#let me put it this way... GHOST's songs are soooo good for his voice

[cakesdown]

im literally so happy with my current cover wips.... it’s ninezero city over here

[aether-starlight]

Gymnopédie - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, innuendos.

Summary: You confuse Zayne’s number with your trusted ride back home. When he insists on picking you up himself, how could you refuse?

Word Count: 1.7 K

The world was spinning, but in a pleasant way, as if gravity no longer affected you. You felt close to floating instead of walking, weightless as the cherry blossom petals that drifted through the air.

You were so light, in fact, that your fingers struggled to exert any pressure on the numbers in your screen, phone nearly slipping out of your hands and crashing into the pavement.

You leaned against Tara, both of you giggling about nothing in particular as you sat by the sidewalk. Her arm was wrapped around your shoulders, the sides of your heads pressed together.

Mojitos had been flowing like water tonight, a celebratory dinner after a mission completed with no casualties, hunter or civilian. 

For a moment, you had been able to let go, put down the weight of grief, fear and uncertainty in favor of comradery, cheers and funny anecdotes from Captain Jenna and the eldest members of UNICORN.

Surrounded by your peers, you knew for sure someone had your back, and they wouldn’t let you fall without falling themselves first.

Pressing your phone to your ear—and almost dropping it again—, you impatiently waited for the other end to pick up.

Absentmindedly, you drew a strand of Tara’s silky hair between your tingling fingers.

“Your hair is soooo pretty,” you hiccuped. 

“Oooooo. Thank you!” Tara pouted, close to tears, redder than ever. You probably looked no better.

“You’re welcome! I need you to give me some tips because ever since that wanderer burnt half of my freaking scalp—“

“Hello?”

You had forgotten you were on the phone.

“Ah, sorry Mister Song, hi~ I don’t see you.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and you almost pulled down your phone to check if Mister Song hadn’t hung up on you.

“It’s Zayne.”

The smile fell off your face, and like a fool, you double checked the contact name, as well as the time.

It was 3 am.

“Goddess, I’m so sorry. I thought—“

He cut you off, voice thick with sleep, not missing an inch of its imposing nature.

“Are you drunk?” 

You winced—that was his admonishment voice, the one he used when your bood tests weren’t within standards, or you had circles under your eyes. 

Like a huge cosmic joke, Tara giggled, leaning closer to slur:

“Is that your Doctor? He does sound as grumpy as you s—” You pressed your free hand to her lips, her whole face burning like a furnace.

The silence was deafening. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne had grimaced on the other side of the line, a half amused twist of his lips.

“I’m good,” you lied through your teeth.

“Sure,” he replied goodnaturedly. “Send me your location.”

Defeated, you hid behind a curtain of your hair. A terrible decision, considering how the world began to spin, even as you closed your eyes.

“Okay.”

By the time Zayne arrived, Tara was snoring, head resting on your shoulder. Meanwhile, you had been sipping on a bottle of water Captain Jenna had kindly given you before leaving.

“Hi,” you greeted once he lowered the passenger’s window, mortified.

His gaze met yours, inscrutable. He looked as awake as ever, had it not been for the slight ruffle of his hair, not quite as perfect as he was used to wearing it.

“Oh, you’re here!” Tara slurred, suddenly awake. “This one wouldn’t shut up about you, you know?”

You shut your eyes tightly. Maybe this was all an alcohol induced fantasy.

A swift pinch to your elbow let you know that sadly, it was not the case.

“I’ll assist you.” Was Zayne’s only reply, door slamming it his wake as he approached to hold onto Jenna’s arm. 

If there was the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of his mouth, you preferred not to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps your friend could share more details on your opinion of me,” he teased over Tara’s head, hematite eyes full of mirth.

Now it was your face burning up. You were going to kill her when she was sober.

“Of course!” Tara hicupped happily. “She said she missed you,” she sing songed, extending the last word to an unnatural degree.

Tara —thank the Goddess— became dead weight as soon as her head hit the inside of Zayne’s ridiculously expensive car. 

Which left you in a somewhat awkward silence. You said somewhat because Zayne seemed as comfortable as ever.

A low melody played from the stereo, something calm and melancholic. He had told you the name once: Gymnopédie No. 1.

Only once Tara was safely back to her parent’s house—her mother hugged you in thanks for taking care of her, making a tight knot grow at the back of your throat— was that Zayne dared to speak.

“This Mister Song, who is he?” He inquired, something flickering through his features much too quick for your dizzy mind to comprehend. His knuckles became pronounced, hands tightening against the wheel.

“My driver?” You replied, confused.

He hummed, eyes on the road.

“A close…friend of yours?”

“Does it matter?” 

He shrugged, but it was far too stiff to be genuine.

“It always matters who you place your trust in.”

Silence reigned after that, nothing but your breathing breaking it.

What he said made sense, but the depth of his frown didn’t. He was driving you crazy. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

It was only once you had replayed the conversation in your head, that realization crashed over you. Something somersaulted in your stomach, filled you with an indescribable emotion.

“Zayne…are you jealous?” 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, but it was a lost cause, mirth had permeated into your every word.

This was the closest you had seen him to bashful, pale pink blooming on his cheeks, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat.

He loosened his hold on the wheel, letting the car come to a stop, as you were now at his place.

Your smile withered a bit at his lack of response, and took the brief silence as an opportunity to admire him. Zayne’s mouth had tilted down in a now sullen mien. 

There wasn’t anything precisely pointing to it, but you could tell he had built a wall, frozen distance even within the warmth of his car.

“You are right. It is none of my concern,” he said, voice icy and impersonal.

Gripping his chin between your fingers, you guided his gaze back to you.

“Mister Song is a seventy year old man. I met him when his taxi was totaled by a Wanderer attack. He’s been my trusted driver ever since.”

He let the information sink in, the jealousy brimming inside him simmering. 

A jealousy he knew he had no right to, which only served to upset him further.

You were not his. 

But he was yours.

And yet, something in the way you looked at him begged to differ. You weren’t his because he couldn’t bring himself to ask, because he was a fool.

“What’s that look for?” You whispered, fingers trailing down his shoulder, basking in the soft fabric of his black shirt.

“What look?” 

You tried to replicate his gesture, brows pulling together, almost making you go cross eyed.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. 

“Hey, I’m trying,” you complained, raising your hand to intertwine with the other at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t comment on it.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your words still had a slurred edge to them.

“There is no winning with you.”

You laughed back.

“Just admit it, you’re obsessed with me.” 

“Who said that?” 

It was only then that a question that had been begging to be asked rose from the back of your mind.

“Why are we at your place?” You tilted your head to the side.

The petal spots in Zayne’s cheeks deepened in color.

“I would like to keep you under my observation, as you are still intoxicated.” He hesitated for a second, a low exhale escaping him. “If I have your permission.”

Your smile tempered into something different. Not upset, but serious. 

As you regarded Zayne, something tightened in your chest. It hurt, but left you wanting. 

Goddess, you wanted, you wanted, you wanted. It was a prayer your body hummed whenever he was close.

“I’d love to, Zayne,” you whispered. brushing a thumb to the edge of his jaw before letting go.

A light dinner, anc copious amounts of water afterwards, you were lying side by side with Zayne, wearing one of his shirts, and joggers that were definitely much to big for you.

The lamps on each side of his bed were on, as you were having a light conversation. He was resting against the headboard, while you had your face shamelessly pressed to the pillow on your side. 

The scent of it soothed you, of lavender and soap.

“I have sent you letters,” he denied, voice rough with sleep.

“If only I could have managed to read them.”

He frowned deeper at your poke at his chicken scratch. Some things were just inescapable in the medical field, you supposed.

You leaned closer, finding his gaze even as he purposefully avoided it, suddenly brimming with affection.

“Aw, was that too mean?” You cupped his face between your hands, and much like the black stray cat you liked to feed, he reluctantly leaned into your touch. 

Boldened by it, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I did read them, you know?” Your hands cradled the sides of his neck, thumbs resting below his earlobe. “I kept them all.” 

Zayne’s lips twitched, but he managed to remain serious, gray eyes boring into yours.

“I kept your replies too,” he murmured, turning to lay a kiss on your wrist. “Though I was tempted to correct some grammar mistakes.”

You huffed, dropping your hands.

“Rude! For your information, my writing is impeccable.”

“You said perchance an unacceptable amount.” He chided, seeming to mull it over. “I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”

He was probably right.

“Whatever,” you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the head of his bed, setting your eyes forward.

The mattress dipped beside you, hinting at Zayne’s closeness.

“Are you upset?” He asked with an undertone of mirth to his faux concern.

You felt yourself flush deeper, forcing out a sarcastic reply.

“What makes you think that?” 

He pressed his mouth to the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“As you so eloquently put into words, I’m obsessed with you.”

When you turned your head, your noses brushed.

“Yeah?” You breathed out. “How much?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he admitted, fixated on your lips, minty breaths mingling.

You smiled, pressing closer until your mouth brushed his.

“Good.”

[pink-flame]

Promises Kept - A WFW Missing Scene

Soooo...I let it slip earlier to @mamirugbee that in my original plot outline for We Found Wonderland the scene where Luke finally wins the ring was there. I ended up not writing it because I thought that would be too much angst on top of everything else and you all would riot. But she wanted it and I love her so I wrote it. But then I got distracted with other angst on the way to that angst...so you also get the immediate aftermath of Julie leaving. Oops. It's 2 for 1 night for WFW angst! Just remember I WAS ASKED FOR THIS. Love you, Jenni. 💜

Luke held it together pretty well for approximately three days.

After watching Julie disappear right in front of his eyes, while he smiled...smiled to show her he would be ok...he had sunk to the ground, very much not ok. He had stayed there, just outside the garage doors, dizzy and sick to his stomach while the reality of the situation washed over him until finally the change in light alerted him to the fact hours had passed. He realized somewhere vaguely in the back of his mind through the haze of mental static that the rest of the guys would be home from school soon. He didn’t want them to see him like this. He didn’t want to be the one who had to tell them what had happened, didn't want to see the hurt in their eyes or even worse the sympathy. His instincts were screaming at him to run away from the situation, to escape like he had escaped his parents’ house when their smothering attention and rules became too much. The urge to grab his acoustic and walk out and never come back was strong, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side as he turned the idea over in his mind.

In the end it was never really an option.

He couldn’t leave his friends.

He couldn’t leave his band.

He couldn’t leave his parents, not again.

And most of all he couldn’t leave the life Julie had almost sacrificed everything to make sure he got to live.

He had promised her a lot of things. That they would make things work somehow. That he would win her that dumb ring. That he would help her reconnect with her dad. That it would always be him and her, Luke and Julie, in it together against nosy bandmates, and questionable record labels, and the looming possibility of being separated by thousands of miles (back when that had seemed like as far apart as they could get).

And he had promised her that he would take care of their friends, and follow his dreams and do his best to be happy.

It turned out that the one promise he had made her that every inch of him was screaming out in protest against might be the only one he could actually keep.

So he would.

Luke unclenched his palms and placed his hands flat against the pavement outside the garage doors. He took a deep if shaky breath then pressed them into the firm surface until he managed to haul himself to his feet, his legs protesting as he forced them to move through their stiffness. He just had time to drag himself into the bathroom and splash cold water on his face before he heard the telltale sounds of his friends approaching, their boisterous voices carrying from all the way down the driveway. He emerged back into the studio, purposefully turning away from the doors in a desperate bid to buy himself a few extra seconds to compose himself before he had to explain Julie’s absence.

“And then I said if a platypus is a mammal where’s their nipples cause that’s how mammals feed their kids, right?”

“Reggie, I don’t know what made you think we want to hear this conversation…”

“Oh come on, Bobby, where’s your intellectual curiosity. Go on, Reggie.”

“Right, so then Mr. Gleeson said they don’t have nipples. They feed their babies by basically sweating milk through milk gutters.”

“Ok...I take it back, Bobby was right. I now know way more than I ever wanted to.”

“Luke, will get it. Hey, Luke! Guess what I…”

Luke turned slowly to face his friends and watched their faces fall as they took in his tight expression. Apparently his efforts to school his face into a neutral mask had failed epically. Luke realized his hands were shaking and shoved the offending appendages into his pockets hoping that would hide the effects of his runaway emotions.

That also seemed to be wishful thinking.

“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked bluntly, taking half a step towards Luke before stopping short when he saw the way he flinched. “Oh.”

“Luke, I’m…” Alex swallowed hard and glanced away for a moment seemingly fighting with his own emotions. “I’m so sorry.”

Reggie was the last to speak, the panic stealing over his face like a punch directly to Luke’s chest.

“Where’s Julie?”

When Luke didn’t answer right away he asked again, shaking off Alex’s attempts to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Luke, where’s Julie?”

“Home,” He answered simply, his voice steady despite the emotions still raging inside of him.

He knew what he had to do now.

He had to honor Julie the only way he could, by helping his friends be ok.

“What? No,” Reggie protested, looking back and forth between his friends as though expecting someone to tell him it was a joke. “She wouldn’t. Not without saying goodbye.”

“She didn’t have a choice,” Luke told him gently. “The portal just appeared and she...she ran out of time.”

“Ok, ok,” Reggie ran his fingers through his hair roughly, leaving pieces standing up in all directions. “We can go to the ghost club, right? We can get Willie to help us get into Caleb’s dressing room and we can go find her.”

“That’s a good way to get killed by an evil ghost,” Bobby pointed out.

“We’ll figure it out,” Reggie insisted.

“Reg...we don’t even know...we don’t know if Caleb still trusts WIllie or not. We haven’t seen him since that night.”

Luke could hear the pain in his friend’s voice and he hated it. Alex might not have had the time to develop the same deep connection with Willie that Luke had with Julie, but he knew his friend had seen flashes of that potential in their stolen moments. The fact that Willie had been missing in action since he tried to help them save Julie weighed heavily on Alex. Luke could see it. He just couldn’t do anything about it except be there for him as much as he could.

He was going to need Alex too.

He was going to need all of them.

“Reggie, even if we could do that she didn’t want us to. She didn’t want us to leave our families or our dreams or our lives here. She fought so hard for us to have them. We have to live like it’s now or never, for her.”

He managed a small, sad smile hoping it would calm Reggie’s rising agitation but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Don’t quote your lyrics at me, dude,” Reggie snapped, once again brushing off Alex’s attempts to put a comforting hand on his arm. “You’re supposed to be in love with her. How can you just let her go without a fight?”

Luke felt like his throat was closing up as Reggie’s words hit him like a slap in the face. He knew his friend didn’t mean it, not really. He was just hurt and scared and mourning the loss of the little sister he loved.

It didn’t make it hurt any less to have his own doubts and guilt thrown back into his face though.

Before Luke could come up with anything else to say to comfort him, Reggie reached up to wipe at his eyes and spun on his heels, stomping out of the garage and down the driveway.

Alex shot Luke a worried look before nodding after their friend.

“I’ll check on him. I’ll be right back, ok?”

Then he was gone and Luke and Bobby were alone in the garage.

Bobby was looking at Luke like he was some kind of wounded animal and Luke wished he would stop because the longer his best friend looked at him like that the more tempting it was to totally break down. And he couldn’t do that and keep his promise to Julie. So he would hold it together. He would.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re ok because that would be a stupid question,” Bobby said, crossing the garage to sink onto the couch before patting the seat next to him expectantly.

Luke hesitated for a second or two before sighing and sinking down next to Bobby, the urge to tap his foot or drum on his knee overwhelming though he fought it down. He didn’t need to give Bobby more ammunition about his mental state. Not that he needed it.

“Look, I’m going to miss her too,” Bobby cleared his throat before reaching out to pat semi-awkwardly at Luke’s knee. “And I know it’s going to be worse for you. But I’m here for you. We all are. So just...don’t run, ok?”

Luke could have laughed at that if his mouth had seemed to remember how. His friends really did know him too well. Still. He had already ruled out that course of action.

“I won’t,” He promised.

And he didn’t.

What he did do was dive headfirst into trying to make sure their lives would go on like Julie wanted. He was there waiting when Reggie processed his feelings enough to feel bad about his outburst and showed up at the garage in the middle of the night and pulled Luke into a tight hug that lasted a long time. He was there when Alex wanted to talk about feeling anxious not knowing for sure if Julie had made it back to her time and what she had found there. He was even there when Bobby admitted that he missed Julie but he missed Queenie too and he wasn’t sure that the band was ever going to be as close as they once were. Luke did his best to reassure them all, checked in on his mom, and started calling around trying to book them a gig even though they had hardly any songs they could use and none of the bookers he spoke to seemed particularly interested.

He forced himself to tell bad jokes, and offered to go get pizza and suggest busking so they could refill their food fund.

He did all of that for three days until it was like the adrenaline he had been running off of ever since Julie disappeared into a hole in the ground finally wore off. On the fourth day he knew his friends noticed that he was quieter than normal though none of them said anything, just exchanged mildly worried looks. On the fifth day he lost his appetite, picking at the leftover pizza that Bobby had warmed up for him and refusing the variety of junk food his friend then hauled out to the garage. On the sixth day he slept most of the day, drifting in and out of fitful dreams. He had only emerged for a couple of bathroom breaks and was back curled under the blanket he usually left unused when his friends showed up after school, their worried looks no longer mild.

The 7th day was a Friday but they didn’t go to school. Instead they staged what amounted to an intervention, hovering around the couch (he didn’t bother folding it out now that the possibility of Julie crawling in next to him was gone) and refused to stop staring creepily at him until he sat up with an annoyed huff.

“Don’t you have school?” He muttered, pulling the blanket more firmly around his shoulders despite the smothering heat.

“We’re not going,” Reggie said, reaching out and yanking the blanket away from Luke in on quick movement.

“Hey!” Luke protested.

“We’re worried about you,” Alex said ignoring the way Luke was suddenly looking anywhere but at his friends. “You pretended nothing was wrong and then you crashed hard.”

“You’re depressed,” Bobby said bluntly, because of course he did.

He was annoyingly accurate and to the point at all times unless he was hiding his meaning in some obscure literary quote of course.

“I’m not,” Luke tried, feeling strangely exposed without the weight of the blanket. “I miss Julie...a lot, ok? But she wanted us to live and I’m living.”

“There’s living and there’s living,” Reggie countered, dropping down next to Luke to sling an arm around his shoulder. “And Julie would want you to be living, you know what I mean?”

“We don’t expect you to be ok,” Alex broke in quickly. “Just for you to be honest about what’s going on with you. You’ve been there for us the past few days now it’s your turn.”

“I’m fine,” Luke tried one last time, though his argument sounded half-hearted even to his own ears.

“You haven’t showered in a week,” Bobby pointed out, the softness behind his eyes easing the harshness of his words as Luke forced himself to look up and meet his friend’s eyes. “Come on, rinse the smell off and then we’re taking a field trip.”

Luke groaned but forced himself to stand and cross the distance to the bathroom, his bones aching like he had spent years in bed, not hours. He hardly remembered the shower but when he reemerged some indeterminate amount of time later his hair was dripping and he admittedly smelled a lot better. He still felt a bit like he was walking through a heavy fog though, like some slight, almost undetectable force was making each one of his steps just that little bit more difficult. He thought it might not be the weight of something slowing him down at all but the absence of something. It was like he had forgotten how to do everything right without Julie next to him. Walking and eating and breathing. He knew he had done them all before he ever knew her but that didn’t make them come any more naturally now that she was gone.

Still.

He had promised her he would try.

So he let his friends steer him out of the garage, let them lead him down the sidewalk, Alex and Bobby buffeting him on either side and Reggie walking in front, chattering away and peering back every few seconds as though afraid Luke would bolt if he didn’t keep him in his sight. Luke for his part just shuffled along, grunting out a response when asked a direct question and keeping silent the rest of the time. Apparently the plan was to head to Reggie’s house. His mom would be at work and she had bought him this brand new video game console called a Playstation that the boys were all dying to try out. That newly separated parent guilt was apparently good for a few things, like letting Reggie have ice cream every night and expensive gifts. Luke was pretty sure that none of them were particularly in the mood to play video games and were putting on the enthusiasm for his sake. He appreciated it. He just couldn’t match it.

But once they were actually in Reggie’s room, crowded around the little television he got for his last birthday, Luke had to admit he did feel a little more like a human being. He even caught himself laughing as he watched Alex and Reggie squabble over the second controller as Bobby clutched his above the fray. Reggie grinned when he saw Luke’s brief smile and shoved the controller they had been fighting over into his hands.

“Here, you try!”

And he couldn’t stand to see Reggie disappointed, not when he had seen him so hurt so recently. So Luke did try. And he let himself enjoy it. And he let himself tune out and pretend that there wasn’t someone missing.

He did such a good job at pretending that it wasn’t until they had left Reggie’s house several hours later in order to keep his mom from knowing they had skipped and headed for the ice cream shop that the gaping absence all came crashing back.

Because right around the corner from the ice cream shop was the arcade.

And right inside of the arcade entrance was a claw machine.

And inside of that claw machine he could only assume there was a purple plastic ring that would now never sit on his girl’s finger.

He couldn’t explain why his feet carried him towards the arcade but they did, seemingly without any specific direction from him.

“Luke....” Alex’s worried voice called after him but he didn’t pause until he was standing directly in front of the damn game that had been haunting him for months.

And there it was. The ring. Mocking him from the exact spot it had been in all along.

Apparently his friends had caught up to him by then because when Reggie spoke up it was from directly behind him.

“You’ve got to let that thing go, man,” His friend said carefully. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Luke found himself understanding Reggie’s initial reaction to the news about Julie’s departure because all of the sudden he was angry. He wasn’t just angry, he was furious.

He brought his fists down in tandem on either side of the joystick, feeling the reverberation up his recently healed arm and had just enough time to wonder if that was the smartest idea before words were bursting out of him unbidden.

“It matters,” He said fiercely, ignoring the way Reggie flinched slightly. “It matters. She matters. She matters to me and she’s gone and I said I would give her that ring and I didn’t and now I can’t and...and...it just matters, ok? It just does.”

Alex and Reggie both stared at him, eyes wide with worry seemingly unable to land on something helpful to say as they watched him finally implode. The silence stretched and Luke was just about to kick the machine just to have something to fill the gap and give him another chance to externalize the storm brewing inside of him when Bobby stepped forward calmly.

“Here,” He said, his voice calm and even. “Go ahead.”

He held out his hand and Luke instinctively stuck his out to catch whatever Bobby was trying to hand him. He folded his fingers over the mystery object to keep it from falling to the ground, before uncurling them carefully to examine it.

It was a quarter.

Luke looked up sharply expecting to see sympathy or something worse on Bobby’s face but all he saw was that look his best friend gave him when they were disagreeing on a song or when they couldn’t agree on what toppings to order for their pizza. Or maybe more like when Luke had wanted to use those fireworks for pyrotechnics or when he had suggested a book club as a viable gig. Like he didn’t approve of what Luke was doing but also like he was going to be right there behind him, letting him know he was an idiot and then helping him anyway.

