#cw: drinking
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Jealous Ex!Katsuki x Fem!Reader
A/N: this is totally not based off of how i wish my ex acted when i had a creep hitting on me ha.
MDNI - SMUT BELOW CUT.
WARNINGS: ANGST/COMFORT, SLEAZY CREEP, HURT, UNPROTECTED SEX, RECONCILIATION SEX, DRUNK SEX
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It’s been six months. And I’m one drink down for every month since he left me. So I really shouldn’t feel as sick as I do when a random wraps their arm around my waist.
He tugs me into his scrawny, shirtless figure and my stomach lurches.
Everything smells of stale cigarette smoke.
This is wrong.
Gently I push the stranger off, wandering back towards the bar. A tired smile from the bartender greets me.
“Hi lovely,” I smile, jumping up on the barstool.
“What can I do for you babes?” The small person hums, mousy hair flopping across their face.
“Can you make me another one of those yummy cocktails? Y’know, the one with the fireball and the-” I start, leaning inwards.
“The one that tastes like autumn?” They finish, a knowing smile.
“Yes!” I can feel my head slosh as I nod. Maybe I’m more tipsy than I thought.
Unwanted arms twist around my waist yet again.
“Hey pretty,” Unkempt long hair tickles my shoulder. Hot breath on my neck.
“I’m gonna go back to dancing,” I excuse myself, untangling us. Clutching my drink, I weave in and out of the crowd. The warmth is more uncomfortable than it was before, sticky and clammy.
A pain in my shoulder, my drink wasted on myself and the floor.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” I start, embarrassment heating my cheeks.
“Hey, watch where you’re-” A voice, so familiar it hurts. Low, and consistently gravelly.
“y/n.” Shock changes his tone. Aggression turns soft. My heart squeezes.
Six months.
Six months and I’m still so undeniably in love with Bakugou Katsuki it hurts me.
“Hi,” I mumble, eyes trained on my hands.
He clears his throat and my eyes can’t help but follow the noise.
Rubies.
I always said his eyes were rubies.
Not the blood of his enemies, like Kaminari so often joked.
Rubies.
Warmth and pain mixes inside of me, and I find myself biting my tongue.
I love you.
It would be so easy to say.
“Aww did you spill ya drink pretty? ‘S okay, I’ll get you another one.” Cigarette overtakes my smell and I do everything not to gag.
“Um, I’m actually gonna head home.” Shaking the man off yet again, I go to turn around.
“Ooh, ready for some fun are we? Lead the way, beautiful.” Hands around my waist, and my throat closes.
“No.” I shake my head, squirming out of his arms yet again.
“Aww, but baby” His arms are tighter this time, face nuzzled into my neck.
“Oi, she told you to fuck off.” Katsuki steps forward, and I go to turn my head.
“Ha, you’re just jealous that I’m gonna get somma this tonight.” Wet warmth trails up my neck and I cringe away.
Stifling hold is suddenly tugged away.
“She’s not interested, dickhead. Now fuck off before I make you.” Katsuki’s voice is grim, fearless. All I can focus on is wiping the saliva off my neck.
“Fuckin fine. She’s not that cute anyway.” I hear a huff becoming more and more distant.
Another arm. New, but old; drapes across my shoulders.
“Gonna walk you home to make sure no more creeps try’nd attack you.” Katsuki mumbles, gently guiding me through the crowd.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
The outside air is cold, drawing me closer to the man’s core heat. Small sparks on my shoulder act as a radiator.
The walk is quiet, and my head swims too much to understand if its comfortable or uncomfortable.
Only when we reach my apartment, does his warm arm leave me.
As if it’s muscle memory, he lifts up the pot plant; grabbing the spare key and letting us in. Kicking off my shoes, I wander towards the next best warmth I can get.
My bed is cushy, a welcome comfort.
Katsuki enters not too long after, water and toast in hand.
“You need to eat before you sleep,” He says, plopping down next to me.
Rubies, full of warmth.
“Why are you being so nice?” I mumble, eyes stinging.
I miss this. I miss him.
“Cause I fucked up,” He whispers.
“What did you do this time, Bakugou?” I sigh, picking up the glass.
“I hurt someone because I didn’t want them to hurt me first.”
My heart hitches.
“But then I realised that all I did was hurt both of us, for no goddamn reason.” The water splashes against the sides of the glass as I tremble uncontrollably.
“She won’t even say my name anymore.” The grief is heavy in his voice, breaking it gently. And I can’t hold back my tears.
