss anyone, especially Katya. Not on girl’s night out and definitely not stone-cold sober.”

Staring at her overly animated friend, she noted in a deadpan voice, “Well, we drank about 2 bottles between us.”

Unamused, Alaska rebuffed her, “Bianca!” and proceeded to probe her for more of an explanation. She rightfully knew that Bianca, out of everyone in their social group, exercised far more restraint while drinking, especially when it’s around her friends. Given that knowledge, Alaska knew there had to be a deeper reason for why she’d kiss Katya of all people. Something more than just mistletoe and she was determined to find out what. Alaska kept up her prodding for several more minutes until Bianca finally gave in.

“Fine!” she relented with a huff as she collapsed onto Alaska’s couch, “But don’t fucking laugh!”

Keeping her story very brief and very censored, Bianca related where she got the brilliant idea to go over to the women and make use of their mistletoe. She explained the few clues that she had to her mystery kisser’s identity; the green lipstick, similar height, and of course, still at the party after 2 AM. After having eliminated the other most likely suspects, Trixie had been her next stop to investigate and the kiss with Katya had just been something of circumstance and certainly not the end goal. Essentially, all Bianca was trying to do at the women’s apartment was to get some answers and unfortunately the ones she got were not what she wanted.

But even as she vented, talking with Alaska did make her feel more calm, at least considering how she felt only 30 minutes ago. And Alaska seemed to have gotten over her initial shock of the kiss with Katya. Alaska mused thoughtfully over all that Bianca had said, then asked with a hint of judgement in her undertone, “And you really thought it’d be Trixie?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Bianca admitted, “She’s almost the last on the list. I’ve talked to just about everyone else and it’s not them so she was kinda like an outside bet…But it’s not her either,” she added bitterly.

“You didn’t talk to me,” Alaska pointed out gloomily, “I had green lipstick too, you know.”

Scoffing at the idea, Bianca argued with a small smile, “You’re too tall. Even with me in heels.”

Acting as if offended, Alaska shot back weakly, “I could have taken them off!”

At this Bianca burst out laughing at the stupid suggestion but despite her initial assumptions, it seems Alaska was dead serious. Her voice climbed in pitch as she asserted, “I could have!” 

Regaining some of her composure, at least enough to contain her amusement to just a disbelieving smile, Bianca glanced over to find Alaska with a pout firmly settled on her lips and her arms crossed tightly to boot. Grumbling mostly to herself, Bianca heard her complaining, “Can’t believe you kissed Katya. She wasn’t even wearing green lipstick!”

Though she knew she ought to have been more tactful, Bianca found herself immediately rolling her eyes and teased her with, “What? Jealous of me?”

“No!” was the adamant denial.

Even if Alaska had managed to say that without snapping, Bianca was sure she wouldn’t have believed her. There was a very light flush that spread across Alaska’s cheeks at the suggestion and her body seemed to twitch with nerves. Bianca definitely struck a chord somewhere but honestly, she didn’t really care enough to find out why. Instead, she simply tried to brush the situation under the rug with an offhand comment of, “Trust me, it was not my favorite kiss either. Even Willam was better than that. At least she didn’t try to slip in any tongue.”

At that Alaska’s face shifted from annoyed to downright irritated. Forgetting herself and the fact that Bianca was right next to her, she yelled out in shock, “You kissed Willam?!?”

“And Phi Phi and Nila,” she added in carelessly. She shrugged her shoulders as though it weren’t a big deal, and in her mind it really wasn’t, but the glare being sent her way assured her that Alaska was of a different opinion. She actually looked pissed off over this information, her expression ranging from anger and disbelief to exasperation and shock. 

“What?” Bianca questioned, feeling tiny pangs of guilt but for what reason, she could only speculate.

Now certainly on the brink of a tantrum, Alaska huddled in on herself and replied sharply, “Nothing.”

Finding herself becoming thoroughly fed up, Bianca suggested impatiently, “Oh my god! Do you want me to kiss you, too? Is that it?”

“…Yes,” came the mumbled reply.

‘Really?’ Bianca lamented to herself, ‘When did my life turn into this?’

“Fucking fine!” she conceded and pushed herself well into Alaska’s space. The sudden invasion caught her by surprise but within moments she became compliant to Bianca’s lead. At the slight nod of approval, Bianca leant in to close the remaining distance and allow their lips to connect. 

The kiss was soft at first, very hesitant and unsure, almost like Alaska was doubting herself but she quickly lost that uncertainty and pressed her lips more firmly against Bianca’s. From there it became much more natural and flowing, like something well-practiced but with a certain passion that kept things interesting.

Bianca’s hand raised itself to cup Alaska’s cheek but that little touch seemed to jolt her back into reality. Alaska pulled away and blinked repeatedly in surprise as if she was still trying to convince herself of what happened. Her mouth hung slightly open but whether or not she was trying to speak remained lost on Bianca.

Having enough of the speechlessness, she questioned, “Well?”

“Um.”

“Yes?” she drawled out as her brow arched in expectation.

“I…” came the slow reply, “I’m gonna get something to smoke.”

In a half-dazed state, Alaska pushed herself from the couch and wandered off in the direction of her bedroom. Rolling her eyes, Bianca pulled out her phone in the meantime and found two new messages waiting for her and a third coming in. The first was from Adore, a simple laugh-cry emoji, the second from Mariah asking what the hell was going on and included a screenshot of some other message for reference. Then the final text was one Bianca didn’t even bother to read. She simply saw Alyssa’s name flashing across the screen and assumed it was probably in relation to Katya’s mass text and left things at that. She’ll deal with it later, she decided.

By now Alaska had found a joint and was promptly smoking away in silence. She sat down next to Bianca again but didn’t quite dare to look directly at her just yet. Her mind still appeared to be wrapped up in trying to make sense of what had just happened. Trying to lighten the mood, Bianca said plainly, “It definitely wasn’t you either.”

The comment produced an eruption of laughter and broke the silence Alaska had been keeping. As Bianca finally handed over the gift she had brought, she took notice of a very familiar smell. The scent of marijuana filled the apartment but something about it gave Bianca reason to pause, enough that she missed Alaska’s reaction as she tore away the paper.

Bianca was well used to the scent lingering on some of her friends from time to time and often ignored it, but tonight it was different. It was so strong that she just had to take notice of it and briefly she wondered how long it had been since she smelled this anywhere.

Then it hit her.

She had been around it recently. Very recently.

At the party…that smell she remembered when she was kissing the other woman. It was strong…too strong to have just been wafting in from another room or even from a session earlier in the day. It was right there under her nose…from someone who had just smoked!

A sick feeling came bubbling up to the pit of Bianca’s stomach as she remembered Raja’s words; she and Laganja had been smoking not too long before Bianca ended up making out with someone beneath the mistletoe. Raja said the Laganja and Adore found her almost immediately afterwards and they were chatting away. Hell, they were fucking getting along.

It all started to fit. All the little clues pointed in her direction. Willam might’ve been half-joking when she suggested Laganja as the mystery kisser but it had been based on truth! It really could have been her.

Bianca felt bile starting to rise in her throat. How could she have gotten so drunk she kissed Laganja of all people? How could Laganja even let her?

It was too much.

There had to be some other explanation!

Wait! There was still one more person! 

Shangela! 

Bianca knew she had to ask her and quick or she might just lose it. As politely as she could, she excused herself from Alaska’s apartment but not before receiving a tight squeeze for the thoughtful gift. Alaska was gushing over how perfect it was but for the life of her, Bianca just couldn’t remember what she had given right at this moment. Her mind was elsewhere and try as she might, she just couldn’t stop the dots from connecting and pointing back to Laganja.

But as soon as Bianca was free from Alaska’s apartment, she pulled out her phone, ignored the two new messages, and called up Shangela. There were four tense rings before the other woman finally picked up with a very suspicious and questioning tone to her voice as she called out, “Hello?” 

Wasting no time with small talk, Bianca blurted out in a panic, “Did I kiss you at Alyssa’s party?”

“Well, hello to you, too, Miss Del Rio,” Shangela replied with a slight air of irritation, “Yes, I’ve been doing lovely. Got all of my holiday shopping done, going to visit my parents next week and-”

“Shangela!” Bianca interrupted brusquely, “Did I kiss you or not? I need to know.”

“Bianca, what’s-”

“Please,” she spoke firmly, “Can you tell me?”

There was a moment’s pause as Shangela debated whether or not to try and push for an explanation of Bianca’s rushed behavior. Ultimately deciding against it, Shangela let out a soft sigh and answered, “No. We didn’t kiss at the party.”

A weight dropped in Bianca’s stomach. She had no reason to doubt Shangela’s word but she just couldn’t let go of this so easily. It had to be Shangela that she kissed! It had to be someone that wasn’t Laganja!

“Are you sure?” she questioned, “Everyone had been drinking and-”

“I’m sure, Bianca,” Shangela interjected with a firm resolution, “I was with Alyssa most of the night trying to keep everyone under control. I hardly saw you until the end and you were dead asleep an hour after that.”

Feeling her throat clench with the definite information, Bianca thanked her and moved to end the call. Shangela was still pressing her for an answer but Bianca remained elusive. Her body felt cold as she realized she really had no other suspects left. Everyone else had all been crossed off for one reason or another until all that remained was…her.

Bianca just couldn’t bring herself to believe that it was Laganja all this time. Yes, the clues all pointed to her but with the way she felt during that kiss? That little spark that made her feel so comfortable and relaxed? How could it possibly have been Laganja that produced that?

It just didn’t make sense!

And yet…it was true.

There was no one else left but her.

These thoughts ran through Bianca’s mind like a broken record as she drove home. Not even the music on the radio could distract her from this revelation. Every thought just kept drifting back to Laganja, even after she arrived home.

The only thing she thought that might combat it, at least for a little while was scrolling through her phone…maybe do some damage control after Katya’s text. Unsurprisingly, Bianca found she had another set of new messages waiting for her but strangely not all were related to the kiss…well, the one with Katya anyway.

The most recent message actually came from Willam. A rather ominous question of ‘Did you kiss Alaska?’

The use of punctuation and capitalization for once should have been a red flag but at the moment, Bianca just couldn’t bring herself to care what it all meant. Instead all she did was type back a short confirmation followed by a half-hearted joke, ‘What? She send out a mass text, too?’

‘No,’ came the swift response. ‘Why?’

Bianca: Why what?

Willam: Why did you kiss her?

Good god! This was the last thing Bianca wanted to deal with right now; a jealous Willam interrogating her via text. All she wanted was to find a distraction and failing that, sulk in peace, not play peacekeeper with her friend for a harmless kiss.

Fed up with the conversation already, Bianca gave a brief recap of the events leading up to the kiss and firmly stated the topic was closed for the night. She doubted Willam would actually let this go, even for a night, and mentally prepared herself for a barrage of texts she was sure Willam was busy typing out as those three familiar grey dots appeared on her screen. As one last attempt to change the topic, even slightly, Bianca fired off one final, quick message, ‘You were right. It was Laganja.’

To her shock, the grey dots disappeared for almost two minutes. It was as though Willam were genuinely thinking about something…or perhaps busy with something else. Her long awaited response however, was decidedly not something Bianca would have expected; ‘Adore is coming over.’ 

Why the fuck would Bianca care if Adore was coming over to Willam’s place?

Having enough of this, Bianca tossed her phone aside and moved to the kitchen in search of something to eat. While she didn’t have much of an appetite, especially as she struggled to digest the night’s events, she knew it’d be better for her to have something in her stomach that wasn’t Trixie’s cookies. But even the toast and tea she made for herself did little to improve her mood.

She was sitting on her couch watching some random program as she finished her small meal when her front door began to open. She stared in confusion, trying to remember which of her friends had a key to her apartment and who would possibly think to stop over so late in the evening. Her answer appeared in just a few short moments as Adore slipped past the door frame and plopped down on the couch next to her with a bright, cheerful smile.

Bianca shot back a look, one silently asking why she was here but Adore remained steadfast in her sunny mood. There was a hint of smugness to her voice as she stated, “Heard you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I already know you got Katya’s text, bitch,” Bianca grumbled moodily.

“And a couple from Willam, too,” Adore chirped away happily.

Rolling her eyes, Bianca asked reluctantly just what exactly Willam had been telling her. She could only imagine what stories she was spinning to Adore and what embellishments of her own she likely added in.