Somehow it was exactly what Luke needed.

So he didn’t say anything else, just swung to face the machine and deposited his quarter in the slot before he could think better of it.

The game came to life as he swung the joystick jerkily to the right, not letting himself think too hard about the exact aim as the claw hovered over the ring in it’s plastic container. He slammed his hand down on the button to drop it probably harder than was strictly necessary but it felt good to have an excuse to hit something. The claw dropped and clutched it’s mechanical arms around the plastic container. Luke tried not to react, afterall he had gotten this far many times before, but the weak arms always released the ring long before it could actually make it to the prize shoot. But even as that hopeless thought crossed his mind the claw was rising, taking the ring with it and this time it didn’t drop back to its former spot. This time the ring remained locked in the claw’s embrace until it tumbled down into the prize shoot leaving all four boys to stare at the machine in surprise.

“Did that just…” Alex started.

“You did it,” Reggie practically whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.

Luke for his part just stared at the claw machine that had once again gone silent and still as he tried to process what had just happened. He had been so angry a minute ago and he could never win the ring and it didn’t matter because Julie was gone...Julie was gone...but it did matter and now he had won the ring and...did he really just win the ring?

Once again it was Bobby who broke them all out of their stupor, stepping forward and reaching through the metal flap to retrieve the ring, pressing the plastic container insistently into Luke’s shaking hands.

“You did it,” He said simply but firmly.

“I did it,” Luke echoed, his voice slightly choked.

“You said you would and you did,” Bobby continued. “It’s ok, Luke. You did it.”

Luke was very aware that Bobby was talking to him like a small child and he wanted to be offended, he really did, only he felt like a small child. Like nothing made sense and all of his emotions were too big for him. He had tried for so long and so hard to win that stupid ring, had seen it as a metaphor for how he felt about Julie, how he would do anything for her, how he wanted her to know that as intrinsically as she knew her own name. He had tried so hard and it had never worked and now she was gone and the very first time he tried, the first time, and he had done it.

Luke felt tears pricking at his eyes and did his best to fight them down.

“Luke…” Reggie started, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet.

Luke couldn’t bear to hear what Reggie was going to say or to make eye contact with any of his friends when he felt on the brink of breaking into sobs. He spun to face the machine again only that didn’t seem to help. His vision went blurry and his throat went tight and the next thing he knew he was breaking down into sobs. He tried to stifle them in a fit of embarrassment but there wasn’t much point. The tsunami had started and all he could do was ride the wave and pray he was in one piece on the other side.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the claw machine, the soothing temperature doing little to slow the tears rolling down his face or the hiccuping, painful sounds that were emerging from his mouth. The ache in his chest was almost unbearable but it was matched by the sharp pain in his hand as he clutched so hard at the ring’s plastic container he was sure it would leave an angry red outline when he finally uncurled his fingers.

He loved her.

He loved her so much.

He loved her and he was never going to see her again and he won her the ring and she was never going to know it.

He was so alone.

Only he wasn’t.

Because suddenly there were warm arms wrapping around him from every direction, cheeks pressed against his shoulders and the top of his head, soft words of comfort being spoken in three different voices.

“It’s ok, Luke.”

“Let it out.”

“We’re here.”

And he did.

He had promised Julie they would do their best to be happy. He intended to keep that promise. But today all he felt was pain. And that would have to be ok too.

And it was.

And they were.

Not all at once.

Not for a long time if he was being honest.

But slowly and steadily genuine smiles, and laughter began to work their way back into their lives. They didn’t talk much about Julie at first. It hurt too much. But eventually Reggie brought up a story about her over pizza and soon they were all chiming in, recounting their favorite moments with the girl who would always live in their hearts even if she could no longer live in their world. After that they brought her up often and it hurts but it also heals.

Luke took to wearing the ring around even though it was too small for all of his fingers except his pinkie and often got stuck even then. Bobby didn't comment on the way his finger was starting to turn as purple as the ring itself, simply handed him a black cord one day for him to string it on and brushed off Luke’s rush of thankful words. After that Luke wore the ring on a cord around his neck, dangling down to thump gently against his heart as he walked, the cool plastic a constant reminder of what he lost but what he gained too.

He wasn’t living the life he would have chosen for himself but he was living the life Julie had chosen for him. He hoped the two would come together eventually. He had to have faith that they would.

Eventually he sat down to write a song for her and ended up with a poem instead.

Eventually he had the idea of sending her a message through time, a box filled with all of the things she had loved and left behind, all the ones that would fit in a small box anyway. Eventually he pried the teddy bear version of himself out of Reggie’s reluctant fingers to go inside. Eventually placed all of their carefully selected polaroids inside too.

And eventually he slid  a purple ring off of the cord he wore it on, placed it carefully back into its original container and left it for her to find with a lingering kiss pressed to its surface.

Eventually.

But first.

He lived.

Tag list: @futurearchaeologyprof @moreflowersthanweeds @chickwiththepurpleguitar

[beldroxramscal]

On the Run

My dude from Sia’s Fire Meet Gasoline video x reader

Word count: 2725

Summary:  After your boyfriend breaks his promise yet again, you two get into an argument.

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of murder, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, not entirely healthy relationship

A/N: Soooo, I accidentally wrote smut. It’s a second attempt and hopefully a bit better one. This only came to be because a lot of people reblogged my text post about that nameless Pedro character, but I haven’t seen any fics actually written, so I tried it.

And once again I have to thank @pedrocentric​ for being patient and putting up with my BS. You are an angel, my friend :-)

English is not my first language and I have no one to beta for me. That is just a very long way to say: sorry, my English sucks.

You knew something went horribly wrong the second he stepped into the house. Seeing him drenched from the pouring rain that refused to stop for the last three days, with that unnerving calmness that always made your stomach flip. 

“What did you do?” you asked him from your bed as he peeled off the wet clothing from his body. His eyes were harsh, lifeless as he looked at you. You wanted to look away, just turn around and go to sleep, because you knew that nothing good would come out of that conversation, but you didn’t. Knowing no matter what he had done or what would be said, you will wake up in his arms tomorrow, warm and safe and ready.

He didn’t bother with putting fresh clothes on as he sat on the edge of the bed. You could see droplets rolling down his back and temples from his wet hair and the goosebumps on his arms. He had to be freezing, but you didn’t offer him a place under the covers next to you.

“What did you do?” you asked again, trying to keep the tears of anger at bay.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, before looking at you. “I-I… He recognized me.”

You closed your eyes at his words, turning your head away from him to look at the chipped off wall by the bedroom door instead. You barely listened as he told you what happened. You didn’t have to hear it. You had the whole speech memorized the same way you had that song your mom used to sing you to sleep with. With all the changes in tone and facial expressions.

“Look at me,” he demanded after he finished talking. You knew he was about to get angry and frustrated, mostly at himself, but you were the one he’s gonna aim it at. 

You lowered your gaze from the wall to your hands. 

“You promised... We promised to each other.” You looked up, looking somewhere over his shoulder rather than at him.

“What the fuck would you have me do, huh?” He grabbed you by your cheeks forcefully and made you look straight at him. “Huh?” 

You shook your head to twist out of his grip, but it only made him dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh. “Fuck you!” you spat at him, kicking his side from under the covers.

He doubled over and yelped in pain, but instead of releasing you, he forced your head closer to him.  “What the fuck?!” You could feel some drops of spit hitting your face as he yelled. His dark eyes bore into yours, and you could finally see some life in them.

“You could have tried and talked to him! You could have come home to me, and we could have just--”

“We could have what?! Leave? What difference would it make? We still have to leave.” He didn’t let you finish, but he finally let go of your jaw, pushing your face to the side dismissively. 

“Yes! But we didn’t have to add another dead body to the already long list, you dick!” 

He scoffed at your reasoning. “That’s what’s bothering you? Well, sweetheart, we didn’t do shit. I killed him.”

You could feel his words opening a hole in your chest. You knew he didn’t mean it, but if that’s how he wanted to play it, you were game.

“Sure, makes sense” you nodded calmly. His brows furrowed slightly at the change in your attitude, but he also knew there was more coming. “In that case, I will go pack my things and take the car tomorrow, and you can go fuck yourself.” You knew it was petty, but it also gave you some satisfaction, so who the fuck cares.

He huffed out in annoyance and pinched the bridge of his nose. Instead of waiting for an answer, you got from the bed and grabbed a bag from the closet. You didn’t look at him as you went to your dresser to start packing your underwear and socks, but you could feel his eyes following you. Now it was just a game of patience.

You enjoyed the quiet that surrounded you as you packed your things. It wasn’t often you got this much time to do it properly. More often than not you just stuffed everything into the bags, yelling at each other if the other one got this and that.

“Where are you planning to go then?” he asked, and you could hear the amusement in his voice.

Refusing to let him know how infuriating he was, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves before answering. “That’s none of your concern anymore.”

He hummed, and you could hear him move on the bed. Thinking he was laying down and going to sleep you were ready to rip him a new one for getting into bed as wet as he was. Before you could even turn around he had his arm around your midsection, and before you knew what was happening you were on your back in the middle of the bed. 

“In that case, I have to take advantage of our last night together.”

It took you a moment to get your bearings, a moment he took full advantage of. Spreading your legs, he settled between them, and he pinned your wrist to the bed beside your head before you had a chance to do anything.

You bared your teeth as you tried to push against him, only to make him groan as you accidentally rubbed your clothed core against his already hard cock.

“Is this what turns you on you fucking psycho?” You shake your head in disbelief, making him laugh.

He slides your hand up the bed, so he can cover both your wrist with just one hand and sneaks the other one into your panties, making you arch off the bed. His finger ghost over your clit, making you bite your lip in frustration. He stops at your opening, smiling as your hips buckle into his hand, silently begging him to fill you.

“Come on, querida,” he coos with a self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Who’s the psycho now, huh?” He brings the finger from your panties to your face, turning it slightly against the light, so you can see how it glistens with your juices. “Open up,” he says as he skims the finger over your lower lip.

You press your lips together, twisting your head out of his reach. He doesn’t force it open, instead puts it in his mouth, humming around the digit as he sucks on it before removing it, clean.

“It’s okay, my love,” he leans down, touching his nose to yours. “I’m gonna get you to open that pretty little mouth of yours before I’m done. That’s a promise.” His voice is calm, almost saccharine sweet, but you recognize that voice from a completely different setting. It’s the same one he uses when dealing with the lowlifes who think they can fuck him over, and it makes something deep inside you clench. 

You move impatiently under him, earning yourself a brush of his lips against yours before he moves to your neck, making your back fly off the bed every time he bites almost painfully at the skin there. You whine pathetically, refusing to open your mouth and scream in pleasure. You were not gonna give in that easily.

His bites are distracting enough, and you don’t notice his nimble fingers sliding your panties to the side before his fingers plunge deep into you. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck even more to his ministration, your breath caught in your throat. You bite your lower lip as his fingers thrust inside you, never missing that sweet spot that made your body feel like you were struck by lightning, while his thumb worked over your clit-

He knows when you are nearing your peak, and he perfected the art of leaving you stranded just before the big finale. Just like now. Your hips grind against nothing as he removes his hand from between your legs, your eyes closed, your toes curled, and you swear that if he didn’t press his hips against yours to stop you from moving you would cum just from the power of sheer will and desperation.

You whine again, turning and twisting under him. You lock your legs around his hips and try to roll him over, but he just laughs at your efforts and skims his fingers over your lips again. 

You shake your head, determined to win after the stunt he just pulled. His smile turns almost vicious as he shrugs and wipes your juices around your lips and on your chin. 

“Well, I think it’s time for me to start trying, what do you think, love?”

Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can react he’s pulling off your shirt over your head. For a moment you think you will have a brief chance to get on top of him and take what you want when he will have to let go of your hands to get the shirt off. You should have known better. 

He leaves the shirt around your wrist and twists it around them before twisting it around his hand to have better control.

“God, look at you,” his eyes slid down your arms, to your face, and finally to your breasts. “It’s been a while since I had you on display like this.” To make his point he flicked your nipple before twisting it gently between his fingers. Smiling to himself as you jumped under the touch. 

“Maybe you just need some better offer for you to open your mouth, huh?” He twisted the other nipple before shuffling up your body with both knees on either side of you and then finally settled over your chest.

His cock bobbed in front of your face, and you could see how painfully hard he was, dripping onto your chin and neck. You lick your lips absentmindedly at the sigh and quickly look up at him as you realize your mistake.

“Is that what you wanted?” He gripped his length, swiping it across your lips, leaving a wet trail behind. “Come on, love, we both know you want to,” he prompted you with a groan as he pumped himself a few times. 

Knowing the game was up anyway, you slowly open your mouth, licking the taste of him off your lips, humming when it mixes with the taste of your own arousal. 

“That’s it,” he praises, shuffling a bit closer, tapping the tip of his cock against your tongue before holding it still for you. You start with slow kittenish licks, letting your tongue teasingly twirl around the head. “That’s it,” he repeats, breathless now, smoothing your hair back and out of your face. You close your eyes, practically purring as his fingers massage the back of your head before taking a fistful of your hair. You yelp in surprise and a bit of pain as he forces your head up and forward, making you gag as his cock touches the back of your throat. You try to relax, breathe through your nose, but it takes you longer than usual.

You can feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you look up at him and for a second he looks concerned. You can see the regret in his eyes, so you moan around his length, trying to bob your head. 

Finally, he smiles, removing himself from your mouth just to thrust in again, this time more gently, while holding your head in place. You flatten your tongue, molding it to the underside of his cock while sucking rhythmically with his thrusts.

“Fu-- fuck,” he groans and his thrusts become harsher, more erratic, and it makes you moan desperately. The deep sounds coming out of his chest making your cunt clench around nothing, and you press your legs together, writhing on the bed in search of some release.

He looks over his shoulder, laughing in between grunts. He lets go of your hands and head just so he can lean backward. You spread open your thighs immediately, your hips bucking up to meet his touch and get his hands on you faster. He uses two fingers to spread you open, and you whine as the cold air hits you. Your head falls into the sheets, making his cock pop out of your mouth, leaving a stripe of saliva over your chin and down to your neck.

You were ready to beg, plead, promise him the moon and the stars for just a touch, but he cut you off as his hand landed on your pussy in a slap, making you scream instead. 

“Come here, querida.” He got off your chest to kneel between your legs and then lay down on top of you, his cock nudging at your opening. You arch your back, trying to position yourself to get him inside you, but he shifts his hips away, leaving you to groan in frustration. 

Leaning down, he licks a stripe from your neck and over your chin before he plunges his tongue into your mouth. You moan, finally getting rid of the shirt around your wrists, you lower your hands to his hair, tugging at the wet strands, making him grunt into your mouth. His hands are on your breast squeezing, pinching doing everything to draw the most pathetic sounds of pleasure out of you.

He kisses and licks his down your body, stopping to breathe against your pussy, looking up at you with a wicked smile. You watch intently, goosebumps rising over your body, as he grabs the back of your thighs and licks into you from opening up to your clit. You fist the sheets by your side, moaning out his name in relief. He flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times, humming with satisfaction as your moans become high pitched, and you start grinding against his mouth.

He crawls back up your body with your legs over his shoulder, impaling you in one fluid motion. You both groan at the sensation, and he mumbles something about you being wet, but you are unable to properly process anything beyond the feel of the slight stretch and burn you love so much.

He plants his hands next to your head, almost folding you in half. He sets a punishing pace, his skin slapping against yours, leaving your mouth open in a silent scream as the angle allows him to hit the right spot with ease. 

“You think I’d ever let you leave?” he asks through gritted teeth.  “I would kill a hundred people before I’d ever let you walk out of that door, do you understand?” He taps your cheek with his fingers to make you focus on him, exchanging thrusting for a slow, deep grind of his hips, but at that point, it doesn’t matter. You are too close, your body too desperate to need anything more than the constant pressure against your g-spot after his earlier ministration.

You whine at his words unable to form a sentence as you feel your orgasm slowly building, making your whole body tense and waiting for the final snap. “I said: Do. You. Understand?” He punctuated his words with fast hard snaps of his hips, forcing the orgasm out of you.

“Yes! Yes!” you screamed, your whole body trying to ravel on itself as waves and waves of pleasure rolled over you.

You heard buzzing in your ears when you finally relaxed, barely understanding the string of litany that fell from his mouth as the clutches of ecstasy overtook him as well. You felt him seated deep inside you, twitching, and you opened your eyes to catch a glimpse of his face twisted in pleasure.

He slowly took your legs off his shoulders before collapsing on top of you, his face buried between your breasts. Both of you were heaving, unable to properly catch your breaths much less move.

“You didn’t mean it, right?” he asks after a few minutes of silence. 

You nudge his chin with your finger, making him look up at you. “I would rather kill 100 people than to spend a day without you.”

[bittybattybunny]

the one that started me being on behind on prompts cuz eclipse pose and the bg and just ughhhhh slowly I promise all the fics/pics i started in october are gonna get posted damnit

anyhow this is actually kinda when they started to really bond

She looked at the shopping list with wide eyes, double-checking that she had gotten everything the ghost asked her to. She frowned as she read it over and checked her basket.

“I wonder what he’s making…” she mumbled before she went to pay.

“How odd.” Midge laughed, checking the items out, “Don’t you normally just buy meat?”

Eclipse puffed her cheek annoyed, “Snatcher got mad I wasn’t balancing my diet. Something, something, health, and work ethic.” She groaned.

“Well, it isn’t good to eat just meat. Honestly, I just assumed you had a garden or something.”

“I mean I eat acorns and mushrooms in the woods.” Eclipse laughed, “There’s a lot of plants you can eat! Even leaves!” she beamed.

The shopkeep paused scanning, her eye twitching, “What? You just... Forage? Is that safe?”

“Well, I’ve never gotten sick!” Eclipse snickered, “So it’s fine!” she placed the pons down and took the bags, “Thank you!” 

The young woman waved timidly. She was worried for the strange scarf wearing woman who took off.

-----

“Snatcher!!! I’m Back!” Eclipse sang as she held the bags up proud, “I got everything you wanted!”

“Oh good.” he emerged from a shadow making her jump. He snickered, “boo.”

“D-Don’t do that! I could have thrown the eggs!” She huffed annoyed. He took the bags and headed towards the fireplace and set them on the floating table.

“Yeah but then you’d not have the treat I’m making.” he snickered as he took the items out and mentally went over each. He smirked proudly, “Good you actually did get them all.”

She hit her chest proudly, “Of course I did! You told me to!” she grinned, fangs bared. She laughed as he ruffled her hair and moved to find his bowls and utensils.

“Soooo what’s this stuff for? Like this?” she held the canned pumpkin up.

“I’m making snacks. Not a meal. Something… A treat.” He smiled softly and set the bowls down, “I want you to measure the ingredients.” he poofed a book into existence letting it float above the table.

“Pumpkin turnovers.” she read as she removed her gloves and over coat. She folded them over the stones and got to work.

She poured the flour and shortening into the bowl and began to mix the dough, “Why did you want to make these?” she asked curiously as he had started on the filling.

“Ah? Just a change of pace. Since I’ve been cooking for you it made me want to bake too.” he looked away, “You’ve done a good job lately, less mistakes. And the contracts you sorted takes a lot of work off my shoulders. So it’s a treat for you.”

She blinked and gave a big grin, “I did a good job?”

“You did an adequate job.” he sneered, “Don’t get a big head. Don’t expect me to go making you sweets for everything. This is more for my enjoyment.”

“Sure!” she giggled as he smiled.

He sighed and continued to mix as she kneaded the dough. He paused and watched her as she wiped some flour from her cheek, licking the back of her hand. He couldn’t help snickering.

Catching his laugh she peeked up before giving him a big fanged grin.

He shook his head as he finished the filling and looked at her dough, “wow not bad!” he chuckled and took it, pulling the plastic wrap out to seal it, “go find some ice and let this chill a bit.” he put a lid on the bowl, “this too.”

“Okay!” she took the two and scurried off.

He sighed watching her go and leaned on the table. He hoped she’d like the taste. He looked at the locked chest and looked to make sure she didn’t see him as his form shifted. He pulled the key from his shirt and undid the lock. Tucking the key back he returned to his normal form and pulled the violin out, it was a good way to time the chilling out.

He shifted it up to his shoulder area as he used his tail to shut the lid. Tuning it he began to play.

“Oh sun who rises East, let your light guide us, let your light warm us. Oh Sun who’s warm and bright, light our path as we work----”

He stopped hearing the lyrics and turned to see Eclipse leaning over the stones with a big smile as she sang. She stopped noticing the music stopped and tilted her head.

He stared with wide eyes.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“You know the song?”

“I guess!” She laughed, “I heard the melody and wanted to sing along!”

He pursed his lips and raised the bow once more, starting from the beginning. Once again she began to sing along.

“Oh sun who rises East, let your light guide us, let your light warm us. Oh Sun who’s warm and bright, light our path as we work, as we play, as we live. Oh sun burn away the shadows that haunt us, tie us, let us walk free in your light, oh sun who burns so bright--!” She grinned as the notes carried.

He felt a warmth in his stomach and couldn’t help smiling “You know. I didn’t think you could sing.”

She puffed her cheek annoyed, “No reason to! Besides! I didn’t know you played the violin either!”

“Ah.. yeah. Just not often but I figured a few songs then the dough should be chilled enough to roll out…” his voice was soft, “Why do you know those lyrics?”

She shrugged, “Dunno. Just did!” she giggled.

“It’s called ‘the sun’s prayer’.” He explained, “it was… the song of the country I grew up in. But that country has been gone for over 300 years.”

“Huh.” she blinked and tilted her head to the right, “Maybe it got passed down and someone sang it to me as a kid so I recalled it?”

“Maybe…” he chuckled, “Will you sing it again? It’s been so long.”

“Sure!” she grinned as he started to play again. This time his deeper voice was singing with hers.

“Oh sun who rises East, let your light guide us, let your light warm us. Oh Sun who’s warm and bright, light our path as we work, as we play, as we live. Oh sun burn away the shadows that haunt us, tie us, let us walk free in your light, oh sun who burns so bright--”

He smiled as the two made music, waiting for the ice to chill their treat, the dead forest a little livelier. 