“You said you didn’t love me anymore,” My voice warbles past the lump in my throat.
“I knew you could do better,” He mumbles, picking at the duvet he helped me choose.
“I don’t want better!” I cry, gripping the glass.
“I want you.” Glancing over, I can’t help but stare.
Bakugo Katsuki does not cry.
Yet diamonds fall from rubies.
“Then be mine again. Please.” He whispers, voice catching.
And all I can do is nod.
Coolness of glass leaves my hands. Warmth cradles my cheeks.
“Thank you baby,” His lips meet mine, and I’m home.
Home tastes like cheap cola from the bar.
Home is our teeth clashing as we smile through tears and kisses.
Home is my fingers twisting through staticy blond.
“I missed you so much,” I whisper against his jaw.
“Missed you more.” Strong arms pull me effortlessly into his lap. His hands stay on my hips, tracing gentle circles.
“Lemme show you how much I missed you.” Katsuki asks, tugging me impossibly closer. Kisses tickle down my neck, and my entire body floods with adoration.
“Please,” I nuzzle into his hair, savouring the closeness. I jerk my neck away as he gently bites exactly where he knows I hate.
“Katsuki,” I whine, shoving his face away. A warm chuckle reverberates through his chest. The sound is contagious, making bubbles in my chest.
“You’re an ass,” I bite back my smile, gentling pushing him further.
“Yeah, but I’m your ass.” He mumbles, pulling me back in. Arms push me down, feeling him grow beneath me.
My body clenches excitedly, as familiar hands start tracing up my stomach.
“Take this stupid thing off,” His voice vibrates against my neck, as he tugs at the hem of my top.
“Hm,” I muse loudly, deciding to have some fun. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You little shit,” He growls fondly, pushing the top up as his hands wander further. A gentle squeeze to my breasts is all I need to continue my attack on his jaw.
“But I’m your little shit,” I mock inbetween kisses. I feel his jaw clench beneath my touch.
“Alright, thats it.” He huffs, wrapping an arm around my waist.
Suddenly, I’m off his lap; the bed bouncing at my sudden shift in weight. The bubbles in my chest build until they burst into a fit of giggles.
“There’s my pretty woman,” Katsuki smiles, eyes soft. Gently, he fully removes my top. And then his own.
The warmth of skin on skin is a comfort I’ve missed oh so much.
Obviously, Katsuki missed it just as much; face disappearing into the valley between my breasts.
Soft kisses leave pins and needles, and I reach for his hand. In an instant, our fingers are interlocked.
Like he never left.
I revel in the moment, using my free hand to trace patterns on his shoulders.
Small sparks greet my skin as his other hand massages my thigh. I feel myself dampen at the closeness - leaning into his touch.
“You sure you want this pretty woman? You’re still tipsy,” Its so odd, hearing such soft words from such a hardened, aggressive man.
“Please, Kats” I breathe, moving my hand to his hair. A hum of agreement, and his loving assault continues.
I keep tracing patterns, unintentionally digging down as his hands get close to where I want them - no - need them to be.
A ghost of a touch, and I’m pushing myself up to meet him.
“Missed me that bad, did we?” He scoffs in amusement, fingers circling my clothed clit.
“Like you’re one to talk,” I mumble, cheeks heating. Softly grinding on me, my breath hitches.
“Sorry baby, but I’m not waiting anymore,” He whispers, pulling my panties off; his boxers following suit.
Rubies bore into me, sparkling with adoration.
And suddenly, pain and pleasure all in one.
“C’mon, you’re okay. You can take it.” Katsuki praises as he thrusts in. I blink through watery eyes, nodding.
The movement is slow at first, just until the pain falls away.
Then, its relentless.
The sound of skin on skin echoes through my small apartment, going at an unholy speed. My toes scrunch as I’m sent into ecstasy.
“See how much I missed you?” Hands grasp my hair, moving my head to the side to leave kiss after kiss.
“See how much I love you?” He grunts into my neck, suckling right near my jaw. Words fail, leaving me only able to whimper in response.
“Yeah that’s right,” He whispers to me, fastening his pace. More whines bubble past my lips.
“Love you so much, never gonna leave again, you hear that?” His words a near hiss, nipping my neck gently.
“Kats, kats, please,” I beg, gripping onto him for dear life. My stomach coils, and I don’t know how long I’ll last.
“Come on baby, cum for me.” He encourages, pushing deeper, faster.
I break, legs spasming as I gush.
But Kastuki doesn’t stop.
