#somehow my handwriting in Casual Situations is either like

[paalove]

If you are still taking prompts could i interest you in some Alan Gaipa? Alan wanting to take the next step with Gaipa. Desperately. But he is scared. Scared of proposing. Scared of the same thing happening as it did with Wen. Because he can't lose gaipa. He loves him.

i am using this for my HAPPY BIRTHDAY KHAOTUNG fic bc gaipa is his very most kitty-character. xoxo

...

Head in his hands, elbows braced on the table, and tie carefully folded on the windowsill, Alan breathes fast and sharp.

All the what ifs, all the memories, all the torn-off parts of who he used to be and doesn’t want to be again and all the ones he does want back, they race past. Grabbing them would be impossible and counterproductive, so he just lets the feelings past as they make his heart race and his head pound and his breathing grow ever-more-shallow-

Ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-

He opens his eyes and swipes the timer stop button on his phone.

Pushes back his chair.

Walks to the window and opens the blinds.

Does his top button, ties his tie, checks his appearance in his phone camera.

Out to meet the next client; their meeting is scheduled to start in ten minutes, but this one likes to get here approximately seven minutes early and is lucrative enough that Alan won’t leave him waiting.

As he opens the door, it catches his eye, and he pauses.

The post-it note that started that… situation is bright yellow and says, in his own handwriting, Follow up on Gaipa conversation.

He’s got a meeting and he’s done panicking about it.

Alan folds the post-it note neatly into quarters and slips it into his pocket – now it’s time for the client.

No panicking is allowed during – he is professional.

Normally.

Okay, he’s had a couple of slips.

But this meeting goes well, and agreements are made, and Alan in general proves himself to be completely capable of conducting a negotiation with someone who wants a similar outcome to him. Which is good.

It means the panic was an aberration.

But the post-it note continues to burn a hole in his pocket and the conversation continues to pop up in his mind at odd moments.

Gaipa had sounded – had seemed, entirely, in how he spoke and sat and looked – completely casual when he’d said, “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to get married,” over his plate. Less casual but certainly not particularly intense had been his addition of, “I’ve never really cared about it being legally binding, but it’s romantic, I just want the meaning.”

Everything about the tone was casual, so Alan hadn’t taken it as a hint until he woke up this morning.

Because yes, Gaipa had been sitting and speaking casually, but Alan is pretty sure he planned it that way – might have even been practicing.

They had been, after all, speaking over a meal – a date, really, because they make Tuesday nights theirs deliberately – which Gaipa had insisted on cooking entirely by himself.

Normally they make it together.

Alan likes making it together with Gaipa, who always ends up in his space or under his shoulder but somehow is never even slightly in the way, and the way Gaipa doesn’t stop smiling even when he’s focused, and the light in Gaipa’s kitchen always makes him look so soft and delicate even though he has those hard biceps and abs that-

He likes cooking for their dates together; Gaipa had insisted on cooking by himself, this time.

So, Alan had been a little disappointed.

Distracted.

Not focused on what it all meant, with the candles and all the foods Gaipa likes best to either feed Alan with a fork or be fed. And the marriage conversation.

He can’t remember what, exactly, he said in reply, but it wasn’t-

Well, it wasn’t an I do or a Will you or even an I’m so sorry I can’t believe I dropped the ring that many times like he’d once said to Wen.

Wen isn’t-

He isn’t a part of the issue, not exactly, because it’s not like Alan’s still hung up on him – it’s been years, and they see each other from time to time, and he’s even stopped the spiteful voice at the back of his mind that wonders, when he sees Jim, how long until Wen gets bored again.

(The petty voice in the front of his mind that points out how much more of a catch Gaipa is than Jim is still there, but he thinks that’s fine. Gaipa’s amazing.)

The issue, though, is there, and it’s not that Alan definitely failed to pick up on a probing question. Gaipa’s extremely understanding, and if Alan had woken up, realised, and called him – if he called him right now, even! – to explain that he completely missed it, Gaipa would have softly laughed and then fondly asked him what he thought now that he knew. Because Gaipa wasn't actually asking him to propose, Alan knows, he was trying to open the conversation. The proposal wouldn't even be soon.

No, the issue is that Alan doesn’t know what he thinks.

And, yes, Wen isn’t a present-day factor in that, but he is a historical factor in it – because Alan agrees with Gaipa that it’s romantic, that it’s meaningful, it’s something he always wanted too.

Wanted.

Alan hasn’t been married, but he has been engaged, and he doesn’t know that it did anything for him-

He does, though, is the thing, it did a lot for him. It made him so happy and it made Wen so happy too, they wanted to be married and they planned for it, in a future kind of way, and it didn’t matter anyway.

It did matter.

But.

Alan’s workday ends and he hasn’t been able to complete the thought.

He won’t be able to complete the thought.

It’s a jigsaw piece, but an old one – one from a puzzle there’s no call for him to ever look at again.

The only way to finish thinking it through is together.

Of course.

Gaipa’s a romantic and Alan has remembered how to be one too, so he sometimes sends him flowers – usually to the stall, in the middle of the day, where Gaipa can blush and laugh loudly and bear up under the teasing of the aunties and uncles with unconcealed pride and return their ribald jokes with worse ones.

He has a relationship with the florist, is the point, so when he stops in on the way out, she’s nice to Alan and gives him a good deal on a couple of sky blue… orchids? Alan is not great with flower names, they definitely aren’t orchids, but Gaipa likes light blue.

And he gets home-

Alan gets to Gaipa’s place and doesn’t let himself in, even though the key sits next to his own on the keyring, because it feels like the wrong way to start-

Okay, he doesn’t let himself in because he’s nervous.

Knocking gives him time to count his breaths and practice making his face not look terrified before-

“Alan!”

Gaipa looks surprised – it might be the flowers, but it’s probably the failure to use his key – but it turns into one of his sweetest smiles, the slow-building ones that always make Alan think of sunset over the field he used to walk home along, after school as a kid.

It makes him slow, but he manages to say, “Hi, Gaipa,” before Gaipa is putting his arms around him.

He hugs back with one arm, holding the flowers aside, and breathes in Gaipa’s hair – he must have just showered, because it’s damp and smells of his mint shampoo.

“Oh,” Gaipa says, twisting briefly to look at the arm held awkwardly out by his back, “Wait, are those flowers?”

He doesn’t pull out of the hug, so it’s into the mint-scented hair that Alan admits, “I didn’t notice what Tuesday was about. Then I noticed and got scared.”

“Hm,” Gaipa hums, warm and amused but nowhere near mocking, “Are you still scared?”

Alan nods silently and suggests, “You can fix that, right?”

Laughing, Gaipa squeezes him, and Alan really hopes the flowers are still okay.

He’s already getting there.

#moonlight chicken #alangaipa #robfic

[griba]

Can I just say your handwriting is very nice?? Its very clean and has round corners, its like a really nice font sgdfdghgf

aww ty :D i try lol

#somehow my handwriting in Casual Situations is either like #Basically A Font #or just Some Lines #and theres no way to tell how itll go #no matter what im writing about. like it could be me in a car writing down 'among us nae nae' in cursive #or it could be me messing up my name on an Important Document for school or whatever #but in my art i usually Scribble Write in the sketch and then go over it once im used to drawing #i cant 'warm up' i just do everything at once lol #heyhelloitsk #i should make a tag for nice anons lol #*asks #nice asks #i think before i was just putting it in my happy tag or something #still ty :D #gri ask tag

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 111

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 6)

Duan Ling has just arrived in Mu Qing’s room, but they barely manage to say anything to each other before he’s called back again. This time, Chang Pin tactfully leaves the room, shutting the door behind him, and tells Wu Du not to go in, leaving Mu Kuangda and Duan Ling to themselves.

Mu Kuangda is no longer angry; he considers Duan Ling and says, “I had a banquet set up last night, and Huang Jian waited for you two the whole night and you never showed up. You’ll need to make him an apology.”

“Certainly,” Duan Ling says humbly.

Two cunning foxes, keeping the quiet parts unsaid; of course Mu Kuangda’s not about to spew garbage like telling Duan Ling not to let anyone know what happened the night before, and of course Duan Ling isn’t about to go around telling everyone either.

“Do you remember what the contents of the letters were? It does seem rather strange for Mongolians to send letters to each other in Han.”

One lie only begets more lies to make the first lie work — Duan Ling has somehow forgotten all about that, and he can but say, “It really was in Han. I also wondered why and found it rather odd.”

Mu Kuangda falls silent for a moment. “Write it out and let’s see.”

Duan Ling picks up the brush, and imitating Batu’s tone, he fabricates the first letter. “I don’t quite remember all the details clearly.”

Mu Kuangda calls for Chang Pin. “Go to the library and bring the last letter Borjigin Batu sent.”

Duan Ling’s heart beats wildly in his chest, and he writes out a second page. He stacks the two sheets of paper together. “The second letter was also written by Batu, but that was regarding the alliance. I don’t really remember what it said.”

By the time he finishes, Chang Pin has already brought them another letter. He sets it down in front of Mu Kuangda. Mu Kuangda compares them with a glance. “It does indeed sound like the Mongolian prince.”

It’s yet another checkpoint that Duan Ling has passed, and he lets out an inward breath of relief. Chang Pin gives it a casual look and smiles. “This handwriting of yours bears some resemblance to his, actually.”

In their younger days Duan Ling was the one who taught Batu most of his Han writing, studying and essay-composition. Duan Ling is only realising this point now. “Really?”

He takes the letter and looks over it carefully. Seeing Batu’s familiar handwriting still plagued with many grammatical mistakes, Duan Ling finds it both funny and familiar, and he cannot help but miss him. A mix of feelings rises into his heart.

“Borjigin Batu grew up in Shangjing,” Chang Pin says. “That much is true. He must have learned how to write in Han, and as Jochi never learned to read, Batu’s forgotten the ancestor’s Mongolian — he may only be able to speak Mongolian, but not write it, and that’s why he sends all his messages in Han.”

“On the contrary, I have a feeling that,” Mu Kuangda stares at the letter that Duan Ling has just written, “it’s highly probable that Batu doesn’t want others among his own people to know, and in order to stop this news from spreading and the situation from getting out of control, he wrote his letters to Amga and Khatanbaatar in Han.”

Duan Ling is rather grateful to Mu Kuangda; after all, he’s somehow justified Duan Ling’s lie for him.

“Never mind,” Mu Kuangda says, “we’ll just keep this for now and verify it later.” He then hands all three letters to Chang Pin for him to put away, and says to Duan Ling, “Wang Shan, I’m giving you a holiday so you can go home and visit your parents. You must come back in fifteen days to assist Master Chang Pin, and that’ll give you a chance to learn how to manage the estate as well.”

Duan Ling realises that this means he’s finally through the ordeal, and he gives Mu Kuangda a bow before withdrawing from the room.

“I have discovered that no matter what happens,” Chang Pin says, “Wang Shan always looks like that. He’s rather poised.”

“He can take on great responsibilities, and in the future we should take the time to nurture him. Something like this friendship between him and Qing’er is hard to come by, after all. Chang Pin, it seems we’ll have to make changes to our plans again.”

Chang Pin falls silent for a moment, and then he replies with a nod.

It’s a bright and sunny day. In the palace, Li Yanqiu is sitting in one of the palace halls, and the only person near him is Zheng Yan.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Li Yanqiu’s eyes narrow once he finishes listening to him.

Zheng Yan doesn’t speak, and merely stares at Li Yanqiu.

“Who else heard what he said?”

“Chang Liujun, Wuluohou Mu, Wu Du, Feng Duo, as well as Wang Shan from the chancellor’s estate.”

“There’s absolutely no way. How are we supposed to explain the Sword of the Realm? Would the late emperor teach his style to someone not of the family?”

“But what if even the late emperor was fooled? After all, Amga never explained the actual situation. If Wuluohou Mu was the one who swindled the late emperor to begin with …”

"If even he was fooled, then that’s fine by me. He’s already decided that’s his son, so who are we to say differently?”

Zheng Yan is struck dumb all of a sudden. He absolutely couldn’t have expected Li Yanqiu to say a thing like that.

“The crown prince seeks an audience,” the eunuch outside sing-songs.

Cai Yan is here, looking in rather good spirits. He glances at Zheng Yan, and gives him a nod. Li Yanqiu gazes at Cai Yan; Cai Yan greets him for the day first before sitting down on his knees at Li Yanqiu’s side without saying anything, just keep smiling at him.

“What is it?” Li Yanqiu asks him, “Did you miss me?”

“The Mongolians say I’m an imposter,” Cai Yan says.

Zheng Yan’s expression darkens a smidgen, but Li Yanqiu says to Cai Yan, “You don’t have to worry about what they say.”

Cai Yan adds, “That’s what they said back then too.”

Li Yanqiu carefully scans Cai Yan’s face, and suddenly breaks into a smile. Cai Yan, on the other hand, has stopped speaking, his eyes reddening, turning his gaze away.

Li Yanqiu reaches out for the back of Cai Yan’s neck to embrace him, and so Cai Yan leans on Li Yanqiu’s shoulder and begins to sob.

“You’re still thinking about all those things I said back then, aren’t you? You hold a grudge as much as your dad did. I still remember that on the day you came back you hugged me and cried just like this as well.”

Cai Yan keeps sobbing, trembling all over. Li Yanqiu says, “Once the third day of the third month passes, two years will have passed since then. I don’t even cry anymore, so how come you’re still like a child who can’t seem to grow up.”

Zheng Yan is still observing Cai Yan though, his brows drawn tight together, unsure momentarily if Cai Yan is acting.

Cai Yan rubs his face against Li Yanqiu’s shoulder, and so Li Yanqiu glances at Zheng Yan to tell him to leave the room, while holding onto Cai Yan and giving him endless words of comfort.

In a fluttering sea of peach blossoms, Duan Ling returns home, but Wu Du is nowhere to be found. As soon as he gets home he goes looking for those two sheets of paper, but when he opens the case it’s to find that they’re gone!

Duan Ling is shocked before he sees the slip of paper Wu Du has left for him in the sword case: I await you beneath the bridge.

Duan Ling’s soul has nearly been scared half out of his body, but once he figures out that Wu Du is just teasing him, he looks around, feeling rather paranoid. He packs up his things, leaves the house, and spies Wu Du’s figure flash past the alleyway. Come to think of it, even if Wu Du is playing with him, he wouldn’t dare stray too far.

Three mountains surround the shores of the Yangtze and nine rivers coil through the city of spring; waterways crisscross Jiangzhou, and nine bridges set atop limestone paths while small boats travel to and fro. Many fishermen pole their boats along the waterways, filled to the brim with river food to sell along the shore.

Peach blossoms fill the air. The main street isn’t far from the bridge, and once he’s under the bridge, Duan Ling looks around in every direction. His head bumps into a peach branch, and he immediately looks up.

Wu Du is leaning over the railing and smiling at Duan Ling below; Duan Ling runs up the bridge, but with a quick dodge, by then Wu Du has already run away.

“Wu Du! You stand right there!”

Wu Du stands at the end of the bridge looking perfectly proper. Duan Ling runs to him, and in the sunlight, Wu Du’s smile is more handsome than anything; his black martial artist robes make him look ever more soldierly in the warmth of spring. Duan Ling can’t help but take another step forward and wrap his arms around him.

“What is it?” Wu Du asks.

“What’s with you?” Duan Ling asks him in return, “Where’s the stuff?”

Wu Du gives his scabbard a pat. “My sword, my life; its death, my death.”

Duan Ling drops his head in his hand. “Why do you all like to keep important stuff in your scabbards?”

But come to think of it, aside from that hapless Amga, a scabbard for one’s sword or sabre is the best hiding place when it comes to things carried on one’s person. After all, to an assassin, their sword is always near at hand.

“Where’re we goin’?” Duan Ling asks, “Is something the matter?”

Wu Du seems a bit nervous. “Come on, down here.”

Duan Ling’s mood takes a turn for the brighter — it’s just been one thing after another lately, and now he feels like the haze has been swept aside, and the sky is wide and blue above him.

Wu Du walks to the pier by the creek’s edge, indicating that Duan Ling should board it first. Duan Ling knows Wu Du can steer a boat, and he’s rather good at it too, so he gladly gets on.

Wu Du unties the rope and leaps onto the boat. With one push of his long pole by the shore, the small boat vanishes into the boats congregating in the water market. Soon enough, it shoots out the other side like an arrow and keeps going, following the zigzagging waterways to wait in line for the Black Armours’ checkpoint at the narrow waterway entrance as they prepare to leave the city.

It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever gone on a trip by boat, and he can’t help being filled with excitement. Wu Du passes the checkpoint, pushing on the pole again; the boat leaves the waterway for the Yangtze main and the way opens up in front of them, where nothing but water meets the eye, a torrent rushing towards the east.

A thousand sails compete on the Yangtze; Wu Du hoists the sail with several quick pulls, wraps the rope around the mast several times, then tosses the rope over it casually and sits down next to Duan Ling at the prow, side by side.

“It’s so beautiful,” Duan Ling says. “Where are we going?”

“To the ends of the earth,” Wu Du says, “you want to go?”

Duan Ling suddenly feels so utterly exhausted, yet so happy, especially in the very instant he catches the bright blue sky above meeting the wide expanse of the water below; it makes him think that everything that is beautiful about the land is all right here.

“I want to go,” Duan Ling replies.

Neither of them say anything, sitting with their backs against the prow.

“When we get home again you’ll have to become the emperor. Perhaps it’ll be a long, long time before we can make it out again.”

Duan Ling understands what Wu Du means — now that they have the evidence, he has taken one step closer in his plans to return to court. Before the results of the exams are released, staying in Jiangzhou is not the best idea.

The small boat flies across the surface of the river and enters another narrow waterway before turning north. Both sides of the shore are towering mountains, more beautiful than anything he can imagine. Wu Du strips himself of his outer robe, rolls up his pants, and poles the boat along. When they happen to meet a fish merchant hawking their catch on a boat, they buy some food from them.

Meanwhile, Duan Ling has found a coal stove, and he starts a fire at the prow for cooking fish soup and rice.

He doesn’t ask where they’re going. Bit by bit he’s starting to think that if he can spend his whole life like this, that’s fine too; to live like duckweed drifting on the surface of a pond, roaming far, roaming wide. The marvellous world beyond and all the people in the world will simply turn into birds crisscrossing the skies, scattering beneath the mountain peaks. Everything would become so simple.

In the night, when rain falls, Duan Ling and Wu Du sleep in the cabin together, listening to the pitter-patter of rain landing on the river. Looking outside, all he sees is a million raindrops splashing onto the water.

When the wind picks up and blows away all the rain clouds, they lie down on the deck where they’re surrounded by a thousand miles of still water, the surface as reflective as a mirror, while a brilliant starry river shines before their eyes.

And thus two days go by. On the third day, as Duan Ling wakes up yawning, Wu Du is already pushing the boat to shore. They’ve reached a remote corner between the mountains with a limestone path that leads towards the end of the mountain range.

“What is this place?” Duan Ling asks.

Wu Du looks up into the distance. After a brief silence he says, “I’ll carry you.”

“Let’s walk together. Are we going to pray at a Buddhist temple?”

“You’ll see when you get there.” As he says this to Duan Ling, Wu Du seems a bit nervous.

They climb up the stone steps, covered in lichen from long years of disrepair. When they get to the cliff, there’s a plank walkway that snakes along the cliff face, round and round, leading deeper into the wilderness. When Duan Ling sees the first monastery gate, he finally realises why Wu Du has brought him here.

Before them is a giant, stone-carved white tiger, as life-like as the real thing, facing the great river and the world of the central plains below, surrounded by layer upon layer of clouds.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | five

view pinned post for masterlist / links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut (with plot), angst

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader / ???yunho x fem!reader 

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: overstimulation, finger sucking, multiple orgasms, use of toys

Synopsis: Torn between two opposing forces competing for your attention, who will you choose? Will San’s secrets finally come to light?

A/N: Finally some backstory! Strap in! Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always! <3 love you all

“I’ve been assigned to protect her.”

“From what?” San asked, relaxing his hostile stance back a bit. 

Yunho glanced at you, then back at San, uneasiness coming through in his gaze. 

“From you.”

“From me?” San laughed mockingly.

“They’re not happy with you, San. Up there.” Yunho gestured vaguely upwards. Was heaven actually up? 

“Tell me something I didn’t know,” San muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m not talking about that,” Yunho said seriously. “I’m talking about you saving her. They take fate pretty seriously.” 

“So what, you’re like the protector of fate now? Give me a break,” he sneered, voice tinged with mockery. With the way they bickered, you’d think they were some old divorced couple. 

“You guys are talking like I’m not in the room. Can someone explain to me what’s going on?”

Yunho’s hand rubbed against your leg. You weren’t sure exactly how to feel about his touch now, knowing he was a celestial being and not just a cute human boy, but it did feel nice. Comforting somehow, even in this situation.  “When San saved you, he altered your fate.”

“You’re saying I’m supposed to be dead?”

“Well, yes. While you should be dead, we angels don’t exactly endorse killing humans, even if it was their fate. But that’s why I was reassigned. Your original guardian… well, he couldn’t watch over you any more.”

You felt as cynical as San for a minute, rolling your eyes at Yunho’s implication. “Sounds like the original guardian wasn’t doing a very good job then, if he was gonna let me die.”

San laughed from his position, poised against the counter top casually. His fangs glistened as his mouth formed a familiar smirk. “That’s my girl.” 

Yunho was entirely unamused, but turned to face you fully, face lingering entirely too close. “Either way, I’m here to watch over you now. Make sure he—” He shot a poisonous glare at San. “—doesn’t alter fate again. You’re in big trouble, by the way.” 

San smiled sarcastically, eyes like daggers as they met with Yunho. “What are they gonna do, hmm? Banish me?” He wiggled his fingers mockingly. “Oh no, I’m soooo scared.”  

“Anyway,” he pulled his gaze back to you now, eyes sparkling like the stars as they met with yours. The way he looked at you, you’d think you were the only two in the universe. “If this impulsive idiot hadn’t ruined it—” He shot another deathly glare at San. “—I was going to watch over you from here. As your classmate. Angels aren’t typically permitted to get this close to their assignments, but you’re a special case. I was given a lot of flexibility.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” San sneered through his teeth. “Classmate, my ass. I saw how your hands were all over her.”

“Don’t you have some souls to eat somewhere? Virgins to sacrifice?” Yunho taunted in his direction. 

“Fuck. Actually, I do. I’m getting a call.” San turned on his heels. “Don’t think I’m letting this one go,” he said, but he was gone before you could even get a parting word out to him. 

Your mind felt like it had been reduced to a steaming pile of mush after your conversation with the two of them—well, more like you listening to them bicker. Either way, there was too much information to take in at once. In a matter of minutes, your cute human crush became your cute angel guardian. Well, you supposed he always was, but the fact that you knew it made it feel so much more strange. 

But a few things hadn’t changed. 

He still sparkled like the stars to you. You had already fallen for him hopelessly, the minute you saw him walking into your classroom, you knew that to be fact. Nothing about your attraction to him had changed. Whether or not his ethereal glow was because he was incredibly handsome or  because he was very literally an angel changed any of that fact for you. His touch still gave you goosebumps. His soft smile in your direction still made your heart race. He was still the embodiment of light, glowing like a beautiful aurora. He radiated the positivity you needed so desperately.

And you were alone with him.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” he said, his hand still rested on your thigh. “About me being your guardian. I was hoping I could get to know you better first. Just as Yunho. I didn’t anticipate San showing up unannounced.”

You skipped right past his apology, needing answers. “So—Why? Why’d you kiss me? If I’m just your assignment?” you questioned angrily. But a part of you didn’t even want to ask him why. You just wanted to do it again. 

“It was genuine,” he promised. “It wasn’t planned. But it was genuine. We angels may not be human, but we have a bit more humanity than that demon. We have souls. They’re just not… bound by the human realm.”

You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but he looked beautiful saying it. You felt like you couldn’t possibly take in any more information than you already had without completely losing it. You winced suddenly, noticing your head beginning to ache. 

“Y/N, are you okay? W—Would you like me to leave?” Yunho asked softly, sensing the look on your face. It was odd to have him asking. San usually just left whenever he wanted to, disappearing into the ether without a trace. 

“Leave? Do you just... disappear out of thin air like San does?” you asked seriously. 

Yunho chuckled, his laugh like music to your soul. “No, no. I’d have to walk out the door. And take the bus.”

“What kind of angel takes the bus?” you jested, assuming he was joking. 

“It’s part of my assignment. I’m not exactly human, but I don’t have all my angel powers either. I was supposed to blend in as much as possible. So I play by the laws of the universe now,” he chuckled. “Speaking of, just because I’m an angel, doesn’t mean I’m not actually worried about passing that class.” 

You burst into laughter at the ridiculousness. He was an angel who had to take the bus and do homework? What a shitty deal. You were enjoying his company, and you didn’t want him gone just yet. “To answer your earlier question, you can stay. You’re supposed to be protecting me, right? I’d feel safe if you were around.”

He smiled warmly. You realized his hand was still on your thigh, and his face a lot closer than you remembered. He looked so soft and inviting, and you remembered the way he kissed you earlier. It was soul-warming, like a comfort food you ate as a child, something your mom would make for you. 

“I’d love to stay and protect you. And not just because it’s my job,” he said charmingly, eyes forming into two cute crescents on his face. He was absolutely glowing. 

No matter how you looked at it, he and San were magnets with opposing forces, and yet they both drew you in equally. 

You leaned into a kiss without thinking, your eyes trained only on his soft, inviting lips. You melted into them as you collided, immediately overwhelmed with the gentle way his lips met yours. He reciprocated against you, hands moving from your thighs to cupping softly on the small of your waist, pulling you against him. Everything he did was passionate, yet tender. He handled you like the most delicate glass, like you could break at any moment and he would be there to put the pieces back together. You pushed your body against him, sinking into the soft, thick fabric of his sweater. He felt like a cloud. 

He was San’s very literal antithesis. And something in you needed that right now more than anything. 

You pushed your tongue in his mouth, indicating you wanted to escalate things. You fisted your hands into his pillowy sweater, grasping at him to pull him in closer against you. He moaned against your mouth, and the sound sent tingles all the way down your spine. 

But he pulled away, leaving you grasping desperately at the fabric of his sweater.

“I can’t do this in good conscience,” he said, brows furrowed with concern. Wow, he really was San’s antithesis. 

“Is it breaking angel code to make out with your assignment?”

“Well, no. Technically, I’m free to do whatever I want as a human bound here for now. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you regret. It’s all very fast.”

You sighed, breaking away from him, though you craved his lips even more now that the taste lingered on your tongue. The silence felt deafening—you wanted to hear more of Yunho’s angelic moans against your ear. Moments like this made you miss San’s impulsivity. You knew if he was here he’d be all over you. 

“Can we cuddle, at least?” you asked, gaze drifting up and down from his soft lips to his even softer sweater. He was like a marshmallow you wanted to sink down into. He was everything you needed right now. Pure comfort. 

He nodded softly, repositioning himself against the arm of the loveseat. He motioned between his legs, creating a nice wedge for you to cuddle up in. You curled up against him, your head sinking down softly in the pillowy sweater. He wrapped his arms around you protectively. You weren’t sure, but you thought you heard him singing to you as you drifted to sleep. 

You woke up to a note on the fridge, scribbled neatly and punctuated with hearts and smiley faces. He was so effortlessly pure. Even his handwriting was cute.

Morning class, can’t miss! Sorry. See you in Advanced Religion? 

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. What a dork. He’d just revealed himself as an angel, and yet he was worried about missing class? To be honest, you really couldn’t afford to miss any classes either, but there were so many unanswered questions still swirling around in your head. You needed San.

After cleaning yourself up thoroughly, you decided to summon him in your room, something you hadn’t done for a while. 

“Early for you to be calling me.” You swiveled on your heels, your face immediately met with San’s chest. You stumbled back a few steps, but he caught your waist in his arms, pulling you in to him. “Nice to hear you calling, darling. I’d say you smell sweet, but you reek of angel.” He glanced around suspiciously. “Is he still here?”

“No, he left before I even woke up.”

San sighed, then trained his gaze on you, crimson eyes lighting up like a fire. “Good. You know, I’ve missed you, lamb.” He drew his finger across your chin, tipping you up to his eyes like he always did before he wanted something. “Care to play with me this morning?”

You didn’t feel like entertaining his games right now. “No, not really. I have a lot of questions I need to be answered.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted sarcastically, before leaning back against the desk in your room. “Alright, let’s get this over with before I get called elsewhere.”

“Earlier, you came in without being called. I thought I had to call you for you to appear. In the alley, too. How?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, reluctant to answer your questions. “I can do it, but it’s a risk. Like working without a contract. Goes against the demon rulebook, or whatever. But I was willing to break some rules when I saw that angelic asshole with his hands all over you,” he said, putting extra spiteful emphasis into referring to Yunho.  

“You guys… have history, I take it?”

“It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it right now,” he responded dismissively. “Anything else?”

“Were you watching me?”

“I—only a little. Just enough to see you mouth-fucking with that angel bitch,” he sneered through his teeth.

Damn. Touchy subject. 

“Are you trying to say we’re exclusive or something? Because that most certainly wasn’t the impression I got from this relationship.”

San’s eyes narrowed, pushing himself off the desk to close the distance between you. He ran a fingernail down your neck, making sure to drag over every bite mark. “No. We’re not. But I feel... protective of you.”

“Well then don’t worry about Yunho. It’s his job to protect me.”

San rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t say he’s exactly trustworthy,” he grumbled under his breath, then quickly focused back on your neck. “Ugh, darling, won’t you let me have a little fun? I’ve had a rough week.”

You pulled away, dropping your gaze. “I—I need to go. To school. I’m late.”

San clicked his tongue, looking at you with a look of displeasure. “You’re really no fun. You’re the one who called me here, lamb. No tears? No blood? Not even a taste of your lips?” 

“Bye, San. Don’t come back unless you’re called, understand? Or I’m done making contracts.” You met his eyes seriously. “Forever.”

Seeing Yunho at school was… strange, to say the least, after his big reveal to you. You had made a routine of getting there early just to watch him come through the door, and your new information about his job didn't change any of that. 

It seemed like the other girls in class caught on to getting there early too, seated expectantly for him to walk through the door, tall and model-esque. You'd even heard girls whispering about him in the halls—the new blue haired boy who every girl on campus wanted a piece of. They drew their heads up as he ascended the lecture hall stairs to make his usual seat next to you, like they were watching a celebrity. 

Inspiration struck. As he sat down next to you, you gave him a flirtatious wink, then pulled him in for a casual, but slightly drawn out kiss. You let your lips linger against his for a few seconds afterwards, eating up the jealous stares of your classmates. You wanted to mark him yours. After all, he was your guardian. 

He looked at you with wide eyes, and you took his hand, lacing his fingers in yours. “Go with it,” you whispered discreetly in his direction. 

He gave your hand a light squeeze, leaning back in to give you a soft peck on the cheek to seal the deal. 

And just like that, he played the role of your college boyfriend. But it was just a role. Acting. In a sick way, you loved the jealous, spiteful stares you got as you walked down the hall with him. And he was able to keep a closer eye on you without being hunted down by every girl on campus trying to flirt with him. It was a mutual agreement. 

You were still entirely enamored by him, you crush in full bloom. Playing the role of his girlfriend was satisfying, but not in the way you needed it to be. He was sweet, but distant—you assumed he was trying his best to stay objective, to not get too wrapped up in his assignment. But you wanted so much more.

He sometimes came over to your place to study, and you rarely even mentioned his angelic presence. He requested that you treat him normally, like any other human, although that was pretty much asking the impossible. He certainly wasn’t, and would never be, like any other human. 

He still glowed like an aurora and sparkled like the stars. You wanted to cuddle up into him and never let go. You wanted to spend your days nestled in his arms. A few times, you did, falling asleep curled up on his chest on the couch like you had the first day he came over. 