[waspenned]

congrats on 200 followers!!! <3 i'm loving scenes from italian restaurant

🎵 born on a train - samia

god if i had time to write i'd just use

i'll have to go when the whistle blows, the whistle knows my name

just for the responsibility of being spiderman dragging peter parker away from who he loves but i'll let you analyse the rest of it yourself haha

penn's 200 follower celebration

BYE SAMIA CAME UP ON MY RECCOMENDED BEFORE AND I PANICKED BC I THOUGHT IT WAS THIS GIRL I HAVE BEEF W AHAHAHA but it was a diff spelling so we move. analysis under cut!!! thx for the degree practice LMAO it's all been """"theory""' so far this year I haven't been able to do the bits I like lol

anyway this song is so beautiful and twinkly the sad music girlies are rlly doing their jobs recently like its giving devastation... also the warm lighting rlly reminds me of like.. campfire light so I think we're seeing smith reminiscent of honey dont feed me(i will come back) in terms of setting/sad factor

this song is soooo Peter btw like the opening imagery is rlly evocative of nyc at least in my experience. also the idea of 'ghost roads' in terms of getting lost in the city and "paths not taken". the idea of missed opportunities/the you that made a different decision as dead/a ghost is sooo interesting to me, esp in terms of Peter as a person (think John Locke's theory on personal identity which was super interesting when I studied philosophy and was also used in the good place!!). I write a lot abt peter's separation of the self and spider-man, and I think his essence as a character really resonates with the idea of the past self being 'dead' or maybe even murdered. it's a common trope in superhero media for the protagonist to mourn or 'kill' the person they were before they put on the mask but I won't wax lyrical abt it LMAO I just think there's some interesting ideas in there in terms of character.

the chorus is v similar actually - esp in terms of the train imagery which reminds me of the nyc subway, which in turn relates to the working class, and routes peter's character in the poverty that is a huge part of his identity AND also in terms of not being able to 'belong' anywhere/having to constantly be moving so people don't know his identity. Peter and the idea of 'responsibility' also take up. so much space in my head in the way that he treats debt - esp to other people and to the city as a whole. I read a rlly interesting article actually abt Peter and an 'unpayable debt' which I cant find rn but I'll have to go looking for lol... Peters commitment to the 'job' and/or guilt that comes with it is a huge part of him and what he considers morally "right" - which the line about not being able to keep promises rlly reminds me of !! 'The whistle knows my name' is SOOO spider-man tho like maybe in terms of Peter not really knowing who he is without spider-man, and particularly tom!Peter in that he doesn't have anything OUTSIDE of spiderman ; the 'whistle' (aka the call to responsibility) really would know his name in this context bc 1. no one else does and 2. spiderman is perhaps the only thing of his former life he has left. THIS IDEA IS ALSO IN THE BRIDGE WHERE THE SPEAKER TALKS ABT BEING FORGOTTEN.... omg so sad I cant

I know that you were never young And I know you probably won't get old But, honey, nobody's gonna hurt you anymore And nobody's gonna make you want to die

the 2nd verse is where things get interesting for me bc there's the introduction of a new voice and the pov changes if I was to convert this to fanfic... this ( for me ) is the reader talking to Peter. this idea of never being young (his youth was proverbially 'robbed' by grief/the responsibility of being spider-man) and never growing old (spider-mandom is dangerous asfuck youse...) as well as this theme of protection is smth u dont see much in s-m films. The hero is the protector and the love interest is the protected, we dont get to see the reverse which is a shame bc it would be super refreshing (@ marvel u see zendaya 's hand on toms hip give us that in the films pls). I write a lot of the reader taking on the 'protector'/caretaking role bc I just think it's rarer than the whole 'damsel in distress' cliche u get w the films and this verse is exactly the vibe I would go for ???

SORRY FOR WAFFLING I JUST RLLY CONNECTED W THIS ONE ANYWAY IN SUM: id write smth sad asf along the same lines as 'honey dont feed me' but while hdfm(iwcb) is more angry on the reader's part and their relationship is more dysfunctional - I think this would work well earlier in that relationship, before their break up. I'd go for a classic "reader patches up s-m" fic but with more on the side of wishing things were different for Peter. ive looked at Pete's relationship w s-m and quitting in drown it out, but I think if this was in hdfm(iwcb)-verse he's more inclined to bury his head in the work and treat it more like a Kantian duty?? yes a heaping pile of angst >:) I'd be more likely to use tom!Peter tho I think , I write a lot of universal/"penn cinematic universe" Peter but tom's circumstances would fit better imo

[bbyx]

in your dreams - part one

Summary: Remus Lupin is head over heels for Narcissa, but she’s not allowed to date until her sister (y/n) has a boyfriend. As a solution, Remus enlists Sirius to become (y/n)’s boyfriend.                                                                        Pairings: reader x sirius, remus x narcissa, lucius x narcissa, james x lily Disclaimer: This is basically harry potter universe x 10 things i hate about you. You DON’T need to have seen the movie to understand bc this is basically a retelling of the story. Also some of the dialogue has been taken straight from the movie. ALSO in this story Narcissa and Bellatrix are NOT Sirius’s cousins.

Hogwarts. It was beautiful, breathtaking even from the train window. The great castle looms into view, and (y/n) Knightley gets slightly tearful at the fact that this is the beginning of her last year at Hogwarts. A year from now you would hopefully begin your training as a healer at St.Mungos. That is if your father didn’t marry you off before that. 

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the compartment door sliding open. A group of giggling girls pop their heads in, blasting a horrendously high pitched song from a portable cassette player.

“Hi we’re the Promenade ball committee! Make sure to buy a ticket. It’ll be a night to remember!” One of them says in a sugar sweet voice, handing you a purple flyer. You simply roll your eyes as an answer and the girls leave, mumbling to themselves. You manage to hear a what a bitch through the high pitched singing. You glance down at the paper. It reads:

Promenade ball! Hogwarts class of 1978

May 22nd - 8:00 to 12:00

Tickets : 10 galleons each

You scrunch the paper into a ball and throw it out the open window. 

Balls were stupid anyways.

Remus walked into Professor Myriads office, the head of Gryffindor house. He’s missed Hogwarts. Spending one year abroad at Ilvermorny was a great experience but it couldn't compete with the beauty of Hogwarts. In one year, so much had changed yet it still felt the same way it had in his first year. Strange but familiar.

“Remus Lupin. Welcome back! I hope you enjoyed your stay in America. Now I know you remember this school like the back of your hand but it is a Hogwarts rule that any returning students must be shown around the premises again. I’ve assigned Peter Pettigrew to be your guide for today.” She says motioning to Peter standing outside, waving excitedly. “You may go to class now.” The silver haired woman said, dismissing him quickly. Remus reached down for his bookbag when a shadow stood leaning in the doorway. 

“Padfoot!”

“Moony! Missed you mate.” Sirius and Remus embraced each other tightly, Professor Myriad cleared her throat. 

“Sirius Black. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. You better not get in trouble this year if you want to graduate.” She gave him a disapproving glance. He answered with a charming smile.

“Only so we can have these moments together. Should I, uh, get the lights?”

“Oh very clever Mr. Black. That’ll be ten points from Gryffindor.”

“Remus! Oh we’ve missed you so much. Tell me how it was. How were the states? Good god, so many things have changed in the past year.” Peter said, spitting out more questions than Remus could handle.

“It was nice, Ilvermorny was very laid back. They study native magic and lots of non verbal spells. I’ll tell you more at dinner.”

“Allright, let me give you the breakdown, even though you know most of this stuff.” Peter said.

They begin to walk around the grounds.

“Over there you’ve still got your basic beautiful people.” He motions to a group of students sitting under a tree. “To the left we have the coffee kids. A new developpement since Dippet allowed a coffee machine in the Great Hall.”

“Interesting.” Remus said, looking at the students who couldn’t seem to sit still.

One of them knocked over his cup, filled with rich brown liquid, onto the other’s lap. “Whoa”

“That was a Costa Rican, asshole!”

“Very edgy.  Don’t make any sudden moves around them.” Peter added. 

They now approached a few students dressed in large hats and leather boots.

 “These guys…” Peter started.

“Wait wait.  Let me guess.  Cowboys?”

“Yeah, ever since that muggle movie Grayeagle came out.”

“Who would have thought that I would see more cowboys back at Hogwarts than the US.”

They now neared a group of students sitting on the grass, scribbling on parchment furiously.                

“These are your future Ministers. Hey guys.  How ya doin’?” Peter waved to the group. They rolled their eyes at him and went back to they’re books.

“Yesterday I was their god.” Peter said wistfully.

Remus chuckled, he had missed this atmosphere. “What happened.”

“Bogie Levenstein started a rumor that I...that I used an enchanted quill on my OWL’s.”

“Did you?” Remus asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not the point.” Muttered Peter.

“So they kicked you out?” Remus continued.

“Hostile takeover.  But don’t worry.  They’ll pay.  Now over here…”

“Merlin’s sake.” Remus whispered as a beautiful, creamy skinned dark haired girl walked by.

 “What group is she in?”

“The “don’t even think about it” group. That’s Narcissa Knightley.  Fifth year.” Peter said, shaking his head at his friend. Remus' mouth was still agape as she walked past him with her friend.

“Yup, see, there’s a difference between “like” and “love”.  Because I like my wand, but I love my Snakeskin backpack.” Narcissa explained to the other girl.

“But I love my wand.” Her friend says clutching her wand to her chest.

“That’s because you don’t have a snakeskin backpack.” Narcissa said, like it was the most obvious thing. Her friend looks enamoured by her wisdom.

“Oohhh.”

“Listen. Forget her.  Incredibly uptight father, and it’s a widely known fact that the Knightley sisters aren’t allowed to date.” Peter said, shaking his Remus's shoulder.

“Uh huh...yeah.”

At dinner later that night, Remus couldn’t keep his gaze off the enchanting girl at the Slytherin table.

“Earth to Moony!” James said between mouthfuls.

“Mate, we haven’t seen you in months. Talk. Or would you rather go join the Slytherins.” Sirius says, glaring at the green robed students.

“He has a thing for Narcissa Knightley.” Remus gave Peter a death glare.

“She’s pretty, but not as pretty as Lily Evans.” James sighed, looking at the auburn haired girl.

“Prongs, you're still running after her? It’s been, what, three years of her constantly rejecting you.” Remus chuckled.

“At least Lily’s allowed to date.” James retorted.

“You guys are pathetic.” Sirius said, grinning cockily, knowing he could get any girl at Hogwarts easily.

“Okay then.  What did everyone think of the Tales of the Wizard-Goblin war?” Professor Binns, Hogwarts only ghost professor, asked.

“I loved it. The part with Ginnamora was soooo romantic.” A clueless girl sighed.

“Romantic?  Buckthorn?!  He was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Giraf Abbott trying to nail his leftovers.” (y/n) said to the girl, earning eyerolls from the other students. 

Lucius Malfoy chuckles cockily. “As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends?”

Giggles erupt through the room. (y/n) doesn’t turn around to face him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d pissed her off.

“I guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time.”

Just then, a dark haired boy strolls confidently inside the classroom.

“What’d I miss?” Sirius asked.

“The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.” You answered, gritting your teeth furiously.

“Good.” He turned around and went back out of the room.

“Hey, hey!” The ghost professor looked like he was about to go after him but decided to stay put.

“Uh,Professor.  Is there any chance we could get (y/n) to take her calming drought before she comes to class?” Lucius said, high fiving his fellow slytherins.

“Mr.Malfoy, someday you’re gonna get hexed and I’m not gonna do a thing to stop it.  And Miss. Knightley.  I want to thank you for your point of view.” Professor Binns stated. (y/n) smiled to herself.

Take that Malfoy.

“I know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of pureblood oppression.  It must be tough.” Professor Binns' words wiped the grin right off her face. (y/n) thanks Merlin that Lucius Malfoy, with his inflated ego, couldn’t see her face. Professor Binns continues.

“But the next time you storm around the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures crusading for better house elves, or whatever it is you wealthy purebloods complain about, ask them why they can’t buy a book written by a ghost!”

 His normally monotone voice was now strident. Never in your six years at Hogwarts had you ever heard Professor Binns get so riled up. The whole class was taken about by his sudden burst of emotion. You quickly recover from your slight shock.

“Anything else?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor.  Go to your head of house.” Professor Binns stated, sounding a little brittle.

“What?!  Professor Binns!” You plead but he’s already started scribbling on the chalkboard. (y/n) storms out, making sure to hit Lucius Malfoy with her bag on the way.

Professor Myriad was scribbling a letter when you reached her office, knocking on the doorway to make your presence known. The silver haired woman lowered her glasses as you sat down in a crimson chair.

“So I hear you were terrorizing Professor Binns‘s class.  Again.”

“With all due respect expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.” You say, picking at your nails.

“The way you expressed your opinion to Richard Crabbe? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested.” She remarqued, mentioning a particularly nasty quidditch fight between (y/n) and that idiot Crabbe.

“I still maintain that his broom malfunctioned and he kicked himself in the balls.” You answer cooly, trying your hardest not to let any emotion seep through your face.

Professor Myriad fumbled. “The point is (y/n)...People perceive you as somewhat …” 

“Tempestuous?”

“"Heinous bitch" is the term used most often.” She states simply.

How flattering, Professor.

“You might want to work on that. Try being more like your sister.” 

You raised your eyebrows at her comment because the woman clearly had no idea what she was getting into.

“Tell me Professor, which sister are we talking about? Bellatrix? Who was married off to some greasy pureblood the day after she graduated. Andromeda? Who followed her heart but was shunned from the family. Or Narcissa? Who at sixteen still, for the love of god, cannot tie her shoelaces.” 

(y/n) rises from her chair and says, in her most sarcastic tone  “As always, thank you for your excellent guidance.” before strolling out of the tiny office.

Lucius and his friends were sprawled in their usual spots under a tree. Someone in the group mumbles “Virgin alert” as Narcissa and Josie walk past. Lucius’s attention is immediately fixed on the innocent looking brunette. The girls notice him and wave shyly.

“Looking good ladies.”

“They’re outta reach, even for you.” Simon Nott  said in a sing-song voice.

“No one’s out of reach for me.” Lucius says, sizing his friend up.

“You wanna put money on that?” Simon questions, leaning back against the tree. Lucius glances at Narcissa who’s laughing with a group of fifth year students,

“Money I’ve got.  This I’m going to do for fun.”

From across the courtyard, Remus, James and Peter observe the way Lucius Malfoy is eyeing Narcissa, like a tiger watching his prey. Remus feels strangely protective of her, wanting to protect her from Lucius’s slimy paws. He gazed at her as she giggled, her dimples showing.

“Mate, look at her.” He said in a voice soft with affection.

James is clearly unimpressed. “Is she always so...vapid?”

“How can you say that?  She’s totally…”

“Conceited?”Peter leered.

“What are you talking about Wormtail?  There’s more to her than you think. I mean, look... look at the way she smiles. And look at her eyes, man.  She’s totally pure.  I mean, you’re missing what’s there.”

“No, Moony.  No. What’s there is a snotty little Princess creating a strategically planned appearance to make guys like us realize we can never touch her, and guys like, uh…” Peter fumbled, looking across the courtyard. “...Lucis, realize they want to. She, my friend, is what we’ll spend the rest of our lives not having. Move on.”

“No.” Remus pouted stubbornly.

“Move on.” James quipped, repeating Peter’s words.

“No! You’re wrong about her.  You’re so wrong.” Remus grumbled back.

“Alright.  I’m wrong?  You wanna take a shot?  Be my guest. She’s actually looking for a Mermish tutor.”

Remus’s eyes light up. “Are you serious?  That’s perfect!”

“Do you even speak Mermish?” James questioned. Remus flashed his bright teeth.

“Well no.  But I will.”

[aliciameade]

To See The Sun With My Eyes Closed

Title: To See The Sun With My Eyes Closed Author: aliciameade Rating: M some hot and heavy kissing Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Beca can't shake one thought from her mind after she meets Chloe. That all she wants is her body on her mattress. 

Inspiration via “Mattress” (Valley Girl Remix) feat. Allie X by Leland

(I don’t think I’ve ever written a mid-PP1 fic before??)

Also on AO3

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I know it's getting close / To when the party ends / And everybody's hooking up And I hate it when you say I'm such a good friend / And that you call me when you're up Why do I always do this to myself / I let you go with someone else When all I want's my body on your mattress / Why do I always do this to myself I let you go with someone else When all I want's my body on your mattress

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“I’m soooo glad that I met you.” Chloe’s words, laden with alcohol, drift across Beca’s lips. She’s been pulled close—much too close for comfort—by this girl who, for a reason that Beca can’t quite ascertain, convinced her to audition for a lame singing group that she’s now a member of. “I think that we’re going to be really fast friends.”

“Well, you saw me naked, so…” she says with a wink. She’s still not sure what happened last week and why Chloe thought it was okay to burst into Beca’s shower, apparently lured by her voice like a siren. But, it had happened and while utterly mortified at the time, the encounter that remains seared on her brain is not one of embarrassment but intrigue smeared with lust.

After all, Chloe is an extremely attractive woman and the confidence she displayed (very literally) only added to her attractiveness.

They’re so close that she thinks Chloe might kiss her. It makes her heart race to imagine the possibility. She even considers being the one to initiate it. She struggles to keep her eyes off Chloe’s lips and she thinks she just might be bold enough to try it.

But before she musters enough courage, Chloe’s running her hands down Beca’s arms, declaring her need for a drink, slapping her own ass which she shakes at Beca, and is hopping down the stairs of the amphitheater to join her friends at a keg.

The exchange leaves Beca’s heart hammering in her chest just as it had a few days ago in the shower.

She spends the entirety of the event—“aca-initiation party” is a term she overhears more than once—avoiding socialization and nursing the beer that the annoying guy from her radio station internship pressed into her hand during a bout of uncomfortable flirtation. Her eyes (and thoughts) keep drifting to her new acquaintance, Chloe, and the company she was choosing to keep.

Chloe is a social butterfly; Beca isn’t surprised by that observation at all. She seems to flirt with almost everyone she crosses paths with; she’s not surprised by that either, though she’s maybe a touch disappointed that Chloe’s unprompted closeness isn’t unique to Beca.

A tall, handsome man becomes the final recipient of Chloe’s interest for the evening and Beca tries to not let her disdain be too apparent on her face when the pair begin making out a few rows away from her post. She thinks it might be the same guy who’d also joined her (and Chloe) in the shower, but it’s hard to tell.

She tries to ignore it and focus on the other embarrassing things happening at the party, but her eyes are repeatedly drawn to Chloe and the man attached to her face.

She walks back to her dorm as soon as she sees Chloe and her date sneak off, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the dorms.

When she crawls into bed, she can’t shake the singular thought rattling around in her brain: she wishes it was Chloe’s bed she was crawling into.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

A cappella nerds, as it turns out, like to party.

While she’s not convinced they’re not nerds, Beca is, at least, impressed with their propensity for alcohol-fueled fun.

Not that she particularly likes fun. Or fun with these people. Well, maybe there is one specific person she’s okay with.

She finds herself at a party in the backyard of the house belonging to their rival group, the Treblemakers, on a Friday night in early October. It’s already decorated for Halloween despite it being three weeks away and it takes precisely ten minutes for Beca to become irritated by the scream of the motion-activated ghost decoration hanging in a high-traffic area. It has yet to shut up since she arrived and she’s in the middle of devising a plan to kill it when something slams into her from behind, causing her to spill most of her drink onto the grass.

“What the—” She’s about to curse out the drunk who body-slammed her when she recognizes the patterned blouse covering the arms that are wrapped around her waist. “Dude!”

“Whatcha doing?”

Beca hopes the shiver that ripples up her spine at the way Chloe’s words hum past her ear isn’t noticed. She shifts a bit in time to the music to cover it up. It’s not easy to do, given Chloe’s hold on her, and if she hadn’t been busy trying to hide the way her body reacted to Chloe’s sudden embrace, she would have thought about the consequences of doing so.

“Oh, you’re dancing!” Chloe answers for her and she changes her hold on Beca from arms wrapped around her waist to hands on Beca’s hips, though her chin remains resting on Beca’s right shoulder. “Dance with me. You never dance with me.”

“We dance every day,” she says with an irritated sigh, though she starts to relax into their position and allows Chloe to lead from behind. “Aubrey has us in rehearsal three hours a day; or do you try to block it from your memory like me?”

There’s a rumbling, restrained laugh in her ear. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Did I, though?” she teases, though no, she didn’t know.

She hears Chloe’s response, a noncommittal hum that makes Beca smile with its unspoken admission of agreement. She finishes what little of her drink remains and tosses the plastic cup to the ever-growing pile on the ground and puts her hands over Chloe’s for a moment before settling into their dance. 

Chloe isn’t wrong, Beca realizes. They really haven’t danced with each other, not like this. Not with Chloe’s hands tugging on Beca’s hips as if she’ll drift away and not with Beca’s ass pressing back against Chloe. 

Their conversation—spoken, at least—fades in favor of the physical, dancing to the music blasting from giant speakers adorning the back of the house. When the song ends, Beca expects Chloe to move on, to go find a guy to dance with, but instead, she urges Beca to turn around and keep dancing as the playlist mixes into the next track.

Chloe smiles at her when she does it and adds a wink when she drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders. It prevents too much distance between them and it makes Beca smile in return. This isn’t how Beca would dance with the other Bellas; that would happen in a group, with plenty of space separating her from them, and with attention paid to people outside that group.

This, though. Chloe’s attention is acutely on Beca and Beca’s is on Chloe. There is little distance separating them. When a guy shows up behind Chloe in an attempt to get her to dance, she shifts away from him and further into Beca’s space.

Beca’s mind begins to swim, to slip toward the thoughts she’s guiltily had a few late nights alone in bed. Thoughts of what it would be like to kiss her friend, of what she looks like beneath her clothes (though the sports bras and leggings Chloe often favors do most of the work for Beca), of what she might sound like when she whimpers or moans with pleasure.

“You’re staring.”

Beca blinks quickly and pulls back a few inches. She didn’t realize how close they’d become until she could no longer focus on Chloe’s face. They’re still dancing and her mind races with what to do, how to respond to Chloe’s call-out, a look of curious amusement on her face, when she hears it:

“Becaw!”

She grimaces and feels the moment between them evaporate.

“He likes you,” Chloe whispers with a wink before she extracts herself from Beca and leaves with a wave.

“No, wait—” but she’s already gone, and instead she has— 

“Jesse.”

“Becaw!” he repeats again, proud of the unwelcome nickname he’s given her, as he moves into the space Chloe just vacated, a red solo cup in each hand.

Beca takes a noticeable step backward, though, and to his credit, he doesn’t follow and crowd her.

“It’s not enough that we spend nine hours a week together at the station; you always have to find me at these dumb aca-parties, huh?” She frowns as she says it, more at her casual use of “aca-” as a prefix than anything.

“You’re just so charming. How can I resist that face?” He smiles as he says it, pointing out her frown and, Beca thinks, he’s not a terrible person. Not by a long shot. He’s a teddy bear, really, and even a cute one with a good voice, but he just feels...vanilla. Boring. Predictable.

She immediately schools her face into as neutral of a look as she can. “Wish I could say the same.” She glances at the two cups he brought, her own hands feeling very empty with no Chloe to be touching. “Is one of those for me?”

He pulls the cups inward protectively, shooting her a look. “You literally just insulted me.”

“And you interrupted the conversation I was having.”