Carelessly shrugging her shoulders, Adore continued to make herself comfortable on Bianca’s couch as she lazily recounted, “Just about everything you’ve told her; you kissed someone at Alyssa’s party and don’t remember who. You’ve been trying to find out for the last two weeks but nothing’s panned out…That kinda thing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bianca remarked skeptically, “Anything else?”

Adore’s lips curled into a hint of a smirk as she replied, “Maybe who all you’ve kissed so far.”

“Great,” Bianca drawled out sarcastically, “Last time I tell her anything.”

A chuckle emanated from the body beside her but figuring Adore already knew this much Bianca reluctantly asked, “And did she happen to mention who is left on that list?”

“She did.”

Arching her brow at the very plain and underwhelming response, Bianca inquired, “And?”

“And you’re wrong,” she stated simply, still with that smirk growing ever prominent on her face. “That’s why she sent me over here.”

“Wrong?” Bianca repeated in disbelief, only to receive a nod of the head as an answer. They stared at each other for a few moments, Adore looking like the picture of serenity and Bianca looking impatient and irritated. When Adore was not forthcoming with anymore information, Bianca finally relented, “Okay, then, I’ll bite. How am I wrong and why would sending you over here prove anything?”

There was nothing but smugness in her tone as Adore informed her, “Because I know who you kissed.”

“What?!? Who?” Bianca demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

It felt like something had snapped in her brain as she heard that answer but deep down (very, very deep down) she knew Adore was right. She hadn’t mentioned a thing to her so how could Adore possibly know that she’d been hunting so fervently for this mystery kisser, aside from what she heard from Willam…little snitch.

Coming to the end of her patience, particularly now that the answer was within her grasp, Bianca implored, “Who?”

“Me.”

“Bullshit,” she accused in a huff. There was no way it could have been Adore. She’d have known, right? And besides, she was simply way too tall! She towered over Bianca when they had stood next to each other at the party, thanks to those platform boots she loves. She was already so tall without them, rivaling even Alaska’s height. There was just no way it could have been her.

Seeing the incredulity clearly evident on Bianca’s face had Adore laughing once more at her skepticism. She hadn’t expected Bianca to believe her right away, especially after what she heard from Willam, but still it was a bit funny how set in her opinions she was. Figuring the best way to convince her was an example, she crashed their lips together and waited for Bianca to make the next move. There was a little twitch of movement at first, almost as if she were testing the waters but then she finally came to life. Their lips worked together in synchrony, creating something beautiful and comforting…something safe. A wave of relaxation swept through Bianca’s body as she realized it was finally the right kiss.

Losing any remaining hesitance, Bianca pressed even more firmly for just a few seconds longer, then finally pulled back with a vaguely stunned look on her face. For once she was speechless. All she could do was stare at Adore and murmur defeatedly, “Oh.”

Doing her best to contain another snicker, Adore pulled out her phone and flipped through the camera roll. Coming upon a particular picture, she extended the cell out to Bianca as further proof of her statement.

Glancing down at the screen, Bianca was surprised to find an actual fucking photo of them kissing. Adore must have been trying to take it without looking because it was off-center and horribly blurred, as if her hand was slipping as she pressed the button…But still it was undeniably them in the midst of a liplock. Bianca could even see the traces of the hideous green lipstick smeared past her lips and both of their mouths curling as if trying to contain their laughter. It was like a slap to the face with a cold, wet towel.

Withdrawing the phone from her friend’s hands, Adore took one last look before locking the screen and mentioned casually, “Yeah…it came out way too blurry to post. Surprised I didn’t delete it right then. But a few days after, Willam reached out and asked if I remembered anything from the party. She was dancing around it, like trying to hint at the kiss but really badly, so I sent her this and told I already knew. She laughed for 20 minutes after that.”

“And let me guess,” Bianca stated, coming upon Adore’s point herself, “She told you not to tell me?”

“Not unless you asked,” Adore agreed with a secretive smile. “She knew you wouldn’t.”

“Fucking bitch,” Bianca found herself muttering incredulously. “I’ll bet she’s still laughing up a storm now.”

Shrugging her shoulders, smile ever present on her lips, Adore informed her peacefully, “She was. She was sending me updates almost right after she got them-there’s a whole group text about this, by the way-Then she found out you kissed Alaska. She didn’t like that.”

Scoffing, Bianca replied, “Yeah, I’ll bet not.”

That was probably the last straw for her. Bianca could only imagine the fun Willam was having in all of this. Watching all this from the sidelines, particularly as Bianca starting losing her head as name after name was scratched off the list. Fucking incredible. And who exactly was in that group chat?

Whatever. 

She’ll find out later.

But now she felt even less guilty kissing Alaska than before. Willam deserved a bit of karma for all of this, after all.

Still, there was one thing that didn’t make sense to her though. Confused, she asked, “But how is it you? You were wearing those fucking platform boots, you were almost as tall as Raja in those!”

Pausing for a moment, Adore took the chance to think again about what happened that night. She ran through the party’s events once more, then finally remembered her smoke session with Laganja and Raja. Grinning brightly at her friend, she stated, “Oh, yeah! I took those off when we were smoking. Ganja didn’t want any shoes on her bed and afterwards I didn’t feel like lacing them back up again.”

“Oh.”

The answer was so simple and so…so stupid!

But Bianca had no doubt that it was true. After all, she had spotted Adore’s bare feet on her walk of shame. And most everyone else’s. Ugh…that was a sight.

Finding herself feeling a good deal chastened by the whole situation, she noted calmly, “So…that’s it. It really was you.”

“Yep.”

“Thanks…for finally telling me.”

Another bright smile was shot her way and somehow, it really did make Bianca feel a bit better about everything. She might end up apologizing to Willam for her little incident with Alaska but that could be saved for tomorrow…and after thoroughly bitching her out for letting this go on for so long. For now, she was just intent on enjoying the overwhelming relief that Laganja was not her mystery kisser, thank the heavens.

It was like a weight lifted from her body and she could breathe easily again.

Turning back to face Adore, she offered, “Wanna order take out?”

“You buying?” she teased, already pulling her phone out to begin looking for options.

“Yeah, bitch.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she chirped away happily. “And while we’re eating, you can tell me what’s going on with you and Phi Phi!”

[yandere-daydreams]

A Charles Grey/Fem!Reader (Black Butler) for an anonymous commissioner. I might’ve had to much fun with this, honestly.

Word Count: 3.5k

The first time he met you, Grey saw little more than another piece of scenery. Something nice, but ultimately unimportant. Completely and utterly forgettable.

He had visited your mansion on a job, a special request from one of the Queen’s favorite nobles. Your father was highly involved with illegal affairs, and needed to be dealt with as swiftly as possible. Something about the opium trade, or forgeries, Grey didn’t really care enough about the technicalities to pay close attention. It was just another mission, another project, another excuse to play with something weak, vulnerable and helpless. Unfortunately, due to your family’s... popularity with the working-class, the dramatics would have to be kept to a minimum.

So, he happily let his target fuss over his arrival, showing him around the estate for the better half of a day. His guilt was obvious, Grey’s suspicion only concreted by nervous stutters, anxious staff, and a forced appeal. Grey couldn’t stop himself from laughing when you were hastily called over, barely given time to introduce yourself before being unceremoniously pushed to the side in exchange for one of your more impressive siblings. You left his mind easily, only popping back in later that night.

“Earl Grey?” Your voice was heavy, weighed down by sleep and lingering exhaustion. He couldn’t blame you, no one should be awake at that hour. He’d have to be quieter next time, or get permission to take care of his target’s family as well. Your nightgown was oversized, falling over your hands and feet without restriction. You rubbed your eyes, gradually waking up. “What’s going on? Are you looking for my father?”

He ignored you, not bothering with an answer. In his defense, what was he going to say? With a sword in one hand, and the other resting on the door to the Lord’s bedroom, he couldn’t exactly explain himself. Only giving you a quick ‘nothing to worry about, go back to bed’, he brushed you off, moving to open the door. The muzzle of a gun was pressed into the back of his head before he could enter, the hammer pulled back and ‘clicked’ into place a moment later.

“I’m going to ask this one more time,” You said clearly, any illusion of a daze gone. He tried to turn around, only for you to push the muzzle against him harshly. You cursed under your breath, reaching over Grey to close the door. “What do you want with my father?”

Grey chuckled, fist clenching around the handle of his saber. Finally, something exciting. From the corner of his eye, he could just see your face. Eyes glinting with focus and adrenaline, lips pulled into a thin, straight line, turned ever-so-slightly downward at the corners. It was a look he could get used to, if he had more time. “A flintlock, how old fashioned. Are you sure you can use that, little girl?”

You shrugged, staring down the sword in his left hand. He couldn’t get to you, not before you pulled the trigger or retaliated, but that didn’t stop you from being cautious. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you were an apathetic bodyguard, rather than the pampered daughter of a wealthy Lord. “I know enough to end your life.” You paused, free hand closing around his arm. You gave it a slight tug, testing his resistance. Your movements were measured, but shaky. Hell, your gun was practically shivering now. “Drop the sword, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“So uncivilized… your maid really ought to have taught you better.” But, Grey dropped his weapon, nearly missing your relieved sigh under the clatter of metal on wood. He felt the tension leave your body, your grip on the gun loosening but not completely going slack. You half-heartedly kicked the sword away, pulling him backward and towards the empty hallway. “Do you intend to have your way with me, dear?”

You huffed, biting your cheek at the insult. Maybe you thought you were above his antics, or liked the idea more than you wanted to let on. The latter might be worth looking into at another time. He was shoved unceremoniously towards an office, released from your hold not long after. “I think we can talk this out. If you don’t hurt anyone, I shouldn’t have to hurt you.”

At this point, he could’ve gotten away. Grey could’ve pinned you down, or gone for his sword, or wretched the pistol out of your hand, or murdered you in all sorts of mess, gruesome ways. Your confidence had faded, leaving you trembling, and more importantly, exposed. But, he didn’t. The thought flashed through his mind, hanging in the air uselessly before being discarded. 

A formerly dead-eyed, unnoticeable girl, now shoving him into a cramped room and making flimsy threats under her breath. You can’t blame him for being intrigued, can you?

It was a display of pure emotion, a poorly put-together plan to keep your loved ones alive. You didn’t know any better, and oh, Grey loved that. He loved burning time with someone who’s unable to put up a proper fight, even if that came in the form of watching you act like a hero.

He listened to your demands and let you play your little ‘interrogation’ game, answering all your questions with either sarcasm or a tone too childish to be genuine. None of it deterred you, though. You refused to let him out of your sight until the sun rose, demanding that he pack his things and leave before either of your parents woke up. Of course, your threats were paper-thin, lacking the real force that would’ve actually scared him. By the time he was in his taxi, waving you off with a bright smile and a truly concerning amount of enthusiasm, nothing had been accomplished aside from wasting time.

Even with the influence of Phipps’ strange looks and increasingly aggressive comments about how mad the Queen was going to be, Grey didn’t regret leaving his mission unfulfilled. Excuses could be made, and Queen Victoria would be satisfied with reassurance and explanations. He’d found something much more entertaining than a dead businessman, after all.

~

Despite his best efforts, Grey didn’t simply forget about you. Every spare minute he had was occupied by thoughts of you. Did you ever tell your parents what happened? Did they know about the gun you apparently slept with? Would you be excited to see him again? Terrified? Was this just routine for you? And most importantly, did you think about him in the same way he seemed to obsess over you?

Against his better intentions, he would find his answer. It was at a party, one the Queen had asked him and his counterpart to attend. It was boring, just another ball with loud music, dull guests, and mediocre food that wouldn’t quell his appetite. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing to do. Then, he saw you.

You were dancing, laughing, touching a man he didn’t recognize. You looked happy, relaxed, unarmed, so unlike you’d been with Grey. It threw him into a paranoid rage, the kind that could start wars. You didn’t care about him. You hadn’t spared him a second thought. He didn’t know what he expected, if he was disappointed or just irrational, but that didn’t change his desire to keep your eyes on him. Before you even noticed his presence, Grey had one arm wrapped around your waist, quickly pulling you away from the annoyance you were talking to.

“Miss me, dearest?” He purred, nuzzling into your side like an old friend. Your eyes darted around the room, obviously searching for anyone who could help. Someone to call for you, or see your clear discomfort. It was a vain effort. Everyone was already caught up in their own gossip, not that anyone would try to interrupt an Earl, regardless. “I was expecting a visit. Or a letter, at least.”