But you couldn't help but want more.

Your lonely nights had made you needy. 

Yunho wasn't quite ready to go there with you yet, as he very clearly defined when you came onto him the first night he came over, and you'd been avoiding San like the plague. Not that it was hard—all you needed to do was not summon him. And you hadn't, for a while actually. 

But your hand wasn't doing it for you today. You needed more. You needed San.

You were partly joking about him being your demon prostitute, but he kind of was now that you were calling him exclusively to get you off.  Not that you were complaining about that. You were trying to distance yourself from him emotionally, but that didn't mean you couldn't have him help you with your physical needs. 

You put on your best set of lingerie, a black lacy set you weren’t really even sure why you had, and displayed yourself sexily on the bed. Not that you needed lingerie to entice San, but you figured it couldn’t hurt. 

He appeared with a low growl, eyes immediately glazing over with lust. “What’s this darling? Finally want to have a little fun?”

“I want a contract, San. I don’t care what you do for me—clean my kitchen, make me dinner, I don’t care—but your reward is my body. Take it or leave it.”

“Very forward of you today,” he said with an amused smirk. “I like it.”

“Your answer?”

“Fine, I accept. But I have a condition.”

He wasn’t in much of a position to give conditions, but you nodded, urging him to continue. 

“You’ve left me waiting for so long. I want to have a little fun with my prey first, hmm? That vibrator in there.” He gestured his head to your nightstand, the top drawer where you kept your pink silicone vibrator. It was small, compact, and admittedly expensive. It also came with a fully customizable bluetooth remote.  “It’s remote, right?”.

“It’s remote capable, yeah.”

His lips pulled into a sinister smile, eyes darkening, and you realized what was happening.

“I want to watch you squirm. I love watching you. My helpless little lamb," he cooed, stepping over to your nightstand to pull it out.

“Wait, but how did you know that was—”

“I may or may not have done some snooping in your room while you were asleep the other night.” He flashed you his fangs, eyes glimmering playfully. “You should know not to trust a demon, darling.” He twirled the vibrator between his fingers, glancing from it to you, still laying in wait on the bed. “Did you put on that pretty number just for me? You look… delicious in it.” He drew his tongue over his teeth, then took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

His hand traced over your skin, from your neck down to your breasts, stomach, hips, then between your legs, circling your clit through your panties. You had missed his touch desperately, although if you were being honest, it wasn’t his you necessarily missed. You missed intimate touch at all. 

He leaned forward to plant a kiss, surprisingly gentle, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip. “Tonight’s about you, my lamb. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have my fun.”

You were already wet before he got here, hopelessly horny and waiting for his arrival. You were now even more so. The lace of your panties was completely soaked as he danced his fingers across it. He pulled the seam of the lingerie to the side, just enough to slip the vibrator inside of you. His other hand held the remote. His eyes were fixed on you, power erupting beneath his crimson irises. 

He had you literally in the palm of his hand. The smallest touch on the remote, and he was completely in control. He did not take that power lightly. He turned it on, the light buzz immediately sending vibrations through you like waves. Your mind soared in pleasure, whimpers escaping from your lips.

“That’s cute. That’s just the low setting, darling,” he cooed, pressing the lace of your panties back between your legs. He pressed a hand on your stomach, feeling the way your core trembled under his touch. “To your feet,” he commanded suddenly. “C’mon.”

You wobbled up off the bed, and he cranked up the intensity to the highest setting the second your feet met the floor. Your legs buckled underneath you, and a smirk passed over his lips as he watched you, weak like putty in his hands. 

He pushed you to your knees beneath him, standing tall as his hooded gaze fell on you from above, dark and lust. He praised you sweetly as his hand gripped in your hair, tightening his grip as he toyed with the buttons on the vibrator. You trembled as the vibrations rocked through you. Every so often he would stop the sensations completely, stopping to pet your head softly and sing you praises, only to push up the intensity to full and grip his fingers tighter in your hair. Your head spun with neediness, practically dripping around the vibrator sunk deep inside you. 

He lifted your chin with his fingertip, tilting your head up almost 90 degrees. You whined as the vibrations teased you torturously, it had felt like hours he was watching you, a satisfied smile curled on his lips as he watched you writhe and shake at the mercy of his fingertips. Your whining grew louder, orgasm firing through you so intensity you could barely keep yourself upright. Only the tugging of his hands in your hair kept you up on your knees. 

"That's a good, good girl. So pretty when you’re shaking," he praised sweetly. 

He brought his hand to your mouth, parting your lips slightly by tugging down on your teeth, then shoved two fingers in. You sucked them enthusiastically, eating up the noises that escaped him at watching you gag on his fingers. He shoved them in farther, and you gagged a bit. Right on cue, he pushed up the intensity of the vibrations. You shook and moaned against his fingers as the vibrations rocked through you again, and this time you were much more sensitive. He watched the look on your face twist as he switched the pace from fast to slow, thrusting his fingers in every so often to hear your gagged breaths. 

“Such a dirty girl, getting off choking on my fingers. Embarrassing, really. But cute,” he cooed, shoving his fingers in your mouth one last time as he cranked up the intensity on the remote, then pulling them out with a trail of saliva. 

He sent you over the edge again. And again. Your knees started to burn lightly against the carpet as he toyed with you over, and over, and over. You weren’t sure how many times you’d come. You lost count at some point. Drool pooled at the corner of your mouth, body sore from writhing and shaking, every muscle contracting again and again. “Good, good girl,” he praised again, stroking your hair softly. “Tired, lamb? I may have gone a little overboard. I couldn’t help it. You’re just so cute when you’re helpless under me.”

You breathed heavily, unable to make words. Your brain was pleasured mush, entirely blissed from the at least five orgasms you had. “Tired…” you muttered, glancing up at him through heavy eyes. 

“I know. You did good.” He raised you up, supporting you by the waist as you stumbled weakly to your feet. Your legs were jello, and you weren’t sure if you could even make it to bed. San seemed to know that too, as he lifted you effortlessly, placing you on your bed gingerly. He helped you remove the vibrator, your body trembling as it slipped out. He even offered a change of clothes and helped you slip into them. Why was he being so nice? 

Your eyes were heavy, body completely wrecked from the orgasms. You didn’t remember much after that. The whole world went black at some point.

When you woke up, there was a note on your nightstand:

I cleaned the apartment for you. Consider the contract complete. xoxo demon maid 

Studying with Yunho became a nightly habit, replacing your bedroom rendezvous with San. That wasn’t to say you didn’t summon him sometimes to fulfill... certain needs, but that was beside the point. 

You were caught between the two of them them, both pulling you in opposite directions, both fulfilling different needs for you. You felt guilty, flirting with Yunho in the daytime and summoning San at night to sate your desires. But there was something in you that still wasn’t ready to let San go. 

He’d been on your mind recently, San. Despite all the cards being out on the table, he was still particularly vague about one thing: his history with Yunho. 

"Yunho I—I need to ask you something."

He turned his eyes to you, and his smile was warm and inviting. "Anything." 

"It's about San." 

Yunho broke his gaze, his sunshine smile fading. "I told you, I didn't want to—"

"How do you know him?"

"What do you mean?"

"He said you were a former colleague. Did you work with him before? Can angels even work with demons?"

Yunho sighed, rubbing his neck apprehensively. "I shouldn't be tell—"

"I already know too much. What's one more thing?"

He chuckled lightly, the heavenly sound ringing in your ears like a lullaby. "I suppose you have a point. But… you can't tell San I told you this."

Your hand came up, zipping your mouth closed with a wink. "Consider it locked away." 

“Alright, well… San wasn’t always a demon. He used to be an angel. We worked together. We were… friends. A long time ago, at least.”

They were friends? You couldn’t ever imagine them getting along.

“What happened?”

“He fell for a human. His assignment. I wouldn’t say that’s typical, but it happens. I don’t blame him for that.” Yunho dropped his gaze, gritting his teeth. “An angel who has fallen for a human… they usually experience the grief of loss, and move on. There’s nothing in angel code that says you can’t experience love. But San has always been... more impulsive than most. And he made a mistake.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. “What—what kind of mistake?” 

“He wanted to make a deal, with a crossroads demon. The deal would prolong her life, but he would be forever indentured to the demon. He didn’t care… as you probably already know, he’s impulsive.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his neck in thought. His expression was pained, regretful.  “I—I was the only angel he told about making the deal. He trusted me, but I ratted him out. He was making a huge mistake… I couldn’t let him sell his soul away like that.”

“So he made the deal?”

“No. They got to him in time. But he broke a lot of angel codes when he made that plan, and I was witness to his confession. They tried his case, but he was never very well liked by the committee. And so they banished him.” 

You fell silent, unable to form the right words. Yunho’s eyes were big, glistening with what looked like the beginning of tears.

“He would never say it, but I know he blames me for his human’s death. If I hadn’t have told them about his plans, she wouldn’t have died then. But… I couldn’t let him sell his soul to the crossroads demon. At the time, I never imagined he’d be banished. I thought they would just stop him from making the deal, maybe suspend him for a few weeks. But not banished.”

“So, angels who are banished become demons then?” 

“They don’t have to. They just can’t carry out their angel duties anymore. And they’re stripped of their wings. He was hurt. Scared, I’m sure. He had nowhere left to turn. He sold his angel soul to become a demon, for the promise of a life of fulfillment. However twisted it was.”

You dropped your gaze, falling completely silent for a while. None of Yunho’s story connected with the dark, bloodthirsty San you knew. You couldn’t imagine what he was like as an angel. Did he sparkle like the stars? Did he smell like heaven itself? Was his smile like the sunshine too? 

Yunho’s voice broke through the silence. “I answered your question. Now you answer one for me.”

His serious expression suddenly made you uneasy. "Is it this last homework question?" you joked, but Yunho's face was unamused. 

"San…” His eyes met with yours, soft and earnest. “...do you love him?"

Your eyes went wide. “Do I love San? No… no.” You shook your head a few too many times, as if you were trying to convince yourself, not Yunho. “Our relationship is purely business. We exchange... services. That's all.” Your hand came up to your neck involuntary, feeling the faint remaining scars of his bite marks.

“Then why do you keep him around? You're beautiful.” Your heart fluttered for a minute at his fleeting compliment. How could such an otherworldly handsome being think you were beautiful?

“You don't need his… services. He's nothing but trouble. I know you know that.” 

“Maybe I'm attracted to trouble.”

"Well, you're attracted to me, too, right?" Your breath caught in your chest. Heat rose in your face, staining your cheeks an incriminating bright red. You opened your mouth hesitantly, but he didn't give you the chance to answer. "So maybe you don't need a bad boy after all?" 

"You said it yourself, Yunho. You need to focus on protecting me. No complications." 

He leaned in closer, setting his hand gently on your cheek. A chill rolled through your spine. "What if I changed my mind?" 

You pulled your lips against his, melting against him softly. You wanted him. Yunho. The ethereal boy that stole your heart the moment you saw him. But now, your mind saw only San. Why? Why could you only see his face?

You didn’t see the San you knew, though. You didn’t see demon San, you saw angel San. The one you could only imagine. You saw the San with a soft, peaceful smile, highlighted by the cute dimples on his cheeks. You saw the San who would risk his life for the one he loved, no matter the cost. You saw the San who made a mistake, and paid his soul for it. 

Your heart ached. You pulled away from Yunho suddenly, a single tear rolling from your eyes at first, followed by a river.

He didn’t ask you why, he only pulled you into him tightly, wrapping his long arms around you in the most comforting hug. You nuzzled into his neck, taking in his scent—he smelled like fresh rain on a spring morning.

It would have been so simple just to choose Yunho. He was the obvious choice. Beautiful, warm, kind—he was everything you could ever need. 

So why could you only think of San?

#choi san smut #san smut #yunho smut #ateez smut #jeong yunho smut #hongjoong smut #mingi smut #yeosang smut #ateez demon au

[snivellussnoop]

He Wished a Lot of Things

A trans Snape/Snupin one-shot (which you can also find here on my AO3 and here on my Wattpad!)

On a side note, why do we only do trans Snape stuff for a single week? Let’s make this bitch year-round.

Word count: 2804

-------------

He saw them first in his second year as the boy stepped out of the showers, a towel wrapped around his waist and his chest entirely exposed. Beneath the long black hair, whose water-dripping tendrils had been strategically placed over his chest, Remus Lupin could have sworn he had just laid his eyes upon two long, red scars.

The image kept him awake at times. He never asked; he knew Severus Snape was touchy to talk to in the first place, and scars — which he knew from personal experience — were even touchier. So he kept himself quiet, feeling different about the boy from then on, wondering about the newfound mystery of him every time their eyes met from across a classroom. But the question remained, and so did the scars.

‘How did you get them?’ he scrawled eventually on a piece of parchment after weeks of grappling with the thought, passing the letter casually across the long table in the Charms room and slipping it under his thin fingers. It took what felt like years to get a simple reply; one in such elegant cursive that his own handwriting looked like aimless ink above it.

‘Get what?’

Such a fruitless answer. But Remus wasn’t expecting much else. He tagged along almost every day as his friends taunted the boy; of course his responses would be slow and guarded.

‘The scars,’ he wrote back, and then, because he knew that Severus was more often injured by others than by accidents, he revised his question. ‘Who did it to you?’

He watched in anticipation as Snape contemplated the words, scribbling something below them but not giving the square of parchment back. The wait was endless. The class was the longest Remus had ever attended.

But he was answered when they left the classroom as the hour marked the end of the lecture, Severus catching him by the door and shoving the piece of paper back into his grip.

“Biology did this to me, Remus,” he said plainly. “Now get out of my way.”

Snape pushed past Lupin, his green-accented robes flowing behind as he hurried down the hall. Remus watched in puzzlement, slowly unfolding the parchment and wondering what the boy’s answer was even supposed to mean. Biology gave him scars? He couldn’t have been born with them; they looked far too fresh.

Looking down at the parchment, Remus gave a small laugh. Severus had taken the past thirty minutes to draw a werewolf in the bottom lefthand corner, tongue lolled out, heart-eyed as it reached up at the moon. The moon, which Remus noted with another charmed giggle, wore a subtle frown in its center.

He didn’t ask about the scars again for years.

—

He saw them again in the courtyard, but really only because he was looking for them. They had faded a lot since Year Two, and he wouldn’t have noticed had he not previously known.

James Potter had picked another brawl with him, and, in embarrassment after realising that he was losing, had hexed the boy’s shirt off. His hair, shoulder-length now, wasn’t long enough to conceal the traces that were left, and Remus found himself staring. Studying. Almost forgetting where he was. He tried to piece together the puzzle of the two faint red lines across Snape’s ribs, following them from left to right, over and over, looped like a scratched record.

And this didn’t go unnoticed. Severus Snape, trying his best not to squirm under the humiliating attention, stared back.

Remus looked away.

—

“Why do you have scars?”

He had found him in the library, sitting in the farthest aisle from the entry, completely empty aside from the two of them and the slight traces of a mild mouse problem.

Severus narrowed his eyes, slipping a ribbon in to mark his current progress in his book and turning around to face Lupin with a look of blank scorn.

“Since when did the lore behind my physical attributes become your affair?” he hissed. “It isn’t difficult to avoid inquiry about a potentially sensitive subject.”

“Mm,” Remus replied, less morally driven than his usual as he remained phlegmatic against the very fair point. “Luckily, the nerves on one’s chest are often not very sensitive at all, causing related issues to not hurt much in the least aside from inward intrusion.”

“Insightful,” Severus replied snarkily, closing his book and tucking it under his arm. “Charming that my skin is so important to you. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were interested.”

He stood up, and Remus, although towering over him in terms of height, felt suddenly very small.

“But I am interested,” he choked out, clearly missing the meaning behind the term. Snape closed his eyes and sighed with a deep and tired sense of resignation.

“My scars were put there by none other than myself,” he replied. “Don’t be concerned by this; I’m not actively suicidal and the process was beneficial, if anything. Incredibly safe.”

And he left. Remus said nothing. Somehow, although given more information, the situation became even more cryptic, and he understood less and less as he went.

But that was what Snape was. To him, anyway, the boy was an enigma first and an interest second. There was nothing else to it, and nothing else to him. Ambiguity and nothing else. Ambiguity and scars.

—

Remus saw Severus again at the Yule Ball, not like he was difficult to spot, being the only person there in all black, a sleek tunic covering his scarred frame.

“You really went for a new look, didn’t you?” he found himself asking snidely, smirking at the lack of change in his clothing. “That shade of black is just a touch lighter than usual. That’s a big step for you.”

“That shade of unwelcome involvement still hasn’t left your repertoire, however,” Severus was quick to reply. “I’ve been here for three minutes and you’ve shown up already. I should have stayed back and studied like I wanted to.”

A reply left Lupin’s lips before he could filter it out. It was disjointed, random, almost desperate, hitting them both head-on and leaving Severus more shocked than he’d ever inherently been.

“Dance with me.”

There was a silence, the soft motion of a punch glass being set down on tablecloth, and a shocked verbal receipt.

“What?”

Remus knew he couldn’t back out of his own words. He was too timid; too stubborn to admit to anything as a fault.

Giving a slight bow, he held out his hand as the music picked up. An offering, for once, that wasn’t ill-intended.

Tentatively, like a lamb accepting slaughter, the boy’s hand slipped into his.

—

“Potter can’t know.”

Snape whispered it through feverish kisses, leaning back against a pillar in the corridor as Remus lost sight of his own reserve, grasping at his shoulders, his hair, anything he could possibly bring closer to himself.

“James,” he corrected, pulling them both around the corner in the hall as he noticed the faint sound of a stray student’s footsteps, “won’t suspect a thing.”

—

“Good riddance to this bloody school,” Remus heard Sirius scoff as they packed their suitcases for the last time, all carrying diplomas and wearing flashy hats. Remus always found the hats silly, but he saw now why people were so fond of them when they left.

“Is James already back home? I know Peter left last night and I haven’t seen either of them since,” Lupin said, opening the dorm dresser drawers and forcing the last of his sweaters inside his case.

“Yeah. I think they took the last available train together yesterday,” Black replied. “Shame. We could have all left together like the years before. Like old times. This is the last time we’ll be leaving as students, you know.”

A small crunch came from under one of Lupin’s sweaters as he nodded in response. “Yeah,” he said. “Shame indeed. I’ll miss these memories. This school. It’s become my home, you know. And these last few hours…”

Pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment from under his sweater, Remus paused as he saw a faded pair of handwriting styles and a silly illustration of a werewolf. His heart jumping in his chest, he put the drawing back under the sweater and closed his suitcase, picking it up and preparing to leave.

“…this is it.”

Sirius took their things to be loaded onto the train. Remus himself spent a good hour wandering the halls, so empty, so familiar, wishing them all a sincere goodbye. He scanned the small groups of people that were still left, hoping somewhere in the back of his head that the artist of the drawing under his shirt would still be in the building somewhere.

He wanted to speak to him. To ask him about what he would be doing in the war. To offer his address; to offer connection. But he didn’t find the boy anywhere, nor did he find a trace of him. No vandalised books, no cursive notes, and nobody in a sleek black tunic.

He was told by Horace Slughorn to check the library. He thanked him, but insincerely; he’d already looked there, and it was empty.

—

If he knew where Snape resided, he would have shown up. Written, at least. But all he had was the drawing. That was all he had for years. For a long time, he wasn’t even sure the man still existed.

November of 1981 left him connectionless and alone. He felt himself slipping into nothing, the sand of eternity slowly rising over his head until he couldn’t breathe. Every day was a nightmare.

He relied on the Prophet for his entertainment, for his distraction. Anything to make him forget, even for a moment. Anything at all.

And then something did make him forget that he was alone. An announcement that one couldn’t look past. That he couldn’t, anyway.

It wasn’t a major headline, but it was on the bottom left of the front page, announced in capital bold letters with a small, grainy picture too blurry to decipher.

HOGWARTS POTIONS PROFESSOR HORACE SLUGHORN REPLACED IN POSITION BY SEVERUS SNAPE

Immediately, without even thinking, Remus threw the paper on the floor, stood up, and grabbed his coat.

—

“I’d like to see Professor Snape.”

He was directed down to the dungeons, which he approached slowly, stopping for minutes on end to stare at the architecture he’d almost forgotten; the arcs and pillars that he grew up between. He didn’t need a map of this place. His feet knew the way down the spiral staircase. His very skeleton understood the path necessary for the destination of Slughorn’s old office.

He knocked on the door three times. It opened just before he could knock a fourth.

They were both still for a long time.

The response was quiet.

“Lupin.”

Remus wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. He felt uncomfortable to be once again under the confusing gaze of Severus Snape.

“I saw your name in the Prophet,” he said plainly. “I’m… sorry to intrude. If you want me to go, I—”

“How very timidly-mannered to leave upon an inkling of silence,” Snape said, attempting to sound scornful, but his tone was weak; almost relieved. As he stepped aside to let Lupin into the room, Remus understood with a sudden sort of mental blow that Snape had just recently lost all of his connections, too.

He walked softly inside, taking one step to the left as Severus closed the door behind him. And then, jokingly:

“Potter can’t know.”

Sadly, they laughed.

—

Lupin didn’t even ask to see him anymore. He just walked right in.

Snape provided him with an extra key, one he used often for their weekly rendezvous, once leaving a toothbrush there on accident and never bothering to take it home again. Little by little, the visits became normal, essential, even. They became fueled by connection, by touch, by everything they had lost since graduation.

Little by little, they’d see more of one another. Day by day, Snape would unbutton his sleeves just a little more, finally comfortable enough to show the grotesque mark on his wrist, and Lupin would wear his shirts a little looser, exposing the scars on his neck as they led up to the ones on his jaw and nose. Closeness was their comfort, and they’d revel in it like Shakespearean kings, like Duncan of Scotland, doomed as he was, surrounded by the small joys of his imperfect world and his tarnished reign. Though their environment was muddled by blades of wilted and bloodied grass, the small fireflies within, the light that, although rare, warmed the hands and entranced the eyes like none other, were what they noticed the most.

They one day found themselves undoing the clasps of one another’s shirts, their kisses slow and even, their breaths soft. Lupin’s hands found themselves running across the bare skin of Snape’s chest, smooth, oddly hairless, comfortingly warm. His fingers found themselves on his ribcage. They lived there. And then they stopped.

Although they were almost completely invisible, his hands had found the scars. Scars that, over time, he had forgotten about. 

Running his fingers over the rough lines, he looked down at them, and then back up at Severus, who had a sudden expression of what seemed almost like terror.

Remus gave them another examination. He noticed their placement, their edges, how each one stretched in a long like under his pectorals, as if something had been above them that was removed.

And then he understood.

His breath catching in his throat, Remus realised that there was so much about this man he didn’t know. There were struggles that he and his friends had only added to. Parts of him and his life that he never got to see.

He understood then why Snape was built the way he was, why his waist was thin around the center and wider around the hips, why his neck was sleek and his collarbones strong, why his skin was smooth and had a significant lack of hair. He understood why he never saw him shaving and never noticed forgotten stubble on the curves of his jaw. He understood why he would hide his chest with his long hair after a shower; why he said that biology was what gave him these marks in the first place. He understood why he hid himself with tight, concealing clothes and why he would shy away from the connected questions.

All at once, Remus understood the scars.

Quietly, softly, he placed a hand on Snape’s back, pulling him as close as he possibly could. He watched the scared, vulnerable eyes below him and, in an instant, wished he could undo everything he and his friends had ever done to him. He wished he could have supported him; kept himself from prying. He wished a lot of things.

“They don’t define you, you know,” he said eventually, his thumb tracing Snape’s bottom lip as he stroked his hair. “It took me years to understand that about myself, but it’s true. It’s true for me, and it’s true for you.”

Severus looked like the most fragile thing on Earth.

“Do you find them distasteful?” he whispered out, leaning his face into Remus’ bare shoulders, self-directed venom behind his every syllable. “Do they drive you away, knowing about them? About why they’re here?”

“Hey,” Lupin replied, soft as he hugged him close and leaned his chin on the top of his head. “Don’t worry.”

He held him as if it was the last time he ever would. He didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let himself. Fighting back a newfound wave of emotion, he closed his eyes and wished he could articulate how little this knowledge would change anything. How Severus was just as beautiful to him as he had always been. How he didn’t care about the body he used to have or what he used to be, because, to Remus, he was still Severus Snape. He was always Severus Snape, and he always had been, and he always would be, no matter what. 

Always.

Still, words were never his strong suit. Emotions never left his lips in prose. So what he said was barely as elegant, not even close to what he wanted to communicate.

But what he said communicated it well enough, because, once he spoke them, they both turned into a crumbling mess of tears and sniffles, holding one another as tightly as they both could manage. His heart thudding in his chest, his breath hitched with a feeling he couldn’t describe, he chose a very decent thing to say. A thing that left them in a very peaceful silence for a very long time.

It was a whisper. And it was safe.

“I have scars, too.”

#pro snape #snape #hp #snape community #severus snape #harry potter #remus lupin #professor lupin #snupin #lupin #fanfiction #fanfic #trans snape week #trans Snape #shiterature #gay #marauders era one shot #1981 #my writing #ok look #i am not trans myself #so please tell me if i should edit anything out #or if im being disrespectful in any way #i dont want or intend to be hurtful to the community #im just playing around #so please lmk #youre all so valid btw #fuck jkr #you deserve the world and i love you

[theluckyyyoneee]

Guise

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (ft. Namjoon)

Genre: Angst/Fluff(in later parts)

Word Count: 2.4+k

part 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 |

SoulmateAU! Where he hides his soulmate tattoo from everyone, especially you.

Twirling your mechanical pencil around between your middle and pointer finger of your right hand, you zoned off into the great distance, eyeing the chipping paint on the walls as you felt utterly drained and exhausted, in all physical, mental and emotional senses. 

The life of a rushed college student trying to find the right balance between studying and self care and also incorporating enough of a social life to remain sane was seemingly impossible, and you were terrible at time management as you proved to yourself time and time again. Especially when finals were approaching at a fearful rate and you felt like you hadn’t prepared nearly as much as needed to ace the exams.

Huffing as you collapsed onto the desk in front of you, you heard the throaty chuckle besides you as you peered at Namjoon through your lashes and a few strands of wild hair that crept on your cheeks. “Take a nap, I’ll wake you up in thirty minutes. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” He sweetly offered, his dimples popping through as he eye smiled at you through his own fatigue.

Propping your head on your hand with your elbow resting on the table, you couldn’t help but observe the deadly handsome and gentle man next to you. 

He was such a good guy, you mused as you watched his profile, his own tattoo placed behind his right ear that would eventually bond him with his ‘soulmate’, a being who the universe had decided all on their own that would complete and make the other person happy. You wondered what kind of person his soulmate was. 

Namjoon and you were so close, you two had bonded over each other’s respective clumsiness and forgetfulness in your freshman year of college, yet you found it a bit odd how you didn’t really know his stance on the whole soulmate thing. He never talked about the physically minuscule mark on his body that would have an enormous role in his life. Always presented a stoic, almost indifferent expression when he laid eyes upon the numerous couples along campus, never had expressed any longing towards a significant other either. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He childishly snickered a little and gazed down at you with that attractive little smirk (authors note: omg imagine if he rlly looked at u like that id be dead) he did when he was about to tell a predictable joke. “You just did.” You mouthed the words along with him and rolled your eyes at him, a smile finding your lips anyway. He nodded at you and waited expectantly and suddenly you found yourself the tiniest bit shy.

Briefly pondering what would have happened if the two of you somehow shared the same tattoo, if somehow the two of you were each other soulmates. Would he had hid it if he noticed it before you did like Yoongi? No, you reasoned, he wasn’t that kind of person. He preferred to confront situations head on. Maybe you wouldn’t have hated the idea so much if you had a soulmate like Namjoon.

Instead the universe deemed your ‘perfect other half that will definitely complete you’ as an egotistic, douchebag named Min Yoongi.

“What do you feel about the whole soulmate thing?” Your voice was as small as a mouse and you saw his face drop a bit from his peaceful expression, making you tilt your head in confusion. His jaw tightened and his overall presence and posture suddenly became very rigid.

Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to his studies as he answered with stiff casualness, “I don’t really have an opinion on it. I’ll worry about it when it happens.”

You could tell that he seemed very uncomfortable with the topic and you wanted to apologize for ruining the light atmosphere. It all of a sudden felt thick with tension between the two of you and you had no idea why.

So you hummed as nonchalantly as you could and turned away, “Ah, I see...” reminding and praying that you remembered to try and get Namjoon to open up a bit when he was ready.

But for now you turned away to your own notes and thought of your own predicament you were dealing with.

Keeping your lips sealed after what happened in that cursed classroom a few weeks ago, you had told no one and determined that it was just a bad nightmare, an irrational and delusional nightmare you wanted to forget ever having. 

Namjoon was Yoongi’s friend... kind of. Well, you knew that they at least tolerated each other. 

Should you just tell Namjoon what had occurred and ask for advice about what to do next?

No, let’s not make him even more uncomfortable, you sighed and laid your head back on the desk and allowed your dreary eyelids to shut as you recalled what happened that dreaded afternoon. 

You really did not want to believe it.

Even if it turned out to be true, you wanted to run away even if it was cowardly but before you even knew what the hell you were doing, you were taking large strides to Yoongi’s frozen figure in the seat, both gasping at the shock and warm sensation you felt from finally making physical contact for the first time. 

You had heard people talking about it, how the two persons involved felt electrified and so connected to each other and their bond. And although you couldn’t really argue with that statement, you didn’t feel particularly too connected to him at that moment. You guessed the emotions were consequences of the particular revelation.

Yes, his skin was smooth and warm to the touch, and an insane part of you had the idea to run your fingers down his wrist to meet his own in an intertwined embrace. Until the more rational side, your preferred and more dominant side, clued in the jagged and broken pieces as best as it could and suddenly everything made sense, heart thundering in your chest as you broke down your late epiphany as best as you could.

Throwing his arm down harshly, you couldn’t get the image of your tattoo out of your head-the one slightly bigger than an inch-the one you somehow shared with the man in front of you. Only now were you able to decipher the strange intricate lines-it had been both of your initials in some abstract handwriting.

Looking back at it now, you felt like such an idiot to not see the MYG that was so blatantly and obviously there, mocking you, forever etched on your skin, not at all welcomed there.

Releasing a shaky exhale as you tried your hardest to remain calm, you stared at Min Yoongi, that damned loon that somehow thought it a good idea to keep such an important detail to himself, had still not moved from his frozen stature and had dark, wide unblinking eyes stare frightened back at you. 

“You’re my soulmate?” As soon as the words escaped your lips, it felt all wrong. “How long have you known?” 

How long had you known him for?

Why was it him?

Imitating a fish, his mouth opened and shut numerous times before uttering, “Since the day we met.”

The memory burned fresh in your brain. You had been completely and immediately enamored with him at the first glance of him, and had the vaguest feeling that your feelings were mutual. When he had suddenly grew even paler than he already was and his lovely eyes widened to their maximum extent, you wanted to ask what the matter was, your soulmate tattoo subconsciously in full view.

Until he gazed at you like you had just cursed him out with your finest curse, most disgusting insults. It had oddly felt like he took part of your soul with him when he disappeared that day. 

It had seemed he was avoiding you every time he caught a glimpse of you, there was no chance in hell you were going to get to know him better if you couldn’t even get closer than twenty feet of him. One second you were making eye contact with him, then the next he was pressed against some girl all the while keeping gazes with you, not understanding why your stomach would knot in jealousy and loneliness, when normally you were not like this at all.

“You...” He had known all this time. Of course, why would he suddenly start to wear all those hoodies and sweaters in this scorching heat, with beads of sweat clinging to his temple? How he always seemed to claw at his sleeves whenever you were near? How the gorgeous girls he had flirted with in front of you filled with such insecurities just from looking from afar?