Something like a conversation, anyway.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, giving in way too easily and handing a cup to her. It’s a behavior Beca knows all too well; it’s how she ended up knowing the people at this party. “I saw that guy spill your drink.”

She doesn’t comment on the fact that it was at least fifteen minutes ago that that had happened, if not longer. The beer is still cold, though, so it at least he hasn’t been holding it for fifteen-plus minutes waiting to make a move. Or whatever he’s doing. “Thanks.”

“You know, I don’t live in the house yet, because I’m a freshman, but I’m allowed to go inside.” His words are stilted.

She just stares at him.

“They have a hot tub. I mean, we. We have a hot tub. I can use it.”

“Cool,” she says with a nod. She takes another sip from her cup and glances around to find an excuse to exit this conversation.

“I could show you,” he says, pointing toward the house.

She lifts her eyebrows at that; she hadn’t expected him to be quite so bold. “I know what a hot tub looks like.”

The nerves that were already evident in his movements double and his pointing hand jerks back to run through his hair. “No? Yeah, no, of course you know what a hot tub looks like. I was just—”

Her roaming eyes finally spot Chloe, her intended excuse to exit this uncomfortable conversation, but the tall guy from her first aca-party is with her—it’s definitely the same guy that Chloe’d had with her in the shower, they’re close enough that she recognizes him—and with his hand on her waist and leaning down, it’s evident they’re about to kiss.

“Okay,” she says quickly, forcing a smile and her eyes off of that and onto Jesse.

His surprise is obvious, and she doesn’t blame him. She was shooting him down pretty directly “W—wait, really?”

She has to take a long drink of her beer, nearly half of it, to be able to respond. “Yeah, sure. Give me the grand tour.”

“Cool, yeah.” He reminds Beca of a puppy with his thinly veiled excitement. It’s flattering, at least. “Uh, shall we?” He gestures toward the house and takes a step toward her, awkwardly offering his hand like he’s not really offering it, just in case she rejects it.

She accepts it, though, and follows him across the yard and into the Treble house.

She does spare one thought toward Aubrey’s draconian rule about not hooking up with any Treblemaker, but most of her thoughts are on what’s happening between Chloe and Shower Guy behind her and how quickly she can get it out of her thoughts.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

She doesn’t hook up with him.

Not for his not trying. 

By her count, Beca clocks him leaning in to try to kiss her three times during the tour of the house, each time happening in an empty bedroom (poor form on his part trying it while showing her the disgusting, smelly rooms belonging to college boys). He even made an attempt at suggesting there was no need for bathing suits to enjoy the hot tub situated oddly in the main room of the house.

She considers the proposition each time, but each time, she turns away or takes a step to put space between them. It just doesn’t feel right, even as a distraction or something out of spite.

She tells him she’s tired and needs rest before tomorrow’s seven-hour rehearsal after the hot tub invitation and to his credit, he doesn’t seem irritated. She knows most guys would have accused her of leading them on by now, and maybe she did at least a little bit. But instead of calling her a bitch or a tease when she glances back before stepping out of the house to go home, he waves at her wearing a dopey smile that makes Beca feel like he was happy just to spend time with her.

Her exit through the front door, so she can walk back to her dorm, doesn’t give her a final look at the party, but it’s still going strong. She doesn’t know if Chloe and Shower Guy are still there or still kissing, and she doesn’t really want to consider the possibility.

Or worse: that they’re not at the party because they went back to someone’s room.

Again.

She walks home alone (though not alone-alone; campus is crawling with students moving between parties and dorms) and is relieved that even Kimmy Jin seems to be out at an event of her own. It’s dark when she walks in and her roommate’s stark, clinically neat side of the room is empty.

“Thank God,” she says as she kicks off her shoes and strips down to her underwear to pull an old T-shirt over her head. She throws her bathrobe on and grabs her things to wash up before crawling into bed where she will definitely not be thinking about who might be in Chloe’s bed or whose bed Chloe might be in, and will definitely not be touching herself imagining it’s her, or her bed.

She hasn’t done that yet, crossed the line of fantasizing, but she’s just drunk, jealous, and irritated enough to do it.

Whatever energy that flowed between Chloe and her while they were dancing is also largely to blame.

So when she walks into the communal bathroom down the hall, she drops her toothpaste because Chloe’s at the sink washing her face.

It feels like the water Chloe’s splashing on her face is actually being dumped on Beca’s head and all her heat and annoyance rinse away to leave her feeling both ashamed and exposed.

Chloe glances her direction at the clatter of the tube of Colgate hitting the tile and then smiles in recognition. “Hey!” She turns off the faucet and reaches for the small towel draped over her shoulder to pat her face dry.

“Hey,” Beca says after clearing her throat while she stoops to grab her toothpaste. “Thought you’d still be at the party.” She hopes her tone is even and not betraying her earlier inappropriate thoughts or coming across as accusatory.

“And I thought you’d be doing the Walk of Shame tomorrow.” Chloe’s wearing a hint of a smirk as she says it and flips her towel back onto her shoulder. “I saw you sneak off into the house with Jesse.”

Beca huffs and walks to the sink next to Chloe’s to set down her things and start her pre-bedtime routine. “He wishes.”

“I bet he does.”

She glances sideways at Chloe to see her leaning against the sink casually, facing Beca. She hides the blush that she feels on her cheeks by ducking down to wash her face.

“You’re really trying to get under Aubrey’s skin, aren’t you?” Chloe continues. “She’s already texting me about it.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” she says as she scrubs at her face before rinsing it. “And she’s not the boss of me. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

“So you slept with him?” Chloe’s question is spoken so quickly, Beca can barely register the words.

This time, her towel masks her reaction. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“So you slept with Shower Guy?” She tosses her towel onto the back of the sink and waits for an answer. 

“Shower Guy?” Chloe’s surprisingly fidgety. “Do you mean Tom?”

“If Tom is the guy you brought naked into my shower, then yes.”

Chloe glances away for a few seconds. “I didn’t sleep with him. I mean, not tonight.”

“Right,” Beca says, busying herself with her toothbrush and toothpaste.

“What do you care?” Chloe’s words are clipped and get Beca’s attention.

“What do you care if I slept with Jesse?” she counters and shoves her toothbrush into her mouth.

Chloe pushes off the sink with a nudge of her hip and drops her arms to her sides. “Who says I care?”

Beca just rolls her eyes. Their conversation is devolving into bickering, though she doesn’t know why. She does know that she wants to stop talking about Chloe sleeping with Tom and Beca sleeping with Jesse. “Good night, Chloe.”

She sees Chloe set her jaw and press her lips into a thin line before nodding. “Good night. See you at rehearsal. 9:00 am, sharp.”

She shoos Chloe away with her free hand in irritation and watches in the mirror as she grabs her personal items and walks out the door, head held high.

Beca’s shoulders slump as soon as Chloe’s gone and she stares at herself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

She’s too irritated and confused by the tense words shared with Chloe to follow through with her nighttime plans.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Rehearsal is grueling. 

Aubrey is on her ass the moment she walks in not more than two minutes late about her “behavior” at the party. Beca refuses to say she didn’t sleep with Jesse, on pure principle. She owes Aubrey no explanation or information about her sex life. 

She doesn’t get kicked out, which is a surprise after what happened to Kori and Mary Elise. Instead, she and the entire group are subjected to an unfairly cruel marathon rehearsal and she’s certain she’s never sweat so much in her life. 

“We are a singing group, right?” she manages to snap as she runs past Aubrey. “Why are we training for a decathlon?”

All the comment earns her is five more laps around the rehearsal space.

Chloe seems like her normal self, being everyone’s cheerleader as they work. If she’s still bothered by the exchange she and Beca had the night before, she doesn’t show it, but Beca still makes it a point to catch her when they’re finally dismissed (fifteen minutes later than scheduled).

“That was brutal,” she starts, standing next to Chloe while they pack up their stuff. She only glances her direction briefly; Chloe was in her usual rehearsal garb of a sports bra and leggings, and she had sweat just as much as Beca had. It was highly distracting.

“I tried to warn you.”

Beca doesn’t think Chloe warned her; mostly she implied Beca was irritating Aubrey, not that Aubrey would inflict an entire day of physical torture upon her because she talked to a boy at a party. Instead of saying that, though, she zips her bag, puts it over her shoulder, and turns to face her. She studiously works to keep her eyes on neutral territory. “Wanna walk back to Baker together? Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”

Chloe looks up at her, wisps of curling red hair that escaped her bun with her exertion sticking up all over in a way that is unfairly pretty, and smiles. “Sure. I definitely need a shower.”

“No shit,” Beca says with a laugh, gesturing at herself to not imply that Chloe needs a shower. Chloe is perfect.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca’s really not surprised with herself that she’s dumping her gear and grabbing her shower stuff the second she gets back to her room after leaving Chloe at her own. Is she maybe affected by the idea that she and Chloe could possibly be showering at the same time, something that hasn’t [knowingly] occurred since the day they met?

Absolutely not.

To prove it to herself, she sits down and waits ten minutes before walking to the showers, but despite the attempt to wait it out, she hears Chloe’s voice singing a Britney Spears song (a cappella, of course) the moment she opens the door.

She irritatingly can’t help herself from claiming the stall right next to the one she knows Chloe’s in and once she’s settled under the steaming spray, she knocks on the divider between them to interrupt the new song that Beca hates that she knows.

She hears Chloe’s startled yelp and smiles. “Who sings that song?” she asks.

There’s a short laugh a few seconds later. “Taylor Swift, why?”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

There’s a gasp of offense that borders on being a shriek followed by a hard slap of a hand against the metal wall between them. “Beca Mitchell, you take that back!”

Beca laughs and grabs her shampoo. “You know I don’t mean it,” she says after a few more seconds, unable to leave Chloe in the lurch for too long.

“Meanie,” Chloe pouts.

Silence settles between them other than Chloe’s quiet humming and Beca’s nearing the end of her shower when she finally works up the nerve to bring up their tense conversation. “Um, about last night.” Chloe’s humming stops. “I’m sorry if I was weird.”

“‘Weird’ is one way of putting it.”

“This whole college thing is new to me, you know?” It’s a bad excuse, not to mention weak. Bringing up Shower Guy—Tom—had nothing to do with being new to college life and everything to do with...well, she doesn’t let herself think about that.

Chloe’s extended silence makes her think she’s not buying it, but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t push it. “Well, apology accepted. I’m sorry, too.”

“Cool.” She hears Chloe’s shower turn off and realizes she’s been so distracted with their conversation she’s failed to progress past working shampoo into her hair and hurries through the rest of it.

She’s not surprised when she finds Chloe waiting for her, sitting in a bathrobe on the bench where people wait for showers to free up when Beca exits her stall, wrapped in her own fluffy robe. Chloe looks fresh-faced and bright-eyed and Beca’s sure she looks like a drowned rat. It’s unfair, truly.

“What’s up?” Beca says as she tights the belt around her waist.

“Nothing,” Chloe shrugs. “Figured I’d wait for you.” She stands and joins Beca as they walk toward the bathroom exit.

“Doing anything fun tonight?” Beca asks, hoping her question comes across innocuous-enough after last night and their apologies.

“Yeah, I’m going out for a bit. What about you?”

Beca hums. “My roommate went home for the weekend so tonight’s agenda includes a Law & Order: SVU marathon and an entire bag of Doritos.”

They pause outside Chloe’s door. “Cool Ranch or nacho?” Chloe asks; she’s wearing a look of absolute seriousness as if Beca’s answer is of utmost importance and it stikes Beca with irrational fear.

“Uh, nacho?”

Chloe’s face screws into one of offense. “Terrible.”

“Nacho Doritos are not terrible!” Beca says, immediately on the defense of her favorite snack. “How dare you.”

“I only speak the truth,” Chloe says breezily as she reaches for her doorknob. “Enjoy your gross chips.”

“Yeah, well, enjoy your...night!” Beca’s comeback fails miserably and she can tell Chloe’s holding back laughter as she disappears into her room. “Whatever,” she grumbles to herself before turning to stalk down the hallway, mad about Chloe insulting her chips.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca’s on her third episode of SVU when there’s a knock on her door. She groans and slides off her bed, not in the mood for some kind of prank the other students on her floor find hilarious.

“What?” she barks as she swings it open, ready to berate immaturity only to be met with surprised, wide eyes. “Oh, hey. Sorry.”

“What was that for?” Chloe asks, still looking a bit shell-shocked.

“I thought it was the ding-dong-ditchers,” she says, knowing Chloe’s been a victim of it just as much as she has. “I thought you were going out tonight?”

Chloe shrugs and holds up the blue bag of Cool Ranch Doritos she’d been hiding behind her back. “It was going to be lame.”

Beca laughs and steps aside to let her into her room. “I can’t promise you that this will be any less lame.”

“I’m willing to take my chances.” Chloe winks as she says it and strolls into Beca’s room.

She’s never been there before, never past the door, and Beca can tell she’s trying to disguise the fact that she’s checking out her room which makes a smile tug at Beca’s lips. She’s climbing on to Beca’s bed moments later to get comfortable, right in the spot Beca had been occupying because it was the most comfortable.

“Make yourself at home,” she says as she closes the door. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer.”

“I’m 19; I can’t keep beer in my room.” She opens her mini-fridge to survey its meager contents. “Gotta keep my nose clean this year so I can get out of here and move to LA,” she explains. “I have Coke, Dr. Pepper, and water.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a freshman. Dr. Pepper, please.”

Beca grabs two cans of soda and joins Chloe on the bed, having to rearrange bags of chips, blankets, and pillows so they can both sit comfortably.

They settle into their viewing party after that, quiet save for the TV and the periodic crunch of chips with an occasional debate about who the criminal is or isn’t.

It’s hard for Beca to ignore their physical closeness. There’s only so much room on her small twin-sized bed and though their marathon began with a good bit of space between them, Chloe has worked her way closer with each suspenseful, violent, or upsetting moment. It began with her grabbing Beca’s forearm at an unexpected twist. A tense hostage negotiation had her gripping Beca’s thigh for dear life (she’s not sure she won’t have bruises tomorrow). And, most recently, an unexpected gunshot made Chloe leap into Beca’s side to hide her face in Beca’s shoulder and beg to be told when it was over.

Chloe hadn’t moved back into her own spot after that. She’d stayed, her arm wrapped up with Beca’s and her head on her shoulder once Beca reassured her the gory part was over. 

It’s hard to ignore the way Chloe’s knee is hiked up a little, just enough so it can rest atop Beca’s with the way she’s curled into Beca’s side.

The closeness makes Beca’s heart race and she has to focus hard on the television screen in order to keep her breathing steady. It had been somewhat easy to ignore her crush on the woman to-date; their time together has, by and large, been spent with others: the Bellas, aca-nerds at parties, other students walking around campus. Rarely are they alone and secluded; not even in their moments in the communal showers.

The moment she lets the concept that they are, by the very definition, cuddling in her bed into her psyche she has to close her eyes and think about literally anything else. Sports. The Real Housewives. Her parents’ divorce.

She keeps them closed until she feels Chloe leaning against her more heavily, her breathing deep and even and Beca looks down to see Chloe’s fallen asleep.

It’s oddly calming even if it makes her heart pick up even more. She looks like an angel, long eyelashes resting against her cheeks, soft pink lips slightly parted, but most lovely of all is the way her hand is open, fingers slightly curved in a way that’s so inviting that Beca can’t resist fitting her own between them.

Chloe stirs at the touch though it’s little more than a brief squeeze of Beca’s hand and a shift of her head and then she’s once again still.

Beca’s at a loss as to what to do so she sits quietly, letting the television episode roll into the next though paying no attention to it. Chloe is warm against her and her slow, rhythmic breathing is so comforting that eventually, Beca’s nerves settle and she finds her own eyes growing heavy.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

She’s disoriented when she wakes. Her room isn’t dark; a rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond is on the TV and it feels far too loud. She’s lying down and when she shifts, she’s met with resistance that for the briefest of moments strikes her with panic.

That is, until she discovers the resistance is caused by the arm draped over her waist and its owner who’s pressed closely against Beca’s back.

Then it’s panic of a different kind. The kind that makes her freeze and not move another muscle lest she wakes Chloe and bring to an end the embrace they somehow slipped into in their sleep.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

When she wakes again it’s early morning and though the arm is gone from her waist, she can feel it pressing against her back. The TV is dark but she doesn’t remember turning it off. She longs to drag the morning out as much as she can but she can’t ignore the need to use the restroom.

She eases away as slowly as she can until she’s standing and she can turn around to see Chloe, sound asleep in her bed. 

She sneaks out the door and is quick to return, only sparing a few extra seconds to deal with her disheveled morning appearance and rinse with a cup of mouthwash from the courtesy bottle.

To her relief, Chloe’s still there when she returns, but her sleepy eyes are open. “Morning,” she says as soon as Beca’s eyes land on her.

“Hey, good morning,” she replies and starts to cross the room and then stops when she realizes Chloe’s not making a move to get up and crawling back into bed with her, especially at this early hour, feels so very intimate. “Guess we fell asleep.”

Chloe nods and then she’s yawning, her body growing taut as she stretches and Beca can’t help but glance at how Chloe’s shirt rides up a few inches with the movement. “Come back to bed,” she says at the end of her yawn, voice squeaking in a way Beca wishes she didn’t find so cute.

It feels too casual, too normal for Chloe to say those words for how new their friendship is, to scoot backward to make more room for Beca in her small bed to further extend her invitation.

It’s that sensation of normalcy that gets her moving until she’s settling on her side, her back to Chloe again as they both get comfortable on the pillow they’re sharing.

“You’re all minty,” Chloe says after a minute or two, followed by a pinch to Beca’s side, right in the tender part, that makes her jump.

“Morning breath,” she says after swallowing.

Fingertips scrabble up her back. “Thinking about kissing me awake?”

Beca’s entire self feels like it ignites, heat rushing through her in a full-body blush. She just wasn’t wanting to make a bad first-morning impression. Such a thought hadn’t even entered her mind at the time, but it’s now the only thing she can think about.

She scoffs when she realizes she’s taking too long to reply. “What? Dude, no.”

There’s a quiet hum behind her and Chloe’s arm settles over her once again. Beca’s awake for it this time and the feeling of Chloe reaching to pull her close, intentionally holding her while they lay in bed together following that question, makes butterflies stir in her chest.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca doesn’t understand why there are so many a cappella parties. She’d thought that after the winter break, the four groups would buckle down—whatever that means in a cappella terms—to focus on the impending semifinals, but no. It seems that as the stress of competition (not that she’s stressed about their dumb competition) increases, so does the need to release that stress.

To Beca, they’re an excuse to get free beer and hang out with Chloe in a safe (read: public), non-rehearsal environment.

By now, they’ve established a sort of routine at these parties. They arrive together. They part ways. One saves the other from an undesirable conversation when prompted with little more than a glance. They spend the rest of the night together, whether dancing, drinking, socializing, or once, swimming, until something brings the night to a close and they walk back to their dorm together.

Beca had taken notice as the weeks and months passed, that Chloe disappearing with Tom was occurring less and less frequently. It was a relief on multiple levels; not just because it meant Chloe wasn’t spending the night with Tom, but also because she wouldn’t have to spend time talking to Jesse until she found an excuse to leave. The boy had a special talent for finding Beca unaccompanied.

But above all, it meant that Beca and Chloe were spending the majority of their time together, whether rehearsing or not. And over the course of all those weeks, Beca’s noticed their dynamic changing, not by leaps and bounds daily but by tiny movements. Tiny movements that have added up to leaps and bounds, from Beca recoiling in horror the first time they met to Beca dropping everything to help, talk to, or otherwise spend time with Chloe.

And she’s noticed Chloe is quick to do just the same.

It’s confusing. She’s never connected with anyone so strongly before, and she continually finds herself wondering if what she feels is the kindred spirit of a best friend or if she wants something more.

Correction: she knows she wants Chloe; she doesn’t want to confess such a thing and lose a best friend. Not that she knows how to confess feelings anyway. She hates feelings. They’re gross. They make her feel vulnerable and weak.

Chloe makes her feel vulnerable, too. But it’s different. She maybe even feels strength in that vulnerability.

She just needs Chloe to make the first move if someone’s going to make one.

Beca thinks she’s given her ample opportunities to-date but nothing’s happened yet. It’s with that in mind that she resolves, at the pre-Spring Break bash, to open the metaphorical door so wide that if Chloe doesn’t cross its threshold, Beca will close it once and for all.

She’s terrified from the moment she makes the decision until she and Chloe are drinking shots of tequila in unison and everything melts away until the only thing that matters is simply being in Chloe’s orbit. 

Beca pulls Chloe by her hand onto the trampled grass of the Trebles’ backyard to dance, an action she knows thrills Chloe who always tells Beca how much she likes dancing with her. The liquid courage spurs Beca to pull Chloe close before they’ve even settled into the song.

“You’re in a mood,” Chloe says, the corner of her mouth turning upward.

Beca rests her arms around Chloe’s shoulders and makes eye contact with her. “You could say that.”

She sees Chloe arch an eyebrow but instead of pressing the matter, Chloe just falls into step and runs a hand through her hair in an unfairly sexy manner.

Beca considers the fact that what she’s doing could be considered throwing herself at Chloe, that is, if she didn’t hold on to that one last thread. Like letting her hands wander up and down Chloe’s back, but never below her waist. Like slipping her knee between Chloe’s thighs but not actually doing anything because, at face value, it just makes dancing close easier. Like having an extra button on her shirt undone and wearing her best bra that gives her amazing but natural-looking cleavage and her most flattering jeans.

It only takes a few seconds for Chloe’s hands to land where they always do: on Beca’s waist. 

Dancing with Chloe has come to be second nature to Beca, and she’s pretty sure Chloe would agree. She knows it helps that they work on actual choreography all the time for the Bellas, but they don’t choreograph the way they dance together at parties or in clubs. It feels like they have, though; it doesn’t require any conscious thought to know how Chloe is going to move and when. Beca doesn’t have to think about stepping to her left when Chloe is stepping to her right. 

It’s a cool evening but Beca’s warm. She’s warm from moving, warm from the way Chloe’s hands travel between her waist and her ribs, warm from the way Chloe’s eyes are on hers to stare with such intensity, she’s actually afraid to look away from them.

She’s warm from how close they are right now. She doesn’t know how many songs have passed, only that they’re so close and so aligned that she can feel Chloe’s thigh between her own, bumping her leg as they move which only makes her grow even warmer.

Chloe’s eyes slip for the quickest moment from Beca’s and she thinks maybe she glanced at her lips, or maybe even her cleavage. It was too quick to know and Beca doesn’t let on that she noticed. If Chloe wants to look, she wants her to look. She’s been inviting her to look all night. She does wet her lips after a few seconds; it’s a subconscious response but she’s aware of it happening and she catches Chloe’s gaze drift again. 

It’s difficult to be sure as Chloe’s amazingly long eyelashes are great at concealing where she’s looking when her eyes are cast down, so, running on instinct and adrenaline, Beca lets her teeth catch her bottom lip, just for a second or two.