Instead, he pushes my ankles up near my ears - keeping his relentless pace. Tears spill over my cheeks at the overstimulation.
“Just a little longer, okay?” He promises, hot breath painting my thighs. I nod frantically, practically melting into the bed.
But the coil tightens again, and I can’t help but squirm.
“Come on, together this time. Where do you want me?” Katsuki asks, somehow pumping harder.
“Inside,” I croak through tears. It’s too much.
An eyebrow raises.
“You wan’t me to make you a mama, that it?” He huffs, beads of crystalline sweat coating his brow.
“Mhm,” I whine, clenching at the thought.
“Fuck, y/n.” He grunts, burying himself into me.
Warmth floods me, and my blond lover collapses ontop of me.
“Love you so much, Katsuki,” I whisper, tangling my hands through his hair. I press a gentle kiss to his temple.
“Love you more, dumbass.” He sighs, kissing wherever he can reach.
-BONUS-
“I guess this means you’re reinvited to Tsu and ‘Chako’s wedding.” I hum, scratching his head.
“The fuck you mean ‘reinvited’?” Katsuki snarls sleepily, nuzzling into my neck.
“Honey, you were my plus one. You never got your own invite,” I gently remind him, amusement tickling my insides.
“What cunts.” He grumbles, pulling me close.
“Katsuki!”
#bnha#bnha x reader#katsuki bakugou#bakugo katuski#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha#mha x reader#smut#mdni#mha bakugou#bakugou smut#katsuki bakugo smut#cw: breakup#cw: unprotected sex#cw: drinking#bakugo x y/n#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x reader#mha smut#bnha smut
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Wolfstar F1 🥰
Sirius: confused, happy, confused about being happy, fond as all hell
Remus: hurhur comfy snuggles
#Sirius trying to be a gentleman#looking out for his friend#oh how the turn tables#the black bloodline pops out easily flustered men when facing actual affection#Remus would be a hugger#cw: drinking#art#drawing#sketch#artists on tumblr#harry potter#doodle#pose meme#remus lupin#sirius black#wolfstar#marauder era
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#non dd#d20#dimension20#dimension 20#pinocchio#neverafter#i just think somebody should hug him very tightly and tell him everything is going to be okay#cw: alcohol#alcohol#cw: drug use#cw: drinking#art#my art
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Things I Won't Say When I'm Sober Part 5
part 1, part 4, part 6
It’s been a week since Steve’s seen Eddie. Not because he was avoiding him, at least in full. He’s only partially avoiding him. Really he’s just been busy with work and the kids. But the knowledge of what happened that night keeps rolling around in his mind in a way he doesn’t like.
He can’t keep thinking that Eddie overheard him that morning. Heard the last strings of Steve’s confession, and even though he would have never heard that Steve liked Eddie directly, he could have heard enough to connect the dots. After the initial confession, he and Robin weren’t exactly whispering. They weren’t loud either, but with the thin walls of the trailer, it didn’t really matter.
If Eddie heard anything from the end of the conversation, there was one fact he would definitely know, Steve liked guys. That was enough for Steve to avoid Eddie, fearing that their friendship was at the end.
Though, there was some peace that came through the worry. Steve had told another person about the knot in his stomach in the past few weeks. Honestly, for the past few years. It had just grown to the point where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was weird to be out to someone and have them accept you so fast, especially when you couldn’t do the same to yourself. But that helped the pain start to go away. Someone accepted him for who he is, maybe he could finally do the same.
Steve was already at a point where he was able to accept himself, but Robin’s acceptance was the last ray of sunshine to finally help him bloom. He felt whole. For the first time in a long time, he knew what it was like to look at himself in the mirror and see him, all of him. Not someone crafted the way society wanted. Just him. It was refreshing, and terrifying all at the same time.
The phone starts to ring on his bedside table. He glances at the alarm clock, 1:30, late for anyone normal to be calling. The beat in his chest starts to race as he picks up the phone, anticipating a call for help that might be on the other end.
“Stevie,” Eddie slurs from the other end. “You’re still up”
Relief fills Steve as he slumps back into his bed. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep. Why are you up?”
“Don’t know. Prolly to talk to you.”
“Are you drunk?”
Eddie laughs from the other end. “Maybe,” he draws out.
Steve sighs. “Go get a glass of water and maybe I’ll talk to you while you sober up.”
“But I don’t want to,” Eddie whines. Steve can imagine the pout on his face and can’t help but smile at it. “Hey, can I tell you a secret?”