Min Yoongi was your soulmate?

What a joke.

“You knew this whole time?” You stupidly had finally spit the whole phrase out into the open air, the silence deafening as the two of you faced each other, each heart thundering in your chests. 

Yoongi had finally risen from his fixed posture at the desk and stood up, taking a tentative step forward before stumbling back a few shaky steps.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You hated that you sounded so pathetic, so desperate even to yourself. 

It wasn’t as if you had even wanted to meet your soulmate, the fact that he hid it from you probably meant that he didn’t want you, right? So you should be happy you weren’t tied to someone who was going to tie you to him, but why did the thought of him possibly not wanting you break your heart into pieces?

Maybe there was such a thing as a soulmate bond after all, if your whole being was being torn like this, this much.

His demeanor seemed to change in an instant, and he had lost all past vulnerability and uncertainty. Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed on you he spat out, “You think this makes sense?” He gestured between the two of you quickly, trying to keep his voice low in case any other students were lingering out in the halls, although unlikely, and you could sense his shame from where you were standing. “Us? That you’re my soulmate?”

It was like the roles had reversed and now you were the frozen one, an ache formed deep in your stomach as you registered his words. But they were the ones you had wanted to say to him a few minutes ago, so why were you feeling this way?

“I’ll tell it to you straight,” he continued, not giving you a moment to collect yourself. “I don’t want people finding out you’re my soulmate. It’s embarrassing, and since you never bothered to hide it, I have to.” He bent down and grasped his discarded hoodie from the ground and shook it in your direction. “Do you know how fucking bothersome is it to always have to wear this twenty four seven? In this weather? Huh?”

You didn’t bother answering, feeling yourself get worked up over his words had you breaking out of your moment of dejection and nodded, exhaling harshly. Right, you could overcome this. But first you had to show him that you weren’t just going to stay silent and weak when he was insulting you.

Embarrassing? He was embarrassed of you? He should have just told you when he had first found out, that way things wouldn’t have been this twisted. The two of you could have coolly and casually gone your separate ways, but for some reason you felt betrayed. 

“Look, we have nothing in common, and to be honest, this whole soulmate shit is really fucking unfair.” It seemed he was becoming a bit drained, like his newfound energy had dissipated as fast as it had come. 

“I wouldn’t say we have nothing in common,” you trailed off, meeting his glare with one of your own, though his faltered a bit at your unexpected words, looking at you the tiniest bit puzzled. A bitter smile gracing your lips, you raised your eyebrows a bit as you continued, gaining a bit of satisfaction at the look of surprise on Yoongi’s face. “It’s not like I want you, either.”

“Y/N wake up.” You were being shook gently back and forth by Namjoon, his dimpled smile being the first sight you see when you open your eyes. He chuckled under his breathe as you sluggishly lift your weary body up, and groaning in pain as you feel one your ribs were pressing on the edge of the table, an ache forming and stabbing every time you moved. Sitting up, you noticed a very familiar light cardigan draped around your shoulders, and you gaze starstruck and touched up at Namjoon, silently thanking him for covering you, knowing you always got cold when you slept. 

He ruffled your hair affectionately in answer as you attempted to rub the remaining sleepiness from your eyes and fix your appearance so it was more presentable, handing the cardigan back to him. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you,” he smiled apologetically. “but the library is closing soon, and I’d feel better if you slept in your own bed instead of this stiff chair.”

It was only then you noticed the lack of people around and you felt heat crawl up your neck and cheeks, wondering why if you had slept so long why you felt even more exhausted than before. “Thanks, and sorry for making you study by yourself...” you trailed off, standing up and slinging your bag on your shoulder as the two of you slowly made your way out of the library, nodding politely to the librarian behind the wide oak desk.

“No worries, but I do expect some coffee from you tomorrow, just saying.” It had gotten a bit dark and there was a bit of a breeze and you froze as Namjoon suddenly draped the cardigan over your shoulders once again. Your fingers met when you both fixed the collar and it made you grip the fabric tighter around yourself when he quickly pulled away, clearing his throat and avoiding your gaze. 

You agreed to his proposition as casually as you could and stumbled a little when you made eye contact with the one and only Min Yoongi, who was also just seemed to leaving for the day, his strong gaze alternating between you and Namjoon, and the cardigan around your shoulders.

wow i have not written this much in a really long time so i’m actually pretty proud of myself lol. lmk what u guys thought down in the comments or messages! as always thanks to everyone who is reading and to everyone who left those supportive comments they really made my day and i appreciate all of you!!<3

T O    B E    C O N T I N U E D .  .  .

tag list: @hoodiebangtan​ @xanny91​ @babeejeon​ @chocolatemilk1221 @fuckthatfeeling​ @cremextart​ @secretlypg95​ @littlegryffindorsavage​ @paracii​ @tragicrosemoons​ @sunshinein17​ @xxluckydreamsxx​ @skzleaf​ @lidda​ @thesugatoyourtae​ @marycarabell​ @pawschimchim​ 

#bts #bts au #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts suga #suga #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts namjoon #bts x reader #bts angst #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #kpop scenarios

[srhlsx]

CHAPTER 16

master | ch. 15 | ch. 17

When you walked up to your locker that morning you saw Oikawa waiting for you, looking cool as ever with his casually styled hair and clothes that he wore more like a fashion statement than a uniform. He stood up straight when you stepped up to him, greeting him with a smile and turning to open your locker.

“(y/n),” He said. “I’m so sorry.”

You paused, “What?”

“This weekend,” He motioned with his hand. “Iwa told me what happened.”

You blanched. While it was never spoken between you and Iwaizumi that what had happened, either time, was going to be a secret you kind of assumed that the two of you would keep it under wraps. As far as you knew, and according to your agreement, Oikawa had no romantic feelings towards you but you didn’t imagine he would be one-hundred percent okay with his best friend dicking down his fake girlfriend. And you were very certain that the emotions you found accompanying each touch from him, accidental or intentional, were not supposed to be happening.

“Told you?” You barely managed to get your voice above a whisper.

“Yes, I should’ve been there.” Okay, that’s... odd. “I can’t believe that loser cornered you like that. I’m sorry, you should’ve called me. I would’ve kicked his ass.”

You came to the realization that Oikawa was only talking about you running into your ex and you tried not to let your relief be completely visible. “Stop, stop,” You held up your hand to shut him up. “It’s really okay. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

He sighed, clearly frustrated with the situation as his mouth scrunched to the side of his face. He looked hurt, confused, and he shook his head. “Shit, I don’t care if it’s not real, you’re my friend and I should’ve been there.”

His sentiment warmed your heart and you smiled up at him, reaching to pat his cheek gently. “It’s okay, Tooru. I know you would’ve been there if I had asked.” He turned into your embrace and gave the palm of your hand a short, sweet peck which made you smile.

You turned back to open your locker, not surprised when on top of your neatly stacked books was a brightly colored envelope. Annoyed, you rolled your neck to the side, picked up the parcel, and waved it in front of Oikawa.

“More fan mail,” You mumbled sarcastically. His eyes widened when he saw what you were holding, a sudden look of guilt flashing across his face. “Shall we see what it says?”

You opened the envelope, pulling out the note and seeing that it was written in handwriting that you wouldn’t exactly describe as being neat. You started to read over the letter, feeling Oikawa peer over your shoulder, letting out a small gasp at the words that were written. You actually couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit as you read the really awful comments being aimed at you.

“What are you two love birds up to?” You and Oikawa turned to look over your shoulders at the group of his teammates who had joined you at your locker. Matsukawa looked expectantly so you assumed he was the one who spoke. 

You couldn’t help when your eyes looked over and caught Iwaizumi’s. His expression said nothing, but his eyes said everything. You instantly felt guilty, having made the assumption that he would be the type to spill the details about what happened between you two.

You looked back at Matsukawa with a smirk on your face. “Just more fan mail,” You waved your hand. 

That moment you happened to glance behind the group of boys gathered around you and you saw a group of about three girls, first-years you were guessing since you didn’t recognize them and they looked extremely uncomfortable in the third year wing, staring at you. In particular they were watching the piece of paper you held in your hands, leaning close to whisper and giggle with one another.

You let out an annoyed huff, turning on your heel and going back to your locker. You rummaged around in your bag that was at your feet, searching for a specific colored pen to help with what you had in mind.

“(y/n)?” You heard Oikawa say and felt him reach out and touch your elbow, you jerked away and shoved a hand in his face to keep him from talking any more, it shut him up instantly and he nervously looked over to his teammates with a wide expression. 

You were furiously scribbling on the letter that had been left with you. You mumbled to yourself like a crazy person, going on about being sick of their shit and how you weren’t going to be insulted by a couple of girls who didn’t even know how to correctly spell a basic insult. Lifting your head up suddenly, you whirled around and faced the group of girls who were a few meters away, your hair flying back over your shoulders as you walked with a purpose.

At first they didn’t seem to notice until one of them who had been watching Oikawa saw that he had called out for you. You calmly walked up to the girls, and while you weren’t much taller than them, you looked down on them with as much of a heated glare as you could muster. They cowered away, visibly shaking and looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Which one of you wrote this?” You asked calmly, looking between the three. Two of them instantly gave up their friend, glancing at her warily while she stayed silent. You held the note up to her face so she could see your markups in red pen, pointing aggressively at each grammar mistake she made and explaining to her why it was wrong in the first place. You went on for a few solid minutes. “You must have me fucked up if you think I’m going to take this shit seriously.”

Finally before turning around and walking away from the girls, you shoved the note into the girl’s chest. She was practically in tears and you hadn’t even said an insulting word to her. You walked past the boys still waiting at your locker, having heard the entire conversation along with a small crowd that had formed. “Go off (y/n)!” Matsukawa called out, pumping his fist in the air.

You huffed out the breath you had been apparently holding, slamming your locker closed and heading to the first class of the day.

- - - - -

You walked through the open doors of the gymnasium later that day, hearing the squeaking of sneakers and the bouncing of balls on the hard floor. Looking around, you saw Oikawa and Iwaizumi standing on the side of the court watching the rest of the team continue their practice. You walked up and tapped Oikawa on the shoulder and he quickly turned around, a surprised expression turning excited when he saw it was you.

“(Y/n)!” He greeted happily, slinging an arm around your shoulders that made you groan since he was covered in sweat. “It’s almost break time.”

You nodded. You had offered to help Oikawa with some relief therapy for his knee, saying you would stop by during practice since you had today off from your own club activities. Having danced for so long, you knew what it meant to have important joints bothering you and keeping up with therapeutic exercises always helped. 

You watched along with the boys as the rest of the team went through spiking drills, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were observing and letting their juniors know about how they could improve. You had the overwhelming desire to look at Iwaizumi, strike up a conversation with him, get his attention somehow, but you were stuck under the weight of your current obligation - literally, Oikawa refused to remove his arm. 

You couldn’t have known that the scowl Iwaizumi had on his face wasn’t just because his face naturally fell that way, but instead was because he actually felt frustrated. He wanted his arm around you and your attention on him, and only him. He felt his hand clenching into a fist and had to consciously tell himself to relax before anyone asked what was wrong.

You had turned to Oikawa for the briefest of moments, wanting to ask him a question, when a whoosh of air blew past your face. You blinked, looking back and seeing Iwaizumi’s hand extended as it caught a stray ball that was careening straight for your face. 

Continuing to stare with wide eyes, a younger boy sauntered up to where the three of you stood. You didn’t recognize him, but his hardened gaze was clearly trying to let the world know he was angry about something.

“Mad Dog!” Oikawa cried out, stepping towards the boy to scold him. “You need to be careful!”

You pushed the ball out of your field of vision, noticing the heated look Iwaizumi was giving this Mad Dog character, and looked at the boy in front of you. His bleached hair had a bizarre style cut into it and you understood right away he was not the type to take a liking to anyone in any way. He had a snarl on his face that you guessed was very typical of him, and the dark look in his eyes reminded you of a stray animal ready to attack.

When he turned from Oikawa and saw you looking at him, he startled back a little bit and his eyes widened. Had you not been looking right at him from less than a meter away, you would not have noticed the very slight blush that was dusted across his cheeks as he looked away from you and grabbed the ball harshly out of Iwaizumi’s hand. He looked back at you then down to his shoes. “Sorry,” He grumbled.

“It’s okay sweetie!” You smiled up at him, waving him away. You got the notion that the feeling of being flustered was foreign to this boy, and while you would normally love to poke and prod a little more you decided that the intense glare he was getting from Iwaizumi was punishment enough. “Nice spike!’

His eyes widened ever so slightly and he quickly turned away to join the rest of the team again, mumbling a soft thank you as he left. 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki stepped up next to you, staring after the boy who was gripping the volleyball with all his strength. “Did Mad Dog just… apologize?” Hanamaki asked. 

“Was Mad Dog just civil towards someone?” Matsukawa asked.

“That wasn’t being civil,” Hanamaki corrected, voice rising significantly. “He was polite to her!”

“(y/n), I don’t know what it is, but you should come around more often.” Matsukawa laughed, nudging your shoulder gently. “The only person Mad Dog doesn’t growl at is Iwaizumi.”

You laughed off the comment, not understanding what the big deal was. “I have that effect on people,” You smiled up at the boys who all seemed to agree. “Can we get started, Tooru?”

Oikawa stared at you for a moment, glancing behind you at Iwaizumi who was walking back to get in line for drills again before bringing his focus back to answer you. “Yes, sweetness, let’s work this knee out.”

TAGS: 

@iihxneybunz75​ @bambisfuneral​ @svtbitch​

#hq!! x reader #hq!! #hq #hq iwaizumi #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi hajime #x reader #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert

[afaithy]

12 for Takari?

OOOH GOD, I really had issues over how to write this one, but I finally managed to do it. 

I think it turned out pretty well all things considered :). I really hope you like it.

Send me ask & MasterPost

I am pregnant

“She used to say that the human heartbeat was the first music that a person heard, and that every child was born knowing the rhythm of her mother's song.”

― Kate Morton

She’d been feeling sluggish lately. It was nothing out of the ordinary and she blamed it to work since she’d been having some rough days recently. She should have seen it coming when she enlisted to help out at the ER onJou’s request. The Koushiro Incident was the cherry on top of the day. Jou had decided to save his opinions out of consideration for his old friend, but she had caught him trying to keep himself from laughing several times after the whole incident was over.

Who would have imagined that coconut oil could cause so much trouble?

Yamato and Taichi had been way too drunk to remember most of the incident, but Takeru who had been the chaperone during the bachelor party had witnessed everything and she had caught him writing something in his notebook at the hospital cafeteria later that night. He hadn’t told her what it was, but she was slightly suspicious that her dear husband was actually recounting the whole incident to use a funny story to retell in the future. Fortunately, Koushiro’s little problem had been solved with some epinephrine and steroids and they hadn’t had to lament any losses.

Still Hikari didn’t remember ever feeling this off, not even during her internship time, and those days had been the most tiring of all

“You’re not looking too hot,Yagami. You okay?” Yoshinori-san, the head nurse of the ER said. 

“Yeah...I’m feeling a little tired.”

“Tired? Well, yeah. It’s been busy lately, isn’t it?” Yoshinori-san said with a nod “But you should talk to doctor Kido. There seems to be a cold bug going around. I’ve seen a lot of people with cold symptoms coming in.”

“Yes, I don’t think it is a cold. I don’t feel feverish…” Hikari said, feeling her forehead “but I will ask Jou-senpai to be sure. Thank you, Yoshinori-san.”

 Jou was sitting in his office with a face that did not hide his exhaustion; he rested his head over the desk wondering if he could spare a couple minutes of sleep when he heard a timid knock on his door. Hikari was standing in front of the door with the same tired look that he had, holding two steaming cups in his hands.

“Oh..hey…” Jou said, fixing his glasses back in place. 

“Hey, long night, huh? I brought you something and I know, I asked for soy milk...don’t worry.” she added when Jou was about to comment. Her childhood friend smiled and accepted the cup, enjoying the comforting warmth between his fingers.

“Long... That’s an understatement…” Jou coughed “Never had I imagined I’d have to attend one of my friends in such...curious condition.”

Hikari giggled.

“And even less that that friend would be Koushiro-san.”

“Yeah...I could have expected it from Taichi or Daisuke; hey even Yamato, but Koushiro?” Jou snorted, taking the cup to his lips. He had expected coffee, but to his surprise, it was tea.” Oh, not coffee today?”

“Uh...yeah, sorry. I intended to get you coffee, but the smell just made me feel sick.”

That couldn’t be right, Jou thought. He put down the cup and looked at the woman sitting in front of him with an inquisitive look. He had known her for almost all his life, and he was well aware of her fragile health. Though it had improved considerably in the last few years, worrying and sounding an alarm at the slightest hint that she wasn’t feeling alright had become a habit of his. 

“Sick?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been feeling too well lately” she said casually. Hikari leaned on the desk and began pressing her temple. A mild headache was starting to hit her, and it was making her feel a little dizzy and lightheaded “I guess it might be fatigue. I mean, I’ve been so tired lately.”

“Well, the ER is a busy department…” Jou admitted “but still, when it comes to you...sometimes it is better to be safe.”

She somehow knew that he’d said that. Well, she’d come ready to receive an impromptu health examination from the start, so she didn’t complain.

“So...nausea?” Jou asked. 

“Yeah, pretty often lately and very sporadic.Strong smells make it worse.”

“Fever? Coughing?”

“No, normal temperature, I think?” she shrugged “I mean it's mostly fatigue, nausea, dizziness and mild headaches…”

Jou was writing down the symptoms in a notepad, when a sudden thought hit him. 

“Hikari-chan...when was your last period?”

Jou and Hikari looked at each other for a moment. SInce both of them had been working together regularly and were very professional, their expressions were serene.However, it didn’t make the silence less awkward.

“Eh...last month?” Hikari said, unsure “I can’t remember. I think I am a little late this month, but I’ve never been regular so…”

“Well, in your situation...I wouldn’t scratch the possibility. Let’s run a test, just to be sure shall we?”

The hCG test results arrived faster than Hikari had expected and Hikari suspected that Jou might have used his influences in the lab. Her friend entered the office with a stoic expression.

“So?” Hikari asked expectantly.

“Eh, yeah...I think we need to make a quick stop at imagenology, Hikari-chan.”

Hikari was speechless and for a brief moment considered pinching herself to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep in the nurses' room and was dreaming.

Jou smiled and handed her the lab result. Written in small letters  said Positive and next to the result was a scribble that Hikari recognized as Jou's handwriting: "Congratulations, you're going to be a mom!"

The events that followed this revelation were like a blur: Jo accompanied her to the imaging department, and the day's surprises (including Koushiro's unexpected visit to the ER) weren't ending.

Hikari was not only 11 weeks pregnant, but there were two small creatures growing in her womb and they both looked perfectly healthy. The girl could not contain her tears when she heard the small and rapid heartbeats of the two little ones.

“Well, look at that…” Jou grinned, as they walked back to the ER “Two little ones, huh? I can’t imagine Takeru’s face when you tell him.”

“Nor can I…” Hikari giggled, looking at the photo she was holding. A photo of her two babies.

“I can’t imagine Yamato nor Taichi’s faces either…” Jou laughed “Especially Taichi’s. I think he’s still in denial about the fact that you’re married and what that implies…”

Hikari laughed. Taichi was going to lose it and poor Takeru would be the victim, but maybe Yamato would give him a hand. She knew that once the shock had passed, Taichi would be overjoyed by the news. 

“So how are you planning to tell him?”

“I think I might have an idea…”

It was later that day, when her shift ended that she snuck into Takeru’s study and scanned the ultrasound into his laptop and set it up as his desktop image with a tiny little sticky  memo with one single sentence:Look at what we made.

She was in the kitchen when she heard the chair fall down, and patamon screeching desperately asking if his partner was ok? She simply smiled and rested her hand over her abdomen. 

From all the surprises she got that day, this was definitely the best one yet.

=========================================================

As usual Here’s a chibi (sorry I can’t draw ultrasounds :P)

#Takari #forever #hikari yagami #kari kamiya #Digimon #fanfiction #AU #jou kido #jyou kido #Baby on the way #Digimon 2020 #my drabbles #ugly chibi #Prompt challenge

[candyheartharry]

Paper Cranes

*Author’s note: Hi, friends! before we get too carried away, I’d like you to know there’s a spotify playlist I’ve made that goes along with this, so if you’d like you can give it a listen here. Happy reading!*

----------------------------

Hiiiii! Are you busy? I’m in town and want to see you! : )

What had started as a simple text asking to spend the afternoon catching up with an old friend somehow turned into a very elaborate plan for the next day. It would start with an early lunch, a walk down to the beach, and spending as much time as you both wanted doing whatever you pleased.

“I still can’t believe I talked you into buying that shirt, you look absolutely ridiculous!” you laughed from the passenger seat of his car. Harry had just pulled his brand new tie-dyed unicorn shirt over his head, and was “fixing” his hair in the sun visor mirror, even though it seemed like he was messing it up even more, more than anything else. Your walk to the beach led the two of you past a vintage store, so Harry being Harry insisted you both go in and pick something out for each other.

He’d picked out a pair of bright pink heart shaped sunglasses for you which were now pushed back on the top of your head, and as soon as you held up the shirt he’s now wearing and you said “Isn’t this the most tragic thing you’ve ever seen?!” to which he replied: “You know, I bet I could pull it off,” with a casual shrug, you knew it was game on. To your irritation, he was right. If you still found your friend this attractive wearing a blue tie-dyed t-shirt with not just one, but two unicorns on it, you just might be in too deep.

“I think I look pretty damn good, thank you very much!” he replied smugly as he put his sunglasses on while you both got out of his car to continue your walk to the beach after your short detour so he could change. Unfortunately, he was right, you just couldn’t let on that you agreed with him.

As you walked down the wooden boardwalk that led from the sidewalk to the sand, you both continued your conversations from lunch earlier, talking about all the fascinating and glamorous things he had been up to the past few weeks, and how mundane your life had seemed in comparison during the same amount of time. “I think taking an afternoon to go to lunch with my friend and go to the beach might be the most normal thing it feels like I’ve done in weeks,” he remarked as soon as you both reached the end, both of you stepping off to the side of the path to take off your shoes out of the way of the walkway. You placed both of your pairs of shoes in your beach bag that was slung over your shoulder that you had packed, just in case your walk turned into deciding on somewhere to sit for while.

“So you do like long walks on the beach as much as I do, or do you want to pick out a place to sit down for a while?” he asked after you both were ready to go. “The ‘long walks on the beach’ line sounds a bit cheesy, but I’m willing to overlook it,” you joked as the two of you made your way to the water’s edge. “It’s who I am, love, you should know this by now! I know you haven’t seen me in a while, but don’t act so surprised,” he replied.

Even though it’s not what he meant by it, but whenever he made remarks like this about how you hadn’t seen each other in a while, or how much there was to fill each other in on about what’s been going on in the other’s life, always seemed to break your heart just a little and frustrate you to no end at the same time. You tried to fix your focus onto the pull of the water against your feet as you two walked just where the waves met the sand. Maybe things would be different if you led more similar lives and he could be around more often or if you could go with him, and maybe even if the situation was different everything would still be the same. The crash and fall of the very tiny ends of the waves reminded you a lot of how it felt with him always coming and going, and never knowing when he would come back, and you were starting to think that if every little thing like this could remind you of him somehow, perhaps trying to focus just on your path wasn’t the best idea.

“You alright?” he says after a few moment’s silence, making you notice now how quiet you both had been because you were in your head for a moment. You look over at him to find him looking back expectantly, and once your eyes meet you both look back ahead of you. “Just thinking, I guess. Nothing special,” you shrugged, trying to think fast of what to talk about next before he could ask more about what you were thinking, and how much you didn’t want him to know it was about him.

“How far do you want to keep walking for?” you asked in attempt to change the subject. You realized there were getting to be less and less people on the beach the further you both kept walking, which you’re sure he enjoyed so he wouldn’t have to worry about who might be around. “I’ll walk for miles if you’re alright to come with me,” he suggested, taking a look around at how far you both had gone since your starting point, and where else there might be to keep going. “Was that cheesy enough for you, or should I try harder next time?” he says with a smirk, nudging your arm with his own. There were some rocks further away from the shoreline that seemed to be like a nice place to take a moment to rest, so you took his hand and led the way. “It was a bit much, but I’m willing to pretend you didn’t say it,” you tease him, making sure to let go of his hand a little while so you don’t let yourself get used to how it feels to be able to keep him close.

You take your bag off your shoulder and set it down in the sand, reaching for a blue picnic blanket you brought along and spreading it out in your secluded corner of the beach where the crowds hadn’t reached yet, where you and Harry seemed to be the only two in this part of the world. To your surprise, he grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit next to him. Once you were sitting side by side, he reached in the pocket of his yellow shorts for his phone, scrolling for a minute before selecting a playlist and placing his phone upon the rock just behind him. As he stretched back to lie down with his arms behind his head, you decided to keep your position sitting next to him with your legs crossed. Laying down next to him meant you would want nothing more than to make yourself at home resting your head on his chest, and this wasn’t the time to get even more attached before he was gone again.

You talk aimlessly about this and that and everything, mutual friends either of you had seen lately, who you hadn’t heard from in a while, and everything you both haven’t had the chance to tell each other since you’ve been apart. During a break in the conversation, he suddenly props himself up on one elbow and gestures towards your beach bag. “Have you got any paper?” he asks as he pushes his sunglasses on top of his head. Confused, you start to rummage around the bottom of the bag, knowing you probably don’t but checking just in case. “Maybe? I’m not sure, what do you need paper for?” you ask as you keep looking. “Check and see if I threw one of my journals in there from the car. It’s a brown cover with an H stamped on the bottom corner,” he continues, and suddenly you stop looking and pause for a second.

“You mean the one I got you for your birthday a couple years back?” you ask, trying to stay calm even though you had about sixteen questions you wanted to ask all at the same time. Why did he keep the journal you gave him in his car? Who keeps a journal in their car in the first place? If he did manage to put it in your bag, how did he get it in there without your noticing? Did he remember that you’re the one who gave it to him, or did you mentioning that make this weird?

“Yep, that’s the one, did you find it?” he continues, leaning up just a little to peer over the edge of the bag that’s sitting between you. It takes you a moment before you go back to looking, reaching all the way to the bottom until you feel something you assume the book in question. You take out the journal and pass it over to him, to which he sits up to mirror your position before flipping through the pages to what he’s looking for.

“I don’t think I have a pen or anything to write with,” you say as he keeps flipping past the pages and pages filled with his handwriting. Who knows whether its lyrics or poems or anything special, but it seems as if he’s written on almost every square inch of every page. Eventually as he gets closer to the back, he finds some blank pages and carefully rips out two from the spine. “It’s okay, we won’t need one. Wanted to show you something I learned a while back,” he says as he passes one blank page to you and keep the other for himself. “It’s a bit easier if you’ve got a more flat surface, but I think this should do alright,” he says as he uses the rock to push himself to stand up off the sand. He crosses around to the other side of the rock behind you and sits down, leading you to turn around so that this relatively flat rock can be used like a table in between you.

“I learned how to make paper cranes for a video with the tailoring campaign, do you know how to make them?” he asks while he moves his phone further over to the side so there’s plenty of space to work with. “Hold on, there’s a video for this tailoring campaign?” you ask in response to his question. He said it so casually, it’s almost like he forgets how not everyone gets a campaign deal with Gucci. “Yes, but more importantly, do you know how to make paper cranes?!” he presses. “I do not know how to make paper cranes, but more importantly I also didn’t know there was going to be a video; how could you just leave that out?!”

He just laughs and shakes his head, and you don’t know if you’d like more to reach across this rock and smack him or pull him across to kiss him, so you settle for just taking a few deep breaths to calm down and let it go. “So I’ll show you how to make them, just watch my hands and I’ll talk you through the steps,” he says getting ready to start this lesson. Telling you to watch his hands was a dangerous game, because the last thing you needed was another way for him to win your heart any more.

As he walked you through the instructions and you tried your best to follow along, you had to put all your focus and attention into watching the paper and not his fingers, because doing so would mean you’d never get anything done. “You know, I do know how to make a ring out of a dollar bill,” you mentioned as he guided you through the last step of the process, resulting in two matching paper cranes. “You know, I’m really not surprised by that,” he laughs, resting the palms of his hands in the sand behind him to lean back. You fidget with the paper crane you made between your fingers so you don’t have to look at him, and you can feel him watching you. Hopefully it’s just the sun, but the attention you don’t need to look up to confirm makes your face and neck feel red.

“Okay, will you just tell me whatever’s had you so distracted this whole afternoon?” he asks, trying to get you to look up at him. “I’m sorry, that sounded harsh. You just seem like something’s bothering you, I want to make sure you’re alright,” he continues once you looked up at him and raised your eyebrows. Might as well give him something before he presses the matter too much, so you start with a sigh.

“I’m just a little sad since I don’t know when the next time we’ll get to spend a day together like this. And I don’t mean going to lunch and going to the beach, I just mean you and me spending more than a few minutes passing together. I know you’re busy, and I’ve got things going on too, and I know it’s nobody’s fault, but it just makes me a little…nostalgic I guess is the word I’m looking for?” You look up at him after twisting and twirling the paper crane from one hand to the other, and he looks like he expects you to keep going. As much as you love when he has his sunglasses pushed up on his head, you wish he was wearing his sunglasses properly so you didn’t have to be so aware of him watching you so expectantly.

“Sometimes I just really miss you, but I’m happy to have you around,” you add on, looking back down to the crane in your hands. “I didn’t mean to get so serious, I’m sorry if this is a lot. This was supposed to be a fun day, and I made it all- whatever this is?” you continue with a wave of your hand.

“You didn’t make it weird if it’s what’s on your mind,” he begins. “I know it sucks we don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like, I always love spending time with you.” You look back up at him and he’s sitting up now, leaning forward with his forearms resting against the top of the rock, his hands folded together, but extended your direction. He notices you look down at his folded hands and holds them open for him to take them. “Ready to head back? I feel like if we stay out in the sun any longer I might turn pink,” he asks, stretching out his open hands just a touch closer in invitation for you to take them.

You place your crane on top of the rock next to his and take his hands. You can only tell the two cranes apart because yours had an extra crease on its right wing from a fold you had to undo and try again. He stands up first and pulls you up after him, and drops your joined hands to grab the blanket off the ground and shake off any excess sand. He folds it neatly and places it in your beach bag. He tucks the two paper cranes into the front cover of his journal, and as he does you catch a glimpse of the note you inscribed in pink ink on the cover before you gave it to him.

Harry! Happiest of birthdays, my friend! Wishing you another year of light, love, happiness, and health, but most importantly: another year of being friends with me : )

Signed “All my love, proud of you always,” with your name and a heart. You remember how much time you spent overthinking what to write, and whether you should write anything at all, but now looking back you’re glad that you did. He ties the journal back closed securely, and slides it down the side of the bag. He slings it over his own shoulder this time and holds his hand out to take yours. “I want my paper crane back once we get back, just so you know,” you mention as the two of you start to talk back the way you came. You expected him to let go of your hand after a few steps, but he hasn’t. “But if I ‘accidentally’ forget to give it back, we’ll have to get together another time so I can return it,” he counter-proposes with a shrug, making you smile.

While the two of you walk closer back to the more populated area of the beach, two dogs suddenly come barreling towards you almost like they’ve known Harry all their lives and can’t wait to see him. The first dog to reach him jumps up on his legs and drops the ball it was holding in its mouth for Harry to throw for him. Harry reaches down with his free hand to scratch the dog’s head, and crouches down for the ball before tossing it back in the direction the dogs came from, sending them both running away just as quickly as they came.