Chloe’s eyes snap back to hers immediately and then she’s mirroring Beca, teeth pulling at her own bottom lip until it slips free and her tongue swipes over it.

Beca can’t keep her eyes off Chloe’s lips after that; she tries, glancing up now and then but Chloe’s eyes are no longer her focus. Chloe’s lips hold that now and she’s acutely aware and uncaring if Chloe notices. Maybe she wants her to notice.

She definitely wants her to notice.

She knows Chloe notices when she sees her teeth pull at her lip again the same moment her hands tighten around Beca’s waist.

They’re still dancing, but it’s an afterthought. There’s noise around them, and people, but it all sounds miles away. Her arms shift where they’ve been resting over Chloe’s shoulders; they push forward to loop around her neck. It also brings them even closer together.

Chloe’s head tilts, just a fraction, just enough for Beca to catch it. A tilt to the left. A slight lift of her chin. Enough to make Beca’s pulse start to race.

She mirrors the change and she sees Chloe’s lips twitch into the hint of a smile. It makes Beca’s hands unlock from holding her own wrists behind Chloe’s neck to push them into her hair. Chloe’s eyes flutter closed at the touch and after a few seconds of admiration, so do Beca’s.

“What are we doing?” Chloe says, little more than a mumble as Beca feels the heat of fingertips under the edge of her shirt, pressing into the bare skin of her lower back.

“Um…” Beca’s not sure she can answer that; their lips are so close that she felt the words.

“Bec?”

“Hmm?” She’s waiting for it, for the soft warmth of Chloe’s lips to follow the heat of her words when she senses Chloe pull back. Beca’s eyes flutter open to find Chloe watching her intently. It’s only then that she realizes they’ve stopped dancing.

When Chloe takes a step backward Beca feels the hot sting of rejection but Chloe’s hand catches hers before she’s out of reach and she has no choice but to follow. She doesn’t know where Chloe’s leading them; frankly, she doesn’t really care. She feels intoxicated but the tequila is long burned out of her system. This is something different, something that’s making her dizzy but not sick.

They’re walking along the hedge that runs next to the house when Chloe halts abruptly, causing Beca to stop just short of running into her. When Chloe turns, Beca expects her to say something, to explain why they’ve left the party, to repeat her question to Beca.

Instead, Chloe’s free hand plants itself in the center of Beca’s chest, against the bare skin of her boldly unbuttoned shirt, and pushes, making her stumble backward until her back hits the side of the house.

“Oh, my God,” escapes her mouth before she realizes the words could mean the action was unwelcome when it’s the exact opposite. She can’t figure out what words to use to clarify her outburst so instead, she squeezes the hand Chloe’s still holding and gives it a tug. If pulling Chloe closer now, here, after everything isn’t clear enough, then they’re both hopeless.

She pulls Chloe in until she’s so close, their chests grazing when either of them inhale and grabs Chloe’s hip with her free hand to keep her there. Even in the dark away from the lights of the party, she can see the color in Chloe’s cheeks, can see how heavy her eyes seem and Beca’s sure she must appear much the same. Her heart feels like it might pound right out of her body. She wonders if Chloe can hear it, or even feel it against her own chest.

Those dark eyes are on her own, their conversation unspoken and Beca knows Chloe finally understands what she’s been trying to make clear all night. Maybe what she’s been trying—with less conviction or confidence than tonight—to make clear for months.

The hand that had pushed her up against the house shifts down for the briefest of moments, the heel of Chloe’s hand dipping into the beginning of the valley between her breasts to make Beca’s breath catch before it moves north, fingertips dancing along Beca’s throat until they’re on the back of her neck, sneaking up into her hair.

She whimpers. Or she thinks she does; maybe it was Chloe. It could have been; her lips are parted when Beca glances down at them.

That’s when it happens.

Chloe surges forward, her lips finding Beca’s.

Beca knows for certain it’s herself she hears whimper then. The desperate force actually knocks her head back against the side of the house but there’s no pain. Nothing hurts now. Not as Chloe’s lips move against her own in a kiss Beca’s been waiting for since the day they met.

She shakes her hand loose from Chloe’s so she can use it, so she can bring it up to frame Chloe’s face. The knowledge that Chloe has wanted this—or at least wants it now—emboldens her to find a better angle and let her tongue brush Chloe’s bottom lip.

Chloe invites her in immediately and Beca shivers when Chloe’s tongue meets hers. Fingers slide further into her hair and Beca does the same, pushing through soft cinnamon curls as their kiss grows in intensity. 

Chloe’s hips press against her and it makes her shift her stance so their legs fit together like when they dance. Her fingers pull at Chloe’s waist as if she could possibly get any closer until, on sheer instinct, her hand slides down over the curve of Chloe’s ass to grab it unabashedly and pull just as she bends her knee to lift and press her thigh against Chloe.

A sharp gasp breaks the relative silence as Chloe’s mouth twists away from Beca’s. Their eyes meet and for a moment, Beca thinks she may have done something wrong until Chloe’s fingers twist so harshly into Beca’s hair that she winces as Chloe pulls her head to the side. It exposes more of her neck and Beca lets her eyes close again as Chloe’s mouth drops to it. Lips and tongue and gentle teeth move along her skin and Beca can hear herself breathing, quick and shallow breaths that match Chloe’s as Chloe accepts the rhythm of Beca’s hand against her. The thought that Chloe likes it, is basically riding her thigh, makes her already damp underwear soak through. It makes her hips move, too, and Chloe’s leg isn’t nestled closely enough to give her anything but the barest of contact.

It’s maddening but she doesn’t want to do anything that will take away the pleasure she knows she’s giving Chloe. Instead, the hand not tangled in her hair doing little more than cradling her head as she attacks Beca’s neck travels up Chloe’s side until she feels the band of a bra through the fabric of her shirt. It’s too tempting and too easy to follow it until the backs of her fingers are grazing the edge of a curve. She hesitates there, soaking in the warmth she feels and letting a moan escape her lips when Chloe’s tongue is particularly gentle and teasing against her skin.

“Touch me.” The words are whispered but they ring in Beca’s ears loudly. Chloe’s hand finds Beca’s where it’s hesitating and guides it higher until it’s pressing Beca’s hand against her breast.

This time, it’s Chloe who moans but Beca echoes it. She wonders just how far this is going to go here, now, out in the open as Chloe’s mouth is on hers again. It’s more a curiosity than a concern; she really doesn’t care who sees them. But as the palm of her hand feels the stiff peak of Chloe’s breast, she has a desperate need to migrate elsewhere. It’s a need that grows exponentially when Chloe, with none of the hesitation Beca had shown, finds Beca’s left breast to squeeze it with urgency. Most of her fingertips are on bare skin where Beca’s shirt has shifted; heat follows everywhere her those fingertips go, from the swell of Beca’s breast to her throat, to the valley of her cleavage and to her other breast.

Chloe’s mouth leaves hers again and moves right to her ear, lips on her earlobe and tongue tracing the shell and over the piercings. “God, you’re so hot,” she breathes just as she presses her thigh forward against Beca.

So desperate for the contact, it almost makes Beca’s knees buckle which settles her more heavily astride Chloe, leg pressing the thick seam of Beca’s jeans against her in a way that makes her hips buck.

Chloe’s assault of her senses stops abruptly; she doesn’t pull back, she just...stops and it takes Beca several seconds until she can open her eyes.

Once she can focus, she sees that Chloe is staring at her, eyes wild, hair mussed, lips a dark pink and shining in the dim lighting.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks, eyes searching Beca’s for something.

The question confuses her; why wouldn’t she be okay? “Yeah,” she says after swallowing. “Are you?” she adds, enough clarity seeping in to register Chloe’s checking on her and maybe she should do the same.

Chloe nods and leans in to kiss her again but this time it’s slow, and soft, and gentle and she pulls back too soon for Beca’s liking, but she forgives her quickly.

“Do you maybe want to go?” are Chloe’s next words and Beca feels dizzy again. Thankfully, Chloe still has her pinned against the house to keep her upright.

“Go where?” she asks; she wants Chloe to mean what she hopes she means and that she’s not suggesting they go back to the party.

Chloe’s hands are back on her waist, warm where they rest beneath Beca’s shirt. “Is your roommate home?” Chloe asks. 

Beca feels the back of her head connect with the house again, falling back to look down her nose at Chloe who’s waiting for her answer with as much anticipation as Beca feels. “I don’t know,” she says after searching her memory for any conversation that she may have had about her roommate’s plans tonight and finding nothing. “Is yours?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe answers, a whine entering her voice and the fact that Chloe is perhaps as desperate as she is rattles Beca. Her mind races, thinking of possibilities like the bedrooms in the Trebles’ house (gross), staying where they are (uncomfortable and not private), or going to Chloe’s car in the dorm parking lot.

It’s not the worst solution, all things considered.

“Okay,” she says, still working on catching her breath. “Okay, let’s just go see if they’re home or not.”

Her suggestion makes Chloe melt into her for another long, deep kiss until they’re detangling from each other. Beca has to tug at the legs of her jeans to bring them down from where they’ve ridden up and she watches Chloe do the same. It makes her crack up for some reason and Chloe’s quick to follow, both of them dissolving into fits of giggles of nervous excitement.

They start walking back toward Baker Hall, Beca’s arm around Chloe’s waist, and Beca notices Chloe tugging her phone out of her pocket and open up a new text.

“Why don’t you text Kimmy Jin and ask if she’s there,” Chloe says when she notices Beca’s curiosity.

“I don’t have her number.”

Chloe tsks at her and shoots off a text to, Beca assumes, her roommate.

A minute or two pass in silence until it becomes too heavy between them and Chloe breaks it. “Nothing has to happen, you know.”

Beca turns her head to look at her, though Chloe’s facing forward. Why Chloe thinks Beca might feel like she’s being pressured into something is beyond her, especially since Beca was the one laying the physical flirtation on thick all night. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she says, as if it should be obvious.

“I know,” Chloe says. Beca notices they’re only a few blocks from their dorm and her anticipation starts to grow again. “But we’ve been drinking.”

That’s a fair consideration. People do things they regret when they’ve been drinking, things they would never do sober. And that could be true, except that in Beca’s case, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

It’s Chloe’s turn to look over, and she’s wearing a bit of a smirk. “You have?”

Beca shrugs and tucks her fingertips into the front pocket of Chloe’s jeans, as though she’s making a point, though the prospect of having to talk about it in detail makes her self-conscious. “Shut up.”

“Beca.” Chloe’s voice is teasing and slow, like syrup.

“Don’t,” she says with a groan because she knows Chloe’s gearing up to tease her. “Can we just...can you just accept it and let it go?”

“Oh, I’ll happily accept it,” Chloe says with a proud toss of her hair. Then she’s rounding on Beca to stop right in front of her. “But I’m not going to let it go,” she finishes as she leans in to kiss her and Beca meets her halfway.

Beca pulls back when things are edging toward too hot and heavy for the sidewalk. “C’mon, let’s go.” She takes Chloe’s hand and leads for a few steps before catches up. “Did your roommate text you back?”

Chloe checks her phone while Beca opens the door to the lobby to let her pass first. Chloe makes a sound of excitement, a borderline squeal, and her pace picks up considerably as they stride toward the elevator. “She’s spending the night at her boyfriend’s.”

“Oh, thank God,” Beca exhales and follows Chloe into the elevator where she punches the button for their floor before turning right into the kiss she knows Chloe’s anticipating. “Mine’s probably home,” she says between kisses.

“We’d have found a place,” Chloe says, breath already quickening as their kisses grow in urgency.

“Thought about your car,” Beca says as her hands find Chloe’s ass again to tug her closer.

Chloe hums and then says, “I thought about the shower.”

Beca had somehow overlooked that particular option but the possibility, the very concept of it, moves through her like fire. “Fuck,” she says before kissing Chloe harder.

“Mmm, noted,” Chloe says with an evil smirk as she pulls away, grabbing Beca’s hand to yank her out of the elevator and down the hall toward Chloe’s room. “But I want you in my bed first.”

The End

[eclecticlanie]

Child Spirit claps back!

OK! SOOOO. A little back story first. I left my first husband 10 years ago. I left EVERYTHING with him except my daughter. I use to write novels (never published), songs, poems, draw all sorts of artwork, and my clothes were my life (I was particular about my fashion choices). I left everything: books, original artworks, basically my soul and identity. When I left I did not write or do any art ever again. I had to focus on being a first time mother, go to work full time, and school full time. I had a new identity that left no time or room for who I was from that day forward.

 My Hubs (2nd husband) produces Drum and Bass music and has since he was a teen. I support and help him as much as I can doing whatever I can (singing, speaking, picking out sounds, synths, etc; telling him to remove certain things that don’t work well, so on so forth). He has always taken music seriously and wanted to go much further than he has with it in the past but has held himself back due to fears of being in public eyes and what the media could do to him. Understandable. 

We decided recently to go for it-to take this to the next level if we could. In this process, Hubs decides I need to unpack that 10 years of exiling my talents. He bought me a notebook and now hounds me to speak to him so he can write or have me write my own songs and poems again. I say hounds but really he is trying to inspire me and find me a muse, there is no true negative connotation on it. I am just naturally pessimistic. Hubs is most definitely an optimist and before anyone asks, yes, sometimes it makes me sick (figuratively). In reality we balance each other extremely well. I never have had a more healthy relationship with anyone other than my mother in my life with the exception being Hubs. He is my everything, next to our kids. 

So that brings us to today. We, Hubs and I, are in the kitchen. I am cooking ground beef to make tacos on the stove. We were talking about how I don’t like my voice on recording but I do like it raw and natural and how I don’t understand why I feel I sound different on recording versus not recording. I then decide we need to discuss what we want to change and not to change if we happen to go next level with this music endeavor. As I leave the stove and go into the fridge (literally the fridge is next to the stove so it is only one step away) to make a glass of soda, I ask, “If we do go next level what do we want to stay the same and what do we want to have change?”

I turn around with the soda bottle in hand to go to the counter where my glass is waiting and Hubs is standing. I see a child standing next to him that isn’t mine with sandy brown or sandy blonde hair down to its cheeks. I’m not entirely sure which would better describe the kids hair. I assume it’s a non-binary child right off the bat. This child scares the shit out of me. It was not there prior to this moment. I never have seen this child before in my life and it is standing next to Hubs. I let out a short loud scream upon seeing this child and at this exact moment the child swings it’s hand and hits my Hubs glass of soda out of his own hands. The glass went up then hit the floor. It did not shatter, break, or crack. It was in one piece. Soda was on my upper and lower cabinets, on the floor and the side of the stove. The child was gone. Vanished. 

“What was that?” Hubs looked at me. 

“I don’t know why i screamed like that.” I tried to rationalize with myself, “It was a child.”

I pour myself a glass of soda and go back to cooking. Hubs and I discuss what just happened and didn’t continue the previous conversation we were trying to have about our possible future. We agree to invite the ghost upstairs to have a conversation via tarot after we eat dinner. Tacos took maybe another 3 minutes to cook and construct. We ate at the stove and the kids ate at the dining table. So a whole ten minutes maybe passed before we ran upstairs and grabbed my Nightmare Before Christmas Tarot Deck, pendulum, and pendulum board. 

I’m sitting on the bed and my back is killing me. This spirit is sucking my energy to stay present so I can receive it’s message. I start shuffling and right out of the gate cards are spilling.

The first five:

1. XIX The Sun: 

Directly from the guidebook: 

“When cloudy skies pass, the sun comes out, shining warmth and happiness on everyone’s lives. The excitement, renewed energy, and joy Jack experiences when he discovers Christmas Town perfectly embody the energy of the Sun tarot card. 

Upright: If you’ve been sad or troubled lately, the Sun is a sign you’re about to feel a very positive shift in your life. Use this rejuvenating energy to reconnect with good friends and enjoy yourself. There’s so much enthusiasm in this tarot card. It signifies a powerful time for inspired brainstorming.” 

Interpretation: I believe this represents both the child I seen and the situation. The child had no ill or negative feeling. It was a joyful and happy child. As for the situation, the Sun is calling me out on how I’m very negative and down on myself and that positive things are happening in my life. I need to start removing myself from being pessimistic and join ‘Team Optimistic’ by following through and doing as my Hubs has been pushing me to do. 

2. XVIII The Moon (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Moonlight illuminates Jack in the graveyard as he reflects on his feelings. The moon represents a great lament, the subconscious, and intuition.”

“Reversed: In order to move forward, you need to be honest about your feelings, with yourself and others. Expressing yourself will life a weight off your chest and get you out of a melancholy headspace. The Sun is about to come out, and a new day will bring new possibilities.” 

Interpretation: I was in the process of expressing my feelings on my voice right before the glass was thrown. I was being negative and hurtful to myself. The child did not like it and that is why they hit the glass to gain attention and to give me this message thus “the sun is about to come out”. I will be enlightened by the other side as to their feelings rather than focus on my own. 

3. X of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“Upright: X of Needles indicates something is coming to a painful ending. Whether this refers to a friendship, relationship, project, or job, you may be left with heavy emotions. Give yourself time to grieve, but trust that it’s for the best. Fresh beginnings are ahead!”

Interpretation: The 10 years I am unpacking is the means to an end. The hurt will end. I’ve hurt myself enough. My talents no longer need to be buried and not used. They are valid and need to be expressed. They will bleed and feel rushed because the flood gates are now open.

4. Queen of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Upright: The Queen of Needles is intelligent, intellectual, and sensible. She takes time to make up her own mind and isn’t easily swayed by trends, fads, or popular opinion. Fair and practical, the Queen of Needles shouldn’t be underestimated. This card is a call to remember how strong you really are.” 

Interpretation: The child is 

5. III of Needles (Reversed): 

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: III of Needles reversed symbolizes coming to terms with the past It’s time to pluck the needles out of your heart, and let it heal. Nurse your wounds and go forward.”

Interpretation: I need to let myself move forward and not punish myself. I need to allow my gifts to thrive and be of use in my life. 

I decided to use the Pendulum board a little bit to confirm everything I had seen. I asked the spirit if I was correct with the sandy brown-blonde hair color. The pendulum swung ‘yes’. I continued, “Definitely not a red head then.” The crystal swung ‘no.’ “Is there more you want to tell me?” ‘Yes.’ I picked up the cards and started shuffling again. Five more cards popped out. 

6. IX The Hermit:

Directly from the guidebook:

“The Hermit is a thoughtful, introverted figure who likes to spend his time ruminating alone--like the Creature Under the Stairs.

Upright: Now’s the time to get inspired by example and withdraw for some quiet alone time. The Hermit calls for reflection, so do a bit of soul-searching. Consider your current position, goals, and dreams. Remember your past, and learn from it so you can bring those lessons with you into a successful future.”

Interpretation: The child wants me to really look deep into myself and accept who I am. 

7. III The Empress (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“The Empress is a maternal, nurturing figure who enjoys self-indulgence and life’s creature comforts. Our Empress is the Corpse Mom, who is often seen leading her child on a leash.”

“Reversed: Are you being too hard on yourself? You may have been feeling self-critical lately, but beating yourself up about perceived failures and flaws won’t help. Be patient, and give yourself room to make mistakes--they’re learning opportunities.”

Interpretation: I couldn’t have interpreted this card any other way than as they described. I needed to stop bullying myself. The child seemed very adamant with this message.

8. IX of Needles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Has your confidence been dealt a blow recently? If you’re feeling low, you may be your own biggest bully. Start focusing on your positive qualities instead of fixating on your perceived negative ones. A shift in perspective is what’s needed to get you out of despair.”

Interpretation: Again, I couldn’t have interpreted this card any differently. I need to get my head out of my ass.

9. VI of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“VI of Needles usually indicates you’ve been through a difficult time. Have you recently been in conflict with someone or experienced an unexpected setback? It’s time to pick up the pieces and get on track again.”

Interpretation: I need to make peace with myself, pick up the pieces I left behind and put them where they belong in my life-not outside of it.

10. Queen of Candles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Reversed: The reversed Queen of Candles lacks self-confidence. Have you been giving too much attention to the opinions of others? Don’t stifle your ideas and lose your voice. Make time for a bit of soul-searching, and express yourself. Don’t worry what others may think. You have so much to offer!”

Interpretation: Another hard one! All jokes aside, this child couldn’t have been more direct. I need to keep my opinion on myself out of the picture. I need to use my voice-literally. I need to see the value in me and gain confidence. 

I then started telling the spirit I really understood the first time around about their message. Hubs is half laughing at me that I got called out by a child ghost. I continue to state out loud that I understand I need to be nicer to myself and use my talents with the focus of the future in mind. I also state that my back is really starting to kill me and that i would like it to leave if it had nothing more to say. I start shuffling and what do you know... Five more cards...

11. XIIII Death (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Death is often a feared tarot card, but that’s just because its misunderstood. It’s a card of transformation and transition-beginnings and endings. Like the creaky, old gates in Halloween Town’s cemetery, the Death tarot card is a spooky symbol of change and transformation.”

“Reversed: Are you putting off a life-changing decision? Resisting change is impossible and will only cause harm in the long run. Letting go of the familiar can be tough, but trust that accepting transition will make way for positive, fresh beginnings.”

Interpretation: Clearly a change is coming. Whether it be my attitude about myself or how I manage my mental health? Only time will tell. 

12. IV of Needles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Here, the restful energy of the IV of Needles card becomes static. Are you feeling stuck? Have you reached a plateau? It’s important to shake yourself out of your routine. When you take a different perspective, you’ll see you have all kinds of opportunities around you.”

Interpretation: I need to look outside of the box when I think about myself.

13. XIV Temperance (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Like pouring magical potions into a cauldron, Temperance represents the act of combining different elements together in perfect harmony.”

“Reversed: If life is feeling hectic, it’s time to bring things back into balance. Pay attention to areas of your life that may be a little neglected. The recipe for success requires a pinch of self-reflection and a dash of Temperance. stir thoroughly, and enjoy.”

Interpretation: I need to balance my negativity with positivity. 

14. IV of Candles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“IV of Candles represents celebration. People are recognizing your accomplishments! You’re feeling stable, secure, and comfortable. Be proud of yourself and enjoy the attention, but remember there is still work to be done when the party’s over.”

Interpretation: Although, at our current status as a family, we are successful and doing decent for ourselves but, individually, we can always work and build our characters. 

15. III of Presents (Reversed): 

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Reversed, III of Presents represents an imbalance within a professional or financial collaboration. If you’re working with others on a project, make sure everyone’s doing their part. Disaster strikes when things become inequitable. Prioritizing teamwork will get you where you want to go.”

Interpretation: I need to be more open about my thoughts, opinions, hopes, fears, etc towards Hubs on this new adventure. 

With this I felt a lot of my back pain let up. I started to slip the cards back into the deck and shuffle them again just to give them an after reading cleanse. Hubs randomly states he was thinking about splurging on a cyber whip rave toy and then another two cards popped out. 