“I try not to associate with murderers.” Your voice was cold, so unlike your warmth from a few moments ago. After all the time you spend together, Grey figured he would be considered an acquaintance, if not a friend. But, that could change. That would change. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you,” He answered, honestly. There wasn’t a need to lie, not yet. Reluctantly, he let go of your waist, grabbing your hand before you had a chance to get away. A sweeter gesture. A more intimate gesture. Something that could make you trust him, if only a little. “I like you, (Y/n).  And I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me.” You opened your mouth, ready to reject him, but Grey didn’t give you the chance. “I promise, I had a good reason for what I tried to do. If you give me some time, I’ll explain, but that’ll never happen if you run away.”

Your apprehension remained, but with a quick glance between your wrist, his face, and the nearest exit, you nodded. Grey wasn’t surprised, not this time. 

That line never failed.

~

Months passed, along with the more… volatile stages of your friendship. With some time and a few mildly tampered-with confessions, Grey was stopping by your estate once a week, if not more often, and you were making excuses to spend time with him just as frequently. Your parents only encouraged this new union, seeing him as a potential suitor, one who’d pay a very heavy price for your hand. You, alternatively, tried to look past his fortune. To remember that this was the man who tried to kill your father, to look at him and see someone who’d end your life in the blink of an eye, but... it was hard to not enjoy his company.

Of course, Grey couldn’t have been more pleased. As long as you were paying attention to him, updating him about your life and giving him the opportunity to do the same, no one would have a chance to steal you away. You had to think about him, to mull over the letters you wrote, to consider him as something more than a threat that needed to be dealt with. But, that certainly didn’t mean he liked everything you told him.

You nearly squealed, clinging onto Grey’s arm like your life depended on it. In another context, he would’ve gladly supported this kind of behavior from you. Unfortunately, what you were actually talking about ruined the moment. “Isn’t he great, Charles? He’s just perfect! You’ve got to meet him, I’ll set something up-”

“He looks weak.” Grey cast a wary glance towards the picture in his hand. The man you were so infatuated with was plain, in all honesty. Not handsome, not impressive, barely above a servant. He wasn’t worth your time, much less the devotion you seem so determined to express. “Poor, too. You’d be better off with someone like me, darling.”

“You can’t just write someone off because of money,” You complained, trying to grab the photo away. He just held it out of your reach, smiling as you tried to climb over him to get it. His eyes never left the man’s face. He needed to memorize every detail, to know the man who tried to take you away from him.

“I mean, you can’t. I, however, am extremely wealthy, incredibly attractive, and unrealistically talented.” And madly in love with you, he added, mentally. You punched him in the arm playfully, watching him pout and sheepishly hand the small object over. The way you beamed at it sent chills down his spine, his grin faltering more than once. You were love-struck, by the wrong person. Luckily, you were too preoccupied to notice. “I think I’m going to propose. I want to marry him.”

Grey didn’t miss a beat. “You’re parents would never allow it.”

“They don’t have to know.” It was a defined change from the girl who was willing to kill someone if it meant keeping her father uninjured, Grey was almost taken back. Always full of surprised, you were. You sighed, taking on a new tone of urgency. “I’ll run away if I have to, I just want to be with him.” Your attention snapped back to Grey, the pleading look you gave him not exactly unwelcome. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

Silence hung over the two of you, never a good sign. “Well, I don’t know about that...” Slowly, he averted his eyes, gesturing in circles. “But, if you write down his full name and address, I might be inclined to use my aforementioned wealth and talent to deliver your message, while forgetting to mention it both your parents and my associate.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” You gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Grey was tempted to return to gesture, but opted to just awkwardly pat your shoulder and play with your hair. Delicacy would be best, for now. “You’re so nice, and great, and...”

“Handsome? Your savior? The light of your life?”

“All that, too.”

When you were his, these gestures of affection didn’t have to be forced out of you. Once he got rid of that pest, you’d fall into his arms naturally. You would be out of excuses to run away, and with your new-found favor, you’d be more… open to the suggestion of something more serious. You would have to be.

Grey didn’t know what he would do if you still rejected him. Especially after he’d done so much for you.

~

“Remind me why we’re here, again?” Phipps trailed behind Grey, looking from the small, claustrophobic apartment to his counterpart. Grey rolled his eyes, trying the door. It wasn’t even locked. How had you ever fallen for someone so dimwitted? “We’re supposed to be in London by sunrise.”

“This’ll only take a minute. I just need to get rid of the trash that’s been bothering one of my favorite toys.” The words were hissed out, barely audible to the uncaring Phipps. Or, he thought so, at least. A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him from advancing into the dark house.

“And you’re sure this isn’t going too far?” The man questioned, his worry shining through the monotone drawl. Grey didn’t know whether he was asking out of genuine concern for a friend or the fear of dealing with his mess. But, Grey did know that an intervention wasn’t going to stop him. “A proper butler should never let his mind stray from his master’s commands.”

This man stole your attention, stole all those wonderful, mysterious reactions of yours. He seduced you away from the person who you’re meant to be with. Your rightful owner. And now, he was trying to trick you into running away from the life you were meant to have. It was disgusting, revolting, enraging. A downright crime, really. One worthy of a painful, drawn-out death sentence.

Grey shrugged off the other Charles, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “This is fine. If anything, I’m being lenient.”

~

For lack of a softer way to put it, you looked bad. There were bags under your eyes, your hair was unstyled and poorly tied back, and you couldn’t seem to stop from fidgeting. The last one Grey could write off as nerves. For all the times he’d shown up in your home without warning, this was the first time he’d called you to his. Since this was the place you’d spend the rest of your life, he wanted everything to be perfect the first time you saw it. But, that didn’t explain why you were so… discouraged. Even while standing by his side, idly walking through one of the nicer parts of his garden, you looked like you expected him to drop dead.

“He never met me,” You said, unprompted, as if you were reading his mind. You stopped for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh. “At first, I thought he just decided he didn’t like me that much, or something got in the way and he couldn’t make it, but then I didn’t hear from him for a few weeks. I guess I got curious, but when I went to his apartment…” You froze, grabbing his arm as a source of comfort. “He was dead, Charles. Dead. The landlord had to break the news.”

It took more self-control than it should’ve to keep from laughing. Of course your lover was dead, what else had you expected? You’d asked a murderer to deliver a proposal, after all. But still, he had to be sympathetic. Slowly, he rubbed short circled into your back, letting you bury your face in his shirt. “Aw, don’t be so negative about it.” You tensed, forcing him to wrap an arm around your waist. A hand closed around your chin, forcing you to look at him. “This is for the best, isn’t it?”

You shake your head, your confusion evident. He missed that expression of yours, so bewildered. So helpless. “No… what did you do?”

“I made things right,” He laughed, leaning down to kiss your cheek. You pushed him away, trying to gain any distance you could. His fingers trailed from your chin to the side of your face, lingering for a moment before brutally rooting themselves in your hair. You flinched, returning the favor by digging your nails into his shoulders. “He was a distraction. You see that, right? He took you away from me, so I got rid of him. Eradicated, like the vermin he was. Isn’t that great? Now that there’s no one to waste your time, you can be with me.”

“And if I don’t want to be with you?” You growled, confusion becoming anger. Your heart was beating faster now, so quick he could feel it through your chest. Grey released you, letting you stumble back before he grabbed your wrist. “You’re crazy, absolutely insane, I can’t believe I ever had hope for you. I should’ve just killed you when I had the chance.”

“That hurts, (Y/n), really. But, my proposal still stands.” Again, he moved to kiss you, settling for your hand, smirking against your skin. He’d hoped for his to be a little more romantic, but this would have to do. He’d taste your lips soon enough. “I do want you to come along willingly, but if you’re going to insist on being difficult, then I’m not above doing the hard way.”

You narrow your eyes, finally pulling yourself away completely. You moved to leave, not caring enough to remember which way you’d come from. As long as it got you away from Grey, you’d take any path happily. “Thanks, but I’d rather die.”

Despite your determination, you barely got a few steps away. Grey's arm wrapped around your waist from behind, his saber coming out of its scabbard and pressing dangerously close to your neck. Still in denial, you tried to continue your resistance, only for the blade to cut into your skin. A warm, thin trail of blood fell onto your chest, and you finally realized just how screwed you were.

“You wouldn’t.” Your hand settled just above his wrist, not pushing him away or urging him to move forward. Maybe you wanted to get some emotional response out of him, or know if he moved. Either way, Grey just rested his chin on your shoulder, humming contently. “I thought you said you loved me.”

“I do,” He paused, pressing his lips against your shoulder. He’d dreamed about being in this position for so long, pressed against you without interference or distraction. “Believe me, I do. You’ve had my attention from the minute I met you, and nothing makes me happier than the thought of having you with me for the rest of my life.” The sentiment was sweet, almost genuine. You could’ve believed it, if the flat of his sword hadn’t been pressed against the bottom of your jaw. Carefully, your chin was tilted towards him, forcing you to look at the white-haired man. “But, I’d rather take you by force than not have you. So, what’ll it be?”

Briefly, you considered goating him on. Dying might’ve been preferable, compared to a forced engagement to a mad-man. But, you knew that couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t just kill you, he’d kidnap you, or torture you, or worse. You tried to push the possibilities out of your mind, but they were suffocating, impossible to ignore. In the end, all you could bring yourself to do was nod. It was enough for Grey, though.

His mouth was on yours in an instant, the kiss chaste and quick, before he pulled away, chuckling. That didn’t stop him from pulling you closer, peppering your neck with small pecs and nips. The scene was exactly how he’d pictured it, down to the tears starting to run over your cheeks.

“We’re going to be so happy together, love.”

[naruhearts]

OKAY SO I've just spent the best part of an hour scrolling through your blog and reading a bunch of your destiel meta and I HAD to message you... I was one of the many people who STRONGLY believed destiel had a chance of being canon after season 8 (more like season gr8 am i right), but throughout the years I slowly lost all hope. However, S14 has made me 110% invested in the show again and YOUR META IS GIVING ME HOPE FOR DESTIEL, which is TERRIFYING. Your writing is wonderful and I'm STRESSED.

Got back from Washington late last night!

Oh my gosh @alovelikecas, your message really made my day and I’m SO glad you enjoy my meta xox (even when most of my meta looks like, to me, sloppy-ass writing, haha! I’ll probably make an end-season meta post after 14x20 — if I have the time — that touches upon SPN’s current and repeating themes since Season New Beginnings S12/Dabb Era, not to mention I have, like, some more unfinished meta in my drafts >.>)

Yeah I mean, I didn’t join Destiel land until Summer 2016, and before that, I was late to the Season 11 party, so I basically had no narrative context for anything, and I’ll copy-paste what I said here: 

Looking back, one significant thing I recall? S11 gave me a sense of Destiel’s true narrative validity (as not a ‘fanon’ ship but organically developed in the canon) when I perceived it as a season that was ‘missing something’. Keep in mind I had no idea about Destiel yet while watching S11 at the time.

I was literally asking myself — repeatedly — why Dean/Amara seemed to contain odd narrative holes, considering A. Dean explicitly said that the non-consensual attraction he felt for Amara was NOT love and “it scares him”, B. Amara told Dean that ‘something stops you - keeps you from having it all’, C. Djinn!Amara stated that she can: ‘feel the love [Dean] feels, except it’s cloaked in shame,’ and D. Mildred’s iconic ‘You’re pining for someone’ —> which did not logically correlate with A and C, meaning: since Dean doesn’t freely love Amara and thus isn’t possibly pining for her — with female love interests as currently non-existent (I remember crossing off the dead/gone girls on a piece of paper lol) — who the hell was he pining for, then?

Originally posted by elizabethrobertajones

Obviously, without writing long-ass paragraphs of meta about it again in this post, S11 made sense as soon as I watched it within the Destiel context (especially after I read up on some grandiose pieces of Destiel meta (@charlie-minion was the very first person who inspired me to write meta; I followed her once I joined the fandom Oh my god, here we go, holy crap this subtext – I’m invested in this godforsaken ship because they’re in love with each other and I’m not getting off any time soon. The rest is history.

I’m aware that I do come off as positive (and I’m still Destiel-positive; whatever happens in 14x20 this week may or may not change that), but I hope you don’t mind if I use your lovely ask as an additional opportunity to clarify my meta standpoint: no one’s saying Destiel WILL become text. 