“Wait, I want to write our names in the sand before we go,” he says, leading you over to the sand dunes just down the way from the boardwalk that leads back into the parking lot. “Want to practice for signing your name and doing stamps of your handprints for the Hollywood walk of fame someday?” you suggest jokingly, squeezing his hand just a little. “You might be getting ahead of yourself, I think I’ll do sand over cement for now,” he replies with your favorite charming smile. He takes a second before finding the spot where the sand looks the softest and lets go of your hand for a minute so he can crouch down on his knees to write his name. “Did I leave you enough space? I know I can write pretty big sometimes,” he says turning around and asking over his shoulder to look at you standing watch behind him. You get down on your knees next to him and write your own name underneath his and slightly to the right, adding a heart at the end.

“Hold on, now I want one next to my name, too!” he gestures, motioning for you to add a heart to the end of his name just above where you made yours. You quickly add another shape in the sand and notice he’s started drawing more along the other side at the beginning. Once you run out of room to draw any more - you both getting creative and drawing all over the surrounding space, adding palm trees and outlines of birds, turtles and fish, butterflies and stars – you both stand up to admire your joint artwork. You reach for your phone to take a picture, and after taking just one you motion for him to go get in the shot as well. He steps very carefully around the drawings and gives the cheesiest grin he can paired with a thumbs up with each hand.

After you lower your phone back down, he holds out his hand for you to help him step back across. “Switch places with me, I want to take one of you, too,” he says taking your phone from your hands. You pose in about the same spot he was in, and when he lowers your phone, instead of passing it back he starts to look around for someone passing by to ask to take a photo of the two of you together. The first person to walk by is a group of three older women, who happily stop to take a picture for for this “handsome young man” as they so lovingly called him. He quickly jumps over to stand beside you and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in close beside him.

They take one picture of the two of you just smiling for the camera, and start to pass the phone back. “Would you mind taking two more, please? I hate to ask since you’re here to enjoy your day, but I’d like to have one of us that’s not so serious,” he asks politely, to which they happily oblige. For the next one he holds his arms out dramatically, nudging you with his elbow to do the same. “What should we do for the last one?” he asks, plucking your pink heart shaped sunglasses off the top of your head and trading them for his black ones. “Why don’t you give her a kiss!” one of the ladies suggests, making you blush. “Oh, no, we’re not-” you begin as you shake your head, pointing between you and him, but instead of explaining, Harry gives a kiss to your cheek as they take one last picture, and you know there’s no hiding how hot your face must feel. At least you can blame it on the sun, and he should hopefully buy into it, right?

“Thank you so, so much, we really appreciate it,” Harry says to the group of them as he holds your hand to help you step back across and retrieve your phone. He passes it back to you as the two of you and the group of them walk your separate ways, but keeps your hand joined with his as you start your walk again back to the boardwalk. “Sorry if that was a little unexpected, I thought it was probably easier to just do something rather than explain.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. You’re my friend,” you replied, almost more in a reminder to yourself that you were just friends and that was that. He kept your hand in his, and this time it was his hand giving yours a squeeze, followed by his absentmindedly rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. Just friends was fine if that’s all you could be, after all he’s the one who wrote once that a little love was better than none. Maybe if you had kissed him properly it would have taken a different course, but like you had convinced yourself before: even if things were different, they might still be the same.

----------------

About six months later you got another text, but this time you had been spending more time together in the past few weeks. The recent few weeks had consisted of pushing the boundaries of “just friends” with a few longing glances across crowded rooms, sitting a little closer than you really have to when you’re seated next to each other, custom playlists made of songs that said all you both were feeling but were still too shy to say. At least you thought he was still as shy as you were about wherever this friendship was going.

Busy? I have a song I want you to hear : )

You reply right away and before you know it, you both are hand in hand walking back down the beach you had first gone to what feels like ages ago, but was now a routine location between the two of you, and an opportunity you took as often as you both had the chance. When you got closer to the rock you usually set up shop around, you notice it was different than how you normally found it, and different from how it would be any other day. Something about how this all looked made you stop in your tracks.

A vintage lace tablecloth was set up on the sand where your blue picnic blanket would usually be, and there was a bouquet of flowers laid on the corner edge that was almost always occupied by your beach bag that you didn’t have with you today. There was a wicker picnic basket set upon the rock, which he had obviously had someone pack up earlier to have ready when you both arrived.

“Harry,” you start, not even knowing anything else to say because of how shocked you are at what this setup could possibly mean. You already know once you see everything, and the more you look back the more you think you knew all along, but this gesture of confirmation was more than you thought he was ready for. “I had to pull a few strings, bring out the ‘Harry Styles card’, I guess you could say,” he says with a smirk. He led you over and sat down on top of the blanket, pulling you right across from him so your knees were touching his. He reaches over a moment for the flowers before passing them to you and squeezing your hand.

“So…” you started, trying to be patient, but your nerves were getting the best of you. “So…?” he smirks, pulling your joined hands on top of his knee.

“Don’t play games with me, you said you had a song you wanted to play for me,” you giggle, nudging his knee with yours, making him smile. “Alright, alright, just give me a minute,” he says. He takes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls for a minute before he found what he was looking for. Due to your proximity, you couldn’t help but watch his every move as he got the song ready to play.

“I haven’t played this to anybody else before, I wanted you to hear it first.”

You notice the name of the file before he plays it, and see it’s called “Paper Cranes.” You knew really looked back hard enough, you might be able to figure out when he knew too without even having to ask. To your luck, he made it so obvious that you would never have to.

#writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #styles #harry fic #harry blurb #harry one shot #harry imagine #beach!harry #harry prompt

[demaury]

On Film (or Between The Sheets) -- high school AU

CHAPTER 1. Life hasn't been the smoothest for Lucas in the past couple of months, family wise. When his dad ends up leaving the city to work in Paris, he's ready to do absolutely anything to be able to stay in his current school and keep his life on tracks. Anything. Even becoming a film student and moving in dorms. (read on ao3)

MERCREDI 12:41

If you were to ask Lucas how he’s managed to find himself in a situation like this, he’d probably have to explain quite a few things, but it’s pretty much a given that one of those things would be that, originally, he doesn’t even care about cinema all that much.

Certainly not enough to pick it as his main option for the BAC, that’s for sure.

“Come on,” he hisses through gritted teeth as the camera sways dangerously back and forth on its tripod.

Why is this not working? Why does the fucking world hate him that much?

He swears he’s been there for ages, crouching down and trying so fucking desperately to get that stupid camera to somehow fixate itself on that fucking support. His eyes travel around helplessly, but everyone’s busy around him. To be fair, it’s not like he’s exactly counting on it. There’s a schedule on the wall behind him, whose sole purpose is to remind them that they need at least three more pairs of arms each to be able to function with the shitload of tasks they were assigned at the beginning of the week.

A group of three third-years are glued to a computer screen and obsessing over whatever video editing software they’re using, two first-years and Emma are in the middle of filming an interview in the couch area of the movie theater hall, and Arthur’s gone seeing whatever movie he’s been assigned to watch. He briefly considers running outside to beg Alex to come help him, but the guy’s smoking with a third-year friend and Lucas doesn’t think he’d survive the humiliation of being brushed off, so he just sucks it up and focuses back on that stupid tripod instead.

If his teacher is back before he’s set it up-

“What are you doing?”, asks a voice behind him, just after he may or may not have clinked the camera a little harshly out of spite.

Lucas’ head snaps to the side, cheeks burning from being caught red-handed. He’s fucking sweating when his eyes meet Eliott Demaury’s questioning ones.

Of all fucking people, he screams to himself.

“I can’t get it to… I don’t know, fixate itself,” he says weakly.

He doesn’t even know the proper words for all that shit, how come are people even expecting him to put it all up on his own?

Eliott cocks an eyebrow. “Well, I’d say that smashing it probably won’t solve it, but I’ve never tried that either,” he shrugs with a smirk.

Lucas gives him a look. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, half-astounded by his own bravery. He turns his back on him, since the last thing he needs is some third-year know-it-all to make fun of him, and refocus his attention back on the biggest problem at hand instead. “If Chassart is back before I’ve finished setting this up, he’s gonna fucking kill me.”

“C’mon, let me help,” Eliott says as he crouches down next to him.

He reaches out to grab the camera, and Lucas glances at him from the corner of his eye before letting him. It’s not like he’s gonna do any worse than nothing, Lucas admits begrudgingly. Eliott starts fumbling in his jeans pocket, holding the camera nonchalantly from his other hand, and eventually he exhumes a coin that was apparently lost in there. Lucas barely holds back a snide comment — really, who still uses coins these days? —, but every bit of sarcasm fades out instantly as Eliott flips the coin expertly between his fingers. Next thing Lucas knows, he’s using it as a makeshift screwdriver to loosen the screw at the top of the tripod. Just like that, with a few movements that go way too fast for him to process and a satisfying click that he was so desperately waiting for a minute ago, the camera is fixated infuriatingly fast on its support.

He wants to die. Or at least for the fucking ground to open under his feet and swallow him.

Eliott tucks the coin back in his pocket like it’s nothing. “There you go,” he says casually, nudging the camera in his direction.

If only it was arrogance or made-up casualness, but really, no matter that Lucas talked with him a total of one time throughout his life, he knows Eliott is just that guy. Nice. Helpful. Exasperatingly good — a fucking natural. No wonder why he’s become Chassart’s favorite in no time. He’d be mad, jealous even, if being in the man’s good books was on his to-do list, but as it is he just wants to make it through that stupid hellweek that is his first film festival ever in one piece, and fuck the rest. If they’re being mistreated this way for a second-class film festival, he can only imagine how shit goes down when the third-years go to Cannes.

Cheeks burning and jaws clenching, he mumbles a small ‘thankyou’.

Eliott shrugs. “Why didn’t you just ask them before?”, he says, pointing at the trio of third-years on their computer from his chin.

“Didn’t want to bother,” Lucas groans, dropping himself flat on the carpeted floor.

It feels like forever since he even sat down, courtesy of a particularly busy morning.

“So you were just gonna wait for Chassart to come and yell at you?”

“Something like that, I guess.”

Eliott snorts and sits down, mirroring Lucas’ position. “Aren’t you supposed to team up with a third-year at least?”

Lucas swallows down a mean comment. Grow a pair, Lucas, I’m not here to fucking babysit you, is the last thing Léonie, the bitchy-third-year he was assigned to work with for the week, told him before turning on her heels with an overly exasperated sigh.

“Léonie’s gone to watch one of the movies,” he simply says, settling for a neutral observation.

He’s seen him hanging out with her quite a few times since Eliott arrived last September, the last thing he wants is to piss him off by being a bitch about one of his friends — even if said friend is the actual bitch.

“She told you to fuck off?”

Lucas glances up at Eliott, meeting his disturbingly beautiful eyes. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits.

Eliott hums noncommittally. “Who else is in your group?”

“Emma,” he says, gesturing at the couches where his friend is busy holding the fishpole over the film director they’re interviewing, “but she’s replacing someone missing in another team, and, uh, Maria I think. She’s a first-year.”

Obviously he had tried to team up with Arthur, but Chassart had purposely put them in different groups to ‘avoid any incident’, as he had said — what an asshole, he could have said he just wanted to feed off Lucas’ struggles at this point. He doesn’t bother enquiring about Eliott’s. He knows that one of his classmates, Sarah, has been literally close to fainting when she found out she was in his group.

“You can join mine,” Eliott says casually after a second.

Lucas quirks a brow. “I’m not sure this is how that works.”

“Not my point,” he waves. “We can make a trade. No offense but I’m sure Léonie would be happy.”

Lucas flips him off, offended, and Eliott starts laughing — the sounds sends fucking butterflies in Lucas’ stomach. Before he can even say that Sarah would murder him with her bare hands for being kicked out of Eliott’s group, he’s already standing up in a jump and walking right to the white board where the schedule is written, slaloming his way between the group of third-years and their chairs occupying most of the space.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Lucas whisper-screams as he bolts up and follows suit, just when Eliott wipes Sarah’s name off the board. “Do you have a death wish or what?”

“Chassart likes me, he won’t say a thing,” Eliott shrugs, then he pauses halfway through wiping off Lucas’ name too and turns to him. “Unless you like being mistreated?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Are you fucking serious now?” Lucas huffs, another wave of laughter erupting from deep within Eliott’s chest. On the other side of the lobby, a flock of people is emerging from the depths of one of the dozen auditoriums, making his attention snap back to reality. Chances are that Chassart will be here in a matter of minutes, maybe seconds even. “Alright, but just move your ass already!”

Eliott grins, blinding, and wipes the few other mentions of Lucas on the schedule, while Lucas is busy fumbling on the table aligned against the wall to find the black pen they need. He manages to find it under a bunch of papers sitting there and to toss it in Eliott’s hands. He has to admit, Eliott’s recklessness forces the admiration. Chassart is a bit of a psycho, there’s no fucking way he’s getting away with it.

And yet. He keeps watching as Eliott is writing his name down, in small caps that he isn’t even remotely trying to make similar to their teacher’s messy handwriting, until it’s all done and Eliott closes the pen with a satisfying click of the cap.

“Lucas!”

They spin around in time to see their teacher walking inside their designated area of the lobby. “What are you doing here?” Chassart asks bluntly, ever so amiable. “And what’s that camera doing here? I told Léonie that the interview was delayed to this afternoon!”

Lucas’ stomach churns and he hates it. Fucking asshole, he thinks, but he doesn’t really know if it’s about Léonie or about Chassart.

“I took Lucas with me,” Eliott says, barely more serious than he was two minutes before — meanwhile, all the fucking alarms go off in Lucas’ head, as Chassart’s eyes dart onto Eliott. “I needed him for something, so I made a trade.”

There’s a one-second blank, and behind Chassart’s back, Lucas can see Arthur making a ‘what the fuck?’ face. I’m going to die, that’s what’s happening, he wants to say, and if telepathy really is working then maybe Arthur will be able to remember his last few words.

But to Lucas’ astonishment, Chassart seems to deflate.

“Really,” he says after a pause, but it doesn’t really sound like a question. He heaves a sigh. “Alright. Whatever, if that works best for you,” he groans with an eyeroll.

A first-year slides in next to them at this moment, and it’s a much-welcomed distraction that allows Lucas to start breathing again. Chassart looks at the kid, who blabbers a question, when something nudges Lucas’ arm. His eyes jump onto Eliott, who lets him know with a subtle movement of his chin that it’s fucking time to move.

“See?”, Eliott says to him once they’ve retreated a couple of meters away. “I told you it was going to be fine.”

“Tell that to my fucking heart,” Lucas mumbles grumpily.

MERCREDI 13:01

“Why did you pick cinema as your major now anyway?”

Lucas looks up from his kebab, halfway through making a fool of himself thanks to an uncooperative tomato. Eliott’s questioning eyes are on him, which would be fine if they weren’t so piercing and intimidating all at once that his skin literally prickles under them.

They are on their five-minute lunch break, but rather than running like madmen to the McDonald’s next door to wait in line desperately long for a mere box of chicken nuggets and a few cooling French fries, like they all did twice a day since the beginning of the week, Eliott insisted that they push their luck to the kebab place across from the crowded parking lot.

And, well, like most things with Eliott Demaury, apparently, it had all gone too fast for Lucas to even process. Before he even realized they were ordering food and sitting down to eat.

Just the two of them. In a particularly silent restaurant.

That too would be totally fine. In another universe. Where he doesn’t have to smear mayonnaise all over his face and end up with a mouthful of tomato and kebab meat when Eliott Demaury happens to be willing to make conversation.

He has to bite down onto the sliced vegetable to tear it into pieces and free himself from the embarrassment, which ends up feeling like the longest seconds of his life. “I wanted to stay in that school,” he says after hastily swallowing down. He reaches for a paper napkin to wipe his mouth clean. “My dad moved away and since it was no longer in my designated area, it was the only solution. That or European section, but I know basically three words in English and my grades aren’t good enough to get in there, so yeah,” he shrugs and spreads his hands, “here I am, I guess.”

Eliott’s brow furrows, and it makes Lucas swoon a little bit. That story isn’t even remotely interesting by any means. But somehow, there’s something in Eliott that makes it seem like it’s a big deal that deserves his undivided attention. He’s not even sure his dad gave him half this amount of attention when Lucas told him about his plans for the new school year.

“You literally went from S to L just to stay in that school?”, Eliott asks, looking surprised.

Lucas makes a face. “Yeah. Stupid uh? To be fair I was lame with science and physics. I only liked math.” He realizes something just as he’s picking up a French fry in his plate. “How do you even know I was a S student?”

Eliott takes a sip from his Coca Cola before answering with a grin. “Alex is pretty chatty at night. I guess that’s the only perk of being the new guy, everyone wants you to have the audio-detailed version of everything that went down, ever.”

The way he has to look at him, waggling his eyebrows once to mark his words, makes Lucas feel naked and exposed. How much did Alex tell him exactly? How much does Alex care about him anyway? They do hang out sometimes, and Alex has been dropping by every now and then in the dorm he shares with Arthur and Basile, but that’s mostly it. Ending up in a street fight with him doesn’t magically forge lifelong ties, so he does wonder. It’s always been a strange feeling to think that people might care about him, especially when it’s someone he barely knows. The most he’s talked with Eliott until today has been a quick ‘hi’ at some point last September — a little breathy on Lucas’ part, actually. Really, not his finest moment. But if anything, he blamed it (and still does, and will probably keep blaming it until his dying breath) on the fact that he hadn’t expected the new third-year to look like that. If he had gotten the memo, then maybe he’d have reacted otherwise and not looked like he had been struck by lightning.

“What about you?”, he says, trying to sound casual as he grabs a few fries. There’s the nagging reminder, at the back of his head, that they’re supposed to hurry the fuck up if they want to make it back in time for the movie, but it’s not fair that is only shot at talking with Eliott should be reduced to nothing just because. “Why did you switch schools just before the BAC?”

He’s heard stories, or rather theories, about why he transferred, but if anything they all seem pretty stupid and rarely seem to work with reality. Last time he heard about it, he was chilling with the drama kids in their assigned work room at school between two periods, and Daphné said, with a trembling voice, that he had gotten involved with shady kids at his former school, including some who had a record already. He could not really tell if it was supposed to be a bad thing or not in Daphné’s books, given her excitement over sharing that particular rumor.

Eliott doesn’t really acknowledge that he’s talked for a good minute, looking too absorbed in the content of his plate to bother, and Lucas wonders briefly if he should repeat himself or not.

After an agonizing silence, Eliott finally glances up, looking awfully serious. “My parents sent me away from Paris because I helped my twin sister run away with her boyfriend,” he says, and Lucas blinks slowly, trying to keep his eyebrows from jumping up. “They didn’t approve of their relationship, and we’re like, related somehow. A whole mess.”

For a moment Lucas doesn’t say anything and simply stares, silently, as Eliott takes a sip from his drink.

“Did you really just give me the shitty plot of Riverdale?”, Lucas deadpans. A wide grin blooms on Eliott’s face, eyes crinkling and dimples popping out, and Lucas has no other option but to huff a laugh that sounds fonder than expected. “You’re such an ass.”

“But the fact that you’re finding it shitty makes me love you even more,” Eliott shrugs, crumpling a paper napkin between his hands.

He’s too busy checking the time on his phone to notice the way Lucas nearly chokes on his food — which, honestly, might be best for everyone.

MECREDI 17:48

The afternoon rolls around quickly, most of it being taken over by the interview Eliott is busy directing. At least the director is a nice guy in his forties who’s mostly grateful to have been invited at all, so it makes everyone relax a little — everyone except Eliott, whose level of concentration probably amounts that of a mine-clearer. Lucas, for his part, is mostly busy stealing glances at him, but it’s not like his job is a difficult one. Eliott has put him behind the monitor, so the majority of his task is just sitting on a chair behind the screen and making sure the fishpole doesn’t just appear at the top — The place where you’ll do the least amount of damage, Eliott has said, grinning, and he was rewarded by a kick of Lucas’ elbow in the stomach.

It should probably have bothered him, to be just an obstacle or something, but he can’t decently argue with Eliott’s reasoning, mostly because he’s right. He knows next to nothing about literally anything and he’d rather sit back and do nothing than to make Eliott mad at him.

He blames it on team work, that relevance that Eliott suddenly acquired in his life since this morning.

It’s because they’re working together and because Eliott Demaury is so much more used to all of this that suddenly the guy he’s been talking to only once prior to this day turns into the person he’s looking for in a crowd. It’s got nothing to do with his good looks.

“The movie’s about to start,” Arthur says after checking the schedule. “We should go now.”

Thanks to Chassart’s careful planning, it’s the most he’s heard from his friend since they left school after breakfast this morning.

Lucas doesn’t mean to do it, but while he hums in response, his body shifts towards where Eliott is standing. He’s chatting with Alex, retrieving his jacket from the back of his chair, and soon they’re already walking away to cross the lobby.

He blames the way his heart clenches on the fact that Alex could have told him to join too.

He knows Alex.

Alex knows him — well enough, apparently, to tell stuff about him to the new guy. It was only the least he could do, the polite thing to do. But he doesn’t, and Lucas simply stares as Eliott and Alex join two or three more of their classmates, before the group disappears in the depths of carpeted halls.

Yeah. It’s all because of Alex, he decides as he finally follows Arthur through the lobby.

#elu fic #skam france #mine #** #*ffs #*ofbts #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu #so yeah #welcome to my teen life i guess

[xmagicxshopx]

😈 Secret Admirer 😈 Pt 2

Genre: fantasy adventure, romance, angst Rating: PG-13 Warnings: angst, mild language Pairing: Jungkook x reader Notes: demon!jungkook au. Private Investigator Jungkook. Not idol!jungkook. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: I don’t know if I got the right emotions across but I hope you guys still feel something all the same~

Tagging because they showed interest: @sebastianshoe @fortunexkookie

Summary: All you’ve ever known is struggle. You fight to survive every day and you’re grateful for the little things. But one night, when you make a wish at 11:11pm on the 11th day of the 11th month…….your whole world gets turned upside down.

Over the last few weeks, Jungkook had developed a sort of......routine with you. He mapped out your entire work schedule and just after one week......He was amazed at how little sleep you truly got. Good thing he himself didn’t need sleep because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with you.

In this span of time, he learned what days you were working at the retail store and continued his disguise as your newbie coworker. It was a win-win for him since he got to interact with you on top of making the two girls up front miserable. The male had to keep up with his demonic reputation, after all. It was during one of those days when you suddenly spoke up.

“Jungkook.....Do you ever have something that just.......won’t leave you alone? Like there’s just something there that.....constantly occupies your thoughts?”

‘If only you knew, little human.....’

“Um.....Not really. Why? Is everything okay?”

He set down the box of winter boots that were already meant to be spaced out on the clearance shelves even though it was still only December. Humans and their timelines never made any sense to him. It was still freaking cold out so why would you start shoving winter clothing out and bringing in spring clothing??? It was ridiculous.

He watched you chew on your bottom lip as you clearly pondered on whether or not to tell him what was on your mind. Over the span of these last few weeks, the demon had picked up on all your little habits. Chewing your bottom lip was one of them. Offering you a warm and reassuring smile, that seemed to be enough to get you to talk.

“Well......there’s this guy I sort of crossed paths with about a month ago. And......he was......different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Well he........he........and please don’t laugh because I’m being serious here but he.......he had......”

“Spit it out, woman.”

“He had red eyes.”

Ah. So you were talking about him. For a minute there, Jungkook thought perhaps you were talking about someone else. Why did that possibility bother him so much? Trying to keep up his composure, he simply raised an eyebrow before you started up again; quick to defend and explain yourself.

“It was dark but I know what I saw. I was being ambushed by some man in an alley and this other guy came to my rescue. He even gave me money. But all I can think about are his red eyes. I’m sure they were just colored contacts but still......I can’t get them out of my head and it’s been a month already.”

And that’s how Jungkook suddenly became known as Red Eyes, your secret admirer.

First, it had started out with your apartment. When he knew you’d be out working at the diner during the morning hours of the day, he had decided to sneak into your apartment and try to make as many repairs as he could with the time he had. Of course it wouldn’t take long with the help of his black magic, but still. Firstly, he worked on your door. The idea that anyone could come in here and rob you didn’t sit well with him.

Once he had fixed the latch and made sure your locks would work, he then turned his attention to your leaky ceiling. Honestly. Whoever your landlord was, he or she was a real jerk. Surely this wasn’t safe or acceptable? Grumbling about how foolish mortals could be, he waved his hand and instantly your ceiling was fixed. He even took it upon himself to get rid of the bucket nearly full of water.

Jungkook even went the extra mile to make sure your heat was working because now he wasn’t putting anything past your shitty landlord. After making sure everything in your apartment was working and running properly, he left a note in his neat handwriting that said.....

“Little One.....I hope you don’t mind that I fixed your door and your ceiling. Remember to lock your door from now on, okay? Stay safe. - Red Eyes, your secret admirer”

He’d never forget how happy you were when you told him about it. He had just slipped into the inventory room when you suddenly wrapped him up in a hug. Tensing but only for a moment, he had ended up awkwardly patting your back.

“Jungkook! He came back!”

“Huh? Who?”

“The guy with the red eyes!”

You were adorable with the way you had explained everything. Even though you had never actually gotten to physically see him again. He couldn’t help but stand there with an amused smile on his face. The irony that you were talking about him while he was standing right in front of you entertained him greatly.

“Seems like a nice guy.”

“Yeah. I wonder how he knew where I lived. Maybe he followed me home that night. He’s been nothing but kind to me even though this has only been the second encounter. Well kind of-----Since I didn’t exactly get to see him.”

The demon’s next target was your shoes. This task proved to be a little more tricky. Stupid him hadn’t thought to ask you your shoe size. Which meant either he could wait till next week when he saw you......or he could do things the fun way. Grinning, he thought to himself,

‘Fun way, it is.’

Even this proved to be a challenge. The plan was to sneak into your apartment when he knew you’d be sleeping. Why? Because it was the only time you took your shoes off. The plan was simple, really. Get in, check your shoe size, get out. Simple. But once he was inside......Jungkook ran into a little......situation.

You were crying. In your sleep.

His sensitive demon ears immediately picked up on your sobbing and instantly went down the hall to find you. Opening your door carefully, he could see you shivering under the blankets that you used to keep yourself warm. He had learned quickly that you rarely ran your heat during the winter time; mentioning that you tried to keep your electric bill down as much as possible.

Upon closer inspection, he could see the tears rolling down your face and onto your pillow. What was this crazy feeling inside him? It was like an itch that he couldn’t reach to scratch. He just----Wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. He wanted.......He wanted.......

He wanted to stop your constant suffering.

“Shh. Ease, little human. Ease.”

He may not be able to solve all your problems over night, but he could at least grace you with good dreams. With the wave of his hand over your face, he watched as the sobbing slowly ceased and you became peaceful once more. There. Maybe now you could at least get some real rest. If nothing else. Standing up once more, the demon made his exit, found your shoe size, and took his leave; making sure your door was properly locked.

A couple days later, you discovered a package at your door and your curiosity was instantly through the roof. Picking it up, you saw a familiar note attached to it that read....

“Little One.....I couldn’t help but notice your shoes and the poor condition they are in. Inside this box you will find a new pair. Hopefully I guessed your size correctly. - Red Eyes, your secret admirer”

“Kookie! Kookie!”

“Whatie! Whatie!”

You were growing more comfortable around him and he didn’t know how to feel about that. First it was the hug about a week ago, and now you were giving him nicknames. Gosh you were adorable as you practically skipped into the inventory room that day. You glowed despite how exhausted you looked. It was amazing, really.

“He did it again! Red Eyes paid me a visit! Look what he did this time!”

Jungkook couldn’t help but grin as he looked down at what you were pointing to. On your feet were a brand new pair of Puma tennis shoes. He was relieved to see how they fit you perfectly. Putting on a surprised smile, he let out a low whistle before saying casually,

“Wow. Red Eyes must have the money. Puma isn’t cheap.”

“Right? I feel bad, really. But at the same time, I’m so grateful. I just wish I could thank him in person, you know? Even though I can’t give him anything in return, I at least want him to know how much I appreciate his selflessness.”

‘Oh little human.....’

How was it that you had so much power over him? Your words cut him like the sharpest knife. Jungkook was a demon. Selflessness wasn’t in his vocabulary and yet here he was doting this mortal with all kinds of gifts. What was happening to him? Was he really going so soft as to be labeled selfless? Not having any idea what he was doing, he suddenly blurted out with a shrug,

“Maybe leave a note for him? Like on your door or something. Maybe he’ll see it.”

While he mentally scolded himself for such a stupid suggestion, you were absolutely glowing. Your eyes grew wide in size and it sadly made you look even more bug eyed but you were just too adorable for him to focus solely on that. Suddenly hugging him, you spoke with joy,

“Kookie! That’s a great idea!”

Within the next few days, sticky notes on your door became a thing. You’d leave one for him and he’d write something in return. You often times requested that you meet again in person so that you could properly thank him but he always insisted that you should use your free time for rest.

Truth was.......He wasn’t ready to meet you face to face as the demon he really was. Not when the two of you were having so much fun together while working in the retail storage room. He had grown to care about you. Him, a demon, caring about a mere mortal. It was crazy to think about, really. But it was true. You had somehow managed to worm your way into his black heart and Jungkook had no idea how to deal with that.

It wasn’t till this present day that the demon boy noticed something.....odd. Or perhaps off was the right word. Something just didn’t feel right when you entered the storage room today. You looked paler than usual and honestly.....did you look thinner? Was that even possible? It felt like something heavy had settled on his chest. Your appearance didn’t sit well with him at all. Not wanting to scare you, he asked casually,

“You feeling okay today? You look a little pale?”

Jungkook could instantly hear your heart beat pick up in what he could only guess was anxiety and panic. He could see your form stiffen out of the corner of his eye and he knew something was up. Why did that scare him so much? When you didn’t answer right away, he finally stopped what he was doing and turned to you; calling out your name gently.

“I......I think I’m just a bit under the weather but I’ll be fine. No need to worry about me, Kookie.”

Despite your smile, you knew he wasn’t buying it. You had learned pretty quickly that your coworker was quite intelligent and very deductive. It was like he could see right through you. Those unique brown eyes of his appeared to always be looking right into your soul or something. It was odd. You feel like you’ve seen those eyes before.

“Have you taken anything or seen the doctor?”

“Ah---I um.....I don’t have insurance so......I don’t go to the doctor.”

The demon’s black heart was breaking as he listened to what you had to say and the way you caved in on yourself as if afraid of getting scolded only made it worse. You didn’t have the money to care for yourself. Dear god this was torture. If only he didn’t care about you so much....

“Well......let me at least give you some mon----”

“No, Jungkook.”

Your firm tone didn’t match up with your frail form at all. Your eyebrows were knitted and a pout settled on your pale face. Honestly, if you hadn’t looked so ill, the male would have cooed and called you out on your cuteness. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“As much as I appreciate your gesture, I can’t accept it. You need that money for yourself.”

‘Foolish little human......just let me help you.....’

“I understand and respect your wishes. But my offer still stands. Even if it’s just to get some over-the-counter medicine.”

All you did was offer him a warm smile of gratitude and a nod of understanding but went back to work. While you busied yourself like the usual busy beaver you were, Jungkook made sure to watch you like a hawk. He could always leave money at your door and pretend to be Red Eyes but he feared of you making the connections.

He really needed to man up and just tell you the truth. Jungkook, the man you so very sweetly called Kookie, was also this dark and mysterious Red Eyes that you often gushed over. The thing is.....how would he even go about telling you? Would it be appropriate to tell you right here where he stood? Would you even believe him? Sure he could show you his red eyes but still....Gah. Why did he have to have feelings for you.....

As expected, Jungkook ended up chickening out and remained silent. Of course there was some small talk from time to time but mostly the shift was quiet. Although he couldn’t help but hear your labored breathing. Dear god you were going to give him a stroke. Could demons even have strokes? He wasn’t sure but you were definitely pushing the odds here.