16. XX Judgement:

Directly from guidebook:

“We all have pivotal decisions to make in our lives. Will yours land you on the naughty list or the nice list?

Upright: Now isn’t the time to be hasty and impulsive. Consider your actions and choices carefully, and take time to think things through. Remember that all actions have reactions. Be sensible, and stay true to your conscience.”

Interpretation: The Childs leaving statement is to be mindful as well as ‘you do you’. Apparently, Party time is not on its list of things to do. I may have taken this a little condescendingly. This ghost doesn’t like to have fun. 

17. IV of Presents (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Is your relationship with money healthy? Is it getting you where you want to go? If not, it may be time to look over your budget and reevaluate your priorities. Make sure you’re not spending frivolously if your cash flow can’t support it right now.”

Interpretation: The spirit child was telling us to maybe not go out and buy a light up whip to dance with. No parties for you! Well... In our house, raves will persevere! GLOW STICKS OUT! RAVE ON! 

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 12/20

Cold is the Night - 12/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

Fic Song: Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos. Fic playlist can be found here. 

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters

Gif by @mazzelloplots

The party was insanely fun. 

You and Pat spent the whole night together, drinking and laughing with the guys. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. With Pat at your side, everything seemed to feel right. 

By the time the party started to wind down, you both were too tipsy to drive. Thankfully, your house was a short walk away.

Even though you didn't discuss it ahead of time, you knew he was coming back to your place. 

"Take me home, Murray," you slurred, arm slung around his shoulders. 

"You're gonna have to lead the way cuz I don't even know where I am now." Pat's voice was equally messed up and you both burst into giggles.

He leaned in for a kiss that you happily granted. You were vaguely aware that the guys were catcalling but you just flipped them off. 

Pat's arm slid around your waist and you pointed him in the right direction. "It's this way." You didn't even bother to say goodbye to the others. 

"Have fun you two," Gina teased as you and Pat stumbled off down the road.

You had been walking for about five minutes before Pat pulled you in close. "I missed you soooo much."

"I missed you too."

"You're pretty. Did you know that?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"Well, I'm gonna do it more!"

You hugged him as the two of you kept walking. You felt like you were on a cloud. 

"Fuck I'm tired," Pat mumbled as he placed a kiss on your temple. 

"Me too. Kinda horny though."

Pat raised his eyebrow in interest. "How horny?"

"Definitely second base. Maybe third."

Pat pumped his fist in excitement, seemingly no longer tired. "Yessss! Are we there yet? Where are we?"

By some miracle you managed to reach your house, unscathed. As soon as you closed and locked the front door, Pat was all over you, kissing you just as fiercely as he had on the porch.

Stumbling, you both kicked out of your shoes before you pulled him by his shirt toward the bedroom. Pat's hands were already fumbling with his belt buckle, which you were more than happy to help him with. His jeans fell around his ankles and when he tried to step forward, he tripped into you. 

You caught him but the momentum knocked you both onto the bed, laughing.

"Maybe we should slow down before we hurt ourselves," you said between peels of laughter. 

You blindly reached for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it on. It cast the room in a soft glow without blinding you. It was bright enough for you to see how hilarious Pat looked tangled in his jeans.

He giggled as he tried to kick out of his pants. "I'm stuck."

Alcohol and happiness made everything funnier and it took a ridiculously long time for you to help Pat untangle himself. Eventually, he managed and you set to work unbuttoning his shirt.

"So second base, yeah?" Pat reiterated.

"Oh yeah. Not sure I have the coordination for anything else."

"What if I do?"

"What do you mean?"

Pat put his hands over yours to stop you, forcing you to meet his gaze. The look he gave you was like nothing you'd ever seen before. His pupils were so dilated, you couldn't see the hazel irises anymore. 

"Can I go down on you?"

The sudden question and mental image sent heat straight down to your core. However, in the back of your mind, you also felt a tinge of anxiety.

"I...I can't return the favor," you said. "Not right now. Too much wine."

"I know. I don't care," Pat said. His eyes swept your still-clothed body hungrily. "Second base is great, but I wouldn't mind stealing third."

You snorted at the corny baseball joke, making him grin. Considering his offer, your eyes fell to his lips, imagining them kissing their way down your body…

You hadn't had the best experiences with oral, giving or receiving, but you weren't entirely opposed to either. You had to remind yourself that Pat was different. He seemed eager and excited by the idea, which in turn made you feel the same.

Straddling his lap, you took his face between your hands and kissed him deeply, moaning as his tongue swiped at yours. When you pulled back, he was panting.

"Can't steal if it's given willingly." You paused. "Yeah, I get the reference but maybe we shouldn't use 'steal' in this context."

Pat wrinkled his nose. "Good point." He fell silent for a few seconds. "So, like, yes?"

"Oh. Yeah, definitely."

"Awesome."

He wrapped his arms around you and the next thing you knew you were on your back with him leaning over you. As he shrugged out of his shirt, you pulled yours over your head. 

Pat froze, eyes straying across your almost bare chest. You made a slow show of undoing your bra before you casually tossed it over the edge of the bed. He bit his lip, eyes hooded as he pulled you into another kiss.

You hurriedly tried to unbutton your jeans but in your overeagerness, your fingers kept slipping on the button. With a swear, you pulled back to try to see what you were doing.

"Stupid pants!" you mumbled.

Pat pushed your hand out of the way and practically ripped your jeans open, sending another wave of heat through you.

"Damn, Murray, that was hot!"

Grinning, Pat took the sides of your pants and pulled them down your hips. "It was completely accidental."

Both of you were down to your underwear, a noticeable tent in his. You yanked him into another kiss, laying back down. Pat covered your body with his own, the heat of him chasing away any chill from the AC.

He pulled the blanket up to cover you both, settling against you before leaning down for more kisses. The absence of clothing brought another level of intimacy between you. There was nothing in the way when you ran your hands up his back or when he palmed your breast, thumb grazing your nipple in excitement. 

Hooking your leg around his waist, you ground yourself against his clothed erection, gasping with pleasure. Pat whimpered, burying his face in your neck. He rocked his hips along with yours and you could feel the outline of his cock as it grew harder.

It was way more intense than when you dry-humped on the couch. Your arms teamed with goosebumps as Pat massaged your breast, teasing your nipple until it was stiff between his fingers.

Before you could fall into a rhythm, Pat placed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone as he started to move downward. As excited as you were, you were also still nervous. Your heart rate spiked as his hand stroked your other breast, kisses leaving a trail between them both.

You knew he could feel your heart under his palm and he paused, looking up at you in worry.

"Are you okay? You wanna stop?"

"Don't stop," you begged. "I'm fine. Just a little nervous. It's been a while."

Pat smiled and gave you a soft kiss. "If you're not ready, it's okay. We can do what we did last time."

You couldn't understand how amazingly considerate Pat was. There he was, almost naked and clearly turned on but still willing to stop and check-in with you. It made you want him even more.

"Oh, I'm ready. I'm curious to see what else that mouth of yours can do."

A mischievous grin spread across his face and Pat wagged his eyebrows. "Let me show you."

You weren't used to this Pat. This wanton, dominant, man who looked ready to devour you at any second. If you thought you he was attractive before, it was nothing compared to that moment. There was a subtle confidence about him that took your breath away.

Spurred on by your encouragement, Pat continued his path downward. Aside from a few pecks along your breasts, he ignored them in favor of scooting down the bed. 

Carefully, he took the edges of your panties and, when you lifted your hips, slowly drew them down and off. Once they were out of the way, he kissed along your hip, hands stroking your bare thighs.

With a blissful sigh, you settled back against the pillows and forced yourself to relax. Pat's hot breath ghosted across your wet folds before you felt the unmistakable sensation of his tongue.

You gasped, amazed at how sensitive you already were. Pat gave you a few slow licks, acquainting himself with your taste before burying his head between your thighs.

Small shocks of pleasure radiated from your core, forcing your body into a constant state of movement. You grabbed the headboard, the bedspread, the pillow, the comforter...anything and everything that was within your reach. But nothing felt solid enough to keep you grounded. 

Pat's exploration was thorough, his tongue tracing every fold and seam as time slowly dragged on. He was in no rush, taking all the time he wanted. When he circled your clit, you gasped so loud he actually chuckled, the subtle vibrations rocking your body. 

"Fucking hell, Murray," you moaned.

He hummed, mouth too preoccupied to respond. His lips closed around your clit and he started to gently suck. You doubled over, thighs clamped around his head to keep him in place. Your hands buried themselves in his red hair as you couldn't help but watch him eat you out.

His eyes were closed, long fingers leaving marks on your thighs as he gripped them tightly. Your hips rocked against his mouth, loving the friction but demanding more. 

He must have felt you staring because he looked up, pupils blown wide as he stared at you with such devotion, you almost cried. You don't know how long you stared at each other. 

There was no one who ever made your body sing the way Pat did. No one who looked at you like you were a fucking goddess. He pulled back slightly to catch his breath, his lips red and glistening from your arousal.

Wordlessly, he took your hands and twined your fingers together as he forced you to lay back down. It was a sweet and gentle gesture, which was immediately followed by roughness you weren't expecting. 

Once you were on your back, he sucked on your clit again, using his upper body to pin your hips to the bed.

Your orgasm was building but not quite fast enough. "Touch me," you begged. "Pat, please touch me."

One hand left yours and a second later you felt the tip of his finger stroke your opening, wetting itself in your arousal before he ventured forward.

Stars exploded before your vision, your body covered in a sheen of sweat as he started to finger you. All the while his mouth never left your clit and when he added a second finger, you couldn't handle it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Your body was constantly moving, trying to take over the pacing but unable to with Pat holding you down. Through tear-filled eyes, you caught sight of him smirking.

Motherfucker was teasing you. Keeping you on the edge on purpose.

"I'm so close, Pat. So fucking close, babe. Please."

Pat moaned when he heard you beg. His movements sped up, sloppier in his eagerness to get you off. You felt the pleasure mounting, hovering just out of reach until the tips of his fingers found your g-spot and then, you were finished.

You came. Loudly. Messily. Violently. Your body convulsed, thighs nearly crushing Pat as you ground against his face. It was the hardest you had ever come and when you finally fell back, gasping and dizzy, Pat lifted his head, panting. 

"That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen," he declared. 

With a whimper, you reached for him, pulling him up to lay next to you. Kissing him deeply, you didn't care that you could taste yourself on him. Pat cupped your cheek, drawing you close to his chest.

His rock hard erection jabbed you in the stomach and you found yourself pushing his boxers down just enough to get your hand around him. He wriggled out of them, kicking them to the bottom of the bed.

Pat swore, his forehead dropped to your shoulder as you jerked him off. He was thick in your hand and you wanted desperately to take a peek at what he was working with, but his mouth found a sensitive spot on your neck and you forgot to look.

Writhing together, his breathing became erratic, hips thrusting into your hand. Eating you out had apparently gotten him so riled up, he wasn't going to last much longer.

He panted your name, his tongue in your ear. "I'm close."

"Come for me."

Pat kissed you deeply, only to be forced onto his back when you attacked his neck with kisses and playful bites. He cradled the back of your head, hips thrusting up into your hand and then, he was coming with a loud moan, his release coating your hand and thigh.

It was the hottest sound you've ever heard.

You pumped him until there was nothing left, only stopping when he laid a gentle hand on yours.

Breathless, you lay in a sweaty, panting, sticky mass of limbs, unable to move or speak.

Pat pushed your messy hair out of your face so he could get a good look at you. "For fuck's sake...that was...what the fuck."

"Jesus, Murray. I knew you had a mouth on you but damn."

He gave you a lopsided grin. "Was it good?"

"Good is an understatement. That was fucking spectacular."

He looked pleased with himself. "I haven't actually done that before so—"

"What?! Bullshit."

"No, seriously. I've had sex but never went down on someone. Always wanted to. Never had the chance."

"Well, feel free to do it anytime. I'm sure as hell not gonna stop you."

You both were so wrapped up in your afterglow, you fell into silence for a good five minutes. Until you felt the stickiness on your thigh. "We should clean up."

"Oh, yeah. Hold on, let me get it." Pat slowly pushed himself up to sit. He slipped out of bed and into your bathroom, coming back with a warm washcloth.

You reached for it but he waved you off, cleaning your thigh and hand gently. Once he was done, he wiped himself off and threw the cloth over his shoulder. When he climbed back into bed, you immediately wrapped yourself around him as he pulled the blankets back over you both.

The two of you lay together, naked and satisfied. Pat's arm was tucked under your head, his fingers playing with your hair.

You hummed in appreciation, burying your nose into his neck. "By the way, I'm not seeing anyone else. Nor do I want to."

"Me neither."

You traced absentminded patterns on his chest. There was a question that you wanted to ask and while you were afraid of it earlier, it didn't seem so scary anymore. "You wanna do this then? Officially."

Pat placed several kisses on your forehead, hugging you close. "More than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

Sleep tugged at you persistently and you were more than willing to answer the call. Especially in Pat's arms. 

"Good. Me too."

You could feel his smile as he tucked his face into your hair with a dreamy sigh. Your name was whispered and you hugged him tightly. For the first time in weeks, you fell into an easy, dreamless sleep.

[almaasi]

reaction post typed while watching SPN 15x04 “Atomic Monsters”

in which Jensen’s directing blows my mind a little bit?? holy shit. also Dean is only eating phallic things... and the writer in me is reeling. SOMEONE TELL ME THAT WAS JENSEN SINGING THAT SONG PLEASE

--

07:01pm

mostly what i wanna do right now is eat and watch queer eye buuuut i guess i should watch this first. hopefully it’s fun?? i do not want my heart ripped out or to be squicked right now

-

07:04

oh no........ becky

i like her as a character but ew ew ew all of her life choices and the way she treats sam

fingers crossed for character development

PLEASE DON’T DIE

i mean .....i don’t LIKE her but still

-

07:08

i can’t tell if the audio on my video file is fucked up or whether there’s supposed to be a voiceover here while dean’s shooting people while wearing a very nice beard

because it’s very much drowned out

-

07:10

oh hey benny

soooo this is some kind of au fic maybe

-

i uh.... fully expected dean to kiss benny right then

-

07:13 

definitely a voiceover drowned out on purpose

vaguely heard “title” as the titlecard came up

okay, interesting

-

07:15

DEAN GOT VEGGIE BACON

yee

-

sam: YOU GOTTA STOP CALLING YOURSELF THE MEAT MAN, IT DOESN’T MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS

OHHHHH SAMMY No i think he knows exactly what it means, and what it sounds like

-

dean: yeah it does

TOLD YOU. bi baby

-

07:18

real bacon

DEAN YOU VEGETABLE-HATING ASSHOLE

-

07:22

dean and his flask this season..... guess he’s gone back to quiet alcoholism

-

07:23

wow........ becky has not aged a DAY

-

07:27

becky: they just sit around and do laundry and talk

okay NOW i relate to becky

thank youuuu davy perez for letting her grow and recognize her awful awful awful mistakes

-

chuck: eeeeeeh, people like monsters

becky: meh

HELL YEAH

i mean i love monster stories but i love laundry more

-

07:29

there’s a tall cas doll in becky’s bookshelf, yay~

which.... honestly looks like a white tennis ball on a roll of paper with wings attached but still

-

07:33

cas is gone and dean is eating SO MUCH

> meat man bacon (textual penis euphemism)

> pretzels (twisted, salty rather than sweet, metaphor for Not Straight)

> alcohol (DESPAIR)

> hot dog (phallic)

-

i can’t put screenshots on my posts anymore bc tumblr sucks BUT

as dean’s sitting with the hot dog, in the shot that contains sam, there’s BISEXUAL BICYCLES

-

07:40

sam holds a hyponeedle behind his back

i’m wondering if they’d become a little out of character if chuck is writing them again

-

07:42

i’d say the orchid is significant

there’s a pink one in the house of the dad/mom/son, and the speech-making cheerleader mentioned ghost orchids

edit: nah

-

07:44

aww there’s a lil cas pop figure thingy!!! yay team free will!!!

-

07:45

chuck: fan..fic. it’s not really the same

becky: writing’s writing!!

YES BECKY

-

07:52

becky: no-one even mentions cas

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS BECKY

-

07:54

flashback to the son biting the girl’s neck, the music kind of halfway there

the directing of this is fascinating

like a music video, it’s ethereal

and... you know when you hear JUST enough of a good chord from a song but you don’t hear the rest and it’s like MMM but just an inch away from satisfying but not in a bad way?? like breathing in a meal you’re not going to eat. like walking past a bakery and not going inside. you want it but you can’t have it, IT TEASES

AND I JUST LOOKED UP THE DIRECTOR AND IT’S JENSEN

WOW. OKAY DUDE 3000 KUDOS TO YOU

this isn’t a tv show, it’s art. like. he just made art. wow 

wowow

-

there are SO MANY LAYERS HERe, particularly in the audio

the kid talking, chuck’s voiceover, the music in the truck, the heartbeat and roaring sound effects, the kid and the girl breathing and grunting in the flashback

it’s like... sensory overload but at the same time it’s delicious

.....you know what?? this scene is beyond incredible, because not only is is beautiful for what it is, but also for what it represents

because i was just thinking that this feeling, this blast and blur of ALL THE THINGS ALL AT ONCE AT THE APEX OF EMOTION feels exactly like the part where i’m writing a story and everything’s happening so fast and i gotta type AS THINGS ARE HAPPENING and words just flood from my fingertips and my heart is pounding and the world no longer exists, i’m kind of out of my body but no longer have a body

and

like

that’s literally what’s happening. all of this. is chuck writing in that exact moment, unresponsive to becky, WRITING THINGS INTO EXISTENCE

i told my family a while ago, there are some stories only a Writer can write. when they write about being a Writer and you can tell it’s so personal and would be related to the most by other writers. and davy perez has done exactly this here, with becky being us, the fandom, but then there’s THIS

that flood of Everything All At Once is illustrated PERFECTLY, not just in the text, but the way jensen obviously understood the feeling and illustrated it in such a way that i didn’t even remember the layer of this story where chuck’s writing until i was all “hey this feels like that writer thing” and IT’S EXACTLY THAT

this is mind-blowing a little bit??? i really really love this

goddamn

-

08:09

ooooooh a vampire trying to save the winchesters from humans

-

08:11

.....who’s singing this song? kind of?? sounds like jensen???

it’s probably not jensen but 100% chance he picked the song

that long note as the girl’s taken out on the stretcher. oh man it REALLY sounds like jensen

....i listened again and....... the word “SOUnds”

no, yeah, that’s jensen. the way he kind of hurls a big note up through his chest yet it comes out soft with just that teeeeny touch of huskiness?? that’s gotta be jensen

if it’s not jensen i’ll be v surprised. might be a friend of his maybe. but there’s a personal connection there definitely

edit: NO IT HAS TO BE JENSEN. IT IS RIGHT??? SOMEONE TELL ME IT IS

*misha at jibcon voice* we get a tingly feeling when we hear it so we know it’s you

-

08:17

becky: it’s AWFUL. HOPELESS. you can’t do this to the fans

i can’t tell if that textual awareness combined with my dread about the upcoming ending of the show makes me glad the writers understand, or worried that they understand but are gonna give us a dark, hopeless ending anyway

-

08:20

did the voiceover just say “bexy becky”

-

08:23

dean: now that chuck’s gone... we are..... finally free

oh no baby

oh no

-

08:26

laughing bc the ending was just “next to him sit dean and sam bobbleheads”

the end

guess it’s kind of a cause-and-effect thing. chuck types, they wobble

-

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MAN

at least becky’s not dead right?? at least according to chuck talking about her family

CHUCK IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST.

i’m so glad becky is a stable, healthily creative human who obeys consent now and is repulsed by what she did to sam

i probably don’t need to say it again but the directing in this was phenomenal, if highly unusual compared to other episodes. there was a lot of... force in it? actually now i think it about it, it had jensen’s energy. smooth and flowing with smacks of Hell Yeah and some twangs of discomfort thrown in.

also dean’s food was phallic, fight me

i think the bicycles thing probably meant less than the food did, jensen’s way more straightforward with his dick jokes. like, if he’s gonna be gay, he goes for it, doesn’t hide it in the background. someone else put those bicycles there, and he was probably like “ok sure”.

(also? dean’s “nice beaver” quip, followed by the fact that THE PERSON INSIDE THE BEAVER FURSUIT IS A GUY)

i bet i’m gonna get on tumblr after this and someone’s gonna be like “hey here’s the song that was in this episode and yeah it’s off jensen’s new album”

i’m interested to see where this story goes next. but also WOW, i’m not into the fact chuck is manipulating the storyline again and the winchesters aren’t aware of it. curious flip regarding consent issues, with chuck and becky. now chuck’s the violator and becky’s the voice of reason

anyway this was 10/10, and i’m happy to report that after i got past the scene with the red lights in the bunker, and made it to the brothers eating bacon, i’d completely forgotten i wanted to be watching something else and began to fully enjoy this episode~ yay

[spooky-skz]

Demon!Hyunjin AU PT. 3

esketit lol

 this part is soooo overdue holy shit lmao. I’m so sorry for keeping you guys waiting. If you see me in real life, you have permission to drop kick my ass. (unless you’re tyler and you’re gonna kiCK MY ASS ANYWAYS NO MATTER WHAT)

so! it has been a couple months now since you and demon!hyunjin are living together. as it turns out, this boy couLD ActuaLLY LEAVE the apartment complex.

 you didn’t know he could do that.

you thought demons were meant to stay in one area for eternity to cause spoops but that’s not the case lol.

the way you found out was sorta wild

it was a really cold weekend and snow was decorating the environment outside.

you were on a day off from work and wanted to do a few fun things since free time was rare for your occupation. You had plans on visiting the library, cafe, small shops, and lastly your favorite restaurant for dinner before it was too late in the evening and your powerful roommate would be resting.

oh and you wore a thick black sweater (ik, sounds pretty random but it’s an important detail in the fic!)

the walk to the library was peaceful and nice since it most people were still sleeping and weren’t being rowdy yet.

an old woman bid you a warm welcome softly from her desk. you returned the greeting and began walking through the aisles of books, searching for any that looked interesting.

your eyes were glued to the back cover of a small book, reading the description when someone tapped you gently from behind.

a man who looked to be in his middle 20’s and dressed in a striped long-sleeve shirt with jeans smiled at you and said, “that book’s a good one! i relate to the main character’s father.” he was mere inches from you, being too near than what most would consider appropriate distance for a stranger.

you were like, “(ㆆ_ㆆ) why tf is he standing so close to me,” inside your head. on the outside, you politely smiled and said, “ah! really? I haven’t read this one before.”

he chuckled and paused to admire your face. “Y’know, you’ve got great complexion. i’d love to take a photo of your face for my photography class,” he pointed at his camera bag which loosely hung over his shoulder.