The general Destiel meta community (all subfactions: Destiel-positive, -negative, -neutral, and in-between) is not the Most Holy Canon Word, and we aren’t SPN writers, and again, we can’t actually speak to the veracity of Destiel as guaranteed-gonna-go-textual, but we — a diverse pool of critical thinkers from all walks of life: particularly those who have some degree of experience in literary academia/English literature studies (fun fact: I was actually pursuing a Minor’s in English until I changed my mind - my first love’s Health Science/Biology, which I stuck with, but here I am doing lit-crit analysis on the side *wink*) — can speak to the veracity of Destiel as a real, palpable, and ever-substantial long-running romance narrative aka the love story between Dean and Cas IS THERE. I see it. We all see it. We didn’t pluck it out of the random ether one day. It naturally evolved across the show’s overarching narrative like some vast spiderweb, linked together by numerous character arc amalgamations of Dean Winchester and Castiel as separate individuals who were then brought together — who brought themselves together, by the sheer force of free will and choice — and are now inherent parts of the other’s story (and respective character progression).

I say this too many times to count: the entire point of writing meta? Personally, it enables me to appreciate the literary gorgeousness of Dean and Cas’ relationship as, first and foremost, a tentative alliance offset by the very moment Cas raised Dean from perdition (it’s a poetic beginning). Their alliance then inevitably proliferated into a rocky — at times, necessarily turbulent — friendship, then a deep profound bond…one that crossed platonic boundaries since S7/8 and is, ultimately, indelibly rooted in romance. Together, Dean and Cas build up each other’s strengths, complement each other’s flaws, and narratively motivate the other to self-introspect — to become the best version of themselves that they were always meant to be: self-actualized entities who let go of their painful, horrifying, psychologically/emotionally destitute pasts.

These above reasons and more are why I think Destiel belongs right up there on the shelf of Ye Olde Classics, similar to epics by John Milton, Shakespearian tragic dramas, Homeric characteristic cruxes, and the great Odyssey journey: a legendary journey, fraught with circumstance, that finally ended with Odysseus (now an enlightened man) returning to Penelope, the love of his life.

Channeling the scope of Homer’s Odyssey, Destiel is an incredible storytelling feat of obstacles, both internal and external, romance tropes, mirroring, foreshadowing, and visual cadence/emotion, enhancing SPN’s already character-driven main plot in that Dean and Cas try to make it back to one another; like Penelope, their love holds true despite everything. If Destiel were an M/F couple, we all know their love story would be absolutely undeniable to the GA.

I do understand the bitterness S14’s fostered in some viewers, though. I do understand that Dean and Cas seem distant (and yeah, it’s a noticeable difference compared to S12/S13), but I believe the Destiel subtext is still heavy and holds steady.

Right now, at this point, there remains multiple personal issues for the characters to solve, you know? Dean and Cas aren’t talking properly; their love languages stay mistranslated, although we’re persistently shown that they still understand each other on a certain level that no one else can, and the visual narrative keeps framing them as on-the-nose solid counterparts: a domestic-spousal romantic unit independent of Sam.

Originally posted by incatastrophicmind

They want to be there for the other. They need to quash the final remnants of their respective internal loathing (Dean’s self-worthiness, Cas’ self-expendability) before they’re able to give the other 100% of their time, efforts, attention, and love (as flawed and complicated but compellingly beautiful as it can possibly be). During the times Dean and Cas do try to talk shit out, extraneous issues continue to get between them.

As other friends/meta pals discussed with me, S14 is like S10 in that it’s confusing the cast/audiences. And exactly: S8, besides S11/S12/early S13, also belongs in the close-to-canon serious Destiel narrative transition! I can discuss the showrunning/writer problem of SBL (Singer + Bucklemming; @occamshipper hits the nail on the head) that tugs subtext – especially subtext linked to Destiel – back and forth, sometimes in the weirdest nonsensical ways, but I won’t go too far into it here. I agree, however, with the recent idea that Jensen does seem a bit confused as to where he should bring Dean emotionally this season (don’t get me wrong, I do NOT believe Dean is OOC; OOC is a completely different concept vs expected character behaviour). And if Dean’s consistently romance-coded past interactions with Cas are any indication, Jensen would also — in the same vein as all of us — want Dean and Cas to start getting their shit together. Long-running fictional characters like Dean and Cas, conceived over 10 years, are so well-written to the point where you, the author, can predict what they’ll do even if you just plop both of them inside a room and give them no direction, and I personally feel that nowadays Jensen is prevented from achieving Dean’s further internal growth/unsure how to act in the moment because of some dumb SBL scripts saying one thing while his character’s heart says another. Wank aside—

Season 15 should hopefully convey a much more logical subtextual perspective e.g. unbelievably amazingly cohesive Season Destiel 11 that aired after choppy S10. Not all hope is lost!! I also want to clarify that I personally LOVED Season 14 in general. It’s been mostly Emotion-centric constant, with Yockey, Berens, Perez, and Dabb usually making my top-rank SPN writer list.

Currently the narrative’s still allowing pretty significant (imho) wiggle room for the lovers to fracture apart and get back together, where their miscommunication comes to a dramatic head. We just saw Dean and Cas argue over Jack’s well-being in 14x18 and 19. Dean — besides putting Cas at the top of his You’re-Dead-to-Me-Because-You-Lied-but-I-Still-Love-You-Goddammit hitlist (for clear spousal-coded reasons) and taking Cas’ actions to heart (he’s the person he trusted the most who lied to him) — no doubt blamed himself for what happened, and Sam was, like I said, the mouthpiece of truth. TFW were all culpable. They all failed Jack in some way, shape, or form.

I’m not expecting anything for 14x20, but I’m nervous either way! Thanks for sticking with my long answer

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo square: Self-Sacrifice

Fandom: Marvel, Iron Man Characters: Tony Stark, James Rhodes Tags: MIT Era, College, Friendship, Protective Rhodey, Tony Needs A Hug, Alcoholism Words: 3.773

Summary: “Sometimes I don’t want to be sober ever again,” Tony says quietly. “It’s easier like that.”

What a world they live in, Rhodey thinks, that he has to teach Tony Stark about love.

---

Tony is so vibrant, so used to hiding behind glittering masks, that it is impossible for the casual observer to notice when something is wrong with him. Rhodey is not that anymore. For a year now, they have been best friends. Still, the cracks in Tony’s composure show themselves only gradually.

The first thing Boston’s students learned about Tony Stark is that he is young and rich and smart enough to leave them all in the dust. The second is that he is the life of every party, unmatched in his ability to drink and please any crowd. Rhodey is disgusted by that right up until he is worried.

The trick, Rhodey eventually learns, is to keep Tony distracted, to turn the alcohol into nothing more than an afterthought – and to throw out the people who only want to use Tony. Which, admittedly, is a Sisyphean task at college.

Coincidentally, the first time Rhodey wonders whether Tony is not hiding more cracks than previously thought is during a party.

By the time Rhodey arrives, everybody is already drunk. He stands in the foyer, letting the pounding music wash over him, making his skin vibrate as if it has a life of its own, and wonders whether it would not be better to call it a night. Arriving late means to put in twice the effort to have fun.

He has no time to come to a decision, though, because that is when Tony finds him. His eyes are as wild as his hair, and his clothes are in disarray, buttoned up wrong and with lipstick stains adorning his collar.

“Platypus,” he calls, his lips fitting clumsily around the newest nickname in an embarrassingly long line of them. “I saved a bottle for you somewhere.”

A bottle could mean everything from bear to the most expensive whiskey the store around the corner has to offer. Sometimes, it does not seem that Tony discriminates between what he pours down his throat as long as he has a bottleneck to hold in his hand.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Rhodey shouts back over the music. “Maybe get a glass of water for you too.”

Suddenly, Tony is much too close, pressing himself against Rhodey’s chest in a clumsy attempt of an embrace. When he backs away, it is only far enough that he can look up better at Rhodey.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Rhodey.” Eyes growing brighter, he adds, “Let’s just not be ourselves tonight.”

With that, he grips Rhodey’s hand and pulls him off deeper into the house.

“Wait,” Rhodey says, “what do you mean by that?”

It is such a strange phrasing that something cold unfurls behind Rhodey’s sternum. He is not yet drunk so he cannot make sense of a drunk’s words. Perhaps the surroundings alone have him not sober enough either to decipher Tony.

He is pretty sure either the music or Tony’s ability to ignore everything he does not want to hear drown out his words. Surprisingly, Tony turns briefly back to him.

“What I said,” Tony replies cheekily. The way his eyes glisten and how wide they are, Rhodey thinks it might be not just alcohol running through his friend’s system. “Come on. This is our night.”

The night for what? Senseless revelry with a side dish of abandoning their selves?

“What are you drinking?” Rhodey questions, planting himself firmly in the foyer so that Tony tugs uselessly at his hand. “Did you take anything from anyone?”

It would not have been the first time – to experiment or to relieve stress, come on, Rhodey, you’re not that boring when it comes to building robots.

In front of him, Tony rolls his eyes, which somehow makes him lose balance. Rhodey steadies him without having to think about it.

“I’m not on drugs,” Tony says slowly, enunciating each word as if that is a ridiculous notion, as if there is no reason to worry about him. Ever. “I’m just not Tony Stark tonight. You should try it, Platypus. Lift those lips. Dance with me.”

Confused, Rhodey lets himself be pulled into half a twirl before he regains control of his senses and stops. He wants to say something, wants to dissect Tony’s statement, but Tony, sighing dramatically, lets go of him.

Too late to hold him back, Rhodey has to watch Tony disappear into the moving mass of drunk students filling the house. When he attempts to follow, the bodies form a wall before him, seemingly impossible to part. For the moment, Rhodey does not remembers how to navigate places like this.

He needs to find Tony, needs to talk to him about this. It might have been just a throw-away comment, but added to the more-than-usual unhinged behaviour, Rhodey feels like he should worry.

A drink does sound right now, though. Just one to get his thoughts flowing again. Tony will likely only talk to him when he comes to him smiling, and he is sure he will not be able to do that sober.

Shaking his head, Rhodey makes his way to the kitchen. The next morning, he barely remembers that they talked about anything that night.

 ---

Tony in a suit always looks like a completely different person. The clothes are immaculate and tailored to Tony’s exact size. Considering that Rhodey is used to Tony wearing over-sized sweaters with his hair sticking up wildly, sitting barefoot on the ground, working on whatever new project his crazy mind has come up with, seeing this slick and controlled version of him is like stumbling over a stranger in their dorm.

Even worse is the reluctance Rhodey feels at the prospect of coming in. Tony is his best friend, but he is also inhabiting two very different worlds and Rhodey only fits into one of them.

When Tony notices him, he looks up with a smile so very different from his usual blinding grins. Looking like this, Tony never shows much emotion.

“What’s going on?” Rhodey asks as he finally steps into the room. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

“Obie called,” Tony answers, his tone precise, polished. “They need me for a press conference.”

Those happen sometimes but rarely. Usually, Howard and Stane are happy to let Tony be as long as he does not cause too much bad press. Rhodey does not remember any of that happening lately, and yet Tony’s expression is grimmer than usual when he gets called away for these things.

“Don’t you have people for that?”

Rhodey has met the frazzled woman in charge of PR for Stark Industries once when she was briefing Tony on what to say and how to say it. Rhodey would not want to change places with her, especially not since she has to coach Tony Stark on things he has known for longer than she has had the job.

“It helps if I go out there and play the genius kid every once in a while,” Tony says in a flat voice. He is checking his tie’s knot in the mirror, calloused hands running over the smooth cloth. It is already perfect, which means that Tony is stalling.

“When do you need to leave?” Rhodey asks, stepping closer to keep Tony from ruining the knot again.

Looking up at him, Tony’s small smile turns wry. “Ten minutes ago.”

That is all the confirmation Rhodey needs. “What’s wrong?” he asks and pulls Tony towards the bed, pushing him down to sit on the mattress.

As much as Tony likes designing things, he does not seem to like Stark Industries very much. Perhaps that is just about his father, though.

Tony raises his hand as if to run it through his hair but remembers at the last moment that he should not mess it up. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Then he glares at his hand as if it is responsible for the nervous gesture.

“I’m just not myself out there,” Tony says with a shrug, somehow making this sound nonchalant. “Sometimes it’s hard to get back to that.”