The day came and went but he still kept an eye on you; making sure you were still functioning and getting up in the mornings. Honestly you were getting worse. Your movements were a bit more sluggish than usual and you practically looked like a zombie. Over the weekend, the young demon decided it was time to make his move. He would never forgive himself if something happened to you all because he was being a coward.

The plan sounded simple in his head. He’d knock on your door appearing as your retail storage room coworker Jungkook, make his big grand confession, pop out the colored contacts to prove he was Red Eyes, and then drag you to the hospital where he’d demand he pay any and all medical bills necessary to bring you back up to optimum health.

However.....You had yet to leave your apartment and it was at least 15 minutes past your usual departure time. You would have normally been half way down the street by now. The rational side of him tried to logic it all out. You were just running late is all. Nothing to freak out about......Right?

15 minutes turned into half an hour and that’s when he knew something was wrong. Sure you could have possibly called in sick but you were too hard headed for that. Even if you had, he still needed to see that you got the proper medical care. Taking a deep breath that was technically not necessary for a demon like him, he lifted his fist and knocked on the door.

“Kiddo? You in there? It’s me, Jungkook.”

No answer. Okay. Don’t panic. Perhaps you were sleeping? That was always a rational and reasonable possibility, right? But what if you weren’t? What if you were in trouble? Chewing on his bottom lip in nervousness, he mumbled something about “screw it” to himself before he was disappearing from the outside of your apartment and reappearing inside within a cloud of gray smoke.

Once the smoky gray wisps finally faded out into the room, he realized you were nowhere in sight. At least not in the kitchen or the living room. There was still the possibility that you were just in bed resting. Yes. Perhaps everything really was okay and he was just overreacting. Still determined to get you the proper care, he made his way to the hall only to discover.....

“No!”

You were laying nearly face down on the floor of the hallway. It would appear as if you had indeed tried to get ready for work today but your body had other plans. Even when the demon called your name, you never moved.

Panicking, Jungkook slid across the wooden floor and skidded to your side. Instantly but still carefully, he maneuvered your body till you were flat on your back and all hair was out of your face. Dear god you looked dead. Whimpering and mumbling to himself, the demon quickly reached for your pulse point.

“Oh thank Hades. You’re alive.”

But hanging by a thread. The pulse was there but only just. The demon also couldn’t help but take note of the fact that your breathing was shallow. You needed oxygen. You needed medical attention and equipment. The right thing to do would be to take you to the hospital just like he had planned. You’d be in good, professional hands and he could pay everything for you.

However.....without your consent and him having no way to come up with believable proof that you put yourself in his care when you were unable to speak for yourself......This wasn’t going to work. No. The hospital was out of the question. Being a demon.....Jungkook had never been one for taking the legal route anyway.

It was settled, then. You’d be coming with him to his apartment. He’d be able to conjure up the proper supplies and equipment you’d need to stay alive. He could only hope he wasn’t too late. While you were alive right now, that didn’t mean you were out of the woods yet. In fact....you were far from it. Lifting you up as if you were a vase that could shatter at any second, he closed his eyes and concentrated on where he wanted to take you.

As soon as he appeared in his apartment from within a cloud of gray smoke, he immediately dashed for his bedroom. Once he had you in what he felt would be a comfortable position, the demon began his work on keeping you alive. If his own black heart could beat, it’d be trying to beat out of his chest. His nerves were trying to get the best of him. You were getting the best of him.

You. The girl who caught his eye with your unique endless faith in humanity. The girl so humble it made his body physically ache. You were so sweet and so hard working and got so very little in return. It wasn’t right. Normally it was Jungkook’s job to undo all good things. He was often the creator of wrongs. But today......for the first time in his demon life.....

He was going to right this wrong. He was going to make everything okay for you. The way it should be.

After producing an oxygen tank along with the additional equipment necessary for you, he finally had oxygen going back into your lungs so that your body wouldn’t have to work so hard to provide it naturally. Next, he needed to get some kind of nutrients in you. Producing an IV bag full of the clear liquid, he began to carefully insert your IV. Gosh your hands were so bony. He could see every vein and every which way your bones went.

Once he got you all set up and comfortable, the demon boy took a moment to inspect his own handy work. Looking from your frail form to the monitors, he could see your oxygen levels already improving. Your blood pressure was still too low, though. Tearing his eyes away from the numbers, his ruby red eyes which had turned him famous once again landed on your pitiful body. Gosh you looked so small in that large bed of his.

“You can’t die on me now, little human.”

ONE MONTH LATER....

It would appear you had slipped into a coma. While your vitals were improving with every passing day, the days had turned into weeks and you weren’t showing any signs of regaining consciousness. Granted there was still no meat or muscle on your bones but you didn’t seem as pale and frail. That alone had made the demon happy......at first.

Now he makes it a part of his daily routine to check on you simply to see if you had opened those beautiful eyes of yours. Of course he still changed your IV bag as often as necessary and it seemed like you were having to rely less and less on the oxygen tank, but still. He couldn’t understand what had caused you to slip into such a deep state of sleep. Were you at least getting any kind of rest this way?

“You humans confuse me, little one.”

Days continued to pass. At first, Jungkook was borderline obsessed. He would stay by your side day in and day out just so he wouldn’t miss the moment where you would finally open your eyes. Time had never been much of a concept to him before since he didn’t need sleep. Honestly, the bed you slept in was really all just for looks in case he had a client come over during one of his cases for private investigating.

Speaking of, eventually, Jungkook had to force himself to go back to work. Not only as a private investigator, but as a demon too. His demonic superior had reached out to him several times about why he hadn’t been sending him souls lately. Had you really encompassed his life like this? When had you managed to sneak your way into his mind and consume his every thought? The demon was whipped. Whipped for you.

THREE MONTHS LATER.....

Still so close but so far away. You no longer needed the assistance of oxygen and could breathe on your own while sustaining normal oxygen levels. Your vitals were as good as they were going to get given the circumstances. You needed food go grow some meat on you but that was a bit impossible since you couldn’t chew at the moment. You couldn’t do much of anything. There was still no signs of you awakening.

But the young demon wasn’t giving up.

“Yah. It’s getting lonely without you......Just wake up already. I’ll buy you ice cream, cookies. Whatever you want. Just......wake up....”

He sat there in an armchair watching you with his intense red eyes and a childlike pout on his lips. Various times he had halfheartedly threatened you; thinking that perhaps you could hear him and would wake up. However, it all proved useless as you never moved an inch. However.....there was one time where he thought that perhaps you really could hear him but just couldn’t say anything about it.

“You know.....being a demon......I never thought I could fall in love with a human.”

Perhaps he had been hallucinating, but Jungkook could have sworn your fingers twitched. His wide eyes flickered to your face but your eyes remained hidden behind your heavy eyelids. Was it a trick of his mind or had you really moved?

Then there was the time you really surprised him......

“Time to change your feed bag, little human.”

It had become sort of a joke to call the bag of clear liquid your ‘feed bag’. Seeing as how that was the only way you could received any nutrients in your system. It was when he had finally changed everything, that you suddenly opened your eyes.

Jungkook stared on at you in shock as you laid there staring straight up at the ceiling of his modest bedroom. When you didn’t blink, he hesitantly reached his hand out and slowly waved it in front of your face. Your eyes never once budged. And then suddenly, you closed them once more. It was like you had never opened them. Strange.......Very strange......

Now he sat here with that same pout on his face while you just laid there and silently tormented him. Man. Being in love sucks. Now he knew why he had always tried to stay away from such a concept. Love. Yuck. Sighing, he stood up and looked at the clock. It was time for his nightly patrol to try and find himself a soul to sell. He was running low on funds, anyway.

“Don’t be afraid to wake up when I come back, okay?”

NOVEMBER 11, 11:00PM.....

“Happy one year anniversary, little human.”

A vase full of flowers and just enough water to keep them well hydrated, he placed the floral arrangement on the nightstand while being careful not to tangle any of your cords. Cords connecting to equipment telling him your heart was still beating and such. Important stuff like that. Taking a seat in his usual armchair, he sighed heavily and stared at your peaceful face.

“Hard to believe it’s been a year since we met, huh?”

Of course there was no response. Jungkook knew he wouldn’t get one but that didn’t stop him from continuing the conversation. In fact, it had become quite easy for him to talk to you despite your lack of ability to say anything in return. Adjusting himself in his seat, he went on.

“I remember how scared you were that night. If I had only known then what I know now......maybe you’d be awake. Smiling even. But.......Who could ever love a demon, right?”

He looked up at you and then at the clock. It was 11 minutes past the hour. The demon had heard tales that this was the exact minute you were supposed to make a wish. The idea swam in his head and with a roll of his eyes, he mumbled, “Oh what the hell. Why not.”

Closing his eyes, he even went the cheesy extra mile and clasped his hands together. Feeling like an absolute idiot, he sat there in his fancy, plush armchair with his head down and his shaggy mop of dark hair falling into his face. Making his wish but not daring to speak it out loud, he slowly opened his eyes and straightened back up.

“Ko......Kookie?”

No.....No way. That......that stupid cheesy shit about making wishes just because it was a specific time of night......It couldn’t have worked......Could it???

Not having actually been prepared for the moment you’d truly open your eyes and awaken, Jungkook had failed to put in his colored contacts to hide his ruby red eyes that were now on wide display for you.

You. There you laid in his bed. His bed. Looking like an absolute dream. It was so cute the way you looked all groggy and sleepy as if just waking up from a nap and not a six month coma. Once your surroundings finally started to come into focus, you realized just who was staring back at you. Your own orbs widening in surprise, you gasped,

“Red Eyes???”

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook bts #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook scenarios #jungkook scenario #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #demon!jungkook #demon jungkook

[leoninaiart]

Shance - Little notes.

Just imagine Lance liking Shiro so much and wanting to cheer him up bc he sees how stressed the older one is. So he decided to leave some notes with cheering words on them.

But the thing is he is so damn embarrassed that he wrote them in Spanish because he wants to cheer Shiro but he can't help the embarrassment that comes with the idea of his hero reading some cheesy notes. And obviously Shiro doesn't understand a single word in the notes, recognizing the simple handwriting of Lance and thinking this is some kind of weird joke he isn't aware of.

He's curious about the meaning anyway. Though Lance never talked in Spanish, the notes were in the same language, and that's weird. What do they even say? Something good? Something bad? Is he supposed to translate them somehow?

But they're in war, and there's been a LOT going on. Shiro forgets the notes, hidden in the Black Lion storage, and tries to keep his focus on the situation ahead. The notes that were every morning at his door also stopped appearing. Maybe it was a good thing. This little mystery game they had was a distraction from more important things.

Then they get home.

Sure, they had to fight to push off the Galra from Earth, but they made it. This is it, finally at home. In the beginning of the execution of the big comeback, Lance is having some trouble with the Galra ships, not being able to even reach his Lion. Shiro has the biggest heart attack even when Lance stops responding, and his mind can't help but think about all the times Lance looked at him with shining eyes and a sweet smile. How he laughed, joked and was the light of the room with his bright smile. And then he remembered the notes and noticed how little attention he payed to Lance. He unfair to him, a young boy who did nothing wrong and always tried his best to just be there for them.

And he was so scared of losing him. Of not being able of hearing his sweet voice. Or seeing those deep blue eyes.

Then Lance started talking again and his soul was back in his body. Lance was fine, alive, breathing. But he couldn't focus, one single though invading his mind:

He had to fix this somehow.

They won. Sendak is finally dead.

It was like a dream come true.

A month later, the team was fully recovered and enjoying their home planet again. Shiro finally could feel that it was the moment to relax a little more, he had a lot of tirenedess accumulated. So he went to the Black Lion, even if he was no longer his pilot, the connection was still there, as strong as ever. The Lion, feeling the determination of his ex paladin, allowed him to enter. Shiro could practically feel the hype building up when he found the notes still in the same spot, mentally thanking Keith for being so uninsterested in exploring the Lion.

In less than 15 minutes, he got a small translator device from a young Garrison engineer (now that is full of alien species, translators are a must have for everyone) and was back in his room. Slowly, one by one he translated the words from the notes.

At first, the older ones were very short and simple.

'You're great'

'You can make it'

'Take a break'

'You're the best'

He laughed, the image of a very embarrassed Lance writing these very awkward words appeared in his mind.

The next ones were more strong and sweet.

'You're amazing! Never forget that!'

'The universe is lucky to have you!'

And, of course, some of them had a couple of puns, because we're talking about Lance and he just can't help it. Even small drawings of him or stars and planets. The older ones were next, and they took his breath away.

'You make me wanna be a better person everyday.'

'You are my hero, and the best leader I could have.'

'I hope you think I am importan, because you're the universe to me.'

'You're so great and talented, I'm lucky I get to be in the same team as you.'

Shiro was very confused, he didn't understand why there was such a mood change. He could practically feel how big Lance's appreciation and respect for him were in these notes. Damn, he was such an idiot for not noticing before. So focused in a cruel thing like war made him forget these kind of sweet things in his life.

There was still a letter left. But hee could read it later, he needed to see Lance. Now.

In a blink he was in front of Lance's dorm, though it wasn't very far from his. Feeling strangely nervous, he knocked the door. The door opened and Lance was there, in full glory. The marks of the battle were gone, and his (probably smooth) skin was shiny and healthy. The smaller boy smiled, curious, and before he could greet him, Shiro raised his hand with the notes.

Lance mount stayed open, recognizing them.

Was that a good or bad signal?

He saw how the other boy blushed, getting nervous immediately and avoiding his gaze.

'S-so you read them, right?'

'Yeah, I used a translator I got around here.'

'Oh...um...do you like them? I know they're a little weird'

Shiro smiled. This was the first time he saw how cute Lance was when embarrassed. Wait, he shouldn't think that of his teammate, not now, scratch that.

'I do, you're a great person, Lance. I'm very thankful for these notes.'

Lance watched him surprised, like he didn't expect him to say that, but then he avoided his gaze again.

'Cool. Um, about the last one, I have the missing note that continues the message.'

'Actually, I didn't read the last one, would you mind if I you read it for me? It's kind of a bummer to use this boring translator' he joked

Lance seemed like he was having an internal crisis of some kind, because he bited his lip and frowned. But then he smiled again casually, and nodded.

'Sure thing, come in, make yourself comfortable in uh, my room?'

Shiro chuckled a little and decided to sit at the bed. Lance was still up, holding the notes Shiro handled him, opening them slowly. With his voice slightly trembling, he started to read.

'I think It's about time I tell you something important. We have been in space a long time, and I don't wanna regret not telling you the truth. When the time is right, I'll give you the next note.'

Oh... That sounded... Very serious. Now Shiro didn't know what to think. Maybe Lance hated him because he never acknowledged his efforts, or because he kind of ignored his notes. The idea of Lance hating him made his heart ache with pain. He was getting so anxious he didn't even hear the sound of Lance opening the next note.

The voice of the smaller boy interrupted his thoughts.

'Alright... I'm going to read the next one. Shiro?'

'Yes?'

Lance blushed even more , those stunning blue eyes staring at him.

'Please don't freak out.'

... What? Why would he freak out to Lance? This was getting more and more strange.

'For the last few notes I've been trying to encourage you. I don't know what drive me to do it, I saw you one night looking at the stars and you seemed 10 years older and so tired. I had to do something. And even If it was a bit weird, and I knew you couldn't understand them because my dumbass brain decided to write them in Spanish, the warm feeling in my chest wouldn't go away. So I thought about it, a lot. About how much I worry about you, how much I want to show you how good I am, how much I want to spend time with you. Then I realized that you're not jusy my leader... '

Shiro's eyes widened.

'You're not just my hero either...'

Then Lance smiled, embarrassed.

'You're my everything. I like you, Takashi.'

'You... You what?!?'

Shiro couldn't believe this. He was so happy. But he shouldn't. This was Lance, his teammate, his companion. And he was just Shiro, broken after all what happened. Old and broken.

'I know it's... Disgusting that I like you... But say something, please, I'm like having a breakdown here.' Lance tried to joke, though he was crying and his voice sounded weird.

Then Shiro snapped out of his dark thoughts and really, REALLY looked at him. Lance, looking at the ground, the blue eyes full of tears. The face red, the lip bleeding a little, the hands holding his jacket with force. Then Lance looked at him too. And in their eyes the connection felt strong. So damn strong. And the warm in his heart burned. He just could feel the need. The ache of looking and Lance like this and doing nthing.

'But need of what? ' his mind asked.

'Need of Lance.' his heart supplied.

And after all what happened. The Kerberos mission. The kidnap. The arena. The lions. The war against the Galra. Zarkon. Sendak. Lotor. Haggar.

He deserves this. And Lance deserved it too.

So in half a second he's hugging Lance. It just takes another second before he can feel the warm arm returning the hug. He started petting his brown hair slowly, feeling the smooth hair. And Lance was sobbing, and laughing, and making some weird noise in between . Shiro laughed loudly, still petting his hair. And enjoying every little thing about him. His soft hair with a vanilla scent was like heaven to Shiro's hands, and he buried his head in the younger boy's neck.

The notes lied on the floor forgotten while the two of them just enjoyed the other one with small and sweet touches of affection. When Lance moved a little and kissed him in the forehead, he couldn't stop the tears, feeling the love of the other one in that small gesture, it was almost intoxicating. He didn't know how much he needed this, he needed him, his warmth, his freshness. These small things that made Lance so perfect.

For the first time in a long time, Shiro was feeling so fresh and alive. Like every piece was finally at the right place. It's okay now. Everything will be alright. Because he had the universe in his arms.

#shance #voltron #shiro #lance #otp #sorry for the bad english #tried my best #first time writing a story in english #pls if there's any mistake tell me #enjoy

[twistedscandal]

Title: Netflix and No Chill

Pairing: Bonnie Bennett/Kai Parker

Summary: Bonnie and her friends are supposed to be gathering at Lockwood Manor for Halloween to watch scary movies with Kai.  What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: None really.  A little language.

A/N: I come from a long line of procrastinators, but this is ridiculous. The Vampire Diaries was still on the air when I started writing this. Then I thought I would revise it and post if for this year's bookai week on tumblr and I still didn't finish until now. So now I am posting a Halloween fic on the day after Thanksgiving. Shameful. I stopped watching the show during season five then picked back up for bonkai in season six then stopped again when I realized they were only going to continue to pay Bonnie dust, so I apologize for any details I may have gotten wrong. This fic contains vague spoilers for a couple of old movies.

It didn’t really surprise Bonnie that Halloween would be one of Kai’s favorite holidays and he had gone all out with the decorations. The pumpkin under Bonnie’s arm seemed to grow even heavier when she realized how unnecessary it was to have brought it. The winding driveway leading up to the front door was already littered with jack o lanterns. Each one bearing a different, grotesque carved expression. The front porch was covered with fake spiderwebs, cartoon cut outs of witches and skeletons posed in a variety of compromising positions. He had done his best to make Lockwood Manor look like a haunted house. Bonnie thought the outside of the house looked sufficiently spooky but knew it didn’t compare to the scariness of the monster currently dwelling inside.

The post it note stuck to the front door read, “Come on in” in Kai’s neat, blocky handwriting; a demented looking smiley face hastily drawn in the corner. Bonnie let herself into the Lockwood house, trying to ignore the general sense of unease that had been hovering over her all day. It was bad enough that they were even having a get together here in the first place but the fact that somehow, she was the only one whose schedule would allow her to get there first and get things set up left a sour taste in her mouth.

It had been a while since Bonnie and her friends had all been in the same room for reasons that weren’t life threatening, so Elena had suggested that with Halloween approaching, it would be a great time to get together and watch a bunch of scary movies. Horrible events that were confined to a screen and happening to other people seemed like a nice change of pace. Also, the thought of a get together that had almost zero potential to end in bloodshed was appealing.

There was one problem however, they didn’t really have anywhere to host said movie night. The dorm room was too small, casa Gilbert was no more and neither Bonnie or Caroline had stepped foot in their homes in over a year; there were too many memories of lost loved ones in the places they grew up to imagine going to either place for a party.

Not even the boarding house was a viable option. Stefan and Damon’s big, beautiful flat screen had been broken during some fight or other and they hadn’t bothered to buy another one to replace it. Neither of them watched a lot of tv anyway. Bonnie supposed that drunken housewives, cooking shows and whatever teenage love triangle tripe the CW was offering, didn’t have much appeal when you were over 100 years old.

There was a tv in Damon’s bedroom that he claimed he only used to “hate-watch” Grey’s Anatomy. Bonnie wondered if it really was hate-watching though, considering how misty-eyed Damon got when McDreamy bit it. That was all beside the point because there was no way Bonnie, Stefan, Caroline, Damon and Elena were all going to cram into Damon’s bedroom (can you say awkward) to watch movies anyway.

They were kind of stumped until Caroline suggested an alternative: “Why not just go to Kai’s place?” And by Kai’s place she meant Tyler’s. Kai had been squatting on the Lockwood property for so long that people had actually started referring to it as his. Bonnie had objected, but of course she had been unanimously overruled. There really weren’t any better choices and the Lockwood estate did have an actual home theater.

Apparently socializing with Kai was a small price to pay for cushioned seats and surround sound.

Bonnie was less than thrilled about the situation but determined not to let having to be around Kai ruin the evening.

She made her way to the kitchen, put down the pumpkin, shrugged out of her coat and began to unpack the grocery bag she’d brought with her. She laid tomatoes, onions, garlic, jalapenos, cilantro and a couple of limes on the island and got a cutting board off the counter. She searched around for a bowl and found one in the cabinet over the stove. Bonnie stretched up onto the tips of her toes and had just about gotten her finger hooked over the edge of the bowl when it suddenly seemed to move further back out of her reach.

Bonnie leaned further in and just when she got her hand on the bowl, once again it seemed to move closer to the back of the cabinet. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Stop it, Kai.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Kai appeared so suddenly that Bonnie wondered if he had cloaked himself and been standing there watching her all the while. He had perfected the art of casually draping himself in doorways and there he stood, his hair damp, his chest bare and a black t-shirt thrown over his shoulder.

Bonnie turned to face him full on. “I know you moved that bowl out of my reach.”

“Come on, Bonnie,” Kai said attempting and failing to look innocent. “Do I seem like the kind of person to engage in that sort of pointless and immature behavior?”

“Yes, Kai. You seem exactly like that sort of person because you are exactly that sort of person.”

“Don’t be like that. I was just having a little fun and I don’t see what the big deal is anyway. You do remember that you’re a witch, right? You could have floated the stupid thing right into your hands.”

“Yeah, well not all of us witches are powerful coven leaders with magic to spare.”

“You’re a Bennett. I seriously doubt that moving a bowl would tire you out.” Kai scoffed.

“Whatever. My Grams taught me that it was a waste of energy to use magic for anything that I could do like a normal person.”

Kai gave Bonnie an incredulous look. “That’s terrible advice. You’re not normal; you’re extraordinary. Try acting like it and you might actually have some fun once in a while.”

Bonnie ignored Kai, turning her back to him while she made another grab for the bowl.

“You are the most hard headed person I’ve ever met in my life.” Kai slid in behind Bonnie and reached over her to pull the bowl down from the cabinet.

Bonnie’s breath caught in her chest as she felt his body move against hers. For just a moment something in her brain went sideways and she wondered what it might feel like to lean back onto Kai’s muscular frame; to let herself be overwhelmed by the warmth of his body and the clean soapy smell emanating from his skin. The moment passed as quickly as it came though and her common sense clicked back into place as she elbowed Kai in the stomach. “Are you even vaguely familiar with the concept of personal space?”

The bowl clanged against the counter as Kai unceremoniously dropped it from his hand. “Are you familiar with the concept of saying thank you?”

“As if I would ever thank you for anything.” Bonnie grabbed a knife and began chopping tomatoes. She watched Kai out the corner of her eye, thankful as he finally shrugged into his t shirt and pulled it down over his torso.

He leaned against the island, his dark blue eyes locked on Bonnie. “So, you’re the only one here?”

“Do you see anybody else?”

“The rest of the scooby gang is actually coming though, right?”

“Of course they are. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I’m just trying to make sure that I’m not being lured into some type of Netflix and chill situation.”

Bonnie knew that she shouldn’t be, but she was continuously amazed by some of the nonsense that made its way out of Kai’s mouth. “First of all, ew. Second of all, what the hell would you know about Netflix and chill?”

“Call it whatever you want, but inviting someone over under the pretense of watching a movie just so you can get them alone in a dark room and start making moves is a tale as old as time. I’m sure there was some Neanderthal back in the day trying to get a woman to come over for cave drawings and chill.”

“Elena and Damon are at the grocery store getting more snacks.”

Kai’s eyebrows shot straight up. “You’re letting those two be in charge of the food? Don’t be too surprised if they show up with nothing but a bag of gummy bears, a few pints of o-negative and a gallon of bourbon. What about vampire Barbie and Ken? Where are they?”

“If you’re talking about Stefan and Caroline, he’s picking her up from Whitmore. She has a late class on Fridays. They should all be here in a little while. You and I will not be alone and your virtue, such as it is, shall remain intact.”

Kai made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. “Bummer.” A hint of a smile danced around his lips. “I’ll be right back.” He bounced out of the kitchen, humming to himself.

Bonnie resumed chopping tomatoes and wondered if that was going to be the new normal for her interactions with Kai. Ambiguous (and potentially sinister) hovering had been replaced with flagrant (and terrible) attempts at flirting.

Kai returned to the kitchen a few moments later. He took a couple of beers out of the fridge and opened them; he put one bottle down in front of Bonnie as he took a long drink from the other. “What are you making?”

“Salsa.”

“I’ve heard that there’s places called grocery stores where they sell salsa already made in jars.”

“Do you really want to be a smart ass while I have this knife in my hand?”

Kai ignored Bonnie’s threat. “Want some help?”

“No.”

Kai washed his hands then grabbed another knife from the butcher’s block. He stood beside Bonnie and began working on an onion.

Bonnie, understandably, was still somewhat wary of Kai with a sharp object in his hand, but after her initial apprehension passed they worked in a somewhat companionable silence. She thought it might not be so bad after all. Her friends would be there soon and then there would be four people to buffer the space between her and Kai. Damon especially always seemed quite eager to provide a barrier between Bonnie and Kai, both metaphorically and physically. All she had to do was hold on and hope that he could be quiet for just a little while longer.

“Hey, Bon.” Kai’s voice cut into Bonnie’s thoughts; she should have known him being quiet wasn’t going to last. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“If I say no, aren’t you just going to ask me anyway?”

“You know me so well. How come you and Dudley Do Right never hooked up?”

“Why do you keep calling him that? You know his name is Matt.”

Kai stared at Bonnie as though she had said something ridiculous. “And you know that I don’t care. Stop trying to change the subject.”

“There is no subject because I never agreed to have this conversation in the first place.” Bonnie put down her knife and looked at Kai, curiosity getting the better of her. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

Kai shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just curious. He’s around. You’ve known him forever. You’re hot. He’s hot.”

Bonnie raised an eyebrow at Kai. “You think Matt is hot?”

“I’m very comfortable with who I am so I’ve got no problem saying another guy is attractive. Young Matthew is quite handsome; in a bland, generic, Sears catalog model kind of way.”

“How is it that even your compliments manage to be insults?”

“Just one of my many God given talents.”

“I doubt that God has anything to do with any of your so-called talents.”

“I can’t really argue with that. Now let’s get back on topic, Bonbon. Do you not think Matt is cute or were you worried you two would bore each other into a coma?”

“I don’t know.” Bonnie said while shrugging her shoulders. “I guess I’ve always thought of Matt in a brotherly way. Not to mention the fact that he and Elena were attached at the hip for as long as I could remember. Even after they broke up it was hard not to think of him as her boyfriend. Then he was with Caroline and had that thing with Rebekah. After that….” Bonnie voice trailed off.

Kai leaned in closer. “What?” Bonnie shook her head and looked away. “Come on, tell me.”

“I don’t know.” Odd as it was, it felt good to finally voice her feelings out loud. Kai obviously would not have been her first choice for a confidante but at the very least she knew she could tell him anything, he wouldn’t judge and wouldn’t share it with anyone else.

“Matt’s a great guy but there’s never really been any kind of spark between us and even if there had been, I’m not interested in being anyone else’s second or third or in Matt’s case, fourth, choice. Been there, done that and it wasn’t a whole lot of fun. The next relationship I’m in I need to know that I’m not somebody’s consolation prize because they wanted someone else and settled for me. I need to be somebody’s first choice.”

Kai was silent for a moment. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Again, even if I say no, you’re just going to keep talking anyway.”

Kai shot a couple of finger guns in Bonnie’s direction. “Exactly.”

“In that case sure,” Bonnie said, her voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. “I’d love to hear a secret.”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”

“Shocking.” Bonnie responded in a deadpan tone.

“I know right. These boyish good looks and devilish charms, I should have been beating the ladies off with a stick.”

Bonnie wondered if her sarcasm had truly gone over Kai’s head or if he was simply choosing to ignore it. “Not what I meant, at all, but okay.”

“My father tried to keep it under wraps for as long as he could but by the time I was fourteen word was out amongst the coven that I was a magical dud and a budding sociopath to boot, so none of those girls were exactly beating a path to my door. Combine that with dear old dad’s insistence that the family not fraternize with outsiders and that added up to a very empty social calendar for yours truly.”

“So, you never went out with anybody? You didn’t have any friends?”

“Not really. Sometimes I used to sneak into town. As useless and unbearable as I found most of the other kids in the coven, I’ve got to admit that nobody can conjure up a better fake ID than a bunch of bored, repressed teenage witches. And it’s not like we were going to snitch on each other. We all snuck into town. The atmosphere in the coven was suffocating; I wasn’t the only one that needed to get out and breathe every once in a while. Wouldn’t have really mattered if I got caught anyway. I was already a lost cause in my dad’s eyes. I didn’t have anything to lose.”

Kai fell silent as a faraway look crept into his eyes. It was almost like he had forgotten Bonnie was even still in the room; like his mind had gone somewhere else entirely.

“Kai?” Bonnie spoke hoping to jar him from his thoughts.

He sparked back to life. “Anyway, it was nice to get out and talk to people that didn’t know. Hadn’t already decided what I was and what I wasn’t. Sometimes it was just enough to be around somebody that didn’t flinch if I tried to touch them.”

Despite her best efforts, Bonnie sometimes felt herself softening towards Kai. At the very least she felt sorry for the person he could have been had he been born with his own magic or born into a family that could have loved him and taught him to love himself without it. Her sympathy however dissipated quickly when she recalled the look in his eyes as he had stabbed her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Right. My point was that I’ve never had a real relationship before, so if I have one whoever I’m with would be my first choice.” He shyly dropped his eyes a way from hers. “My only choice.”

Awkward, Bonnie thought to herself. She hoped Kai wasn’t expecting some sort of response from her because she was literally speechless. She had given up on pretending that Kai didn’t have some sort of weird thing for her but that didn’t mean she was willing to discuss it with him or anyone else anytime soon.

Bonnie looked away from Kai to check her phone. It had been more than enough time for one of the couples coming to have shown up by now. Not only had no one come, she hadn’t gotten any messages or calls either. “Where are they? I wonder if something happened.”

“Please if something happened to any of them they would have already called you begging for help by now, wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right, but still maybe- “

“Maybe nothing,” Kai said cutting Bonnie off. “Your friends have the attention spans of rabid billy goats; anything could be distracting them. I say we finish making what is sure to be some very delicious salsa, grab some chips, go downstairs and start on our first movie. I’m sure they’ll be here soon enough.”

***********************************

Bonnie and Kai were settled into the reclining seats with chips, Bonnie’s salsa, a bowl of popcorn and a big bag of Twizzlers sitting on the seat between them. Kai had insisted on dimming the lights for an authentic movie watching experience, so the only real light in the room was emanating from the screen.

It came as no surprise whatsoever that Kai was the type to talk through movies.

“I’m confused.”

“About what?”

“Are we not supposed to know that the boyfriend is the killer?”