“If this is your way of saying you have a secret and telling me I can’t know it just to get back at me for not telling you mine, then no.”
Eddie scoffs. “Nooo, this is different. This is a secret for your ears only, not Robin’s.”
“Ok, then you can tell me.” Steve doesn’t know why, but he can’t stop smiling.
“Yay. My secret” Eddie pauses for dramatic effect, “is that I know your secret.”
The smile on Steve’s face drops. “W-what?”
His heartbeat starts beating fast again as tension builds in his stomach. He’s trying not to, but he’s sure his breathing quickened enough that Eddie could hear it over the phone. This was what he was worried about all week, and it happened. Eddie heard, he knew. Not just the last bit, but everything. And he sounded so happy about it. Happy that he knew the secret that Steve was so afraid to tell him.
“Yep,” Eddie said. “I heard you and Birdie talking about it. Someone’s got a crush,” he sings songs. “And on a GUY. Don’t know why you couldn’t tell me. S’not like I would have a problem with it.”
Steve’s head stops spinning. “What?”
“And you wanna know what I think? I think that guy is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t like you back. I think that any guy would be lucky to date a guy like you, I sure would. All the guys I’ve been with were terrible, but you. You’re like … perfect.”
“Eddie,” Steve says, shocked. “What are you-”
Eddie shushes him. “Let me finish. I’m not done telling you my secret.” He pauses. “What was it again? Right, you like a guy. A guy that you don’t think likes you back with is just stupid because you’re perfect. Like you are kind and funny and pretty. Like sooo pretty, Stevie, it kills me. And when I woke you up with that nightmare, you didn’t judge me. You just, you held me. Like in a way that no one’s done before, like no one. And then that morning, I woke up in your arms and just like.” He stops mid-sentence letting the line buzz between them.
“Eddie, are you still there?” Steve’s finding it hard to breathe, trying to convince himself that what Eddie is saying is leading up to nothing. That this is all just some cruel trick Eddie thought would be funny cause he’s drunk.
“My real secret,” Eddie whispers into the phone, so soft that Steve can barely hear, “is that I wish I was the guy you liked. Cause I haven’t been able to sleep the same knowing you like guys, and that guy isn’t me.”
The line goes dead.
Steve’s heart starts beating out of his chest as the phone falls out of his hands. Did he just hear what he did? This all wasn’t some insane dream that his mind cooked up just to fuck with him. He rubs his eyes, trying to get rid of sleep that isn’t there. Pinching himself just to see if it was real, even though he knows that’s not how it’s supposed to work.
What he does know, it this isn’t supposed to be this easy. Eddie isn’t supposed to like him back, he isn’t supposed to want Steve as much as Steve wants him. He isn’t supposed to call in the middle of the night in a big drunk confession and then just hang up like nothing happened. Or before Steve could even say anything. He isn’t supposed to do it in a way that Steve might not believe the next morning.
Miracles don’t happen every day, especially for Steve and especially when it comes to people he likes. Steve isn’t this guy that people just magically like back, not in the way he likes them. He’s supposed to be the one that falls hard, breaking apart when they leave him hanging up to dry. It’s happened before and he was certain that it would happen again.
I haven’t been able to sleep the same knowing you like guys, and that guy isn’t me.
Eddie’s confession hangs in the air like a rope, waiting for Steve to grab onto it. Simple words of desperation and lost hope because Eddie thinks the same as Steve. That they’re not a person that the other could want. That even though the possibility is there, it would never come to fruition. There was no way the other person could ever return their feelings, so they prepared for rejection before it even started.
Steve doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t even know if he wants to believe that it’s true. He’s spent so long thinking that this could never happen, that he never prepared for what he would do if it did. He’s at a loss just staring at the ceiling. Debating going to sleep and letting Eddie sleep off the booze or running over there to say what he’s wanted to for so long. Words that he couldn’t even fathom saying before a week ago. That he wants what he thinks he can’t, and won’t let Eddie go so easily after saying he can have it.
Tomorrow, he decides. Tomorrow he would go over to Eddie’s trailer and hope that he remembers. Hope that it wasn’t just the booze talking and that all of what Eddie said is true. Tell Eddie everything, that he wants him just as much as Eddie seems to want Steve. That Eddie didn’t have to lose sleep anymore because Steve wanted him. Because Steve likes him, Steve likes him so much.