Rhodey thinks he knows what Tony means. If a camera is trained on him, all of Tony’s smiles become wider but more artificial, never reaching his eyes. He gestures less but more sharply, does not let himself be caught in talking about something he actually likes.

“I guess being yourself is not an option then?” Rhodey asks, despite knowing the answer. Despite them being best friends, Rhodey is still getting blocked by Tony’s masks and deflections every now and then. He is not going to let strangers get a peek at himself.

Tony snorts without much amusement. “I doubt Obie meant for me to make things worse.”

That sits wrong with Rhodey, it always does when Tony talks about himself with disdain. He has not yet found an effective cure for that, however.

“You’re not a bad person, Tones,” Rhodey says, wishing he could make Tony believe how much he means that.

“You only think that because I’ve conditioned you to like me by brining you the good coffee instead of the grovel from downstairs,” Tony replies dryly. A little bit more life returns into his features, making Rhodey inwardly congratulate himself.

He still remains serious. “You can’t buy my good opinion of you with coffee.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Tony gets up, face smoothing over again. “One day you’ll wake up and wonder what you’ve been thinking.”

Rendered speechless, Rhodey cannot do anything but stare for a long moment, trying to find the kind of argument that not even Tony Stark can brush away and turn against himself.

“That’s nonsense,” bursts over Rhodey’s lips with none of the eloquence he has been grasping for. Being faced with this Tony, Rhodey feels utterly helpless. “I’m not in for the money or the coffee or anything else. Just for you.”

For a second, it looks like Tony’s expression is going to crumble, like they can have a real conversation about this. Then a car honks twice, causing Tony to be replaced by Stark, unreadable and sharp-edged enough to cut anyone getting too close.

“And who’s that?” Tony asks, flippant and careless. Turning towards the door, he smooths down his suit. It is obvious he does not intent to give Rhodey the time to answer. “Gotta go. See you tonight. Probably.”

“Definitely,” Rhodey corrects with determination. He is worries by this sudden turn in their conversation and by how easily Tony hides himself away. “We’re going to have a talk about this.”

Tony flashes him a grin, as bright as it is false. “Definitely.”

Then, without another word, he strides out of the door, leaving Rhodey behind with his thoughts.

The next time they see each other, Tony is already drunk. He lost his jacket somewhere but is still wearing his good shirt, wrinkled now and with unidentifiable stains on it. He is dancing with abandon in a stranger’s dorm room, seemingly noticing nothing of his surroundings.

The whole dorm appears to be present, riled up by a surprise party nobody knew they needed tonight. It could all be a coincidence that the night Rhodey wanted to talk about something serious, everybody is up and drunk, filling the air with chaos. When his eyes meet Tony’s, there is no mistaking the flicker of guilt on his face, though. Nor can it be called anything other than avoidance, the way Tony seems to slip through Rhodey’s fingers every time they come even remotely close to each other.

They do not talk that night, nor any of the following ones because Tony keeps himself busy with project and extra credits. He probably thinks he is being subtle about it. He is not, but Rhodey gets the message anyway. Tony does not want to talk and Rhodey will not push him into it.

Neither will he forget about it.

 ---

Their apartment is dark when Rhodey comes home. That in itself is not really surprising and Rhodey would not think anything about it if he had not gone by the lab on the way here after Tony has missed all of their classes this day. The latter is not really uncommon, but he is usually found working those days, never noticing how much time passes by while concentrating on his projects. Sometimes, Rhodey envies Tony’s ability to focus so completely on one thing, never coming up for air until it is done. Mostly, though, is means more work for him.

“Tony?” he calls as he pulls the door close behind him.

There is no answer, but that does not have to mean anything. Turning on the light, Rhodey walks into their apartment. In the kitchen, he finds an assortment of bottles on their counter, some half-empty, some tipped over. All of them, without exception, are expensive and contain alcohol.

Tony was home then. As much as the Stark Mansion can be described as home. Rhodey has never been there, has only seen pictures and listened to Tony’s stories about it, but that is enough for him to dislike it intensely. Mostly, he does not like the person it turns Tony into.

Hastening his steps, Rhodey walks down the hallway to Tony’s room. He knocks but does not wait for an answer. Tony and alcohol is not a good mixture. He can drain bottle after bottle and never show any signs of being drunk – but only if he has to perform. Afterwards, when they are home, Tony usually crashes and only Rhodey is there to catch him.

The room is dark too, but the light from the hallway is enough to illuminate Tony’s figure, sitting on the ground, back to the bed, clinging to a bottle, never looking up at the intrusion.

“Go away,” Tony says. His voice is hoarse, quiet. If it is supposed to be a demand, Tony does not have the energy to actually turn it into one.

Rhodey ignores it anyway. “I think you’ve had enough.” He steps into the room but does not go directly towards Tony.

He has learned the hard way that, sometimes, Tony might speak and interact with him without actually registering his presence, causing him to flinch at sudden movements or at simply realizing that Rhodey has come too close. That is a hard thing to know about his best friend, but where it might have put him off once, it only makes Rhodey’s protectiveness worse.

“Go,” Tony repeats sharper. “I’m not myself tonight.” He blinks up at Rhodey and manages to hold his cold expression for barely a breath before he crumbles. Dropping his gaze, he pulls the bottle closer to himself. “Or wait, maybe I am. Maybe this is all I am.”

For a long moment, Rhodey is at a loss. True enough, Tony does not look like himself. There is nothing of the sharp edges of Tony Stark in him, full of confidence and smirks and brilliance, and nothing of the softness of Tones, vibrating with slightly manic energy, heart full of kindness. There is a shapeless tiredness to him now, misery given form.

Going closer, Rhodey crouches. He keeps all of his movements slow. “Tony,” he says as firmly as he manages, “look at me.”

Tony shakes his head, focusing on the bottle with all the intent he seems able to muster. Without warning, Rhodey reaches out and pulls the bottle from Tony’s grip. They struggle for a minute, both locked to the cool glass. Then Rhodey takes his free hand to gently pry Tony’s fingers loose, Tony gives in with a sigh.

When he puts the bottle behind him, out of Tony’s reach, Rhodey has to fight to urge to take a swig himself. It looks like there is a difficult conversation ahead of them, and as much as Rhodey might want some liquid courage for it, one of them should have a clear a head for it.

“You should go, Rhodey,” Tony says before Rhodey had a chance to think of how to begin. “I’m not good for you. Howard said that. I ruin everything I touch. Don’t let me ruin you.”

Familiar anger uncurls in Rhodey’s chest. Every mention of Howard Stark tends to irritate him, but the combination of the conviction in Tony’s voice and the general situation has Rhodey skipping right past that into feeling murderous.

“You won’t ruin me,” Rhodey says slowly, needing Tony to understand that before he can ask any questions. “You’ve made my life so much brighter. That’s what you do with everything.”

Something tears itself from Tony’s throat that is probably supposed to be laughter. It comes out warbled, making the hairs in Rhodey’s neck stand up like the sound of nails on a blackboard would.

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony spats, sounding upset.

“I don’t,” Rhodey counters immediately. He feels very much out of depth. “I promised you that, remember? First semester? I told you I’d never be one of those people who’d lie to get into your good graces. We’re friends.”

If possible, Tony’s expression gets even sourer at the mention of friendship. “You deserve so much better.”

“Funny, because I think that should be my decision,” Rhodey replies, perhaps harsher than necessary, but it gets Tony to listen. His eyes are wide and dark when he trains them on Rhodey, but he returns the gaze unflinchingly. “And I want to keep my best friend, even if he sometimes drinks himself through his father’s liquor cabinet and has serious self-worth issues.”

Tony’s hand spasms, gripping tight around thing air. He opens his mouth as if to ask for his bottle back but thinks better of it after one glance at Rhodey’s expression. Instead, his shoulders slump further.  

“It’s not an issue if it’s true,” Tony mutters under his breath, grimacing at the sound of his own voice.

Rhodey scoffs. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Since there is no use to discussing that now – he has tried before, a dozen times – he gets to his feet, offering his hand to Tony. “Here, let me help you up, and then I’ll get you to bed.”

Likely trying to swat the hand away, Tony misses by several inches. “I don’t –”

“Shh, Tony, you’re drunk,” Rhodey cuts him off. Grabbing Tony’s hand himself, he pulls him up and deposits him on the mattress. “The alcohol makes you feel more miserable than you are. We’ll talk once you’ve sobered up.”

Rhodey crouches down again to pull Tony’s shoes off. When Tony expectedly tries to kick him, he dodges the weak attempt easily. Tony likes being cared for even less than being told he is wrong about something, especially himself.

“Sometimes I don’t want to be sober ever again,” Tony says quietly. “It’s easier like that.”

Judging on Tony’s tone and the way he stares up at the ceiling, Rhodey is almost certain he was not supposed to hear that. That does not stop him from coming up and sitting down next to Tony on the bed.

“It’s not,” he argues vehemently, wishing any of his words would actually register with Tony the way they are meant. “You’re Tony Stark. You don’t hide. If things are bad, you’ll make them better.”

That is what Rhodey has likes about Tony from the beginning, even when he was still just the rich, white kid treating MIT like his personal playground. No matter what problem is put before Tony, he finds a way to solve it, to make any broken thing work, and better than ever before.

Which is why Rhodey wants to find whoever messed up Tony’s self-confidence and ruin theirs. More than ever when Tony says, in an impossibly small voice, “I can’t.”

Toning down his temper, Rhodey argues, “Oh, you can. If you think you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me until you can.” Much gentler, he adds, “I’ll be there for you.”

Tony is silent for a long moment. His breathing is loud as if he has to consciously remind himself that his lungs need air. He stares down at his lap until he pulls up his feet, making himself small. With visible effort, he looks up.

“You’re my best friend, Rhodey.”

The seriousness of that remark breaks Rhodey’s heart a little because it is still lacking confidence, ends almost as a question.

“And you’re mine,” Rhodey replies firmly, leaving no doubt that he means it. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I don’t,” Tony answers quickly, then bites his lower lip. His eyes stray from Rhodey again, making him look embarrassed. “I mean, I’m myself with you. I never am anywhere else. So – thank you?”

This is not the first time Tony has said something like that. I’m not myself out there. Let’s not be ourselves for once. I’m not myself tonight. Rhodey has noticed it before, but never has it come with such an urgency, like time is running out.

“You don’t owe the world anything, Tones, and I happen to love who you are,” Rhodey says, looking at Tony until he looks back. Deciding that Tony does not look so spooked anymore that bodily contact will make things worse, Rhodey reaches out and outs his hand over Tony’s, which is gripping his knees. “We’ll work on that, promise?”

A small grin pulls at Tony’s lips. It is lopsided and does not quite reach his eyes, but Rhodey decides to count it as a good sign anyway.

“You shouldn’t let drunk people promise anything,” Tony says. He is obviously deflecting, but his lids are drooping and the tension is bleeding out of him, making him slump into Rhodey’s side.

“I’ll ask you again in the morning,” Rhodey offers, making it almost into a threat. “But let me warn you now, I won’t accept no as an answer.”

Giving up the fight to stay upright, Tony melts completely into Rhodey, letting his head fall against Rhodey’s shoulder.

“I love you, Rhodey,” he mutters, stumbling a bit over the words. Rhodey knows that is not because he does not mean them, but because he is unused to saying them.

“I know,” Rhodey says, smiling down at his best friend. “We just need to get you to love yourself a little too.”

What a world they live in, Rhodey thinks, that he has to teach Tony Stark about love. That is a task that could take his entire life, he is aware of that. There is no doubt in his mind, however, that it will be worth it. The things Tony creates when he is driven by guilt are magnificent. Rhodey can hardly imagine how much brighter the world will be once Tony starts shaping it with love.

[gyeommark]

inflection point . vi

Chanyeol x Reader x Sehun

Fake Relationsip!AU, University!AU

8.5k words

Warnings: Strong/explicit language, explicit sexual situations (in future chapters), and a lot more that you’ll catch onto along the way.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, here it is :)

You’d like to say you had enough time by yourself to process the whole situation and figure out how the hell your life was going to work out after what happened but you weren’t worthy of that privilege.

You wanted to say that being alone to figure things out was a privilege which was rudely taken away from you but a part of you knew, even if it was against your principles, that there was no way to figure this out without Sehun, mainly because he was the one who suggested it, secondly because he was the other half of this whole fake relationship act.