“Really, Kai? This movie has only been on for twenty minutes. You’re not supposed to say who the killer is.”

“But I am right, aren’t I? Besides it’s not like I’m spoiling it for you. I’m the one that’s never seen this before.”

“That’s not the point. Will you be quiet?”

“If they don’t want you to guess the killer right away, they could have been a little subtler. I mean look at him. The greasy hair, the chock full of crazy eyes. I know a sociopath when I see one.”

“Well you know what they say. Takes one to know one.”

“Exactly.”

“Please shut up.”

***********************************

The first movie had ended and still Elena and Damon nor Caroline and Stefan had shown up yet. Bonnie had tried calling all of them and had only been able to get their voice mails.

“Knowing them you know what they’re probably doing.”

“What are you talking about Kai?”

He wiggled his eyebrows in suggestive manner. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Let’s start another movie.”

Amazingly Kai was able to remain quiet until the end of the second movie. “I knew he was dead all along.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’re right, they got me pretty good with that one. People must have freaked out back in the day.”

************************************

By the time the third movie started Kai’s chatterbox tendencies had rubbed off on Bonnie. “You do realize that these movies make absolutely no sense. Mrs. Vorhees goes on a murderous rampage to avenge Jason’s death in the first movie, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, Jason goes on a murderous rampage to avenge her death in all the rest of the movies.”

“Do you have a point, Bonnie?”

“If Jason wasn’t dead what was Mrs. Vorhees so pissed off about in the first place? If he was dead, how did he come back to life? Is he a ghost? A zombie? Every single movie other than the first one is utter nonsense because they ruin the entire premise of the series.”

“I. . .” Kai opened his mouth and then immediately closed it again. For the first time since Bonnie met him he had been rendered speechless. “I’ll be damned. I grew up watching these and I never even thought about that. Stop trying to ruin my childhood.”

***********************************

Bonnie awoke with a start. It took a minute for her to get her bearings and remember where she was. She sat up slowly, the odd angle she’d fallen asleep at had caused a crook in her neck. The room was mostly dark as the last movie that she and Kai had been watching had long since ended. She checked the time on her phone and was surprised to see that it was just after midnight. Clearly, her friends had never shown up. She wanted to be more concerned, but it wasn’t like this was the first time they’d ditched her with no warning.

Bonnie looked over at Kai. He was turned sideways in his seat with his cheek against the headrest. She was taken aback at how young and innocent he looked. She supposed even the devil himself might look harmless while sleeping. She reached across the seat between them and shook his arm. “Kai, wake up.” When she got no response, she stood up and went closer; leaning over him and poking his shoulder.

Kai suddenly jolted awake, the contents of the half empty soda can in his hand splashing up onto Bonnie’s shirt in the process. He started apologizing immediately. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Calm down. I know it was an accident.” Bonnie was surprised by the horrified look on Kai’s face. She wondered where this sort of apologetic energy had been after he’d shot her with an arrow.

Bonnie grabbed a napkin and started dabbing at her shirt, but it wasn’t doing her much good. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I always keep a change of clothes in my car.” Life in Mystic Falls had taught Bonnie to be prepared for anything. “I’m just gonna grab a clean shirt.”

Kai followed behind Bonnie as she left the room. “It’s not that bad, is it? You don’t need to leave.”

“It’s cold and it’s sticky.”

“You can just wear something of mine.” Kai almost seemed to be pleading with her to not go outside.

“What is your problem? I’m not leaving, okay. I’ll come back.” And as much as the words leaving her mouth surprised her, Bonnie also knew that she meant them wholeheartedly. She didn’t want to leave. Despite herself she’d been having the best time she’d had in a while and genuinely did not want the night to end.

“I’ll grab a fresh shirt, come back and we can start another movie. Why don’t you go ahead and start up Nightmare on Elm Street and I can tell you all the things wrong with it too? It’ll be fun.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Bonnie, wait.”

“What?”

“I just want to say that I had a really good time with you tonight.”

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye? I told you I’m coming back.”

“I know.”

Bonnie shook her head. “Weirdo.” She made a detour through the kitchen to grab her keys off the counter before making her way outside. As soon as she reached her car, her phone started going crazy.

Kai was leaning against the kitchen counter when Bonnie re-entered the house. “You know, I would have expected better from a mega powerful coven leader.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Bonnie had to admit that Kai’s poker face was world class. If she didn’t know for a fact what he had done his innocent act would have been quite effective.

“I’m talking about the fact that if you had extended the boundary of your spell just a few more feet down the driveway it would have taken me much longer to figure out what you’d done.”

“Still don’t have a clue.”

“Is this really how you want to play it? As soon as I stepped foot outside my phone started ringing. I have dozens of text messages and missed calls. Caroline, Stefan, Damon and Elena have been trying to get in touch with me all night. First, their cars wouldn’t start.”

“That sounds like a problem for Triple A. Don’t know what it has to do with me though.”

“In addition to their cars not starting, they’re bound where they are. Physically incapable of walking more than five feet away from where they are.”

“That’s crazy but strange things happen in this town all the time, am I right?”

“It was a spell Kai. A spell powerful enough to keep four supernatural beings in two different locations rooted to the spots they were standing on. How do you explain that?”

“So, it was a spell. It’s not like I’m the only other witch that’s ever blown through this one-horse town.”

“You’re not the only witch, but you’re the only one that would have done this.”

“Are you kidding? The Mystic Falls Scooby gang has collectively probably made enemies on every continent across the globe. Your bestie Damon alone can’t go two seconds without pissing somebody off. The list of people that might want to ruin their nights isn’t exactly short.”

“You can’t even do me the courtesy of just admitting what you’ve done?” Kai continued to stare at Bonnie, his arms crossed over his chest; his face completely blank. “I don’t know why I bother. I thought we were having a—" She stopped short realizing what she was about to say and pulling the words back into her mouth.

“Go ahead and finish. You thought we were having a good time and that’s because we were.” Kai stepped around the kitchen counter, closing the gap between Bonnie and himself. “Maybe I just wanted an opportunity to be alone with you and show you that I’m not some completely irredeemable monster. Maybe I wanted to be given half as much of a chance as you give everyone else. So maybe I bounced the cell phone signal away from this house. Maybe I bound those idiot friends of yours to the ground they were standing on, so they couldn’t leave.”

“So, you’re finally owning up?”

“I’m owning nothing. I’m just saying maybe I did those things.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I didn’t.”

“You are so full of shit, Kai.”

“I can tell you one thing I definitely didn’t do. I didn’t do anything to make you stay. You weren’t bound in any way shape or form. None of your friends showed up and you were free to leave at any point, but you didn’t. You sat with me all night watching a bunch of dumb scary movies for no other reason except that you wanted to. There was no trick to it. You were genuinely enjoying my company more than you thought you would and more than you want to admit. I think that’s the part that probably pisses you off the most.”

Bonnie opened her mouth but closed it just as quickly. She was at a loss for a comeback because she couldn’t honestly deny anything Kai had just said. She would have been able to feel it if he had worked any magic against her and there had been nothing. They had laughed and talked, watched movies and taken a nap and she would have come back for more, if only he hadn’t done what he’d done.

This was all a little more than Bonnie was willing or able to process at the moment. “I’m out of here.” Bonnie grabbed her coat off the counter and stalked towards the living room. She turned back to look at Kai one last time before walking out the door. He was leaning back against the kitchen counter, arms dangling loosely by his sides. The air of defeat around him was almost palpable. She paused for a moment almost subconsciously willing him to say something, but he remained silent.

As the door shut behind her, she faintly heard Kai’s voice. “Happy Halloween, Bonnie.”

#bonkai #bonkai fiction #bookai2k18

[drabbles-and-shit]

The Mailman is Really Attractive and Dean is Smitten

When Dean first saw the new mailman that Saturday afternoon, his body had such an immediate and visceral reaction, he had to excuse himself to his bedroom for a little quality time with his right hand.

Seriously, it was insane; nothing like that had ever happened to Dean. He only figured out that he was attracted to both guys and guys about a year ago, but he’d never even had that sort of response to a girl. And what’s worse? It was one of the best experiences he’s ever had jacking off.

Like, no shit, that mailman was the hottest human Dean ever laid eyes on, and he wasn’t even Dean’s type! Dean had always gone for the petite guys, because you know, he was a dom. Well, with guys he was. He had actually started experimenting letting girls top him, and much to his own embarrassment, he actually really liked it. There was something about someone else being in control that was hot as fuck. But, just girls. He wanted nothing in his asshole, ever, thank you very much. But anyway, even though he only ever had pursued twink-types, the mailman was buff as fuck. He had looked like he was about Dean’s height, and the summer heat-induced sweat made for a uniform that clung to his body just so Dean could see rippling muscle underneath. And the shorts, no matter how silly looking for being as short as they were, let Dean see the legs of either a runner who swims in his spare time or just the legs of an actual Adonis. And his forearms! God, so strong and tanned and--Dean noticed he was developing another situation down south and forced himself to concentrate on gross things like old people making out or his brother Sam’s face. Good, good; the situation went back down.

~***~

An uneventful week later, and Dean was back looking out his front window, shamelessly watching and waiting for the new mailman. He had no idea if he was actually going to come around again; hell, he might have just been filling in that one day for the old guy that Dean normally saw bringing the mail.

But Dean’s curiosity was rewarded, because after about ten minutes of casual spying, he noticed the mailman walking up the sidewalk with his messenger bag over one shoulder, radiating sexual appeal. God, he was just as hot as last week.

Oh my god, wait, he walked by the mailbox and towards the door. He was coming to the door. He probably had a package or something. But not the porno kind. Shit, what if he saw Dean last week? Dean jumped behind his couch as fast as humanly possible and tried to not breathe, because nobody was home. No one. Was. Home.

The doorbell rang, and Dean sucked his breath in and froze. Shit, the TV was on. He had completely forgotten it, and now the sexy mailman was going to know he was hiding like a kid afraid of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and he was going to judge him ughhhh. Suffice to say, Dean was fucking embarrassed.

He waited a solid five minutes before sneaking back to the window and checking the mailman was gone before opening his front door and grabbing the package off the step. His embarrassment was forgotten quickly, because it was his Star Trek phaser from ThinkGeek! Charlie was going to be sooooo jealous, and he couldn’t fucking wait to gloat. He snapped a picture of it and shot it off to her.

Dean: Looks like I win the gayness contest, because I can set phasers to STUN #2fab4u

Charlie: Oh my god, it came!!

Charlie: You had better bring that to work Monday so I can play with it

Dean: Only if you promise to not break it

Charlie: Btw did you see the hottie today??

Dean: Duh where did you think the package came from?

Charlie: DID YOU TALK TO HIM?!?!

Dean: You kidding? No way, Jose

Charlie: Ugh you’re no fun

Charlie: Wait. I have an idea! You should write him a letter and put it in your mailbox so he can read it when he brings your mail!!

Dean: Do you even know me? Charmando, I wouldn’t do something like that if my life depended on it

Charlie: You’re such a scaredy cat, Winchester

Dean: And proud

~***~

Drunk Dean sometimes did things that Sober Dean had to pay for, especially when his best friend/arch nemesis Charlie was involved. They always went for drinks together after work on Fridays, and somehow Dean always ended up being the only one of the two of them that did stupid, drunk person stuff. He was beginning to suspect that maybe she didn’t actually even drink, just pretended to so that she could talk his more malleable alter ego into doing what she wanted him to. Like, just a random example, writing a note to the sexy mailman.

He was going to kill her. Saturday morning met him with a skull splitting headache, and more importantly, oodles of regret. Because yes, he could vaguely remember sitting down with a pen and a piece of paper last night and writing… something. God, he couldn’t remember what the hell he had written. Maybe he had enough time to run out to the mailbox and take it out before it was too late!

Dean pulled on his sweatpants and charged out into the painfully bright midday sun. Despite his body’s many protests, he made it to the mailbox in record time, but it was for nothing, because when he opened it up, the note was gone and had been replaced by what looked like a bill and some coupons for pizza. He couldn’t really be sure, because his eyes felt like he was stabbing them full of needles. He defeatedly walked back into his house and pulled out his phone.

Dean: Dude. What happened last night. Tell me or I’m going to send your girlfriend your prom photos

He waited for a response while chewed discontentedly on a piece of cold bacon from the fridge and sipping a glass of water. He didn’t have to wait for long though, and he soon heard the telltale R2-D2 beep that was Charlie’s text alert noise.

Charlie: You were so plastered, my man. It was wild.

Charlie: I take it you only just woke up and didn’t have time to get the letter out of the box?

Dean: Shit, so that really happened? Dear god, tell me I didn’t write anything too embarrassing?

Charlie: You politely told him you wanted to suck his dick

Dean: I’ve got the picture ready to send!

Charlie: Ugh, fine. No, all you said was that you thought he looked nice and were wondering what happened to the old guy who used to bring your mail. Tbh it was pretty cute. I love drunk you

Dean sighed in relief. It was still as embarrassing as balls, but maybe the guy will think Dean has a kid or something and they wrote it. He can only hope at this point.

~***~

When Dean got home from work Monday evening and opened up the mailbox, his hopes that the mailman would just ignore the letter were proven useless.

Sitting there in the box, on top of a classic car magazine he subscribed to, was a small blue envelope with no stamp and just his first name in rather lovely script in the middle. He ripped it open before he even got inside, because holy fuck, there’s no one who would drive by his house just to put a letter in my mail other than Mr. Sexypants. It read:

Dear Dean,

I’m guessing by your handwriting and subject matter that you’re either a child or a drunk man. If it’s the former, please tell your parents that I am not a pedophile. Please. If you’re an adult and just have terrible handwriting, I’m sorry for touching on a sore subject.

Anyway, Cain, your previous mail carrier, was only working your route temporarily. He actually is one of the higher-ups for the USPS and was delivering mail as a sort of extended vacation from management. Odd, I know.

I appreciate that you think I look nice, and if you’re the adult male who lives at this address, I think you do too. If you’re a child, I’m sure you look nice, but in a non-pedophilic way.

Yours,

Castiel

Oh my god, Dean was in love. Haha, just kidding. He’s not in love; what are you talking about? Totally not in love. Nope, not at all. He lunged inside, pulled off his jacket and tie, and began furiously debating whether or not to tell Charlie about this. On the one hand, she’s his only real friend besides his younger brother, who is constantly busy with lawyer-things. But on the other hand, she would totally gloat about this for the rest of her life. But fuck it, he needs to talk to someone about this, because he never has romance in his life!

Dean: Omg you’ll never believe what happened\\

Charlie: Ooh! What??!

Dean: Mr. Double Stuffed Hotness is named Castiel, and I might want to marry him

Charlie: HE WROTE BACK?!?! It’s fate, my young grasshopper

Dean: I’m gonna send you a pic of the letter he wrote back so you can help me figure out what to write back

\

Charlie: You had better let me be your best man!! AND let me officiate!!! I’m already planning my speech

Dean: Don’t get ahead of yourself… but I’m actually kind of psyched rn

And so the planning began. Eventually, they decided on a note that read the following:

Dear Castiel,

As you deduced, I was drunk. Don’t worry, I’ll tell my parents you aren’t a pedophile anyway, just in case. Of course, they’re both in their 60s and will probably also assume I’m drunk, but better safe than sorry.

Thank you for saying I look nice, though I can’t imagine when you’ve seen me. I’m normally at work when you bring the mail (around 1:30pm, right?), so have you seen me on a Saturday? Okay, you don’t need to answer, just in case you’re actually a stalker or something. It’s never good to confront the bad guy in horror movies, and I’ve learned my lesson.

Hey, is your name really Castiel, or is that a pseudonym? I googled it, and it’s the name of the Angel of Thursday? What’s so special about Thursdays?

Live long and prosper,

Dean

~***~

Dear Dean,

I’m very glad I won’t be going to jail for calling a child attractive. You can probably hear my sigh of relief from there.

I can neither confirm nor deny when/where I have seen you. Also, are you calling me the antagonist of a horror film? If so, please enlighten me on which one, because I’m rather a fan of being scared shitless, and I’m sure seeing myself as the murderer will make an horror viewing experience even more terrifying.

And yes, my name is really Castiel. Let’s just say my parents were hippies. Many people call me Cas, though, and my siblings call me Cassie. I don’t like my siblings very much.

What about you? Why are you named Dean? Did your parents hope you would create a list of exceptional people? Or perhaps they wanted you to grown up to resemble Dean Martin?

I’m sorry, I don’t know where all that rude sass came from; it’s been a long day.

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan,

Cas

~***~

Mr. Spock,

I had a girlfriend named Cassie once! Sort that information away for a future test, I suppose. How many siblings do you have? I one brother, and he can be such a bitch sometimes, so I definitely get where you’re coming from.

As it happens, I’m named after my grandmother, Deanna. And I swear to god, if you make fun of me for that, I will, um, do something… I don’t know exactly what yet, but I’ll figure it out, and it’ll be awful, I promise!

So, is it really that hard being a mailman? (You said it had been a rough day.) I’m a mechanic, by the way. If you ever need to know anything about cars, just hit me up, and I’ll be happy to help. For a price… Ha, just kidding. Maybe…

Dammit Cas, I’m a mechanic, not a doctor!

Dean

~***~

Bones,

I find it slightly perturbing that my nickname is also the name of your ex. But I always ace tests, so I guess I’m glad to know it anyway.

I have 5 siblings. I know. Hippies don’t believe in birth control, I guess. But yes, family of 8, from Michael the oldest, down to Sam the youngest. Since I’m on the subject, I suppose I might as well list off all my siblings. There’s Mike, Gabe, Luce, me, Anna, and Sam, ranging in ages from 37 to 21. Oh, I’m the ripe old age of 29, by the way. Not that that matters. Jesus, this entire letter is me talking about my family, sorry.

And no, it’s not hard being a mailman, but it is hard having to take your beloved cat to the veterinarian because they’re refusing to eat, not having bowel movements, and rolling around on the floor, meowing in pain. The poor guy had a blockage and almost died. It was a tough day.

I might just take you up on your offer to help explain things about cars, because I am completely clueless about them. I drive an old clunker that eats gas money like nobody’s business, and I really need to get a new car as soon as possible.

Have you been at the Romulan ale again??

Cas

~***~

Castiel,

I know I signed my last note with a Bones reference, but make no mistake, I am 100% Kirk, and I would appreciate it if you referred to me as such. Thank you for not forcing me to pursue legal action.

Dude, my younger brother is named Sam! Well, technically he’s named Samuel, after our grandfather, but still. Weird. And I’m 32, so that’s cool I guess.

I’m sorry to hear about your cat; that sounds pretty awful. I’ve never really had pets, and I’m actually allergic to cats, but I remember when Sammy’s dog was hit by a car and how distraught he was. I’m guessing your cat is all right now, though? If so, I’m glad. If not, sorry for rubbing salt in the wound.

Dude, do not drive that car. Like, stop it now. Please, for the sake of car lovers everywhere. Take it down to Singer’s Auto Salvage Yard; Bobby is a friend of mine, and if you tell him I sent you, he’ll give you a good price for it, and then you can use that money to buy something that’s not a piece of shit.

*funny Star Trek reference here*

Captain James Tiberius Kirk

~***~

Jim,

Can you sense me rolling my eyes? Because there’s some serious ocular oscillation going on right now in reference to your threats.

And I shortened my Sam’s name, too. His full name is Samandriel. Hippies, am I right?

Yes, my cat is fine, thank Talos. He is my best friend, and I don’t think I would be able to function properly if something happened to him. He’s a black shorthair named Toothless, by the way. Yes, I’m a basic bitch. Bite me.

I’ll try and take your advice about the car. I think my car is actually the automobile form of Sauron’s ring of power, because every time I’ve tried to get rid of it, it talks me into keeping it. I know in my heart that it needs to be torn apart for scraps, that it is taking advantage of me and should be destroyed before it does something terrible, but it’s mine. My own. My...precious…

Oh, my biggest problem is that if I sell her, I don’t know anything about buying cars, so I’m afraid someone will take advantage of my naivete and sell me an equally shitty car for a ridiculous price. Any suggestions?

*I can do this too*

Spock Spock Spock-ity Spock

~***~

Spockity,

God, I wish my parents had been hippies. Instead they were hippos. Yep, I was adopted by a pair of hippopotami at the age of four. Don’t believe me? Ask the Topeka Zoo, and they’ll corroborate my story. (Please don’t actually do that; they might remember me from when I was a teenager and broke in there to try and pet the giraffes.)

And I will never judge anyone for loving How To Train Your Dragon, because that movie was legendary. Toothless is the cutest dragon probably ever, and Hiccup is such a dreamboat.

Um, we definitely need to get rid of that car. Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks! I’m trying to help you. And speaking of helping you, if you find a car and want to know just how swindled you’re going to be, just send me the information, and I can let you know if you should buy it or not!

So… what kind of music do you like? I’m a big classic rock fan, and if you aren’t I will become determined to change that about you.

Can we up switch references? Maybe Princess Bride or something?

Princess Buttercup

~***~

Buttercup,

I find your story inconceivable. But did you truly grow up in Kansas? Personally, I grew up in the wilds of Washington; Seattle, actually.

And good; I would be very upset with you if you didn’t love Toothless and Hiccup, though I must say Hiccup is not exactly my type. I like my men a little older than he (recall that I’m not a pedophile), and I think any man I may date should definitely be my size or larger, or else I might kill them accidentally in bed. Huh, I guess we haven’t really talked about sexuality ever, so sorry if that made you uncomfortable.

I would greatly appreciate it if you would actually send me your phone number or email or something, so I could send you the information on a car I’m seriously considering buying. If you’d rather not hand out such personal information, I completely understand though.

I confess I haven’t listened to much classic rock. I mostly listen to classical music, though I’ve been delving into the genre of lofi hiphop, and I actually really enjoy it.

As you wish,

Vizzini

~***~

Vizzini,

You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means…

Yes, I grew up in Kansas, a little town called Lawrence to be precise. And the bit about breaking into the zoo was real too, so please don’t report me.

And honestly, I’m kind of in a weird experimental stage with my sexuality right now. I know, that’s supposed to happen during college, but maybe I’m just not a normal guy, all right? Anyway, I think I’ve officially decided I’m bisexual, but who knows? Romance is tiring, but sex is fun, and I don’t really mind who the hole belongs to. Jesus, that sounded awful and disgusting; sorry. I’m not even really like that any more. I haven’t had a hookup for like three months, which has got to be some kind of record. Sorry, this I should stop writing while I have the chance.

Totally send me the deets about the car, man. My number is 1-866-907-3235

Dude, I’m going to indoctrinate you. You fucking need to listen to classic rock; it’s the stuff of gods. Maybe I’ll make you a mixtape or something so you can listen to all the best songs. Weird question: do you have a tape player? I’m kind of old fashioned, so yeah, I’m going to make you a cassette tape with my favorite Zepp tracks on it.

Mahwage, dah bwessed awangment,

The Dread Pirate Roberts

~***~

For some reason, it was taking Cas a long time to get back to Dean. They had kind of worked out an unspoken schedule by this point; one of them put a letter in the box Monday, the other responded by Wednesday, and then the first sent back a response the Friday of the same week. Basically three letter a week for the past month or so. No, that’s not weird or creepy for two adult men to do at all.

Dean had dropped off that last letter on a Monday, but no reply came on Wednesday. He tried to not let it bother him, thinking Cas was probably busy or something. But then there wasn’t a reply Thursday or Friday either, and he started to get a little miffed. The least Cas could have done was to text him now that he had his number, but noooo. Unfortunately, Dean had to be out of town that Saturday, so no confrontation could happen over the 1:30 mail delivery.

The next Saturday rolled around with no word from Cas again, and Dean was starting to get legitimately worried. He would have understood if the guy took some time off maybe for being sick or something, but two weeks? Nobody takes two weeks off, especially without telling their… friend? Suddenly, Dean’s ridiculous number of insecurities started blaring at him. What if he and Cas weren’t friends? What if he didn’t actually mean anything to Cas at all? He probably was just another drain on Cas’ time, and Cas had finally decided he’d had enough and didn’t want to talk to Dean anymore. Hell, he might have requested a different route because Dean was harassing him. Shit, of course all this was too good to be true. Dean never made friends; Charlie was the only acception to that painful trend, and he had no idea why she still hung out with him.

Dean knew those thoughts too well; he knew his own self-loathing always came around and wouldn’t leave until he started thinking about other things. So, he thought about Cas. It was almost 1:30, two weeks since he’d heard from him last, and he decided to camp out at the mailbox and wait for whoever came. He had to know if Cas was all right, at least. The guy was his friend, even if maybe Cas didn’t see him as one.

He didn’t have long to wait before seeing his old mailman (Cain, was it?) peddling a sleek bicycle down the sidewalk with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Um, hey, sorry to bother you. Cain, is it?” Dean fidgeted, feeling awkward as fuck.

“Yes, that’s me. Can I help you with something?” Huh, okay, Cain seemed like a pretty chill guy. Maybe Dean could actually avoid a panic attack from doing something this wild.

“Uh, yeah. Do you know Castiel? He brought mail on this route for a while? I just haven’t seen him in a while, and I was worried that something happened.” Dean was talking too fast, but he couldn’t help it, okay?

“I know Castiel, and I know he took off a few weeks. Don’t know why though; maybe a vacation or something. I wouldn’t worry about it though, if I were you.”

Oh Dean was gonna worry about it, no doubt about that. Because wow, he was glad Cas was all right and not dead somewhere, but Jesus, what kind of douchebag friend goes on an extended vacation without so much as a goodbye?? So yeah, Dean was going to worry about what he did wrong and why he never could keep friends, and why he was such a fucked up excuse for a human being. Awesome.

~***~

Dean was depressed. Charlie tried cheering him up but to no avail. He was just depressed. He actually took the day off on Monday, because he was such a fucking sissy who couldn’t deal with anything. God, no wonder Cas didn’t care about him. No one should care about him; he was so pathetic.

The doorbell rang. Dean lifted his head from the pillow it had been buried in for the entire first half of the day and decided he probably ought to answer the door, seeing as there was a 98% chance it was Charlie with pie and beer and a chick flick to make him feel better. God, she was too good for him; he didn’t deserve such a good friend.

He pulled the door open and was greeted by the invisible man; wait no, there was a package and a pile of mail on the front step. He sighed and picked it all up, then promptly dropped it all on the floor, shut the door, and collapsed on the couch. He didn’t feel like looking at the mail. He didn’t feel like doing anything except for sleeping. Ugh.

But maybe that package would cheer him up. He rolled his eyes at the tiny optimistic voice in his head and then rolled right off the couch and crawled to the pile of mail. He grabbed package without so much as glancing over the letters, probably all bills, and violently tore it open. Ooh, it was those custom leather-bound journals he ordered off Etsy. One was embroidered with his Hogwarts House logo (Hufflepuff and proud!) and the other matched it but had Charlie’s House (Ravenclaw, more like Raven...dumb! Good one). One of the few things he was ashamed of about being a sissy was doing things like buying matching things for himself and his best friend, or having sleepovers with his best friend, or planning his future wedding with his best friend. ANYway.

Okay, cool, the opening the package plan had worked! Dean was feeling better already. But then he saw it. Underneath the topmost bill was a little blue envelope. Dean’s hand had never moved so fast (yes, never).

Sure enough, it was from Cas. But unlike all the other letters Dean had gotten from him, this one was stamped and had both mailing and return addresses on it. Without stopping to think about what the fuck that could possibly mean, Dean ripped open the letter and read:

Dear Dean,

I am so sorry I haven’t written you in so long. To put it succinctly, my father had a heart attack, and I had to go to to Washington to be with him. The past two weeks have been about family and rekindling our relationships with each other. My father passed away two nights ago, and the funeral was yesterday. I know we never really talk about serious things, but I hope you won’t mind if I tell you this.

Honestly, as heartbroken as I am to see my father pass, I’m grateful that it has brought my family back together. All of us were there with him at the end, all of us were gathered around his bedside as he breathed his last. And he went peacefully, so I’m also grateful for that. I’ll be staying up here for another few days before flying back, and then I’ll be back to work as normal. I put my address that I’m staying at while I’m in Seattle as the return address, but I’ll add my home address too at the bottom of the page; it only feels fair that since I know where you live, you should know where I do too.

Again, I’m sorry if I made you worry at all. I know you might not see me the same way, but you’ve actually become one of my closest friends over the past month. What that says about my personal life? That I’m very awkward and antisocial, that’s what it says.

I hope to talk to you soon,

Castiel

Thank the fucking lord. Dean let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and grabbed his phone.

Dean: Cas is okay!! His dad died but he’ll be back soon

Charlie: Wait, his dad died, but he’ll be back soon? Who is he, god? I mean, Jesus. Whatever, I’m not required to make good religious jokes

Dean: Haha, very funny

Charlie: But yay!! I’m so glad for you!! Maybe now you’ll stop sulking like a little lost puppy

Dean: I make no promises

~***~

As promised, Cas was back by the end of the week, and Dean couldn’t stop grinning when he looked out his window Saturday to see Cas walking up to his mailbox.

He pulled the door open and ran out, unprecedented behavior from the man afraid to make eye contact with girl scouts selling cookies outside the front of the grocery store.

“Cas! It’s good to see you, man!” He went in for a hug, but then it got a little too real, so it ended up being one of those awkward side-hugs that no one really likes but everyone has to deal with.

Cas smiled back widely, and Dean got a little lost in his eyes. Wow, he’d never actually seen Cas up close, and now that he did, he could tell that Cas was actually the most attractive man alive. His ocean blue eyes drew Dean in, and he found himself completely phasing out to the point that Cas had to repeat a question three times before he could respond.

“Sorry, um, what was that?” Was the response. Classic.

“I asked if you were all right; you look a little phased.” No shit, Sherlock.

“Uh yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“I was a little worried I’d scared you off with my last letter, seeing as how you didn’t write back.” Shit, Dean had forgotten to.

“Fuck, I totally forgot that I had your address. I guess I’m not used to actually properly sending letters, not just putting them in the mailbox.” They shared a quiet laugh before Dean went on, somberly. “I’m really sorry about your dad. My mom passed a few years back, and I know how painful it is.”

Cas smiles sadly. “Yeah, it was rough, but like I said in the letter, it really brought my family together, and I’m sure dad would have been happy to see the impact he had on us.” He paused, and Dean could there was something more rolling around in his mind, so he decided to stay silent and let Cas finish his thought. “It’s funny, he was such an absent father when we were growing up. I know he was different when he and my mom were first married; I think he was a carpenter or something, and he was always at home with Mike and Luce when they were little. But then his business took off, and by the time I was in diapers, he was hardly ever around. Business trips, late nights working, early morning meetings, it never ended. It kind of tore our family apart, bit by bit. First, Gabe ran away when he was 16. He didn’t get in touch with any of us for almost a whole year. Later, he told me he just couldn’t stand to see all the arguing and pain in our family. Then it was Luce, angrily storming off to college and refusing to answer our calls or emails. He loved all of us, his siblings so much, and I think watching dad’s absence affect us younger kids really took a toll on him.”

Suddenly, Cas’ eyes flashed up, and his cheeks grew pink. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’ve just been standing here, telling you my life’s story. And fuck, I’m on the clock; I really need to run.”

Before Cas could move, Dean grabbed his wrist. “Wait, can you give me your phone number? I put mine in my last letter to you, but I’m guessing you didn’t get that.”

They exchanged numbers as quickly as possible, and Cas ran off towards the next house on his route. Dean grinned as he watched his run away and immediately send him a trial-run text.

Dean: If you gave me a fake number, I’m going to go to your house and shave your cat

Off in the distance (only about 200 feet, to be perfectly honest), Cas stopped and looked down at his phone, and Dean could not hold back a huge laugh.

Castiel: Toothless would kill your sorry ass

~***~

Regina George,

Oh my god, you’re so fetch.