“no thanks, I’m not particularly interested.” you replied, putting the book back in the right place and moved along, having to scoot around the guy since he was sort of blocking your path.

a few minutes went by and no book really caught your interest, but your bladder got the best of you. the librarian said the restroom was just to the left of the biography shelves so you made your way there.

ahhhhhh the restroom was nice and clean so you had no problem setting your phone on the sink as you washed your hands after you had done your business.

the walk to the cafe was short as you hummed the tune to your favorite song.

you took a seat by the window since it had a nice view of the outside. the little bell chimed above the door, signaling that another customer had entered the cafe.

you glanced at them merely- a dude in a green jacket. not deeming them as interesting, you went back to watching the snow fall from the outside.

there was some fog on the glass of the window and suddenly, letters faintly started appearing.

“Be Cautious,” it said.

what the hell :-$

first, you’re living with a demon boy and now you think you’re being surrounded by ghosts.

what good luck you haaaave.

you were obviously still very shook after a minute or so of staring at the words that hadn’t faded away at all.

the employee who softly tapped your shoulder startled you so much, your gasp scared him as well. he had almost spilled your drink on you.

“are you alright, ma’am?” he had asked you.

You: O.O yeah, yeah. just a bit jumpy ahahahaha.

he probably thought you were a bit crazy but nevertheless bid you a good day after giving you your drink.

The warm brew felt nice in such a cold weather.

The town square was as busy as usual: people were scurrying along with their families and loved ones, children were holding colorful animal-shaped balloons, some lovers were fighting while others were doing hefty PDA, loud music blared from all over the place, and overall, the shops surrounding the square were having good sales.

you stopped by a small boutique shop, observing a set of earrings on display when the familiar voice of the man from the library came from the entrance of the store.

you could feel your heart beat quicken and the next thing you did was hide behind a rack of clothes.

“excuse me, did you see a person with this hair color, around this height, with a black sweater on?” he had asked the cashier woman.

a sense of suspicion laced her voice as she replied, “why’re you looking for her?”

he laughed awkwardly, as if the question made him nervous. “she’s my sister and i’ve been looking for her for a while. i lost her in the crowd at the square. mind helping me out?”

you silently crossed your fingers in hopes that the lady wouldn’t say anything.

“oh! since that’s the case, i recall her looking at the jewelry section一” he didn’t even let her finish and just sauntered over in your direction.

“shit. shit. shit.” you were thinking.

the only other way to get out of the store aside from going in the same walk-way as him was to run alongside the aisle of mirrors which would reflect you and alert him that you were leaving.

“fuck it. it’s all i’ve got.” you thought and made a bee-line for the exit as fast as possible.

the square is usually patrolled by policemen but for some freakin’ reason, nONE could be seen when you needed them.

you put on the hood of your sweater and started making your way to the restaurant that you’d planned on having dinner at as briskly as possible.

“early dinner it is then,” you thought to yourself.

TBH you were sorta down bc today was supposed to be relaxing BUT some stupid creep had to ruin it. NOW all you wanted to do was go eat some food, walk home and enjoy the safety of your apartment with your demonic roommate.

the sun was setting and the townsquare was getting less and less busy with people going home or having dinner elsewhere.

a rough grip latched onto your shoulder, and you were forced to turn around, coming face to face with the library creep.

he was scowling and obviously irritated.

“you’re the sneakiest bitch i’ve ever met,” he said through gritted teeth.

you were doing all you could to create some distance between you two.

“fuck off! let me go!” you demanded, trying to shove him away as far as possible but the man didn’t even budge an inch.

“oh, really sweetheart? are you sure you don’t want your phone back first?” he held up the device in his other hand.

you could feel the color draining from your face.

the phone was set on the sink of the bathroom while you were washing your hand and you must have left it in there.

which meant one thing: he had followed you inside the restroom, waited till you left, & took the phone.

for a moment in time, you were completely alone with this poor excuse of a man.

lord knows what could have happened...

your eyes landed on his outfit.

a green jacket concealing a long sleeved striped shirt.

if your eyes could get any wider, they would have.

that green jacket was the same as the one you’d seen at the cafe. it was used to cover up his striped shirt that you would have noticed right away.

this entire time, you were in his sight.

his clutch on your sweater allowed him to haul you to a vacant and dark alleyway.

you kept screaming for help but the loud music of the square drowned out your pleas.

his camera bag was unzipped on the ground of the alley and not a single camera was inside.

in it, there was a pocket knife, rope, tape, and a bottle of pills.

(hold onto your wigs ladies for these next parts :O)

WITHIN A SECOND OR TWO! the man’s grip on you loosened because his body was flung against a wall with such a violent force.

you were confused and still scared as fuck.

he was lost and in pain.

both of you glanced at the entrance of the alley.

to him, there were only people passing by, and nobody appeared to notice the scene.

to you, the shadow of a tall boy stood at the entry point of the alley with glowing eyes. you’d know those crimson orbs anywhere.

(this is basically what you were seeing.)

AAAAAAAAA IT’S YA BOY DEMON!HYUNJIN

a streetlight attached to one of the building walls turned on, illuminating the face of the demon.

his facial expression read anger, irritation, and murder.

he took one step forward:

hyunjin slowly pointed his index finger upward and the body of the creep raised with it in the same pace.

this absolutely scared the crap out of the guy because he couldn’t see who was doing this to him.

his body was probably a good 8 feet above the ground.

“w-what are you doing?” you asked your roommate.

“If this dick is into dangerous situations so badly, i’m gonna put him in one.” hyunjin barked out.

“h-hey! who the hell are you talking to?!” the man frantically asked you.

hyunjin used his other hand to make a choking motion.

the creep suddenly grabbed his throat, feeling it closing up with an invisible power.

hyunjin’s eyes were glowing redder and redder the longer he tortured the man and his scowl grew scarier.

the pocket knife from the camera bag also rose up and stopped a few inches from the man’s forehead.

things were escalating so quickly before anyone could really react.

you ran to hyunjin and clamped your hands onto his arm.

(it wasn’t extremely cold or burning hot as you’d imagined, it felt human-like.)

“stop! you’re gonna kill him!” you pleaded.

a devilish grin (ahahah get it?) was plastered on his face as he said, “that’s the plan.”

“s-sir, please have mercy, wherever you are!” the man coughed out.

whaaaat? he’d heard hyunjin’s voice?

“he…. heard一” you spluttered out before hyunjin interrupted you.

“demons can allow humans hear them if they have enough juice of power. i want this son of a bitch to know that this is his end.” he answered your following question.

“a d-de-mon? oh god, no!” the man shouted.

hyunjin smirked and mocked him, “sorry, but your god isn’t here right now. leave a message after the beep,”

you saw his hands move forward, and the knife did as well but you demanded for him to stop again.

“why should i, huh? he hurt you!” hyunjin was livid at this point.

“i have a little brother, sir! please don’t kill me!” the creep begged.

“well you should’ve thought about him before going after innocent women. remember lee mijung? choi eunbi? or kim seohyeon? those are the women whose lives you’ve fucked up. they’ve got families too. families who will never get the old mijung, eunbi, or seohyeon back after you were done with them.” hyunjin growled.

“how can you know those people?” you asked him.

“we can see in your past memories too. this guy is as sick as perverts get. you would have been victim #8 if i hadn’t done anything.” he answered.

“please! i’ll do anything!” he prayed.

“hyunjin, i know he deserves to be punished but not like this. please. there has to be another way. ” you said.

it took some time but the man finally ended up on the ground with his wrists and legs tied and tape around his mouth.

a swoosh sound came from somewhere and a young boy appeared before you. he had dimples on both cheeks, black hair, doe-like scarlet colored eyes, and wore braces.

hyunjin and the mystery boy did a small handshake and exchanged a few words.

“meet jeongin. he’s a soul collector.” hyunjin introduced the boy who held his hand out.

“a... a what?” you asked as you shook jeongin’s hand.

“a soul collector! i reap souls who do the dirtiest deed on earth and bring them to hell where they will be tormented in the worst ways possible,” jeongin answered and faced the creepy man, “you thought my friend was horrifying? wait till felix and jisung get their claws on you!” he said and winked.

the creep desperately tried to scoot away from the younger boy but failed. they both disappeared in a swoosh.

hyunjin’s eyes met yours and his showed a hint of concern.

“...are you alright? he didn’t hurt you too badly, right?” he asked.

you nodded in reassurance and also asked,  “how’d you find me in the first place?”

he answered, “i’d been with you since you’ve left the apartment. who do you think left you the, ‘be cautious,’ message at the coffee place? i knew that guy was no good ever since he spoke to you at the library but i didn’t wanna interfere too much until you absolutely needed me.”

you smacked his shoulder in embarassment and shock, completely forgetting the fact that this kid was a DEMON. “DOES THIS MEAN YOU WENT IN THE BATHROOM WITH ME TOO?!”

the tips of his ears turned pink and he looked like he wanted to knock you out. “WHAT THE FUCK一 NO! i left for a bit while you were in the bathroom which is why i didn’t know he followed you inside or else i would have killed him right there!” hyunjin exclaimed.

“...well… i haven’t had dinner yet. how about we get some takeout and eat at home?” you suggested.

he shrugged and said, “sounds good to me.” 

HOLY SHIT OKAY I WASN’T PLANNING ON IT GOING THIS WAY BC I’M MAKING THIS UP AS I GO. IF YOU GUYS WANT A PART 4, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!

[benhardyisdaddy]

the breakup - part 1

MASTERLIST

Ben!RogerxReader

Word Count: 2,008

(OMG i feel like this is soooo long for chapter 1, but I had to really get the ball rolling SO IM SORRY IF IT FEELS LIKE IT DRAGS ON but i have so many ideas for this sksksksks) 

It had started off with little things.

Unreturned phone calls. The dishes in the sink he had promised to do, unwashed. Late night recording sessions he had forgotten to mention about. Dinner dates he had missed. All of these things had upset you, but you chose to ignore them because you loved him. But this time it was different. This time it was important. Personal. Probably the biggest thing to happen to you and your career.

You had been excited all day. Butterflies made a home in your stomach and your heart raced every time you thought about it. You took in a deep breath and checked your phone. Nothing. Shocker. You had called and texted Rog to remind him about tonight, but he never responded back. You close your phone and toss it on your bed. The bed that was still a mess even tho Rog had been the last one to get up. You shake your head and begin to get ready.

You finish your hair and makeup and change into your favorite black dress. The one that Roger loves. You apply another layer of lipstick and slip on your pair of heels. You look at yourself in the mirror once more and force yourself to smile. Tonight will be a good night. He’ll show up.

You grab your purse and exit your apartment and lock the door. Your cab is waiting outside of your place and you slide in. You give the man the address and say a silent prayer that Rog shows up. You finally arrive to your destination and check your phone again. Nothing. You pay the man and get out. You look up to the giant, tall building and smile. Finally.

You are at your very own art show. The word had spread around and it became a popular topic in the area. People were outside talking and smoking. You took a step forward and felt like everyone was staring at you. You wish Rog was next to you right now. He always knew how to calm your nerves during times like these.

You make your way inside and you’re immediately greeted by your manager Flynn. He’s a older man, handsome with piercing blue eyes. He smiles and you can’t help but smile back. You knew exactly why Roger didn’t like him.

“Ah, y/n! There you are!” he says as he engulfs you into a hug.

You return the hug and straighten your dress.

“It’s packed in here!” you say loudly, due to the music that’s playing.

You look around and your art fills the walls. There’s multiple people standing in front of them all, drink in hand, as they all discuss the pieces.

“Of course it! Have you seen your art? You’re a prodigy. Everyone wants a taste.” he says with a wink.

You shift and chuckle uncomfortably.

The night continued and still no sign of Roger. It had been 4 hours and it was nearing midnight. You had decided earlier to allow yourself a drink. And then 2 drinks. And then 3 and 4. You had loosened up and enjoyed yourself tremendously. By the time the night ended, a giant speech was made in your name and everyone cheered for you. But the one face you wish was in the crowd, wasn’t.

“That’s the last person.” Flynn says as he watches them exit.

Your heart sinks as the two of you make your way outside. Your cab was here.

“Every piece.” he says.

You look up confused.

“Every piece has been sold, y/n.”

You finally wrap your head around what he’s saying and a huge smile spreads across your face.

“Every piece?!” you whisper.

He nods his head and you close your eyes and squeal. You take a step and hug him. You thank him for everything and hop into the cab. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was an amazing feeling. That is until you remembered Roger had completely ditched you on the most important night of your life. You quickly arrived home and hurry upstairs. You unlock the door and shut it.

“Rog?” you called out.

Nothing.

You exhale and slip off your shoes. You pour yourself a glass of wine and lean against the kitchen counter. You didn't want to cry. You hated to cry, but the hurt you felt was impossible to not cry. Tears quickly spilled and you tried to wipe them away, but it was no use.

The noise of your front door handle jiggling made you stand up straight, sniffling. In walks Rog. He tries to quietly close the door as you make your way around the counter to stare at him. He slowly turns and jumps back a bit when he sees you.

“Jesus, babe. You scared the shit out of me.” He lightly chuckles, but you’re not laughing.

He notices your tear stained cheeks and eventually realizes how dressed up you are.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” he asks worried and takes a step forward.

You take a step back, not allowing him to comfort you.

“You weren’t there.” is all you whisper, as tears threaten to spill again.

He cocks his head confused and furrows his brows.

“You said you’d be there and you weren’t.” you say as your voice cracks.

Roger quickly understands what you mean and he closes his eyes and puts his hands over his face.

“Oh my god. Baby, I forgot,” he starts.

He looks up and you’re speed walking away from him. He rushes to you, still apologizing.

“I’m so sorry! We wrote a new song and were practicing all night. Time slipped away and-”

“And what!?” you shout at him, turning around and taking a step. “And you forgot about me?! Again?!” you yell again, still crying.

He sees the hurt on your face and wants nothing more than to comfort you. He reaches for your hand and you pull it back fast. Something you never do. He’s shocked.

“Again?” he asks quietly.

You exhale loudly and turn to walk to your closet.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve forgotten about me, Roger.” you say loudly.

“I’ve never forgotten about you!” he argues back.

You turn around once more to face him, crying again.

“Then why weren’t you there tonight?!” you yell.

He stares at you wide eyed and doesn’t know what to say.

“You still haven’t even asked me how it went.” you say offended.

“How did it go!?” he asked. He was honestly curious and was excited for you.

“I sold every piece.” you say, but no excitement in your voice.

Rog smiles and takes a step closer.

“Baby, that’s amazing! I knew you would!” he says.

You shake your head.

“This was the most important thing in the world to me,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “And I just wanted you there. But you weren’t. You never are anymore.” You speak the last line with venom.

You hiccup and wipe your eyes. He stares at you and you can tell he’s completely hurt. You know he feels awful for missing, but you were still so angry.

“I’m tired of coming second to your work, Rog. I would never miss something that was important to you! No matter what!”

He doesn’t say anything, because it’s true.

“This was important to me.” you whisper again.

“I’m so sorry,” he says with glossy eyes.

Your eyes never leave his.

“Me too,” you whisper. “So that’s why we should take a break. So you can really focus on your songs. I’m tired of feeling like a burden.”

Roger takes a step back. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost. He shakes his head fast.

“No, no, no! You’re not a burden! Ever! Please don’t say that!”

You roll your eyes and grab pajamas from your closet.

“Y/n,” he says.

“We need a break. Okay? This-” you say motioning between the two of you. “Is exhausting.”

“Is that really what you want?” he asks angry. “Then fine. Let’s take a break! So who’s leaving, huh? Who’s packing up everything and relocating their life?”

You’re taken back by his bluntness.

“Well it’s not me! My name’s on the lease!” you yell.

“Well it’s not me either! My name’s on the lease too!” he says back in the same tone.

“Well then have fun on the couch!” you scream.

“Yeah, I will!” he screams back. He turns around and slams the door behind him.

You sit on your bed and lower your head in defeat when a tiny knock on your door is heard.

“What!?” you yell out annoyed.

The door slowly opens and Roger’s head peeks in.

“I need some clothes.”

He slowly walks in and his eyes stare at you as if they’re screaming at you to tell him to stay. But you don’t. You can’t anymore. He grabs everything that he needs and walks to the door, refusing to make eye contact now.

He goes to walk out, but stops.

“I really am sorry.” he says quietly, not turning around. He walks out and shuts it behind him.

You stare at the door as tears stream down. You just wanted him to act like a boyfriend. But now he’s your ex. And he’s still living here. Great.

______________________________________

The next morning it had felt like a train had run you over. Your head pounded and your body ached. As well as your heart. Flashbacks of last night's episode took over your brain. You threw your hands over your face and exhaled loudly. You and Roger had broken up, but the two of you are stubborn and won’t leave the apartment.

You slowly sit up and stare at your bedroom door. You know just behind it, Roger was passed out on the couch. Serves him well for what he did. A break is what you two need, despite what he might think. You slowly slip from the warmth of your covers and stand up. You stretch and throw on your red silk robe and walk to slowly open your door.

You tiptoe to your living room and there on the couch is Roger sprawled out. He’s on his back and his hair is going in every direction. He has one arm raised over his head and the other rests on his lower stomach. You can spot a tiny bit of drool and can’t help but laugh. Roger stirs in his sleep and you quickly walk into the kitchen. How badly you wanted to kiss him and tell him good morning, but every time you think about him missing out on your art show, anger fills you.

You start a pot of coffee when you hear footsteps behind you. Out of habit, you wait for a pair of arms to hug you from behind, but it doesn’t happen. You slowly turn and Roger stands in front of you with sad, heavy eyes.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

Roger shifts uncomfortably and rubs the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Can’t we just forg-” he goes to say, but you cut him off.

“So you can still have half of your closet in the bedroom. We can divide the room in half if you want, or you can claim the couch like last night.” you state.

He looks at you and shakes his head. “You’re really going through with this, huh? Just throwing everything we have away?”

“You threw everything away the minute you chose music over me, Roger.”

You walk past him and back to your room.

“I didn’t choose it over you!” he yells. “You’re just mad I forgot your stupid art show!” he shouts.

You stop in your tracks and slowly turn around. Roger’s eyes go wide as he suddenly realized his choice of words. “I-I didn’t mean that… I didn’t mean stupid, it just came out…” he tries to say.

“Well I’m sorry for burdening you with my stupid art show. Won’t happen again.”

And with that you slam the door in his face.

[the-monkeies-girl]

Can I please get some Brian love??? I know everyone is going nuts for Ben Hardy but I've been so thirsty for Gwilym Lee I need content!! 😫😫😫😫 Love all your Roger headcanons btw!! 😘😘😘

Me: you get brian love, you get BRIAN LOVE, EVERYONE GETS BRIAN LOVE HAVE SOME KISSING HEADCANONS!

Warnings: Language, some mild crude humor, suggestive content.

Jawline / Neck kisses.

A soft and gentle kiss that makes Brian melt right in front of you. Whether it’s while the two of you are out and about and you decide to surprise him with such a kiss or when it’s the two of you are lazing around in bed during one of the rare slow days that Brian actually has and your lips are hot against the skin of his neck before peppering to his jawline, leaving a small trail of saliva behind, Brian loves these kisses. 

Loves to give them as well, especially when he’s able to hold your head in his hand and literally ravish your neck in kisses before delivering a few kisses to your jaw, along with a few bites here and there just to tease. 

It always makes you laugh when he’s got stubble and proceeds to give you kisses to your neck for the prickly hairs tickle your skin, often causing you to laugh out and toss your head back, hand on his chest as he attempts to nuzzle into you further, “What? Do you not like it?” He asks you, a bright smile on his face. He knows its ticklish. Hands flat against his chest, Brian rolls over in bed, the only thing covering his modesty being a thin white blanket as he’s pressing his face into your chest and rubbing. Your back arches as laughter spills into the air, fingers moving to tangle into his hair as he begins kissing your sternum, glancing up at you with mischief running wild in his eyes.

“It’s one,” Brian strummed the guitar and moved his hip to the left in a very awkward way as if he had pants made of concrete on. “Then two.” He said and moved his hips to the right this time with a very similar flabbergasted movement that was barely considered an advance to his attempt at dancing.  Can you do that?” He asked you as you stood across the stage from him. It was sound check for a local gig, your attention had previously been on Roger and John who were cuddling up to each other by the drums, staring up while Freddie talked to them about a new set that he and Brian had come up with. Better songs always meant a better show for the audience which Freddie was always willing to give. You laughed at Brian and nodded. From a distance, the dancing didn’t seem that terrible, but you knew what was coming if you dared to sneak closer to your boyfriend. “I’m not asking for a nod, I’m asking if you can dance, (Name).”“Depends, May.” You made your way towards him with a water in your hand, taking a small drink before continuing with sarcasm leaking poisonously in the tone you were using. “What do you consider dancing? Or, do you dance like all the other men I’ve danced with?” Your voice was flirty yet serious at the same time. “From that hip movement I got from you a second ago, I’d say you only know like two moves. Maybe three if you combine the two moves from before.” Gesturing your hands around, Brian’s face deadpanned as he looked at you, eyebrows raising at your intense honesty.“(Name) is right.” John peeped up and smiled at you, giving a thumbs up to show that he was on your side. Brian lifted his hand and scoffed, to which John shrugged carelessly and said, “You can’t bloody dance, Bri. It’s painful to watch…”“Thank you, Deaky.” You laughed as Brian strummed a few notes on his guitar before resuming his hip movements of side to side. “And that’s… Fucking awful.” Throwing your head back in a chuckle, you touched Brian’s arm very gently before resting your water down by the drum set. That only lasted a moment before Roger picked it up and took a drink, sitting down and watching with piqued interest as you attempted to show Brian how to dance.  “Here look, you need to loosen up, babe.” You reached down and grasped your lovers hips, narrowly avoiding bumping into the guitar that was now hanging from its strap around his broad shoulders. Brian perked up at the feeling of your hands on his body as he always did and looked down. He was used to the affection, but not so much so with such silence and with the rest of the band right there to watch. “You can do better than that.” Your voice finally tugged him back into reality. Clearing his throat, Brian made a face of distaste and tried to loosen his body as you suggested, but to no avail.” Think about last night, you were limber and so sexy. Your body was loose, soooo wild…”You purred at him, hoping that perhaps that would be some motivation to get your love to dance properly as you moved his hips once again, this time towards you in a rather crude move that resembled something more inherently sexual. Brian shuttered forward, placing his foot on the ground firmly as to not completely overpower you with his height as a kiss was placed tenderly on the underside of his jaw. “Think of that.”“Everyone, I think we’ve got a porno about to start. I’ve got the camera.”Brian looked over at Freddie, the one who had said that and gave him a look. “Only in your dreams, Fred.” He joked back and looked down at you. “Continue.”Chuckling, you moved your boyfriend’s hips with your hands and said, “Like this. You’re too stiff before. Like a board.”“Or something else Brian’s got.” Roger muttered causing Freddie and John to laugh.“Rog, I’d put a sock in it before I personally do it for you.” You grinned cynically at him but that expression changed when you looked back at Brian. “Babe, if you really can’t dance then maybe just feel the beat from the music and I don’t know, bend your knees and do your awkward little thing and maybe it’ll look good enough.”“I can dance.” He defended as you stood up on close to your tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his jawline, your fingers coming up to cup the side of his slender face. Brian smiled at you in a charming fashion which caused you to smile in return. “I can fucking dance my arse off if I wanted to.”“I’m sure you just nervous about dancing in front of so many people, love.” This was said in more of a whisper, a sort of support as you pressed another kiss to his jawline, seeing him physically relax into the palm of your hand with a small sigh.John sat in the background and shook his head. “Or, maybe, this is just a suggestion though, don’t mind me… Maybe he just can’t dance?”