“Hey, cheer up. It’s not like you saw a ghost”. Sehun chuckled, following you closely behind as you headed to the class you had with the entire group, the nerve-wrecking thought of sharing a class with Chanyeol had been pushed to the furthest corner of your mind for the first time in what felt like forever.

“No, seeing a ghost would’ve been better. I saw death, instead. I just never thought my Grim Reaper would share faces with Oh Sehun”. You mumbled, plopping onto your seat and letting out a heavy sigh that you had been holding in since the very moment you stepped out of the coffee shop.

Sehun cackled, taking a seat next to you and raising an eyebrow in your direction. “What an overly dramatic girlfriend I’ve found for myself”. He was holding back his laughter and that was driving you insane; seeing him thrive on your discomfort. You snapped your head in his direction when you heard the word girlfriend leave his lips so carelessly. You leaned towards him a little bit with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

“Fake girlfriend”. You hissed. Sehun snorted, putting his hand over your lips and leaning even closer to you. You wanted to bite him to make him get away.

“Shh”. He hushed you, putting his index finger to his lips. “They may hear you”. Struggling to get away from his grip, you squinted your eyes as if asking who?! There’s no one here that would give a single flying fuck.

That was until you heard that peculiar laugh followed by a series of loud claps. Your heart dropped to your knees before disappearing a thousand feet under ground. Sehun let you go for the sake of maintaining appearances more so than over your constant nudging, you were sure.

“You give me the chills sometimes and no, before you say anything they’re definitely not the good kind”. You hissed at him, readjusting on your seat again and putting on your half fake smile to greet the other three men that came up to sit around you two.

You felt like that particular lecture lasted three times what it normally would. The loud ticking of the clock hanging on the back wall was a constant reminder of everything you had been through in the span of only twenty-four hours. Sehun’s hand lying carelessly on the back on your chair didn’t help the slightest bit with your stress management either.

One tick reminded you of the overly charismatic way Hayoon had to try and get closer to you, another tick reminded you of the warmth of Chanyeol’s hug engulfing and intoxicating you at the same time. Then came another tick that brought back the rage Sunhee had sparked within you and then another one reminded you of the stupid decision you had taken when you decided on dating Sehun.

It was Catch-22 and you desperately wanted to get away. Sehun nudged your knee with his when your leg twitched more uncontrollably than necessary, you wanted to snap at him but you refrained because you didn’t want to raise suspicions and whether you approved of it or not, you’d have to make an effort to be patient with him from now on.

As soon as the professor dismissed the class you were ready to sprint, almost falling flat on your face while skipping down the couple steps to get out of the room, not even bothering on actually putting everything inside your bag and carrying most of your things on your arms.

That’s when you felt someone grab you by the elbow, holding you back from disappearing in a sea of students. You turned with wide eyes only to see Sehun mouthing you a ‘don’t you dare’ with a crooked eyebrow. You let out a frustrated puff of air, blowing a stray lock of hair out of your face at the same time, reluctantly staying by his side as he waited for the rest to catch up with you two.

“Are you ready for Hayoon’s party, man?” Jongin asked Chanyeol carelessly with a huge smile plastered on his face as they reached the spot where you and Sehun were already waiting. You switched the weight from one foot to the other, a reflex you had when you felt uncomfortable and unable to get away, mainly because Sehun’s grasp around your elbow felt like some sort of inescapable bear trap.

Chanyeol laughed, not with much emotion this time. “I’m not ready for the amount of preparing and post-party cleaning I will have to do but yeah, I guess. You guys will be going, right?” Chanyeol asked, scanning all the faces, trying to persuade all of you with his wide eyes and incessant blinking. You felt his eyes drop when he reached you and you felt the urge to shake Sehun’s hand away from you immediately but you refrained. Still, you felt like Chanyeol’s eyes were starting to burn off the skin where Sehun was making contact.

His eyes shot back up again, a confused crooked eyebrow adorning his forehead and you smiled to hide the fact that you were forcefully pushing down your nervousness with gulps of your own saliva mixed with air bubbles.

“Yeah, we’re going. Right?” You heard Sehun reply and from the corner of your eye, you saw him looking at you. You felt a small hint of gratitude towards him for not tugging on you or doing something of the sort because you would’ve definitely lost your façade and punched him.

You shook your head as lightly as you could as for it to go unnoticed. You looked at Sehun with inquisitive eyes and read his raised eyebrows and small smile as a ‘follow my lead’ and you sighed to your insides.

“Right”. You cleared your throat and nodded. Trying to push out a smile made out of pursed lips and regret.

“Why are you using the first-person plural, Sehun?” If you could, you would’ve facepalmed the exact moment you heard Minseok’s voice but that would’ve thrown your whole act directly into the trashcan even before it would actually start working… or whatever Sehun thought it would do for the two of you in the future.

For a split second, as Sehun scoffed, you thought he didn’t even understand what Minseok was talking about. You always thought of Minseok as a bright one and of Sehun as one of those that was hopeless and useless to worry about. But his mischievous smirk contrasted big time with Chanyeol and Jongin’s furrowed brow and you knew right then that his ‘I’m dumb, please help me’ attitude was just as fake as your professor’s hairpiece.

You were thankful that he actually seemed to understand the implications of such a technical sentence but it also hurt you a little that Chanyeol didn’t comprehend right away because that meant either you or Sehun would have to explain and you certainly weren’t mentally trained to do so just yet.

“Are you two… something?” Minseok squinted his eyes as he pointed an index finger to Sehun and then to you. You wanted to focus on his accusation; you would’ve loved to do that but from the corner of your eye, you couldn’t help to see Chanyeol’s expression changing from a confused one to a surprised one -for a couple seconds- before pursing his lips into something you didn’t know if it was an actual smile or just a different type of confusion.

“I- Uh… we’re- uh…” You stuttered, widening your eyes, nibbling on the inside on your cheek and sticking a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear just so you could get your hands busy. You wanted to clear your throat to have enough time to process a somewhat decent lie but you felt like if you did so, you would either let out a ridiculous nervous laugh or choke on your own saliva.

“We’re close. See you all at the party”. Sehun’s voice combined with those words had an effect on you that you didn’t quite know how to explain. A part of you felt relaxed that he was the one who took one for the team and spoke up in the rather uncomfortable situation but at the same time you wanted to cut off his manhood for giving such a vague and ambiguous answer.

You felt him pull you away from the group and you smiled nervously at them, waving them off as you stumbled around due to Sehun’s tight grasp around your arm and the constant need to avoid crashing onto some other student in the process. Sehun’s grasp disappeared for a brief moment before reappearing around your shoulders now and if you weren’t feeling the three sets of eyes burning a hole on your back before, you certainly were now.

“I know you probably want to kill me right now but hold it in until no one can see us”. You let out a sigh and dropped your head, wondering how many more agreements you’d end up having with Oh Sehun.

After a few minutes of walking, still with Sehun’s arm around your shoulders, which you had grown strangely accustomed to, you finally looked up at him with squinted eyes.

“You could’ve come up with another answer. We’re close. That can be interpreted in so many ways, what if they thought this is like a friends with benefits sort of thing? How gruesome is that?” You complained, making Sehun laugh loudly, slightly shaking your shoulders in response.

“I mean, we could do that if you want to”. He cackled with eyebrows raised in a teasing manner, earning a dry smack across his chest. He winced and glared at you. “Hey, at least I said something and didn’t just stand there, blabbering nonsense with my eyes wide open and a slacking jaw”. He shrugged.

“We’d have to be actual friends first in order for that to happen”. You mumbled, still feeling like there was a rain cloud pouring down specifically on you.

Sehun scoffed, dragging you along yet again when you didn’t notice the pedestrian traffic light changing to green.

“And here I was thinking that me walking you home, buying you coffee and saving you from your Chanyeol induced suffering meant we were close, I feel slightly hurt by your words”.

You couldn’t help but let out a small, discrete laugh at what he said. Yes, of course you were friends but were you going to admit to him that you actually considered you were close to each other? No, not in a million years.

“Good”. You laughed again, before you noticed, you were in front of your building and you frowned, wondering if you ever mentioned you didn’t have to go to the office today. You looked at him with yet another frown, subconsciously mimicking Chanyeol’s expression from just a few moments ago.

“You don’t have internships on Fridays unless you’re called in urgently, it’s common knowledge. Don’t look at me like that”. Sehun excused himself, letting his arm finally drop off from you.

It wasn’t common knowledge; you had made sure they didn’t know your exact schedule in advance, just in case some day you wanted to turn down one of their invites, you’d be able to use the internship card on them.

You squinted your eyes at him and just proceeded to huff and open the door. “Right. Anyhow… Go on your merry way. I guess I’ll see you at the funeral…  I mean, the party”.

You weren’t paying particular attention to Sehun, you were too immersed coming up with extremely lame, not funny at all, jokes about your own suffering, so you didn’t notice him slipping right behind you and following you inside the building until you were standing in front of the elevator and almost had a heart attack when you saw him there, staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a condescending smile.

“First off, your joke was so not funny that I felt my organs clench in discomfort. Second off, I have to pick you up. Do I really have to continuously remind you that we are a team now? Because I’m really not that patient…” Sehun scoffed, ignoring the fact that you basically jumped when you noticed him there.

“I didn’t say that to make you laugh, I said that to release my own suffering in a way that wasn’t crying, you inconsiderate scum. And no, I am aware but where on the contract does it stipulate that you have to pick me up? Aren’t we pretending? Can’t we arrive separately and just pretend we got there together and that’s that? Problem solved, congratulations, here’s your badge for fake relationships?”

Ding. The elevator doors opened before you and just as Sehun had slipped into your building, following you closely from behind, he mimicked his own action, stepping inside the metal box after you. You shoved him away, not so strongly as you would’ve liked and he scoffed, for the millionth time.

“First impressions count”. He said as he rolled his eyes and followed you down the hall once the doors opened again on your floor. “What are people going to say when they notice we didn’t arrive together? The whole point is to actually make them believe, you dumb”.

You rolled your eyes as you fished out your keys from the pocket of your pants. For the amount of passive-aggressive nicknames you used on one another, you’d think you didn’t even know the other’s name.

“Fine”. You groaned, as you tossed away your keys and bag and turned around to face him with a hand still on the doorknob. “Do whatever you want, I’ll just follow your lead and get drunk”.

Sehun laughed at your comment this time as he nodded his head just once. “Then I’ll come by at around eight thirty”. He raised his eyebrows and not so sneakily looked over your shoulder to scan the insides of your humble abode. “Your place is surprisingly clean and organized for someone whose life is a giant mess”. He laughed dryly, earning a humongous eye-roll and a shove from you.

“Go away”. You said, no emotion whatsoever in your words as you practically closed the door on his face.

If the situation were to be different, you would’ve forced your best friend to come with you to the party, much like you had done to that get-together barbecue at Minseok’s place, but given the circumstances, you didn’t want to blatantly lie to her face. Guilt was starting to consume you and you weren’t aware that you could host so many unpleasant emotions all at once.

You stalled as much as you could until it was time to get ready. Unnecessarily cleaning your half empty cabinets, reorganizing your books by colors and dusting your living room over and over.

You stood under the shower for longer than you needed and you put on a face mask that you also didn’t need and was definitely going to make you tardy but hey, that was definitely the point. The longer you took getting ready meant the less amount of time you’d have to spend in a stranger’s house, celebrating the girl who indirectly broke your heart, bearing said girl and the man you liked being affectionate to one another.

Yes, you’d do whatever it took to be late. Your plan worked, indeed, but you never noticed Sehun would be such a punctual individual who was ringing your doorbell incessantly at exactly eight thirty one.

You struggled to put on some decently looking dress pants as to not greet him in only a towel wrapped around your torso. You pressed the speaker button as you fumbled to get the zipper up.

“You could’ve been a little late. Fashionably late is oh-kay”. You groaned.

“It’s eight thirty two, I am late by two whole minutes”. He scoffed, making you want to bang your head against the door but you buzzed him in either way and you unlocked the door so he wouldn’t bother you anymore.

“Come in. The door is open”. You blew a stray strand of hair out of your face as you proceeded to put on a shirt and stood in front of your mirror to do your make up, which you weren’t sure how good it was going to come out because your hands were shaking like maracas.

You heard the door open and close immediately after, but you were confused as to why you weren’t being bothered just yet.