Sorry Cas, I don’t know why, but I really felt like I had to change our theme to Mean Girls. Sue me. (Also, you better have fucking watched Mean Girls, or there will be hell to pay.)

So, my friend Charlie talked me into this, but I guess I kind of agreed with her that I ought to do it. And you can totally say no thanks, not interested, and it’ll be completely fine! But, I was wondering if maybe you’d be interesting in going on a date with me sometime…?

Wow, I am a child. Well, a teenage girl, to be precise. Oh shit, and you keep telling me you’re not a pedophile, so you’re definitely not going to want to go out with me now that you know my true identity. Well this is a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Have you sold that car yet? You should really get on that.

Yours forever,

Amy Poehler

~***~

Mother,

Of course I’ve seen Mean Girls, I’m not that out of the proverbial loop.

And would you please thank your friend Charlie for me? I’ll admit, I’ve wanted to go on a date with you for a quite a while now, but ye ole’ social ineptitude wouldn’t let me ask. Maybe text me when you get this, and we can work out a time/place? Saturday nights are usually best for me, considering I’m always off Sundays.

Please Dean, if you’re a teenage girl, then I am too, and then it’s not pedophilia.

And no, I haven’t sold it yet, because I haven’t decided on a new one to buy yet, because in case you hadn’t noticed, my life has been a little hectic lately. I’ll try and text you the details on the car I’m looking at soon, though.

Fours yorever,

Reginers

~***~

Saturday night is there before Dean can get his shit together. He had frantically texted Charlie minutes after making the date with Cas asking her what he should wear and how he should act and whether he should just run away and never come back. You know, normal stuff.

In the end, he and Cas had decided on meeting an a small burger place near Cas’ place, so Dean knew he shouldn’t wear something too fancy. But he didn’t want to wear just his every minute of every day bluejeans, t-shirt, and flannel combo. So, with some sagely advice from Charlie, he’s decided on his most flattering pair of grey jeans and a button down maroon shirt, freshly ironed. Honestly, not half bad, even by his self-degrading standards. He toyed with the idea of a grey tie with the top two buttons of his collar undone, and decided it was too snazzy for him to refuse.

A 15-minute drive later, he was walking into the restaurant and looking around for Cas. And boy, did he find him. Cas was wearing a tight pair of black jeans, an Egyptian blue button down, and a black waistcoat, and holy fuck, Dean was having another southward situation just at the sight. He repeated the words ‘puss, flesh, old-people skin,’ in his head for half a minute until everything was hunky dory again, then made his way to the bar where Cas was standing.

“You look great, Cas.” Dean grinned when he saw Cas blatantly checking his ass. The good old grey jeans never fail.

“As do you, Dean,” Cas responded, his pupils mildly larger than probably normal.

They made their way over to a small corner booth and waived down a waitress. Adorably enough, they both ordered the same bacon cheeseburger, and in the time it took for their food to arrive, they discussed possible future heart health and how they were both going to die eventually, so it might as well be from eating delicious food.

“Dude, if bacon’s what gets me, I win,” Dean remarked right before taking a huge bite into his burger.

Cas harrumphed in agreement, then moaned around the first bite of his own burger.

Uh oh. Turned out, visual Cas is nothing compared to audible Cas in terms of making Dean’s nether regions all kinds of interested. To put it simply, Dean was sitting at a booth, on a first date, a burger in his mouth, almost completely hard. Awesome.

“Dean, are you okay?” Shit, Cas apparently noticed the panicked look on Dean’s face, and Dean’s face burned red.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. I, um, just kinda have a little… situation. Downstairs. God this is so embarrassing; I’m soooooo, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

Cas was quiet for a second, then burst out with infectious laughter, and Dean couldn’t help but join in. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. Was it become of the groan I just made or…?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair before responding, “Um, yeah. Fuck. Look, I haven’t gotten

laid in close to three months, so cut me a little slack. And honestly, I’m really sorry. I wanted this

to be a really special first date, but I feel like I kind of ruined it.” Like Dean ruined everything.

“Oh, no no no! Really, I understand much better than you’d think,” Cas assuaged his fear and sorrow with a comforting pat on the back on the hand. “It’s honestly fine. Now, do you need to go to take a trip to the bathroom, or are you all right now?”

Dean informed Cas that apparently humiliation was not one of his kinks, and the situation had resolved itself, and they were able to go on with their dinner like it had never happened.

But you know, it did happen, and Dean hadn’t had sex in months, and Cas was the hottest date Dean had ever had. SO yeah. Things happen.

~***~

After an amazing evening of burgers, pie, beer, and literal hours of conversation, they decided it was definitely time for them to part ways. Cas had walked to the restaurant, so Dean offered to drop him off on his way home, and Cas gratefully accepted.

The car ride was normal, if slightly tense. They were both slightly buzzed and totally attracted to each other, after all. But it was chill.

Dean pulled up to Cas’ home, a cozy-looking apartment complex, and parked his car in one of the visitor spots. They both climbed out and walked together up to Cas’ door.

“So, I had an awesome time tonight,” Dean half-mumbled, really trying his best to appear like he wasn’t desperate to go out with Cas again as soon as possible. “You think you might want to do this again sometime? I mean, really, I totally get it if like I’m not your type or you’re just not into me or you think I’m too--”

Cas slammed their faces (particularly their lips) together, effectively cutting off Dean’s self-abusive train of thought and filling his mind with only the pure bliss of Cas’ warm mouth on his, their tongues fighting for dominance. Cas’ mouth tasted amazing, like apple pie and happiness. Dean hungrily chased the flavour, and he couldn’t get enough. They broke for air for just a minute before Cas wheeled Dean around and up against his apartment door, weaving one hand into his hair and grabbing Dean’s own hand with the other, pinning it up against the door above his head.

Dean had never felt less in control, and it was amazing. He could feel the strength in Cas’ body shoved up against his own. He felt vulnerable, but for once in his life, he was okay with that vulnerability.

Cas moved his mouth down from Dean’s mouth to his neck, peppering the skin with hot, wet kisses. He settled on one spot, the meaty place between Dean’s neck and right shoulder and assaulted it with licks, kisses, nibbles, and sucks. He was driving Dean crazy, and Dean honestly couldn’t stop himself from moaning out, “Uhhhh, Cas…”

Maybe it was something about how he broke the silence, but Cas suddenly stilled and looked up at Dean, alarm filling his eyes. “Oh my god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before; I don’t know what came over me.” He stepped back from Dean and rubbed his hands over his face.

“What? Why’d you stop?” Dean replied, feeling suddenly abandoned.

Cas locked eyes with Dean and said very seriously, “I have no idea what I’m doing, Dean. I’ve never had sex; hell, I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a week. And you’re this amazing, attractive man who has had so much sex and knows all about it, and I’m just going to embarrass myself and it’ll be terrible and--”

This time, Dean satisfies the cliche, cutting off Cas’ river of doubts with a kiss into which he poured all the words he wanted to say but didn’t know how: that Cas made him feel safe and comfortable and like he could be himself and still feel appreciated and cared for and special and important.

Cas seemed to get the message, and he quickly took control once again, holding Dean tight in his arms and kissing him with more passion than is in an entire episode of Casa Erotica.

Dean had been hard for a while now, and as Cas clung to him, he could feel that Cas was in about the same spot as he was. But shit, if Cas was a virgin, that would put a lot of weight on Dean’s shoulders, right? He wanted to make it perfect for Cas, because that’s what Cas deserved.

But apparently, Cas had a completely different idea. He pulled away from Dean, and with his pupils completely blown wide and dark, moved his mouth to Dean’s ear and whispered, “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Huh, well, Dean realized at that moment he was completely, 100%, no doubt about it, a bottom. And apparently, Cas’ self-confidence boosted itself threefold when he was horny, so yeah. That was pretty sweet.

Cas fumbled with his apartment keys and opened the front door before pushing Dean inside and slamming the door behind them. He kiss-walked (that thing where people are joined at the mouth but still manage to move around, that’s honestly kind of impressive if you think about it) Dean to what Dean assumed could only be his bedroom and shoved him onto the bed before climbing on top of waist and resuming kissing him like a man dying of dehydration and Dean’s mouth was a fucking water fountain.

Without breaking their lip lock, Cas scrambled to get Dean’s tie off, and Dean did his best to help with the clothing removal process, but his efforts were mostly futile.

Finally, after a  pathetically long and unromantic struggle, they were both naked, and Dean was basically drooling at the sight of Cas’ dick. Like, holy hell, it’s not like Dean himself was small, but Jesus, he was embarrassed of his own length in the presence of Cas’ massiveness.

Cas grinned with a hungry look in his eye as he took Dean in, and Dean felt suddenly self conscious as Cas scanned him so carefully.

Cas noticed the change in Dean’s demeanor and guessed the source quickly. “Dean, you are so beautiful,” his husky voice reassured before leaning in and capturing Dean’s lips once again, this time with a contrastingly gentle and loving kiss, and for once in his life, Dean let himself actually believe that about himself.

The kiss soon got more heated, and Cas’ hands began exploring Dean’s body, starting in his hair, traveling down his chest, over his hips, and down his thighs. Dean moaned and realized that, much to his embarrassment, he was actually close.

Fortunately, Cas seemed to sense he should advance things, and he trailed his hands back up to Dean’s throbbing cock. Dean let out a punched groan at the first touch to his hot member, squeezed his eyes shut tight, and clenched his fists behind Cas’ back. “So good, Cas…”

Cas’ hand left his cock for a minute, and Dean heard the telltale sounds of someone spitting before the hand returned, slick and tight. Just a couple tugs and Dean was coming with a shout. “Oh, Cas, oh fuck, Cas!”

He had never come so quickly in his entire life, but Dean couldn’t even find it in himself to be ashamed, especially as he heard Cas grunting as he followed directly behind him.

“Cas, that was…”

A sudden worried look fell over Cas’ face. “Was it bad? I’m sorry, I know we both came really fast.”

Dean laughed and tried his best kiss the pouting look off of Cas. “No, it was amazing, Cas. Jesus, that was the most vanilla shit I’ve ever done, but it was perfect.” Dean sighed and steeled himself before continuing. “And actually, I think the reason it was perfect was because, well, it was with you, Cas.”

~***~

“Honeybee, I’m home!” Dean stripped off his big winter coat and hung it on the hook by the front door.

“I’m in the kitchen, Dean!” Dean stalked through the house and up behind his husband, snaking his arms around the other man’s broad chest and leaning over his shoulder to give him a peck on the cheek.

“How was work today?” Dean asked, glancing around the kitchen and noticing with a grin what looked suspiciously like the mess left after someone has baked an apple pie.

“Work was lovely, thank you. Of course, that was mostly because of the letter I got from my favorite stop on my favorite route.” Cas grinned and spun around to give Dean a proper kiss.

“I’m your favorite?!” Dean grinned and pulled back before Cas could kiss him

Cas rolled his eyes, “No, I’m talking about our neighbor, Mrs. Tran.”

“I love you too, babe.” Dean finally let himself be pulled into his husband’s eager arms and smiled into the kiss. Fate was kind of awesome.  

#destiel #fanfiction #destiel fandom #destiel fluff #supernatural #ao3 #one shot #supernatural fic #destiel fic #fanfic

[kurokoros]

You’re a Mean One (Mr. Grinch)

Title: You’re a Mean one (Mr. Grinch) | Chapter One

Rating: T (for Bakugou’s dirty mouth)

Words: ~3.5K

Summary: Ochako’s family invites Bakugou to Christmas dinner. He is less than pleased. They’re going to need a Christmas Miracle to keep him from burning the whole place down. (Modern Holiday AU)

Also on FF.net and AO3

Prologue 

"I can't believe you're making me do this," Bakugou grumbles, sinking further into his seat and shooting Ochako a soft glare. Despite how pissed off he is about this entire situation, he knows better than to take things out n her. Maybe ten years ago he would have, back when he was fifteen and an asshole with insecurities that made him lash out, but he's better than that now. No, now he just relies on banter and a slightly barbed tongue.

Ochako rolls her eyes at him, shooting him a brief, unamused look before turning back to the road. "I'm not making you do anything," she reminds him, sighing when he glares harder. "You chose to do this." She shrugs like it's no big deal, as if she hasn't been listening to him complain since they left home.

Granted, Ochako's family only lives about forty minutes away, but Bakugou is a little surprised Ochako hasn't killed him yet.

"You twisted my arm." He wouldn't be wearing this hideous, green and red sweater if she hadn't batted her doe eyes at him. He's a sucker for her and she knows it. He also wouldn't have spent ninety dollars on good wine or baked his moderately famous hot-dish if she hadn't slyly asked him to while also grabbing him by the belt.

A little incentive never did hurt.

This time her sigh is louder. "That's a lie and you know it," she tells him, finally turning away from the snowy road to level him with a dirty look. "No one could ever make you do something you didn't want. You would break their arms off."

"Damn right I would," he murmurs, sinking lower in his seat and cradling the bottle of wine close to his chest. He would give anything for them to just be sitting at home drinking right now. Alone. Together. No relatives to ruin the night. "Why do I have to do this again?" He's not really looking for an answer, just something to keep the conversation going. He never has liked the silence, especially not from her.

"Because it's the decent thing to do?" It comes out as more of a question than anything, but Ochako merely shrugs, squinting to see out the window through the light snow. Before leaving, she firmly told Bakugou he was no allowed to drive, mostly due to his terrible road rage, but also because he absolutely sucks at driving during the winter. He's gotten them stranded in snow banks more times than either of them would care to admit. "I've met your parents," she reminds him.

Bakugou snorts, shooting her an unimpressed look. "Yeah," he drawls, fake enthusiasm thick on his tongue, "and my parents are absolutely fucking nuts." They'd somehow been coerced into seeing his parents over Thanksgiving. Needless to say, it's not an experience either of them are trying to remember.

He loves his parents, he does, but for the sake of everyone's health and wellbeing, he really shouldn't be in the same room as his mother.

"They are not!" Ochako huffs, her fingers twitching around the steering wheel slightly, a testament to her irritation. Despite her annoyance, Bakugou can see the hint of a smile on her lips, and he thanks that's worth it. "So your mom's a bit…" She trails off awkwardly, searching for the right, inoffensive word to use.

Bakugou certainly has one to offer. "Batshit insane?"

He loves her, he does, but sometimes she can be a little intense. He certainly takes after her more than his father, but that's not entirely surprising, given Bakugou's… explosive personality, for lack of a better word.

"That's not what I was going to say," Ochako argues, voice slightly higher than normal. It isn't a lie. Ochako is too nice to say anything bad about his mother, let alone call her something of a fruitcake.

He quirks a brow at her, head rolling against the seat to meet her gaze in the mirror. She steadfastly ignores him, but Bakugou only snorts. "It's true though," he grumbles, crossing his arms and pulling the wine even closer to his chest. Idly, he plays with the stupid, cherry red bow wrapped around the neck of the bottle, a cute, snowman card signed with Ochako's pretty, loopy handwriting and his more illegible one.

The snowman seems to smile up at him, and he blanches, turning the bottle around.

Ochako wets her lips, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a fast, nervous beat. "She's more intense than anything," she murmurs back to him, swallowing before glancing down at the time. They're supposed to be there by three and they're nearly there.

Bakugou, however, doesn't notice this. Instead, he turns to face Ochako directly, face twisted in something reminiscent of horror. "She threatened me with a knife," he reminds her. It was not a good Thanksgiving at all and he was so sure his family would chase her off and send her running for the hills.

He was genuinely surprised and elated that she hadn't.

"You had it coming," she murmurs back to him, attempting to hide her smile with her hair.

"Uraraka!" he shouts, sending her a nasty look. The wine bottle nearly slips from his fingers as he whirls in his seat to stare at her. He never saw Ochako as a sadist, but wow. That was cold.

"You insulted her casserole, what were you expecting!" she snaps back at him, a giggle falling from her mouth. She tries to smother it, but can't, the ridiculousness of the situation still funny to her. She wasn't laughing when Bakugou's mother pulled out a knife and threatened to stab him over her nasty casserole. Apparently they can joke about that now.

Bakugou scoffs and sinks lower into his seat, sending her a sour look when she still can't stop snickering. Eventually, she manages to stop, but then they slip into a silence that isn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it is tense, almost strained.

"I can promise that family isn't nearly as wild as yours," she says after awhile, glancing at him briefly. He merely shrugs in return, turning to stare out the window, chewing his lip. He doesn't know what he's going to do about the ring in his bag, and that's what worries him more than her family.

He turns to her after another lull in conversation, hoping his smile doesn't seem too forced. "Any weird relatives I should know about? Or people you don't like?" She glances at him, confused, and Bakugou grins at her, slightly mischievous. "I can start a fist fight if you want me to." She chokes on her spit, sputtering, but he doesn't stop there. "I'll even do it on the lawn for the neighbors to see."

For a long moment, she seems tongue-tied and slightly horrified by his suggestion. "Bakugou!" she snaps at him, torn between glaring at him and watching the road. "You are not fist fighting my relatives!" Her voice goes higher than usual, and he smirks to himself, impressed that he can still make her shout at him like that, all squeaky and surprised.

"Hey!" he turns to her, pointing with one finger, wagging it slightly. "I only said the one's you don't like!" Her face turns a lovely shade of pink and he doesn't even bother to hide his smile.

She goes quiet again for a moment, wetting her lips as she drums her fingers against the steering wheel. Ochako glances at him from the corner of her eye, mulling over his offer with something critical in her gaze.

"Well, there's this one uncle…" she trails off slowly, words dipping into a murmur he can barely make out. "No! I am not enabling you!" She levels him with a pointed stare, the car rolling to a slow stop. Her gaze turns serious, and Bakugou goes still as she sucks in a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. They snap open again, her tawny eyes locking with his. "You are going to behave," she tells him, more demanding than he's ever heard her.

Bakugou blinks back at her, opening his mouth to reply before pausing. His teeth click together as his mouth snaps shut, and he squirms slightly under her menacing look. "Are you going to spank me if I don't?"

"Get out of the car."

His mouth drops open in shock, Bakugou choking on his spit slightly. "It was just a joke!" he sputters out, more alarmed than he'd care to admit when he hears her unlock the car. He's said a lot of stupid shit to Ochako in the past, and he doubts a harmless joke would be enough for her to abandon him on the side of the road, but he can never be too sure when it comes to her. She always has a way of surprising him.

He clutches tighter at the wine bottle. If he's going to be booted from the car and stuck in the snow then he's keeping the fucking wine.

"No!" she shouts before he can fumble for the door handle. Ochako groans, slapping a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Katsuki, we're here!" she tells him, gesturing wildly towards the windshield and the little townhouse they've parked in front of, a cheery, pale yellow with a cut down pine tree leaning against the garage. "Get out of the car," Ochako repeats, huffing at him as she throws her door open.

"Fuck, fine!"

"Language!"

They unload the car quietly, not having much between the two of them. Bakugou loops their bag over one shoulder, nothing inside but their toothbrushes and enough clothing to get them through the night, and hooks the wine bottle into the crook of his arm, shifting it careful so as not to drop it. Ochako pulls the hot-dish from the back seat, checking it for any leaks before sighing. She sends him a brief smile before nodding towards the front door, head jerking for him to follow her.

He does, begrudgingly, long legs easily overtaking her stride as he falls into step beside her. Bakugou casually loops his free hand around her waist, pretending not to see the soft smile pulling at her lips as they walk up the few steps to the front door.

A small part of him wants to bail. To run away and get out of meeting her parents, but he knows he can't. It would be a shitty thing to do, even for him, and he knows if he leaves now, Ochako won't be there when he gets back.

Slowly, he squeezes her around the waist, tucking her more firmly against his side. She relaxes into him as they reach the top of the steps, Ochako carefully shifting the hot-dish to one arm before ringing the doorbell.

Bakugou tugs at the hem of his sweater self-consciously, frowning at the woolen monstrosity he's been forced to wear. "Why are we wearing these shitty things again?" He isn't sure what the design is supposed to be, but it isn't flattering. No one can pull off ugly Christmas sweater, except maybe Ochako, but that's only because she's practically swimming in hers.

She glances up at him, smile a little forced. "Because my parents sent us matching sweaters," she explains shortly, glancing from him to her own mess of mottled green and red. "Isn't it cute?" Her nose wrinkles as she says it, and she squirms as the itchy wool scrapes at her skin.

At least they'll suffer together.

"They're terrible," he tells her. When they get home he's going to burn it. Or maybe he'll give it to Kirishima, he likes shit like this. Sentimentality or something like that. He likes sweaters.

Ochako looks like she wants to argue with him, a slight tick between her brows, but when she opens her mouth again, she pauses fr a second, as if she doesn't know quite what to say. Eventually she settles with a sigh and a soft, "I know. Play nice."

There's a soft shuffling sound from inside the house, and Ochako clears her throat before ringing the bell again, the sound almost obnoxiously loud. He squeezes his arm around her again, drumming his fingers against her side, and she shifts on her feet, the chilly air swirling around them.

Bakugou wets his lips, ducking so his mouth is close to her ear. "If they ask me to sing Christmas carols, I'm out," he tells her, utterly serious. He doesn't do singing, and especially not overly cheery holiday songs. He's been listening to them since fucking November and he is beyond done at this point. He doesn't mean to be a dick about it, but if he has to hear "Frosty the Snowman" one more time he's going to scream.

Ochako bumps her shoulder against his, sighing slightly, though it's more fond this time. "No one is going to ask you to sing, Katsuki," she promises him, squinting to peer through the window, foot beginning to tap impatiently.

He always thought her parents would be the ridiculously punctual type that would open the door before they even got there, if he's being honest. Though, if they don't open the door, maybe hat means they won't have to go inside. He'd be okay with that.

"How can you be so sure?" he asks her, lips brushing against her ear and making her shiver.

She tilts her head towards him, his lips brushing across her cheek as she turns. "Because when you sing, dogs bark," she jokes, though there's an odd serious note to her voice.

Bakugou frowns down at her. "No, they don't," he mumbles, slightly offended. He may not like singing, but he doesn't think he's particularly bad at it.

"No, but that's what we're going to tell them."

Bakugou can't stifle his grin as he looks down at her, meeting Ochako's eyes for a moment before he dips his chin, lips a breath away from hers.

The front door is shoved open suddenly. "Ochako! Sweetie, it's so good to see you!" Bakugou jerks back as he's nearly wacked in the face with an arm, Ochako yanked from his grasp and into the arms of her mother and father. Bakugou blinks at them, his side suddenly cold without her pressed against him, and he can only stare as she's practically smothered by her family.

Ochako lets out a little squeal as she's pulled into a family hug, the hot-dish squished between the three of them as she's practically lifted straight off the ground. "Mom, Dad!" She struggles to wrap an arm around them, squeezing them back as tight as she can before they release her just as quickly. "It's good to see you, too!" She smiles up at them, her mother fussing over her for a moment, before carefully taking the dish from her hands.

"We've missed you, Hun," her mother says, still only looking at Ochako. Bakugou shifts awkwardly, unsure what to do as the Urarakas greet one another. "Sorry it took us a while to get the door," she giggles slightly, looking very much like an older Ochako as her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Your father and I were getting decorations from the basement!" There's a cheery note to her voice as she smiles down at her daughter.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Ochako says, waving off her concern easily. "And I know, I know, it's been forever." She sighs slightly, seeming unsure what to say. "I keep meaning to come back, but I've been so busy lately…" And she really has, between her job and competing. She barely has time for herself half the time.

They chatter for a moment more, Bakugou not listening as he glances at her parents noticing the obvious similarities between them and their daughter. Ochako looks so much like her mother it's almost weird, but she has her father's eyes and hair, though his is peppered with silver in places.

Ochako's mother blinks suddenly, gaze shifting towards him. Bakugou's breath catches slightly at her stare, but she only smiles, eyeing him almost critically for only a second before a cheery grin splits her face.

"And who is this?" she asks. Three pairs of eyes are immediately on him, two sets curious and the other an odd combination of fond and alarmed. There's no bite to the question, but Bakugou feels slightly uneasy about it. I wasn't an accusation, not really, but he wouldn't be surprised if they were wary of him, given they haven't seen much of him in the two years he's been dating Ochako.

He probably seems flaky. He wouldn't blame them for thinking that.

But Ochako's parents just smile at him a little curiously, and Ochako is quick to thread her fingers through his now that their hands are both free. "This is Katsuki. My boyfriend," she introduces him easily, squeezing his fingers as she says it, and he finds himself relaxing slightly.

Bakugou forces a smile onto his face, unsure what to do with them both staring at him like that. "Sup?" he manages to garble out, blinking at them stupidly. He thinks he should shake their hands, but Ochako has one trapped in hers, and the wine bottle is awkwardly pinned between his elbow and his chest, and he isn't about to drop the fucking wine.

He settles for nodding at them and hoping it doesn't make him look like too much of a doucecanoe.

But Ochako's mother just smiles a little bit wider and says, "It's lovely to meet you, Katsuki! We've heard so much about you." He bites his tongue to keep from asking exactly what they've heard about him, deciding he'd probably rather not know. He and Ochako have had their share of fights over the years, and he gets the feeling that her parent's know about every single one of them.

Ochako's father nods at him in return. "I see you're wearing the sweater we sent you," he notes, glancing down at the ugly mess of a sweater that Bakugou begrudgingly shoved himself into this morning. The man looks overtly proud, and Bakugou hopes to any god out there that the man didn't knit it himself. He can't give the thing to Kirishima if Ochako's dad knitted the damn thing.

Freaking out on the inside, Bakugou smiles as best he can. "How could I not?" he asks, hoping he doesn't sound as sarcastic as he thinks he does. Ochako squeezes his hand a bit tighter than normal, a small warning, and he coughs awkwardly.

"Well, we're glad you both could make it." Ochako's mother's smile turns a bit tight as she continues to stare at him. "It's nice to finally meet the man our daughter has been seeing for so long."

That one was definitely a dig at him for being flaky.

Ochako pales slightly, her eyes widening just a fraction as she stiffens beside him. Bakugou glances down at her briefly before turning back to her parents. "Well, thanks for inviting me." It sounds hollow even to him, but he has no idea what to say at this point.

He glances down at Ochako again, squeezing her hand slightly to get her attention, and her gaze snaps up to meet his immediately. She turns back to her parents after seeing the bewildered and slightly desperate look in his eyes, but before she can speak, her mother is already ushering them inside.

"Come in, come in, you must be freezing!" she says, hooking an arm around Ochako and yanking both through the front door. Bakugou fumbles slightly with the wine bottle in his grasp, nearly dropping it as he bumps against the entrance. He grunts in surprise, barely catching himself, and her father shuts the door behind them. Following a step behind his wife as she suddenly straightens, gasping slightly. "I'll make you both some hot chocolate," she offers, not waiting for an answer before fluttering off into the house, disappearing from sight. "Old home brew. How does that sound?" she calls from another room, her husband right behind her.

"Terrible," Bakugou mumbles. He never has had much of a sweet tooth.

Ochako elbows him in the chest, making him grunt loudly. "It sounds great, Mom!" she calls back, shooting Bakugou a look. Slowly, she begins to worm her way out of her boots, placing them on the mat beside the door. Her hat follows, placed on a rack on the wall. She gestures for Bakugou to do the same, and he begrudgingly removes his worn shoes and scarf.

"This is going to be a disaster," he whispers to Ochako as she takes the bottle of wine from him, carefully helping him unwind the ridiculously long scarf from his neck before tossing it onto the rack.

She rolls her eyes at him, snorting slightly as she smiles up at him. "It'll be fine," Ochako whispers back to him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before tugging him further into the house.

#kacchako #bnha #KacchakoMeetTheParents!AU #bnhadrabbles #youreameanone

[briannasroger]

49) Shattered then whole for Natan!

This actually took a little while for me to figure out. I wasgoing to go angst, like high-key angst, but then I had this idea and I just…loved it so much more? Forgive the errors, this got out of control.

title: past the clouds, find the starswords: 7,500~rating: uhh T I guess. 

Natalie has a little problem with her apartment. But the not sofriendly ghost isn’t so bad once she gets to know him. 

…

Her new apartmentwas haunted, no ifs ands or buts about it. There was no other explanation forthe falling books, the creaks and moans in a middling younger than her, or thehaphazardly misplaced items. Truthfully, she had excused each mishap as astrange but not entirely impossible coincidence until the day she found her petfish, Libby, in the bathtub, swimming like a predator among the plastic boattoys she bought for her nephew a few months prior.

Her parents didn’traise a fool. The biggest question was who or what – and that was only slightlyless hard than trying to convince her family that there was more at work herethan mischievous neighbors. Her father outright didn’t believe, an unsurprisingbut still painful outcome.  Her brother accepted it with reluctance, buthis overnight visits had resulted in a zero on the ghost activity scale and hisdeparture had led to her very first interaction with the ghost.

Nice try, girl.

She didn’t jump orscream when the slanted, narrow script had appeared on her bathroom mirror thenight her brother left. It was quiet, too quiet, and she hadn’t noticed itappeared as she brushed her teeth, staring mindlessly into her own reflection.She rinsed her mouth with water and then choked as she finally noticed thewriting, spluttering to clear her airway as a strange, warm laugh filled theroom.

She had fled thatevening, swearing off her only bathroom for the rest of her life, but by thenext morning, Natalie was back again. The writing was gone and faded; shehesitantly prodded the glass, testing its strength and trying to convinceherself that it was nothing, when she felt the strange sensation of a handbrushing her arm as though to nudge her aside. She had shivered and leftwithout doing or saying more.

When she returnedfrom work, the books on her shelf had been reorganized and she stubbornly kepttrying to return it to normal until, at last, she had asked the ghost how hewanted them arranged then. She had seen a flash from the corner of her eyes andupon the mirror decorating her living room wall, she saw the handwriting appearonce more, lecturing her on the disorganization of her home.

“Does it matter?”Natalie had asked in her very first conversation with the ghost. 

I have to live here, too.

“Then stop puttingLibby in the bathtub, please, and tell me what you want.” 

The ghost hadn’tresponded for a long moment. So long, in fact, that the writing had sunk backinto the mirror like some bizarre mist. Then, after she began stacking the booksby author, it appeared, the writing perfect from beginning to end, as thoughthe hand holding it had spent a while agonizing over it.

Fine.

…

They settled into an uneasy routine. Stan – as she had come tocall him when he tried to write a name on the mirror only for her friendMichael to burst in the room, leaving her with only a vague impression of fourletters – didn’t seem to meet the qualifications for either a friendly ghost ora malevolent one. She took it to mean that he was a mixture of both.

He did an odd mood change every few days. Sometimes, he wouldknock all the books off her shelf on every second hour and scare off herboyfriend when he arrived for a late dinner. Then a day later, he would –somehow – convince her neighbor to stop his blaring music as she struggled tofocus on a paper due in a few days. It was perplexing to her, but as dayspassed, one after another, she found the day wasn’t quite complete without himplaying with the pages of a book or tugging on her hair while she cookeddinner.

“Do you talk? I mean, canyou?” Natalie mused aloud, her back resting against the armrest of her couchand a large, reddish book supported on her knees. Her exam on the paranormalwas in a few days, but she found it a struggle to concentrate; the only thingshe could really remember was the line about Bloody Mary’s real name beingMargaret. Probably the least likely thing to appear on said exam.

Her eyes were heavy. Her jaw cracked from another yawn and shetossed the book aside, deciding to switch to another subject. Namely herfavorite one: Stan.

Of all her friends, she thought Stan was her favorite and yet shehad never heard his voice or seen his face. Not once in the six months thatthey had been living together, for lack of a better word to describe theirstrange roommate situation. Oh, she knew what he would say if he did ever speakto her. The way he wrote was telling enough, but Natalie sometimes dreamed ofwhat he would sound like, wondering if it would be gruff to go along with hisbrusque words, or smooth to go along with his witty retorts, or soft like whenthings became emotional.