Arm kisses.

Imagine sitting on the couch in the recording studio, curled up next to Brian who was glancing up at John with a confused look as he tried to explain what sort of sound he wanted on the next song. They were still experimental, but, Brian had his reserves about a song that didn’t sound like Queen, and sounded like they were trying to conform with the rest of the songs being played on the radio. You could see his contemplation running on his face as he sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders, “Are you sure the sound is right, Deaky?”“‘Cause you know,” Roger said from across the room, sitting at his drumset, “We’ve never been ones for disco. I mean, Brian can’t even dance. Your love gave the blond a dirty look which caused you to stifle your laugh.“You need to broaden your horizons, it’s like there’s a bloody stick up your-”“I like disco.” You peeped up into the conversation, John giving you a smile and pointing at you as if to say ‘My thoughts exactly!!!’.“Disco?” Brian looked down at you and smiled hesitantly, “really, babe? Disco? You want to go out to a club and dance to disco?”“You’re just angry because you can’t dance.” You teased and pressed your lips against his bare arm slowly. “So, disco doesn’t make sense to you because of you lack of rhythm.”“Oh, my god.” Brian laughed and threw his head back against the edge of the couch. “You’re killing me. I’ve died. Just, died. I play guitar for one of the most famous bands in the world and yet I lack the rhythm to dance to disco. I’ve died, thank you love.”Scooting over, you kissed his arm once more to assure him that he was fine and laughed cheekily, standing up and patting John’s back happily, “You’ve got the right idea, Deaks. Make it more disco like. I want to see Bri’s soul leave his body.”A groan emitted from the dark curly haired man on the couch.

Butterfly kisses.

One of the more intimate types of kisses that Brian has fallen in love with over the years. While at the beginning of your relationship, things were hard, including the kisses that were often followed by sex, now that you’ve gotten to know each other and have fallen in love, Brian’s favorite sort of kiss isn’t technically a kiss. He adores holding your face in his hands, as if he were holding the entire world in his palms, leaning forward and holding his forehead against you, close enough that if he moved just a centimeter inwards, he could give you a kiss, but at this proximity, you can feel the ghost of his eyelashes against your cheeks as he shuts his eyes and stays like that for a few seconds, seemingly admiring the silence and the endearment of being so entwined with someone else. One of the last bits of affection he shows you before going on the road with Queen. He savors being close. He savors being with you, knowing that he won’t see you for months.

Whenever he does this, you have a tendency of lifting your hands and tangling them into his thick, dark hair and holding him there, afraid to let him go because you never know when you’ll see him again. Eventually you have to, knowing that he has to leave, and with a drop in his broad shoulders, Brian kisses your palm and then your wrist before forcing himself to pull away.

“I don’t want you to leave, babe…” You whispered lightly, your face nuzzled into your lover’s neck while his thick and curly hair seemed to wrap around your cheeks, encasing you in warmth and in enduring security. He shifted in the bed momentarily so he could look down at you properly with sleep still clinging desperately to whatever shred of relaxation his body was still in. Brian breathed in, his chest expanding with your hand resting on it before he exhaled rather slowly, shutting his eyes and kissing your forehead. You knew that was a tender response, one that said right out, ‘I don’t want to leave either’ without the actual need for words. But, it was the inevitable truth that in a few hours, you were going to be left alone for nearly four months while Brian was gone with Queen to tour America. You felt a beam of pride hit you at that thought, as well as a string of melancholy. Brian was blooming, he was successful within the group with beautiful guitar riffs that were sweet when needed and sharp at other times, but then you’d remember the loneliness that you were going to endure without him, the only form of communication being a phone call here and there when he could spare the time to do so between the shows. It was a double edged sword that Brian was trying to balance, his career and his personal life, as best he could though you had assured him over and over again that you were going to be by his side and support him through the ups and downs that were sure to come with such an on the rise band.Sitting up ever so slightly, you perched yourself onto Brian’s naked chest, your skin now burning as it pressed against his slightly hairy sternum and for a second, you swore your hearts were beating to the same tune. Looking down at him, you dipped your head and peppered a few silent kisses to his pouty lips, up to his nose were you left one more kiss before collapsing gently back into his chest, face pressing into the crook of his neck. “You’ve got to send me things while you’re there. Like, I don’t know. Magnets…” You threw that out absentmindedly, trying to think of the items that people brought home after being on vacation.“Magnets, love?” Brian asked with a bit of perplexity running through his voice, as well as amusement. He hadn’t expected you to say something so mundane. You didn’t collect things like that, yet, you brought it up.“Yes, so when you come home we can both enjoy them.” You laughed, tilting your head up a bit so you could look at your beautiful boyfriend. Dark hair expanded onto the pillow below his head, almost giving the impression that Brian had a halo made of some very dark, very plush matter. “We can put them everywhere! You can use them to hold up your lyric sheets on the fridge so I can read them in the morning when I make coffee.” You teased. “It’ll be our rendition of shitty kid drawings that we’re forced to love until they become our favorites.”“That’s very considerate of you. I’ll be sure to only give you my shitty lyrics to put on the fridge, otherwise what’s the point?” It was his turn to joke around, your laughter spilling into the air which made Brian feel hot and gentle inside. “I’ll be sure to send you a magnet in the post from every state I go to. Just make sure you put them in alphabetical order.” Brian’s voice was deep, coming from the pit of his chest and came off as being absolutely sultry. You were ready to drown in the sound had he kept talking. There was no need at this point for words. You had said all you needed to, joked about what was going to hurt the most and accepted that you would see your love again in four months time, and then you would jump into his arms and smother him with kisses.But for now, all that was left to be done was the expected but as Brian reached up to hold your face, the heat of his palm burning scores into your skin, it felt spontaneous and new as if he were doing it for the first time. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes shutting in anticipation as he finally pressed his forehead against yours. It was a soft touch, but you felt the headache of loneliness sneaking in behind the affection. Once he pulled away, he’d be getting out of bed to get ready to leave. “You could always come with us. We’ll kick Roger off the tour bus.”You laughed at that, reaching up and holding his hands to your face. “You need Roger, babe.”“I mean, do we?” He scrunched his face up playfully, “I’m sure I can teach you how to play drums. You can replace him.”Kissing his lips slowly, you let your mouths mesh together and stay like that for more than was really needed, but you needed desperately to remember how it felt to kiss him. “Maybe next tour.” You joked, watching happily as Brian’s mouth curled into a smile.“That better be a promise, love.”

Thank you for reading! These are my first Brian headcanons and I hope you all liked them! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! Hit me up with some more requests for Movie! Verse Queen if you want more! Thanks!!! And thank you @dana-in-wonderland for helping me come up with ideas for him!

–

[pitchedperfectly]

Bad Day Cookies

Beca was in a bad mood. She was pretty sure it was bad enough to make everyone within a ten foot distance to steer clear. The Bellas especially, who had spent the past three and a half years with her, knew she was not to be bothered while in her mood.

Emily, though, was new. Therefore, she figured she would bring it upon herself to cheer up her captain. She had been studying with Stacie, who was tutoring her in biology. When she heard the front door to the Bellas house slam shut, she looked up from her seat on Stacie’s bed curiously.

“Oh, God,” Stacie muttered under her breath. “Prepare yourself, Legs, Beca’s in a mood.”

Continue reading here or on AO3!

Emily was really happy that Stacie liked her enough to give her a nickname, despite being an inch or two taller than herself. That thought was stuck in the back of her mind as she silently wondered how Stacie knew it was Beca that had slammed the door. She stewed on it for a minute before voicing her question, listening to the sudden thunder of the rest of the Bellas racing up the stairs to avoid the massacre that would happen downstairs if they stayed.

“She’s done it since sophomore year when we got this house.” Stacie explained. “I know it’s her because no one else in a bad mood would slam the door that hard. Except maybe CR, but her moods are a different story.”

“Oh.” Emily frowned. “Should we go see what’s wrong?” Her frown deepened when Stacie vehemently shook her head, mild fear in her eyes.

“Hell, no. The first time she slammed the door, we thought the same thing. I’m shocked we still have all of our limbs intact, I thought she’d rip them off completely.”

“Hmmm...”

“Seriously, Em, I wouldn’t bother. She usually just bakes in her misery for a couple of hours before turning back to her regular moody self.”

The word bakes set off a lightbulb in Emily’s mind, and she leapt off the bed. “I’ll make her some cookies! Nobody can be mad at cookies , right? Plus, my brain is kinda dead from all this biology stuff. I mean, honestly, how is photosynthesis gonna help me with my psych degree?”

Stacie reached out to grab Emily’s arm, continuing to shake her head. “Do what you want, but just know you’re being really brave right now.”

Emily laughed on her way out the door, thinking Stacie was just over-exaggerating. She made her way down the stairs, before coming to a stop in the doorway to the living room for a couple seconds, admiring Beca.

Beca was sitting against the arm of the couch, back to Emily. She was already huddled over her laptop, a blanket that was way bigger than her covering her shoulders and headphones in place over her ears. Emily could hear the annoyed mutters coming from the shorter girl, and she couldn’t help a giggle from escaping her lips. Beca was just too cute.

My crush is getting a little out of control, she thought to herself.

Emily’s smile froze on her face when Beca whipped her head around, a death glare already set in place.

“Who the fuck---” her face softened considerably when she saw Emily (who was suddenly scared shitless), but not by much. “Oh. Hi, Legacy.” She then returned to whatever she was doing on her laptop, and Emily took it upon herself to cautiously make her way over to the other side of the couch.

She sat, facing Beca. “Hey.”

Beca looked up again, eyeing her curiously. Emily almost laughed again - it was like looking at a caged animal. She smiled softly when Beca nodded her head, the annoyance clear on her face.

“What’s going on?” Emily asked, trying to sound as casually as possible. She didn’t get an answer - Beca just raised an eyebrow at her before focusing her attention back on her laptop. A minute or two passed; Emily made a move to get up, but was stopped by Beca putting up a finger. So she sat back against the couch arm and waited patiently.

Another few minutes passed, and Beca finally leaned back and sighed heavily. She lightly shoved her laptop towards Emily, who startled in surprise.

“What do you think of this?” Beca handed her her headphones, and Emily let out a little gasp at being offered them. In her eight months at the Bellas, she had never seen Beca let anyone touch her headphones. Except maybe Chloe; but that was mostly because she often weasled their way into her possession.

Emily slid the headphones over her head and pressed the spacebar, waiting for the music. She half-expected the worlds set Beca had been working on, but was instead surprised by the piano that came through. They were short notes, spaced out between each other; nothing accompanied the notes except for small hits on a ride cymbal. She continued listening as the piano continued adding notes to fill the lengthy pockets of silence, smiling when a violin finally entered to join.

The song continued, and felt very melancholy and almost.. Nostalgic? She didn’t know how to place it. She swayed to the beats, though, and her ears were very delighted to hear the rest of the orchestral ensemble come in. Emily was broken out of her reverie when the music came to an abrupt stop.

She looked back up at Beca, who was staring at her intensely. Emily blinked a couple times before gently taking the headphones off.

“Wow, that was crazy good. Unfinished?”

Emily could see the ghost of a smile that appeared on Beca’s face.

“Uh.. yeah. I’ve been trying to hash out some kind of lyrics for it all day because my boss has been on my ass about being original and having a voice and blah blah blah-- but I literally can’t figure anything out.”

“Well, you don’t have to have lyrics to have a voice!” Emily replied brightly, to which Beca let out a groan.

“Yeah, I wish. He’s all about the beauty of lyrics.”

Deducing those words to be the reason behind Beca’s mood, Emily remembered why she had come downstairs in the first place. She hopped out of her seat - making Beca jump in surprise in the meantime - and extended a hand.

“C’mon grumpy. Let’s bake some cookies?”

“Excuse me, what?”

Emily leaned forward so that her face was inches away from Beca, who shifted backwards uncomfortably. “Cookies!” She then stood straight up, hand still extended. “Whenever I would get into a bad mood, my mom would force me into the kitchen and we would bake cookies together until I wasn’t anymore. Soooo, I decided that that’s what I’ll do with you!”

Beca scoffed. “What makes you think I’m in a bad mood?”

“Uh, maybe the fact that you slammed the front door and made everyone who was down here scamper upstairs like scared mice?”

Beca visibly deflated at this. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Nevermind that,” Emily shook her head, gesturing wildly to her hand. “Get up, let’s go!”

Seeing that there was no alternative for her, Beca sighed and let Emily hoist her up out of her seat. She haphazardly closed her laptop before she was dragged into the kitchen. And in true Beca fashion, she watched as Emily got out all of the ingredients needed for the cookies rather than helping her.

“So uh, we don’t have any chocolate chips... so we’re just gonna stick to snickerdoodle this time, if that’s okay.” Emily’s voice came from behind the cupboard she was sticking her head into, and Beca blinked a couple times.

“Dude, don’t even worry. I’ve had enough chocolate chip to last me a lifetime, living in this house.”

“Good!” Emily replied, closing the cupboard to turn and smile at the other girl. “Because there are literally no other alternatives.”

“I have a feeling that much of your open-ended questions are not actually up for debate.” Beca said, her voice deadpan. She rolled her eyes at Emily’s excited nod of agreement.

“Okay, so melt the butter for me please?” Emily all but threw the sticks of butter at Beca before she could even say a reply.

“God, you are so lucky I caught this.”

“They’re literally solid, Beca, don’t be so dramatic.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a fun activity?”

Despite her snarky comment, Beca couldn’t stop herself from smiling even if she tried. Which she wasn’t. They were working together in relative silence, mixing together the ingredients. Emily only spoke up to give Beca instructions, who insisted that she knew what she was doing.

And then Beca took some flour in her hands and threw it into Emily’s face. Beca doubled over in laughter when she saw the look of utter shock on the legacy’s face. When she finally managed to calm her giggles, she looked up and saw Emily brushing flour out of her hair and started her laughter again.

Emily had never heard Beca laugh so hard before. And while she had been taken aback at the sudden powder in her face, she couldn’t help but laugh along. She then took a handful of flour into her own hands and threw it at the smaller girl, who only laughed harder when she was hit in the face. Soon enough, there was a small pile of flour on the kitchen floor and two girls laughing so hard that tears streaked down their flour-caked face.

They were only interrupted by Stacie’s cry of, “What the hell is going on!?” followed by Fat Amy’s raucous shout of, “Cookies!” that stopped them from continuing their laughter.

Beca and Emily took one look at each other and gave a subtle nod, grins still apparent on their faces. They stood up and continued mixing ingredients together as if nothing had happened.

“Hello? We’re right here ?” Stacie asked, annoyed. Beca cast a peek at Emily, whose lips were upturned in a smile she was desperately trying to hide. She watched as the legacy took a small handful of flour from the bag that was sitting next to her, and inconspicuously gathered up her own.

They heard Stacie huff and step into the kitchen, along with Fat Amy. That was their cue, and they turned on their heels to face the two girls and threw the flour in the air, starting up their insane laughter once more.

They heard the rest of the Bellas begin to clamber down the stairs at the sound of Stacie’s angry scream, and the kitchen was virtually chaos. The girls who were lucky enough not to have gotten flour at them watched in amusement as Stacie wiped flour off her face. Amy had just shrugged it off and made her way over to the balls of dough they had made, popping one in her mouth despite Emily’s cries of, “No, don’t!”

Chloe eventually established order in the kitchen, seeing as Beca was too busy stifling her laughter to do anything about it. She fixed the two with a stern glare before telling them to clean up their mess.

“I expect perfect cookies!” she said, not being able to be angry for too long. Her signature Chloe-smile was now on her face, and she ushered the Bellas out of the kitchen. Emily watched them leave, traces of laughter still apparent on her face.

The kitchen settled back into silence, but something in the atmosphere had changed. Beca couldn’t wipe the smile off her face, and she kept stealing glances at Emily. The other girl pretended not to notice, but her own smile was still on her face. By the time they finally put the cookies in the oven to bake, Beca had come to her own conclusion that no one else had ever successfully gotten her out of one of her moods as easily as Emily had.

She turned around to lean against the counter to watch Emily, who was rummaging around for their dustpan.

“What?” Emily asked when she finally noticed the staring.

“You’re just so fucking cute.” Beca said without thinking, instantly smacking herself in the head when she realised what she said. “Oh my God, I’m an idiot. Sorry-- You just. Yeah.”

Emily set the dustpan on the floor before making her way over to Beca, remnants of flour still on both of their faces. She stood in front of the other girl, who was avoiding her eyes.

“I’m cute, huh?” Emily asked with a smug look on her face. “That’s great, tell me more.”

Beca huffed before finally meeting their eyes. “Y’know, even with flour on your face, you’re really beautiful. I don’t think that’s really fair.”

Suddenly feeling very flustered, Emily felt her face getting hotter as a blush reached her cheeks. “Yeah, well. Take a look at yourself, then. It’s not exactly fair, either.”

“Mmm.”

Their proximity was making Emily nervous. She knew what she wanted - Hell, she had had a crush on Beca since before they even formally met - but Beca looking at her with soft eyes made her wonder if Beca wanted the same, too.

Before she could overthink it, Beca stood on her tiptoes to brush their lips together.

Fuck it . Emily thought, before bringing a hand up to Beca’s cheek and fully kissing the other girl. She was in bliss; Beca’s lips were so soft and so gentle, and she could have stood there kissing her forever if it weren’t for the fact that she was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Beca asked when they parted, smile on her face.

“You had to stand on your tiptoes to kiss me.” Emily said with a laugh, watching as Beca’s smile slid off her face to morph into a faux annoyed look.

“You know what, screw you. Height jokes are a low blow.”

Emily stifled the joke that was screaming at her to come out, instead leaning down to give Beca one more quick peck on the lips. Beca’s annoyed face lightened up a bit, but returned when she heard Fat Amy’s scream in the living room.

“ THE ACA-BITCHES ARE MAKING OUT!”

Emily slid her hand into Beca’s, who squeezed gently as the thunder of Bellas racing down the stairs filled their ears.

Sure, Beca had a bad day. But who was to say a nice tall drink of water wouldn’t make it better?

[antiquecompass]

hey :) for the music asks, pls do: 2, 4, 12, 18, 26, 31, 34 on creepy summers? (just like creepy autumns, but hotter)

2. Favorite Lyrics?

There are so many. Obvs I keep having dreams of pioneers, and pirate ships, and Bob Dylan is close to my heart (and honestly just the entirety of ‘I Am Disappeared’). Thanks to family traditions I’ll always loudly sing, Out on the road today I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac from Don Henley’s ‘Boys of Summer.’ I think it just really depends on the mood I’m in, and how sometimes when you hear a song for the first time the music and vocal performance and lyrics can feel like a revelation.

4. Top 5 Favorite Songs At This Moment

1. IDGAF by Dua Lipa 2. Little Changes by Frank Turner 3. High Hopes by Panic! at the Disco 4. White Flag by Bishop Briggs 5. Come Wander With Me by Brian Fallon and 6. Finesse Remix by Bruno Mars feat Cardi B bc that’s the song I have to play at work around 5:00am to keep my ass awake.

12. Saddest Song You Know?

Growing up it was def. ‘Tears in Heaven’ by Eric Clapton. And then I watched In the Flesh and met Keaton Henson and cry my eyes out every single time I listen to ‘You.’ Also ‘Never Dreamed You Leave in Summer’ by Stevie Wonder. Holy shit do I cry every damn time. Also like, everything Donny Hathaway ever sang. Such a voice.

18. You’re forced to listen to only one album for the rest of your life, what album is it?

Soooo hard. I’m going to go with Rites of Passage by the Indigo Girls bc it’s absolutely a formative album I’ve been listening to since I was 8. And also because I refuse to choose between England Keep My Bones, The ‘59 Sound, and Handwritten which are also top contenders.

26. If you could get any lyrics tattooed, which would you choose?

And come morning, I am disappeared

Again this song means so much to me, it came to me when I was going through a hell of a time in my life, and it’s like a musical touchstone for me.

Can you play me a memory?

A little Billy Joel love in memory of my father, curled up next to him, and signing ‘Piano Man’ as loud and vivaciously as we could.

There are a ton of others, but those two are the most likely to happen. There ones that would only make sense to me, but that’s kind of the point.

31. 25 songs to play at your funeral 

Honestly never thought about this, but let’s go with a mixture of some of favorite songs and ones that would actually, like, fit a wake and funeral. There will be no rhyme or reason here.

1. Only the Good Die Young bc honestly? Family tradition. 2. Fiddler’s Green bc why the hell not 3. Ave Maria is also another family tradition. 4. Born to Run for the post-funeral gathering bc Bruce at his best should make some people smile. 5. Miles Davis and the Cool 6. Landslide 7. I honestly dare someone in my family, right now, to put Livin’ on a Prayer in there. 8. My Way bc everyone needs a little Sinatra at their send off. 9. Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay 10. If I Ever Leave This World Alive 11. The Parting Glass 12. Bright Morning Stars 13. Hometown Glory 14. Dream On 15. Cathedrals 16. Unsung Psalm 17. No Surrender 18. An American Girl  19. Forget Me Not 20. Frank Turner’s Eulogy immediately followed by 21. Peggy Sang the Blues 22. Morning Comes 23. Going Out In Style 24. Bye Bye Bye (bc I’m an asshole) 25. Thriller (bc I’ll go to my cremation, still as a smartass.)

34. Can you give me a 10 song playlist oncreepy summers

Basically I’d just suggest Delta Rae’s first album and following ep, but I’ll build a mix around those three songs.

Basically this is your humid filled, cicada screaming, made a deal with a crossroad’s demon hell of a night mix.

1. Say Hallelujah by Tracy Chapman 2. Chasing Twisters by Delta Rae 3. The Ghost of Tom Joad by Bruce Springsteen 4. At Night by the Eagle Rock Gospel Singers 5. I Will Never Die by Delta Rae 6. As I Went Out One Morning by Wovenhand 7. House of the Rising Sun by Tracy Chapman 8. I Seen What I Saw by 16 Horsepower 9. Bottom of the River by Delta Rae  10. Cross Road Blues by Robert Johnson