“Touch anything, you die”. You half yelled, poking your head slightly out of the bathroom. You heard some mumbling but you didn’t bother on asking anymore, by this point, you had sort of come to terms with having him in your life.

“Easy, tiger. I’m just still baffled by how immaculate this place looks, at least at first sight”. You saw him appearing behind you from the reflection on the mirror, you crooked an eyebrow at him as he leaned against the doorframe so nonchalantly, looking like one of those rebellious fuckboys with his leather jacket and black jeans.

“You probably live in a dumpster, it’s not my fault everything in comparison looks so squeaky clean”. You’d hate to admit it but the constant banter slash arguing with Sehun could calm you down a little bit, specially when you’re feeling so distressed over Chanyeol and whatever came along with him. “No offense”.

“Offense taken”. He squinted his eyes at you, mocking a pained expression and you couldn’t hold back a laugh, shaking your head slightly as you looked down and pondered on what lipstick to wear.

You heard him walk inside the bathroom, which made you go into alert mode because how dare he? You saw his hand creeping to the counter and take one of the lipsticks lying there; you frowned, immediately looking up at him, wondering what the hell was going on inside that dufus head of his.

He handed it to you with a dead serious expression on his face. “This one makes you look decent when you wear it”.

His comment made your sudden rush of nervousness dissipate just as quickly as it had arrived, snapping the tube out of his hand and scoffing. “Jeesh, thank you. Let’s go”.

The drive to get to the house where the party was going to be at was mostly silent. You didn’t know what to talk about with him because you didn’t want to even hint at the subject of how you should act around each other once you got there.

Were you going to hold hands like a teenage couple? Was he going to follow you around? Were you supposed to introduce one another as your significant other? How were you supposed to behave? Like your normal, sarcastic self or did you have to put up a giggly, simple-minded mask on? Did you have to show any type of PDA?

You shivered at the mere thought of it.

Your mind was imploding so bad that not even the loud music coming from the speakers was enough to distract you and stop the palms of your hands from sweating so much you could fill up an entire pool, probably.

Suddenly the car came to a halt and you blinked a couple times when you realized there was people around you and a huge house in the background, fully lit and with music so loud you could hear it even through the thick windows of the vehicle you were in, a vehicle you suddenly never wanted to get out of.

“So, when you said you’d follow my lead and get drunk… Was that serious talk or just something you said to make me leave faster?” Sehun said after clearing his throat and looking at you with raised eyebrows.

You pondered for a minute. What a great question. “A little bit of both, perhaps. You see, I’m quite new at this whole fake relationship department so I really have no idea how I’m supposed to act or what I’m supposed to do”. You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at him with a crooked eyebrow.

“It’s just like having a relationship but without actually… having one? I suppose?” The confusion was so evident in his eyes this time that you wanted to cackle and take a picture to tease him with in the future. “It’s not like I’m the expert on fake relationships either”. He huffed, yanking the key from the ignition.

Your past relationships flashed before your eyes and you shivered. You surely didn’t want to reenact a past toxic relationship of yours with Sehun. Hell, you definitely were good at making horrible decisions in the love department, weren’t you?

“Then I guess I’ll follow your lead, just don’t touch the butt”. You mumbled, opening the door and jumping onto the slightly damp street. You could hear Sehun’s chuckles as he walked around the car.

“Same goes for you. And the groin, don’t touch the groin”. You almost choked at his comment, feeling a rush of blood coming up to your cheeks just by the mere thought of touching his –or anyone’s, for that matter– groin.

You two were standing fairly far away from the front door of the house but even then, you could already see Hayoon’s luscious long hair shining under the moonlight as she laughed with a group of people you had never seen and who you probably would never relate to because they looked too happy to be normal.

“Hey”. Sehun said, voice in a deep whisper, as if there was someone who could be eavesdropping. “Let’s just get drunk and put up a show”. You looked up at him with a nervous smile and then you looked down to see him taking your hand.

It was strangely warm but you felt relieved by it because at least you could rely on him if you suffered a nervous breakdown, even if it meant he would tease you even more so than usual.

“Aye! They’re here! It was about time!” You saw Jongin coming from around the corner of the house followed by their friend Baekhyun as you two walked up the few steps, still hand in hand.

You smiled at them, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that your hands were intertwined. “You’re late, that’s so weird coming from you, man”. Baekhyun slapped Sehun’s back with a beaming smile on his face and you wondered what was it about this group of friends with their huge smiles.

“She wanted to be fashionably late, so… I don’t know…” Sehun shrugged, putting his free hand inside the pocket of his jeans. Baekhyun frowned as he looked down to take a look at your hands, looking at Jongin next, who was raising his eyebrows extremely high with a mischievous smirk on his face.

Neither of them said anything after that, they just pushed you inside so you could get drinks and greet the rest.

“Hey”. You tugged on Sehun’s hand, making him lose balance for a split second. “Just wondering, you know, in case I die and someone has to come pick up my body, where exactly are we?”

Sehun stifled a laugh as he leaned closer to you so you could hear what he was about to say.

“This is Hayoon’s house… Well, it’s technically her parent’s but they don’t live here anymore because they had business in another city so they’re letting her live here by herself now. Or something like that, I’m not sure”. Sehun explained, silently greeting random people as you waved through the decently sized crowd.

“This is… big”. You mumbled, swallowing loudly as you took in the size of her house. Clearly that was something else she had that you didn’t. She had the looks, she had the brains and apparently she had the notorious bank account as well. Fabulous.

“Yep”. Sehun said, popping the ‘p’ more than necessary. Somehow you made it to a place that looked exactly like a bar counter of sorts. Who even had a special corner for alcohol in their house? Minseok was sitting on one of the stools, happily taking sips from his beer when he spotted you coming over and he raised his eyebrows at you, exactly the way Jongin had before.

You either wanted to grab his beer and pour it on his head or just steal it and gulp it down in one go.

It startled you to feel Sehun’s hand release your own, it startled you because you didn’t know at what point in these past few minutes you had grown so accustomed to it. He walked around the small bar to get a couple of beers for you as well, you watched him because you were trying really hard to know what his plan was for tonight.

Sehun, you had come to understand, was the little brother everyone loved to hate but not really because you knew no one really despised him, they just loved annoying him and you understood that perfectly because you, also, loved to tease him and he’d do exactly the same to you, just raised to the thousandth power.

You felt Minseok’s eyes on you, staring as hard as only he could.

“What?” You asked with wide eyes as you smiled shyly at Sehun when he handed you a red cup. This was definitely the kind of situation you wanted to avoid and one of the main reasons why you declined Sehun’s offer at first but, you realized, a part of you definitely was more than desperate enough for Chanyeol’s attention as to go along with it and you were ashamed but ever so slightly curious of what the outcome may be.

You partly hated yourself for wanting Chanyeol’s affection so much that you would go to such extents. Love really made people do stupid things, didn’t it?

“Since when are you two… a thing?” Minseok inquired, still staring at you without even blinking. You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap as you toyed with a loose thread on your blouse. You felt Sehun walk to your side and swinging an arm on your shoulders.

You kept repeating that this whole thing was fake, that you and Sehun were just playing a part to get something out of this. You kept telling yourself that this was all pretend and it all had an ulterior, selfish motive but you couldn’t help your nervousness levels rise whenever he touched you in any way because you just weren’t used to having physical contact with anyone else other than your parents and your best friend.

Somehow it felt different as to when Chanyeol put his hand over your shoulders, or hugged you or nudged you playfully. When Chanyeol did it, your heart went into overdrive and you felt like your chest was going to collapse. When Chanyeol did it, you could feel the blood in your veins speeding to a maximum and your palms sweating like crazy, when he did it you had to almost physically pinch yourself as to stop you from smiling like a foolish kid at a carnival.

When Sehun did it, though, your heart didn’t race, in all reality it stopped to a halt because it made you so uncomfortable, it made you want to flee the scene. Your hands didn’t sweat, they turned ice cold and stiff and you pursed your lips because you didn’t know how to react. Because all of this was fake.

“Like a week or two, I believe”. You managed to spit out when Sehun didn’t speak up. You looked up at him as if telling him ‘well, thank you for your help, dickhead’, but you didn’t say it, neither did you react at all because you knew he couldn’t just carry the whole weight of the situation on his shoulders and fuck, did you want to punch him because of that.

He smiled at you and squeezed your shoulder; you sighed, taking a sip of your alcoholic beverage in hopes it would make the blush on your cheeks go away or in the worse case scenario, just heighten it and give it a believable excuse.

Excuses. Oh, when did your life become just a huge, messy, embarrassing excuse?

“How did you manage to keep it a secret? We see each other literally everyday and you…” Minseok said, as he squinted his eyes and pointed at Sehun with his almost empty bottle. “You live with Chanyeol, how did you not brag about this to him? You know he has a soft spot for this one”.

Sehun laughed silently, leaning closer to you and maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t, you were only sure that Minseok definitely didn’t know his words took such a toll on you. You didn’t know if this was the last thing you needed at the moment or exactly the opposite. Because hearing him say that Chanyeol had a soft spot for you made your insides burn in anticipation. You didn’t want to fuel this whole relationship ordeal but that was exactly the reason you needed to not back out and you were sure, right then and there, that you were a horrible human being for moving along with this.

“I wanted it to be a surprise”. Sehun chuckled, leaning his cheek on the top of your head and for a moment you wondered how ridiculous that must’ve looked in Minseok’s eyes.

“Either that or you didn’t want to be punched to death”. Minseok laughed, turning his attention back to his bottle and deviating the conversation onto something much more banal, like what was there to eat and drink at this party and how overboard Hayoon had gone for this.

Parties usually went like this: you get there, you get yourself some drinks and snacks to start the night, you make small talk with people that you really don’t know, you get more and more drinks until you are tipsy and the stupid games begin just when the music starts to get louder and weirder.

At this point you were right in the process of getting to a tipsy state and you had managed to not see either Hayoon or Chanyeol for the couple hours you had been there already. You didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing, the only good thing was that Sehun was strangely social with people and so he escaped your side from time to time, letting you be and do whatever you wanted for however long you wanted.

It was good, at first, but when he took too long you felt strangely lost and bored. Sadly, being a lonely tipsy girl on her way to getting drunk was never a good idea. From time to time some of the guys would meet you, get you another drink or just have small conversations. By this point during the night you had become quite the expert on explaining what your relationship with Sehun was.

“Oh, well, you know, it sort of just happened a couple weeks ago, we didn’t want to tell anyone so…” You blabbered when Jongin questioned you about it as he poured you a cup of cranberry vodka, which you knew it was a bad idea because you had already drank beer, rum and a bit of whisky but hey, at least you weren’t the designated driver.

Jongin nodded with a smile planted on his face as he heard you explain, yet, he never took his eyes off your drink. He handed you your cup, filled to the top. “I’m happy for you, you’re such an odd couple but I’m happy for you”. He beamed as he dragged you to the back yard, where apparently a game of beer pong was about to take place.

You felt sorry for the poor souls that were about to go through that because beer pong wasn’t the greatest of ideas, specially when everyone there was in the same precarious situation as you with God knows how many types of alcohol in their bloodstreams already.

“Hey!” You heard that high-pitched voice that made your toes curl. You turned to your left to see Hayoon skipping her way towards you with a huge, drunkish smile on her pretty face. “So glad you could make it, here to support your man?”

You frowned, not understanding what she meant for a blissful second, then you remembered: you had a boyfriend.

“Ah”. You half gasped when you realized and then you frowned because you sure weren’t the one who told her. “Who told you?” You spat out, blinking rapidly and practically submerging your nose into the reddish looking drink.

“Well, walls talk, but I just ran into Minseok and Baekhyun who were looking for you to come out here and they spilled the beans, I’m sorry”. She giggled, shrugging innocently. “But, I know it probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, someone that you barely know, but I think you two make a very nice couple. I’ve known Sehun for a while and I’ve never seen someone who can keep up with his remarks and teasing just as much as you do so I’m definitely rooting for you. Now we can have double dates”. She giggled again, skipping away from you and you sighed.

Right. Double dates. What a wonderful idea, to be stuck at a restaurant table with the man that held your affections, his girlfriend and your fake boyfriend. What an ideal scenario.

“Look who showed up. Came here you cheer up for your boyfriend?” Sehun’s voice tickled you as he leaned in to talk to your ear. You squinted your eyes and you bent your neck to look at him in the eye.