She tilted her head, listening, almost as if he wouldsomehow say something just to prove a point. He didn’t and she shifted on thecouch to face a mirror on the wall. Though he wasn’t fussy about which surfacehe wrote on, Natalie noticed he preferred this one. She couldn’t figure out whythough. The glass was clouded from age with a cracking, aged gold frame. Itwould have been much easier to use the glass table, where he had more room towrite and required less scrutiny from her.

The mirror won again.

Yes.

“But not to me?”

He thought for a while before replying. I haven’t tried.

“When was the last time you spoke to someone?” She askedcarefully, wary of sending him off into a fitful silence. He never likedtalking about why he was a ghost or how long he had been one. Sometimes, whenthe subject drifted that direction, he would fall into a heavy silence thatseemed to weigh on the whole apartment. She thought this might be one of thosetimes, but he proved her wrong within seconds.

A long time. Not sinceMichael sent me here.  

“I’m sorry.” It must have been a lonely existence. “Who isMichael?”

Don’t apologize, kid,I’ve been dealing with this a long time and my brother is going to rue the dayI see him again.

She didn’t comment onhis use of the word rue, which she had never heard in casual conversation andalso not on the subject of his brother who was apparently the Michael he sodisliked. “How long?” He couldn’t be that old, nobody had said her apartmentcame with a ghost when she talked to the previous tenants about her new friend.

Very.

Natalie frowned, but though she seemed to be on the edge ofan epiphany, she couldn’t figure out what. For her homework? For Stan? “How…old are you?” She hadn’t ever asked; she had always assumed from his mannerismsand words that he wasn’t much older than she was, but perhaps more experiencedthan herself. She didn’t know why something about that assumption seemed offnow.

I stopped counting afew millenniums ago.

“Are you a ghost?” She asked bluntly. Then she amended,because a ghost seemed too generic of an answer to get anything concrete. “Whatare you, I mean?”

He didn’t respond, but Natalie figured that was answerenough.

…

Someone was knocking on her door and she moaned, rolling over tosquish her face into a pillow. It was too early to entertain; she hadn’t lookeda clock, but some things were instinctive. She dozed off for another secondwhen the knock returned again with more force.

“Stan, who is at the door?” she asked, shuffling over in her bedand squinting at her alarm clock. She gasped, jolting out of bed and tumblingto the ground as her clock read after eleven in the afternoon. Scrambling intoclean clothes and socks, Natalie shot out of her bedroom, pulling a handthrough her hair as she headed for the door.

Though she had slept for over twelve hours, she stifled a yawn asshe pulled open the door. Jericho frowned at her appearance, studying her sockswith intensity. “You do realize you’re wearing mismatched socks, right?” hesaid bluntly. She looked down, but then shrugged, smiling brightly at him andtugging him inside by his wrist.

“I forgot you were coming over for lunch today and overslept,” sheexplained sheepishly, closing the door behind him. He settled on her couch anddespite the sharpness of his words, his gaze was gentle as he watched her enterthe kitchen.  “So we’ll have to make-dowith any leftovers I have in the fridge. How old is this spaghetti? Two daysago? Yeah, I think that’s all right. I have some bread, too, if you want someof that. Not garlic, but just regular bread. It’s just as good, especially withbutter. Do you want one, two, or three slices?”

He replied in the affirmative, but didn’t answer her question soshe gave him two. Worse case, she would have a third one.

It didn’t take long to heat up the spaghetti, but after herbabbling about the food ended, the two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Jerichowas her first boyfriend and though they had been together for three months now,she found it a little difficult to interact with him still. Often, he agreedwith anything she said, content to list to her talk and contributing a questionor two. They had only been out and about a few times – one of those times waswhen she met him, trying to dig up answers about the guest staying in her home.

He had found her description of Stan to be funny and he had beenthe only one to respond to her question on Facebook. Only a few days later, hewas asking her on a date. They had spent a while at a restaurant and, the weekafter, he had asked to make her dinner at her place. She had agreed, but onlyafter verifying that Michael and his date would be able to attend as well. Ithad been fun, though it hadn’t felt much like a date. He had spent more timestaring off at her decorations than talking; later, he explained it as shynessaround her friend.

“Hey, do you want to go to the arcade on Saturday? I almost haveenough tickets to get the prize.” She had her eyes on an ugly painting worth10,000 tickets, but she was almost tempted to give her tickets away, just as anexcuse to keep playing at the arcade when Jericho frowned upon it.

No. Sorry, I just don’t think…“ He ran a hand over his head,ruffling his blonde hair. The lights flickered and both their gazes lifted tothe standing lamp in the corner. Like most of her apartment decor, it wassecond-hand and old. “Huh, is it storming or is that your friend, Stan?” Shecouldn’t tell if he was playing with her when he talked about Stan; maybe hewas just humoring her. She couldn’t read the brightness of his eyes asamusement or intrigue.

“I don’t know. Stan, is that you?” She called, eyes landing on themirror. Jericho followed her gaze, eyes widening.

“When did you get that?” He whispered.

“A while ago. Not long after I moved in,” she said, confused.“It’s always been there.”

Jericho blinked rapidly. “Does Stan talk through it?”

“Not really talk, more like write. He’s being quiet though, Iwonder why.” Natalie stood up, approaching the mirror. Her fingers touched theglass and it was cold beneath her touch. She squinted at it, but all she couldsee was her own foggy reflection staring back. No sign of Stan; not his writingor the foggy, indistinct shape that could have been him. “Stan?”

How longdoes it take you to realize my name isn’t Stan? I’ve told you eight times. Canyou even read?

It was his usual question and she smiled. “I think my neighborswould lose it if I called you Satan… or Lucifer, if you prefer that,” shemurmured, trying not to let Jericho overhear her words. The glass warmedabruptly, so hot that she jerked her fingers away. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Jericho asked, hand on her shoulder. “Who are youtalking to?”

“Stan. See?” Natalie gestured to the writing. It hadn’t faded yet,though she could see it growing opaque.

Jericho squeezed her shoulder, but without any of the gentlenessthat she expected, fingers digging into her skin tightly. She winced and thelights flickered sharply in protest. “I don’t see anything,” he said stiffly.“Are you sure there’s something there?”

“Yes. Look, he asked if I could read,” she pointed out theletters, tracing over them with the tip of her finger. The mirror was stillunusually warm, but not so hot that her fingers burned. She swallowed back herquestion because Jericho was scowling, a look quite unusual on his usuallysmiling face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He jerked his hand away from her. She frowned at him, steppingaway as he paced, muttering angrily to himself.

“Tell Stan to talk to me. Give me a sign that he’s reallyhere,” he ordered, coming to a stop directly in front of the mirror.

Natalie swallowed, looking from him to the mirror,expecting something to appear on the surface in response. But Stan was silent,not even the flickering lights an announcement of his presence. It frightenedher, to be left alone with this stranger wearing Jericho’s face, and shestraightened her spine, locking eyes with him. Something dark flickered in hiseyes and she blanched at the anger pushing past the usual softness.

“Why does it matter if Stan is here ornot?” She asked stiffly.

“I didn’t waste weeks trying to find him,listening to you, only for this entire thing to be a figment of a little girlsimagination,” he spat, fists clenching by his side.

Her eyes flickered over his face. The last shreds ofhis old personality – a facade for all she knew – sinking beneath the wavesof his true face. She didn’t like it. “All for Stan? What are you, a ghosthunter or something?”

“You don’t even know who you’ve got your handson, do you?”

Oh, she did. He relished telling her every otherday, most often after she referred to him as Stan to some degree. Whenever herbrother was over, he took great pleasure in drawing on her mirrors, mimickingher handwriting despite never seeing it. She wouldn’t tell him that though.“Stan is just a ghost, he’s got the mentality of an eighteen year old andI guess that’s how old he is,” she lied, crossing her arms. “It’s theonly way to explain his pranks or the way he writes. I don’t know what else Ican tell you.”

Jericho stared at her and she knew without beingtold that he didn’t believe her. “You have Satan himself as a roommate andyou think it’s some random ghost?” He asked in disbelief. He had believedher, he thought she was an actual idiot, she realized, relieved beyond measure.If he thought she was an idiot, maybe he would just leave. If he thought shemade it up, maybe he would just… Give up.

She didn’t know what he wanted with Stan, but it wasn’tanything that Natalie would allow him to explore. Not without Stan’s expressedapproval and if his strange, out-of-character silence meant anything then hedidn’t agree in the slightest to Jericho. Wildly, she remembered his reactionwhenever Jericho was nearby. His nearing cruel antics and his impatience mademore sense now that she could see Jericho as he really was.

“Satan?” She whispered, feigningdisbelief. “I don’t have Lucifer as a roommate, that’s kind of ridiculous.Are you alright? Do you need me to get you some water?”

“No. Just… call Stan would you?” Hisvoice softened, returning once more to the face she knew, but the mask hadslipped for too long for Natalie to be fooled again. “I mean, I heard hemight be dangerous, I want to make sure you’re safe.”

She studied him, but then forced an optimistic smileon her face. “Silly. Stan hasn’t hurt me at all in the past six months,why would he begin to do it now? But if you’ll settle your nerves, I’ll ask himsomething. Umm, just give me a second, he’s particular about questions, if Iask him something boring like the weather or the time, he gets mad. He’sself-centered too, likes to talk, so it has to be about him.”

He didn’t say anything and Natalie trailed off, hertime for stalling done.

“Stan, who put you here?”

He didn’t respond with words, but she could see thefaintest trace of a star along the mirror. Like he was showing her that he wasthere, even if he didn’t share that with Jericho. She smiled softly, a littlehuffing laughter escaping her that was only partially a lie. “See?”Natalie said, waiting for Jericho to respond.

A slamming door was her only reply.

“That… was a close one,” she said quietly. Then –

“As much as I loathe saying I told you so, it’squite appropriate now. I told you so.”

Her heart thrummed to life, beating futilely againsther skin as a voice washed over her. Without seeing, without ever hearing itbefore, without a single delay, she knew who it was. His voice was neitherbrusque nor soft, but something deep and almost melodious; the type of voicethat narrated audio books or rallied a crowd.

“Lucifer,” she said breathlessly, a bright smile onher face.

…

If she expected their routine to change at all withthe arrival of his voice, she was dead wrong. If anything, Lucifer was atoptimal levels of petty antics: Libby ended up in the sink, her pictures hadchildish doodles over the glass that made her brother leave behind a number forthe local pastor, and her bookshelves had all turned so the spines faced theback of the shelf. It didn’t annoy her, which she assumed was his goal, becauseshe got back at him by creating a playlist of songs dedicated specifically topissing him off.

He was funny when he raged and she learned that hedidn’t disappear nearly as often as she used to think. Sometimes, while doingher homework, she would hear him mutter to himself and the ruffle of pages ashe read a magazine she had left on the couch. When she forgot about dinnercooking, he would tug her hair and urge her to rescue the stew before shekilled them both.

And it was hints like those that made her rememberthat he wasn’t a ghost at all. He was Lucifer.He wasn’t meant to be hanging around like a permanent guest, there must havebeen something that kept him here. Something… But what? She chewed on her pen,the paper in front of her blurring with each blink as a heavy weight settled onher back. “Lucifer?” She asked tentatively, yawning. “When are you going totell me why you’re here?”

“I live here.”

“Don’t be stupid, you know what I meant.”

“I…” His words trailed off and she lowered her pen,anticipating welling up inside her. This was it, he was finally going to tellher, finally going to explain. “I live here,” he repeated, voice tight as ifsomething squeezed as his throat and kept the words from escaping him lips.

“You can’t tell me?” She asked, tapping her fingers.

“Something like that.”

“Then I’ll just figure it out myself,” she said witha shrug, closing her notebook with a snap.

“You do that and let me know how it goes.” She stoodup. “Wait, right now?”

“Well, it’s better late than never, don’t you think?You should have told me a while ago that you were stuck, I thought you werejust messing around and hanging out whenever things got boring.”

“Because I would spend my free time in yourcompany,” he drawled.

She beamed. “I know you would, buddy.” He could saywhatever he wanted, but she knew the truth that he cared. Why else would hebring water to her room when she was sick? Or throwing a scarf at her facebefore she left just in case it was cold? Or remind her to eat after a homeworkbinge? It should have been frightening, to have someone so infamous to havesuch a focus on her, but Natalie didn’t care.

Natalie loved him.

The thought was so shocking, so sudden, that shestopped in her thoughtful pacing, unable to pinpoint the moment her feelingshad become concrete enough for her to think it without hesitation. She shouldhave felt different. Lighter, stronger, or happier like the characters in anyromance ever, but she couldn’t feel anything except a strange sense ofcontentment and a voice – her voice – whispering yes, finally like it had known her feelings all along.

“Natalie?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, scrubbing the blushfrom her warm cheeks. “I’m going to figure it out. What can you tell me?”

He choked and then fell silent when the words didn’tcome out.

“Seriously? Nothing at all? Not even a little hint?”She asked in disbelief. He laughed with little amusement and she pouted at theceiling because she didn’t know where else to look, his voice seeming to bounceoff the very walls. She scanned them for an answer, but there was only herbookshelf and a mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that made sense.“How do my neighbors not hear you? For that matter, why didn’t Jericho seeyou?”

His laughter halted all at once, leaving adisconcerting silence, but in the time it took for her to turn into a confusedcircle, he was back again. “You’ve been exposed to my presence long enough forthe normal… protection,” here his voice croaked like a frog and if she didn’tknow what it was from, she would have laughed, “to wear off. There’s more to itthan that, but my hands are tied.” He didn’t say literally, but Natalie heardit nonetheless and her resolve to find him shot up a notch.

“Natalie?”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, I don’t expect you to do this,kid. It could be dangerous.” There was raw honesty in his voice, anuncharacteristic seriousness that frightened her.

“Danger is my middle name,” she joked, eyes trailingover the room, forcing back the fear. She would do this. It was long overdue. Nowall she had to do was figure it out.She knew there was something here; the knowledge of something without wordshummed in the back of her head and the longer she thought of it, the more tiredshe became.  

If she could see him, she knew he would be smirking.“Thought your middle name was Anabella?”

“At least my middle name isn’t The,” she snarkedback. He huffed, but the noise was far from annoyed. Perhaps fondly exasperatedwas a closer description. She blinked rapidly, her eyelids feeling heavy andshe pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to force the feeling away. “Man,what time is it?”

“It’s eleven in the afternoon,” he said quietly,another hint in his voice.

“Oh.” She paused, hands still over her eyes and ananswer behind her eyelids. “You’re making me tired. Is it making you strongeror something? Is that how you can talk to me now?” She hadn’t ever consideredwhy; there was a lot about Lucifer that she just accepted as part of thepackage deal.

“Or something.”

She sighed quietly. “Is that something the thingwon’t let you say or something you don’t want to say?”  

“…Both.”

She nodded, chewing on her lips. “Do you want me tohelp you? I mean, I don’t even know what you want. Maybe you like haunting thisplace, maybe you like staying here with me and all the other people you haunt.Maybe you like the break from Hell. Or do you want to be free? How does thiseven work?” Her words came out in one breath, words running over each other.  She ran a hand over her face, still tired.“You have to be honest with me. I mean, I don’t want to do something you don’twant me to do, dude.”

He thought before he spoke; she didn’t know how sheknew that, but she did. “I want you to help me.”

“Okay.” The world seemed to tilt on its axis and aloud noise blared in her ears like thunder. Her heart hurt and she closed hereyes until the feeling passed a second later. A ringing silence met her ears,but only for a moment before she heard breathing. His breathing. Then histhoughtful hum and he called her name. It was as if cotton was removed from herears, the sound so clear that she could pinpoint its exact location.

It was coming from behind her.

She whirled around; her reflection gapped back ather, equally confused.  “You live in themirror?” Natalie whispered, stepping closer. She remembered the glass warmingbeneath her touch, right after she said his name and only a little bit later,he had said his first words to her. How was she blind enough to miss it?

“I do,” he said, relieved. “But not quite. Whateverit reflects, that’s where I live freely. I can… move around, so to speak, withsome effort.”

Natalie put her back to the mirror and cupped herhands around her eyes, trying to see the room as he did. Her couch stood in thecenter and the side of the coffee table; right behind the couch was herbookshelf, the one he so often rearranged and Libby’s bowl rested on top, thefish swimming in merry circles. It was plain, most of her décor out of hisview, and she sighed. “No wonder you kept messing with my books. If you wantedsomething more, I would have given it to you. Maybe a nicer pillow?” The oneson her couch were flat like cardboard and nearly as rough; it wasn’t somethingshe would give someone to rest on.

“It’s fine.”

“Fine, but we’ll get you a bed of some sort onceyou’re out of there.” She hesitated. “Umm… how do I actually get you out?”

“Good question. Let me know when you have ananswer.”

…

Her want to free him didn’t decrease over the nextweek, but though she had brought home nearly every book in the sections ofmythology and religion at the library, they were no closer to answers. Luciferhelped, the flicking of pages as he read their only conversation long into thenight, and their books dwindled little by little. A full two weeks after herrevelation, they were done with any relevant books and she fell to pluckingrandom ones off the shelf as she walked, hoping one of them would could containsomething of substance.

Lucifer thought this was funny. “There’s hardlygoing to be an answer in a cook book or a book about someone named HarryPotter,” he pointed out when she came home after work. Her arms ached from thebooks and she shot a look at the mirror that made him laugh again. It was adelight sound and she softened against her will. She deposited the books on hercoffee table, spreading them out with a thoughtful frown.

“Probably not going to be in cooking, but a lot offantasy stuff might have a kernel of truth, you know.” Natalie dropped the cookingbook into a pile to be returned tomorrow and the Harry Potter book into themaybe’s. She had read the entire series and nothing about it stuck out asparticularly helpful, but she would leave no stone unturned. “Maybe I shouldask Jericho. I mean, it sounds like he knew something about you and if anyoneknows how to set you free, it’d probably be him,” she mused.

“What makes you think he’d tell you that? No, it’sbetter off to avoid him,” Lucifer disagreed. She wished she could see him, sheimagined his lips would be curled with disgust right about now. His voicealways took on that tone whenever Jericho was brought up – and since hisdisappearance a few weeks ago, she hadn’t spoken to or about him.

Natalie blew out a breath. “You can’t think ofanybody who will help?” He was Lucifer; he must have known somebody that wouldknow. She grabbed a book at random, skimming through the table of contents foranything that might be relevant. Nothing. She tossed it aside to the pile of returns, hefting up anotherone that talked about a cursed mirror in one of its sections. Seemed promising,if you asked her, but then she found it was another story about Bloody Mary.Not useful – except… Hadn’t she read recently–

Her musings were interrupted by his response.

“Nobody who wouldn’t extract a price.”

“There’s no price I wouldn’t pay,” she saidhonestly. Then, because he was quiet and she might have said more than she waswilling to admit, she babbled, closing the book on her fingers. “Maybe they’lljust want a lot of money. I’m sure I could take out a loan or something.Pretend it’s for school. Then you’ll just have to get a job and help me pay itback before they try to repossess my car for missing payments.”

“Not a possibility, Natalie.”

“Fine, fine.” Relieved, she stood up, dropping thebook onto the table and pushing aside her own feelings for the embers of anidea.

Bloody Maryhad reminded her of something else, another book she had read months back aboutfolklore. For school, she remembered slowly. A book from her school librarythat she had never returned and forgotten about until just this moment. Like itwas just waiting for her, but that was silly. She disappeared into her bedroomand returned with a large, reddish book. “Hey, do you know about Bloody Mary?”

“Nasty woman,” he said, more admirable than shethought someone should be. “Her name was Margaret though, not Mary, but she didhave a high death count before she arrived in my domain. Why?”

She decided not to ask. “This book talks about herand her connection to mirrors. It sounds like she was an evil spirit who theytrapped inside one, but it didn’t work the way they intended because she coulduse that mirror to travel to any other one in an instant. Sounds like her deathcount got really high before these two realized that breaking the originalwould kill.”

Lucifer made a noise like a grunt. “I never heardhow she died, but if she was trapped in the mirror by somebody, it goes withoutsaying that breaking it wouldn’t do anything except set her free—oh, hmm.”

“I didn’t tell you that so we could break the mirror,”she sighed, exasperated by his thoughtful hum. “If we break that mirror, youcould die.”

“It takes a lot to kill me,” he pointed out.

“That’s when you weren’t in a mirror, stupid, who knowshow much strength you have after centuries of being trapped? We could just talkto the author!” She held up the book, flipping open the back tab to show apicture of a tanned man with sandy-blonde hair. “I mean, wouldn’t he be the oneto talk to about this? If he actually names her by Margaret then he must knowsomething.”

She could hear the frown in his voice, but it wasn’tabout confronting the author as she expected. “Where did you get that?”

“The library, obviously. Same place I got all therest of them.”

“That book has certainly never been in a librarybefore, not if he was the author,” Lucifer grumbled.  

“Who is he?” She glanced down at the book. The manhad a goofy face and almond-shaped blue eyes; something about his smile wasunsettling to her, but she thought it was just the type of picture. “It sayshis name is Michael, I don’t know—oh. It’s… YourMichael? Your brother, that Michael? How? You said you’ve been trapped for agesand this was published ten years ago.”

“My brother doesn’t age anymore than I do. It’s notsurprising that he’s still alive and kicking all these years later, especiallyamong you humans, but I don’t know why he would publish a book. Not much of awriter, my brother.”

“People change.” Like him. Like her. She didn’t sayit aloud, letting them hang in the air between them, but if Lucifer noticedthem, he didn’t say anything about it.

Bitterness clouded his words, heavier than even theunspoken words between them. There were centuries of bad feelings and angerbetween him and Michael and she feared how a confrontation between them wouldend. Not well, but hopefully Michael was long gone, a threat that Lucifer wouldnever have to face. “Not him – but this is good.”

“How? We can’t trust what he says,” she said,shaking her head.

“He’s not prone to lying, not about something with thistype of magic on it. Anything in that book is going to be true otherwise hewouldn’t waste time hiding it. When was the last time anybody opened that bookaside from you?” It was a question to prove a point, she could tell from thesudden smugness.  

She flipped to the front of the book and there, in ashiny stamp, was only her name. In the library, Natalie hadn’t even noticed it.“I’m the only one. But how? Every other book has been checked out eight timeseach.” Hiding it, he had said. She hadn’t seen anyone like Michael at thelibrary to do so and it had been tucked, quite plainly, on a shelf aboutphilosophy and religion. There was nothing hidden about this book. It wasalmost like magic. Natalie managed a wary smile, a sense of dread building in her.“Since when have you become the optimistic one?”

“More like experienced, kid. Same reason you don’thave issues reading my writing or hearing me anymore, you’re immune to a lot ofthat magic now, that’s probably why you saw it,” he said, growing more excitedat the prospect of freedom by the second. It was the excitement and thereminder of his wistful voice whenever he spoke about outside that reminded herof her goal. She would free him.

“What…” Her throat dried up, brain trying to protestthe incredible risk they were about to take. “What do I have to do?”

He quieted, thinking, and her heart raced in herchest, nearly overshadowing the sound of his breathing and the way he mutteredto himself. She wished it wouldn’t because she was trying to memorize him andthe sound of his voice, afraid that this would be the last time she ever heardhim.

“Right. Just break the mirror.” Natalie stood upslowly, licking her lips. “Throw something from far away. You don’t want to getany of that glass on you, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he warned her.Maybe it was the mirror knowing what was coming, but she thought the fog wasswirling like a storm.

She picked up a book and she figured it was ironicthat Harry Potter’s contribution was as a weapon rather than any real help.Nevertheless, it was the thickest of her books, easily heavy enough to break amirror if she threw it hard enough. If she could even throw it. Her fingerstrembled from the weight of it, nearly letting it slip, but she held tight. “Ifyou die, I’m going to bring you back and kill you myself.” She had heard thatin a movie a thousand times before, but Natalie had never understood that dreaduntil now.  

“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice.

She threw the book with all her might. It crackedagainst the reflection of the mirror, which darkened with turmoil as the bookthumped to the ground. The mirror hadn’t broken and she stared at the smallcrack left behind like a taunting smile. In the mirror, the fog had darkeneduntil it was black, oozing out from the crack like hissing smoke. Her lightsflickered on and off, dimming.

“Lucifer?” She whispered, but the apartment wasabuzz with noise and she couldn’t hear him over the static, so loud that ithurt her ears. “Lucifer!” Nothing. She couldn’t hear his breathing or hiswords; she couldn’t feel the slightest hint of his presence. The apartment wasaltogether too empty and stale. She held her breath. Tried to yawn. Anything tomake the feeling dissipate and bring him back. She heaved another book at itand the crack grew the tiniest fraction. Even if she threw all the books aroundher, it seemed to make little difference.

What was the most cliché thing movies had taughther?

Natalie wrapped her courage around her like a cloakand sprang at the mirror with her balled fist. The mirror shuddered, crackingmore and she pulled her fist back, hitting it again, the glass cutting into herknuckles and leaving a print of blood on the mirror. She trembled as thetiredness returned with a vengeance. Something swelled behind the mirror,something she could only feel and not see, and with a wailing moan that wasn’ther own or even Lucifer’s, the mirror shattered, showering her in tiny shardsof glass that pricked against her hands and face.

She stumbled back from the mirror as though burned,her knees trembling and her breath coming in ragged pants. Her lights had shutoff entirely, leaving her in darkness and she fumbled her way towards thecouch, her hands protesting the slightest twitching. “Lucifer?” She whispered,her ears buzzing too loudly. The static had stopped, but the pulse from themirror made her head spin. Natalie sucked in a breath, holding it in andletting it out again when her head seemed a fraction clearer.

“Lucifer? Are you here? Say something. I know you’retired. Just say anything, even swear, I won’t make you put a quarter in thejar.” Still nothing and she felt her lips tremble. The pain in her hand rose,but she ignored it.

There’sno price I wouldn’t pay.

Apparently they had taken her words to heart.

…

The first day was spent in a day of shock and pain.She called his name and received silence in return.

The second, her brother had come over to help fixwhatever kept her electricity from working and promptly escorted her to thedoctors to have the glass from her hand removed. She broke something in one ofher fingers, too, which wasn’t as much a surprise to her as it was to herbrother when he found out how she got it.

The third, she shooed her brother off and coveredher face to hide from her nephew’s puppy eyes. It was easier when they weregone though because she could drop her back on the couch for an hour, crying atthe ceiling and feeling more lost than ever. She didn’t do much of anything thenext few days.

The seventh day was easier, but also not. Her movementswere robotic as she packed up the books and a slow, agonizing walk to thelibrary to return them. The only one she kept was the one by his brother andshe fought the urge to toss it into the fire every day after that; it hadn’tworked, after all, because Lucifer was gone and the book was wrong, wrong, wrong.

She read it instead. It was easier to scour throughit, scanning paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter, for some sign ofwhat went wrong than to wallow around. It didn’t help much, but the words werefascinating and if she were in the right mind, she would have enjoyed studying itmore. Halfway through, there was a footnote about Lucifer and she had to pause,tracing the name, wondering how so much could change in little over a year.

She hadn’t lost a best friend before. She hadn’tever had one either and somehow that made it worse.

The footnote’s exasperation as it explained Luciferand his involvement with a random tree – she hadn’t paid attention to the name,though if she came across it again, she thought it might stick out – had herlaughing. Then frowning because how could Michael talk so fondly of his brotheronly to trap him away? She wanted to ask, but there was an equal chance of contactingMichael as there was Lucifer.

Blowing out a breath, Natalie sped through the lastof the book, eager to be done with it. There was nothing in there to explainwhere Lucifer was or if he would be back. She bit hard into her lip at theintrusive thought, shoving it in a box labeled never and continuing to read. Solost in her own thoughts, she nearly skimmed past a whole footnote, the longestof any and its entirety dedicated to Lucifer.

It read like a confession and after the second line,Natalie felt too guilty to continue and skipped straight to the end. A singleline, handwritten unlike all the rest, in loopy writing so like Lucifer’s,stared at her from the end.

Tomy brother, with my eternal apologies.

She put the book away, a tidy little hiding placefor something that seemed sacred, and then crawled into bed. When she criednext, it wasn’t for only her and Lucifer; it was for everyone involved in thismess and the answers they would never get from it now.

…

The next day, she woke to someone knocking on herdoor. Groggily, she swept her hair off her forehead, moaning because everythingin her body ached. No more skipping out on dinner in favor of reading, it neverended well for her. Her stomach grumbled in protest as she climbed out of bed,the knock persisting.

“Imma coming,” she called, rubbing her eyes. Shejumped in place a few times before opening the door, trying to wake up hersleepy bones for her brother. “I told you not to…” Her words trailed off, astrangled gasp escaping her instead.

She had never seen his face before, but somehow sheknew. He was much taller than her with wavy, well-kept black hair streakedwhite, broad shoulders, and small, narrow eyes. She studied the sharpness ofhis cheeks, the point of his chin, and his soft-looking lips. They curved intoa smirk under her studying and she shot back up to his eyes, mouth-hanging openin a fair imitation of Libby that made him laugh.

If she had any doubts, the laugh ended them. “Lucifer!”She sprang at him, their height difference causing little problem when shewrapped her arms around his neck and tucked herself into his chest. He stumbledback, one hand falling onto her back to hold her steady and the other grippingonto the threshold.

“Natalie.”

If she thought it was strange how much could changein a year, it was nothing compared to how things could change in a second. Justsaying her name made her heart race. Tears welled in her eyes and she thumpedhim once on the chest. “You idiot, where have you been? I thought you were agoner and the book didn’t say anything helpful, it was awful. No, not awful, Ineed to read it again, but it didn’t tell me anything. I can’t believe youtalked me into that!”

“You can still talk up a storm, I almost forgot,” hesaid fondly, extracting her face from his shirt. “You’re also getting snot onmy shirt.”

“Gonna dump Libby’s bowl on you, how’s that forsnot?” She muttered, still crying, a shaky laugh escaping her. “You’re alive!You’re… you’re alive right? I’m not talking to a ghost?”

“As alive as I can be. I don’t think you could touchghosts and I don’t think ghosts could touch you.” His fingers touched hercheek; she thought it might have been to prove a point, but his brows werefurrowed and it lingered. “You’re very warm,” he commented, seemingly surprisedto know that she wasn’t cold as ice.

“That’s just…” Her blush, probably. “Don’t put offmy original question either, I noticed.”

“I didn’t just pop back into place as a human being.I wasn’t one to begin with and it’s been a long time since I’ve had flesh andbones to walk on,” he explained, quite content with their position. Both hishands moved to her waist, toying with the hem of her shirt absently. Her ownwere settled on his chest, chin tipped up to watch him speak, focused intentlyon the way his lips moved with each word. He spoke exactly as she expected himto, but to actually see it…

She missed some of the specifics of his explanation, but he was safe and whole so what did it matter? 

When he finished, staring at her expectedly for a response, she straightened,standing on her toes. Her hands reached around his head, smoothing over andthen through his dark, soft hair. He blinked once and then he was grinning.Such a beautiful grin. She hadn’t thought she would even see it and here itwas.

She tugged his face down to hers, pressing her lipshard against his and it was a messy kiss for a first one, but she didn’t care.Didn’t care that her face was tear-stained and her lips were inexperienced. Hislips were soft and warm, slightly chapped, but they didn’t hesitate or pause.He allowed her control for a moment before surging forward, tilting his headand his hands rising to her cheeks, thumb stroking over her cheek like she wassomething precious. She smiled against his lips and parted from him enough tospeak a whispered “Welcome home” before kissing him again.

His hand fell from her face. He stepped forward andshe stepped back until they were crossing over the threshold of her apartment.With his freehand, he reached behind them and closed the door, only breakingfrom her lips when it closed and dropping his forehead against hers. “We’re notstaying here long,” he told her and Natalie giggled, knowing where he was going. “I’ve had quite enough of all these walls.”

…

the end

#natan #thisiskindagross #satan and me #natan ff #papalogia #mira writes #mine*