“Are you going to play?” You asked, disbelief spilling in rivers from your mouth. He couldn’t be that stupid, could he? He nodded rapidly, lips pursed into a proud smile. “You idiot, you’re the designated driver, I don’t want to die on my way home”. You hissed, slightly slapping him on the back of his head, making him laugh at your drunken concern.

“Ah, we’ll be fine. I’m a good player, don’t worry”. He said smugly, ruffling up your hair and dragging you by the hand to stand near the table. “I’ll dedicate my victory to you, darling”. He laughed. You rolled your eyes and you couldn’t help but smile anyways. However fake this was, it was nice to hear someone calling you ‘darling’, even if it was drenched in sarcasm.

You snapped your head around when you heard Hayoon’s overly sweet laugh from somewhere to your right. For the first time throughout the whole night, you felt your heart truly sink at the sight.

Chanyeol and Hayoon were walking hand in hand towards the beer pong table, his head nuzzled in the crook of her neck, her cheeks were almost as red as your vodka and you felt like puking and not really because you were inebriated. You had to force yourself to look away from them, otherwise you were going to start bawling your eyes out and look very distorted.

You looked back at Sehun, whose expression changed worringly fast and that’s when you knew, he was doomed and therefore, so were you.

“Please tell me you’re better at this than Chanyeol”. You sighed, rubbing your temple with your knuckles, forcing your alcohol levels to at least decrease to a decent point. Sehun smiled apologetically at you.

“I’ll try my best”. You sighed, closing your eyes tightly and breathing slowly.

“Sassy!” Chanyeol’s voice made your insides tremble in anticipation. You had an internal battle because you desperately wanted to see him, smile at him and pretend there was no one else there but the two of you, on the other hand, you didn’t want to see him running his hands all over Hayoon. You let out a laugh and forced yourself to look at him with a sly smile on your lips. “Ready to see how I beat his ass?”

You let out a chuckle, a sincere one this time. “Show some mercy”. You yelled back, making people around you laugh out loud.

The game started and it was okay at first, Sehun making a couple points while Chanyeol continuously failed to score. The tables turned quicker than expected, though, and you felt your heart and stomach sink down to your heels as Chanyeol scored three times in a row. Clenching your hands into tight fists, you stepped to Sehun’s side, snapping the cup from his grasp and looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He had only drunk one cup but you were already scared due to the pink tint taking over his cheeks. You gulped down the liquid in one go and threw the cup away to somewhere behind you. Half of the small crowd erupted with cheers and claps whilst the other half was booing you for interfering.

“He’s the designated driver so… I’ll drink in his behalf”. You said, scared to look at Chanyeol in the eye. Sehun was staring intently at you, his hand still stuck in the position it had been before you snapped the cup away. Chanyeol pursed his lips, eyes darting between you and Sehun and finally after a whole minute, he nodded.

“Fine but I’ll let you know, I’ve never lost a game before”. You nodded rapidly, trying to ignore the fact that you had just signed a deal with the devil, basically.

Sehun’s hand crept up to cup your jaw and your eyes widened, ignoring the catcalls here and there. You could feel Chanyeol’s eyes boring into your face. “You don’t have to, I’m fine, really”. Sehun’s expression was so serious it was scary; you immediately related that to his alcohol intake and nothing else.

“I won’t die because of you, I’m already in such a mess as is”. You laughed dryly, making him smile and nod, forcing himself to focus on the game again.

You had made a terrible decision, that was a given. Turns out Chanyeol was a master at this, even if Sehun was very good himself, Chanyeol was always one step ahead and you asked yourself why were you feeling so out of it after only nine cups of beer. In your drunken mind, that didn’t sound like a lot of alcohol but your body stated otherwise.

It came to only one cup left for each of them and you were having trouble standing up straight but you were trying to keep it together because you were scared of making a fool of yourself in front of Chanyeol, of all people.

Chanyeol missed, the crowd hissed in unison and you widened your eyes, looking up at Sehun who was already looking down at you.

“You okay?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. You nodded, gifting him a half sincere, half intoxicated smile and a thumbs up. You really were such a ridiculous person when drunk. He pursed his lips into a crooked smile and threw the ball.

You didn’t know you were holding your breath until the ball went into Chanyeol’s cup and you almost fell to the ground, losing your balance as you let out a small yelp. Sehun caught you, though, grabbing you by the waist and you remembered your own thoughts when you arrived at the party: that he’d have your back, and here he was, literally saving your ass.

Your hand gripped his shoulder, stabilizing yourself and if it weren’t for how dizzy you were, you would’ve pushed him away immediately but you were beyond loopy and you were still playing a part.

“I told you I’d win for you”. Sehun chuckled as you blinked desperately fast, trying to focus on what was happening. Sehun was merely inches away from you and you were scared to move because even the slightest of motions would have you pressing your faces together.

You gulped, trying to not pay attention to everyone staring, Chanyeol included. You didn’t want to pay attention to them because that would make you so abnormally self-conscious but at the same time, you didn’t want to focus on Sehun and his extreme proximity. You wanted to disconnect your mind and just wake up the next day with a killing hangover but in the safety of your own bed.

“I’m going to kiss you now”. Sehun whispered and confirmed all of your fears. You didn’t have a choice but to gulp and close your eyes when he leaned in closer and closer and he finally pressed his lips against yours.

Cheers erupted again but now they sounded like they were extremely far away. Sehun’s lips felt warm and soft, you never thought his venom-spilling mouth would feel so soft but it did and you were strangely glad it did, because at least it wasn’t something that made you physically want to vomit your brains out but still, this was all fake and you couldn’t help but imagining this was Chanyeol instead of Sehun.

You had thought of Chanyeol in this scenario before, there was no point in denying it anymore. You imagined his lips being as warm as a cup of chocolate in the winter, inviting, comforting and sickly sweet. A part of you felt bad for Sehun, for you thinking he was someone else, but this was the point of the whole thing. Your relationship with Sehun was fake and your heart was in Chanyeol’s hands, regardless of how weird it was to feel like Sehun’s lips were molding perfectly to yours.

Sehun’s grasp on your waist got tighter as the crowd cheered louder and you had to mentally prepare yourself to actually kiss him back and so you did.

Your lips moved in harmony for a few minutes and as much as you were scared to do so, you knew you had to make this believable, so when his tongue poked out of his mouth you granted him access and your limbs went even more numb than they already were because this whole thing was very confusing to you.

There was just so much physical contact two people could have before their minds started to go hazy.

You regained your balance and you moved away from Sehun. Half of the crowd that once was there had now dissipated to prepare for another round of beer pong between God knows who. Chanyeol was still there, staring at you, jaw slightly hanging. Hayoon was still next to him, giggling with a hand pressed to her mouth as she watched you and Sehun with wrinkles around her eyes.

You tried to take a step on your own to head back inside the house, mind still lost somewhere between Chanyeol’s fiery stare and Sehun’s soft lips, but your limbs betrayed you and you almost fell once more. Sehun grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers and securely dragged you inside, sitting you at the living room while he went to get you some water and something to eat.

Your head felt heavy over your shoulders, you were seeing stars and your fingers felt frozen. You were staring into nothing, still confused due to what had happened before. If it was a secret that you and Sehun were an item –a fake one, but no one suspected about it– now it was all out in the open and this is where everything would actually start.

You saw someone come up and take a seat in the coffee table that sat right across from you, you had a hard time focusing your eyes on said person but when you finally figured out their features, you felt the urge to pretend you were asleep.

Chanyeol leaned forward, resting his elbows lazily atop his knees and he stared intently at you, not saying a single word, just staring. Your breath hitched, widening your eyes and trying to look at every single detail in the room except for his eyes because if you did, you would’ve melt into a puddle and left a permanent stain on Hayoon’s immaculate furniture.

“Hey”. You mumbled through gritted teeth, eyebrows raised, mocking an innocent expression, like one of a child who had broken an expensive base and was trying to pretend nothing had happened.

“You made a reckless decision out there”. Chanyeol was so serious it made you shiver. “Just so you know, in case you’re feeling more drunk than usual, that was beer mixed with bourbon”.

“Ah”. You blabbered. “So that’s why”. You weren’t sure how you were managing to form out sentences because you felt like you were having an out of body experience at the moment.

Silence fell upon you and you were starting to twitch under Chanyeol’s piercing gaze. Was he really this mad over you getting drunk? He really had to get his priorities straightened out, like per example, where was his obviously intoxicated girlfriend?

“Where d’you leave Hayoon?” You asked, eyebrows shooting up again. You knew you probably sounded like you were accusing him of something and in all reality, you were, but that’s what people say: drunk people always speak the truth.

“She’s in the bathroom with her friends, she had too much to drink. Much less than someone else I know, but still…” He pursed his lips again and you felt like going on your knees and ask for forgiveness right then and there. “Where did you leave Sehun?”

His words cut you like knives. You knew he wasn’t mad because he was jealous but more so because of your state and probably because he felt betrayed that it was kept a secret from him but it still stung.

This was the plan, right? This was the whole point, this is why you held Sehun’s hand and kissed him; you did it to get on Chanyeol’s nerves, even if it was almost a completely lost cause. This was what you wanted, then why did you feel so bad?

“He went to get me some water”. You blurted out, holding back a giggle. Why were you giggling, though? You didn’t understand.

“You and Sehun… Were you ever planning on telling me?” You didn’t know someone as soft and warm as Chanyeol could come off so cold and ruthless, especially over something so insignificant as you having a fake relationship. But he didn’t know that.

“It sort of just happened”. You pursed your lips, looking at him through your eyelashes, not really having the courage in you to keep looking at him straight in the eye.

“Sehun is not the relationship type, I just don’t want you to get hurt… I don’t want him to hurt you”. Chanyeol mumbled, looking away from you. You looked so out of it, so fragile sprawled out on the couch like that. He felt like he needed to protect you but it wasn’t his place to.

“He won’t”. Sehun’s deep voice startled you, making you jump a little when he sat on the edge of the couch next to you, handing you a cold bottle of water and a sandwich, which you gladly accepted with a coy smile.

If you would’ve been sober, you would’ve noticed the tension between them; the type of tension you couldn’t even cut with a chainsaw but you weren’t, so you just ignored everything and munched on the food he so kindly brought you.

“I don’t have anything to do here anymore so… Just get her home in one piece, will you?” Chanyeol blurted out as he stood up and tried to iron out the wrinkles on his pants with his hands.

“Of course I will”. Sehun mumbled, watching Chanyeol walk off to somewhere down the hall. You scoffed.

“I didn’t drink all of that for nothing so you better do it”. You blurted out, mindlessly as you drank almost the whole bottle. Sehun chuckled, eyes fixated on your profile as you finished eating the sandwich.

From then on, there wasn’t much you remembered. You remembered finish eating and getting up, following Sehun out of Hayoon’s house, shouting your goodbyes to Jongin along the way and then getting in his car. You remembered buckling up your seatbelt and leaning your head on the ice-cold window but after that, everything was pitch black.

You had no idea how fast you got home or how you managed to get into your apartment but once you woke up, sun shinning annoyingly through the small cracks of your blinds, you noticed you were safely tucked in, face bare of make up. You wondered how it was possible for you to do that in the state you were in.

The nausea kicked in as soon as you tried to get up to go to the bathroom and you almost collapsed on the floor because it felt unbearable to even move an inch without puking. Through squinted eyes, you saw a cup of water on your nightstand, next to a bottle of Tylenol and a yellow Post-It.

You rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands and groaned as you popped two pills onto your mouth and swallowed them with a huge gulp of water. Your fingers danced over your nightstand until they got to the note and you had to gulp down the urge to groan again.

I got you home alive so don’t blame me if you feel like you’re dying when you wake up. In case you do, though, you can call me

It took you a couple of deep breaths to process the fact that Sehun was the one who had tucked you in and took care of while you were acting basically like a bag of mashed potatoes and then the memories hit you and they made your stomach churn in a different way.

You had kissed Oh Sehun and surprisingly enough, you didn’t completely hate it.

This is fake. You kept telling yourself. This was fake, the kiss was fake and the concern was fake as well, platonic at most. You remembered how Chanyeol seemed upset and you gave yourself a pat on the back for achieving that but besides that, everything was fake, then why was a part of you confused?

You trotted to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water in an attempt to clear your head and dissipate your uneasiness.

Everything was fake. Then, why were you remembering every detail of the kiss so vividly?

You were in dire need of a thousand espresso shots.

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