He falls asleep hoping that when he wakes up it wasn’t all a dream.
oops, I wrote too much again. the last part will be coming next week? (actually this time)
Tag list (lmk if you want to be added or removed): tag list: @imfinereallyy @estrellami-1 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @overhillunderhill @renaissan-vvitch @ashwagandalf @sirsnacksalot @lorelei724 @emly03 @super-cosmic-library @rozzieroos @dolphincliffs @henderdads @abyssal808 @evergreenprose @demolvr @steddiehyperfixation @stedumpsterfire @ent-is-indecisive @steddierthings @makeadealwithdean @kas-eddie-munson @extra-transitional @lunaticmarunatic @steveharringtonmilf @cardboardqueen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @panicatthediaz @ellietheasexylibrarian @hallucinatedjosten @awkwardgravity1 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @its-a-me-a-morgan @messrs-weasley @dreamlandforever @stevesbipanic @inmoonywetrust @sani-86 @aellafreya @lorelei724 @punkprettyboyprincess @stoopidstrwbrry @martinskis-lydias @a-gae-af-racoon
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#cw: drinking#drunk confessions#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things ficlet#steddie ficlet#things i wont say when i’m sober#multiple parts#part 5#getting together#almost#we're almost there i swear
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Bex: Bill's a happy drunk. He's also always hitting on me when drunk (as if that's a change from normal XD)
Bill: I can't help it! You're my girl <3
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It's an old, well-worn routine.
Whenever Jim says, “you were right, Bones,” Bones quirks that funny half-smile and tells Jim, “I wish I’d gotten a recording of that as proof. I’d play it non-stop to get to sleep, care to say it again?”
And Jim just grins at him and won’t repeat it for the recorder, tells him it’ll go to his head, that he'll just have to wait for the next time; if it ever happens again, that is.
Bones is a man of many opinions, and Jim hates to admit, they're often correct. As he's matured, he's learned to give credit where credit is due.
Plus, he likes it when Bones smiles.
"You were right, Bones," he says, as they beam up from yet another mission where a near-disaster was averted, this time due to Bones' suspicion of the Emperor's head physician.
"That's a balm to my weary ears, Jim," Bones sighs. "Care to record that? I'll layer it on top of my white noise machine and have the sweet dreams of the vindicated."
Jim points out that asking for a recording of one's captain's voice to have sweet dreams to is probably against regulation. Bones rolls his eyes. No recording is provided.
"You were right, Bones," Jim says, handing Bones a glass of bourbon after a heartbreaker of a mission. Two dead, Spock almost the third, now back in one piece after six hours of surgery. He doesn't break out the Saurian brandy; that's for celebratory drinks. This is mourning.
"I'm always right," Bones says. "That's my curse. I wish I hadn't been. But next time..."
"I'll listen," says Jim. "I'll listen faster. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Jim. You did what you thought was right, and it worked in the end. We got the treaty. We saved more lives than we lost."
"You know that doesn't matter when I'm writing to the families."
"Yeah, Jim, I know that," sighs Bones. "But let's pretend I'm right this time, okay? And, by the way, when I get that recording, you can add 'I'll listen' to the end of it. It's a nice touch."
"You're an asshole," says Jim, but he smiles for the first time since Ensign Simons' death.
"And I'm right," says Bones, raising his glass. They both down it in one go.
"You were right, Bones," Jim says, after finally turning down his second chance at promotion to the Admiralty.
"Of course I'm right," says Bones. "Captaining a ship is your first, best destiny. It's who you are. It's what you do. But I can barely take credit for that. Any fool can see it. Which is why I'm surprised the brass offered you that promotion in the first place. They're the biggest fools out there."
"Well, I guess I'm going to wait a while to join them, Bones. Are you ready for another five years?"
"Who else is going to sporadically admit to me that I'm right?"
"This is why I can't give you the recording," Jim says. "You won't need me anymore."
"That's not true, Jim," Bones says, suddenly looking more serious than when he's performing a particularly delicate surgery. He looks Jim straight in the eye.
"That'll never be true. Do you hear me? You told me you'd listen. That will never be true. And I'm right."
Jim’s final mission is a solo trip, requested by the heads of two warring factions, looking to make peace to show their commitment to their planet's application for entry into the Federation.
Bones tells him not to go, that he’s got a bad feeling about this one.
Jim rolls his eyes. “You always have a bad feeling about this one."
"It's an especially bad feeling, this time. And don't you remember? I'm always right. You promised me you'd actually listen once in a while; this is why I need it on record--"
But Jim has a chance to bring peace, so Jim can’t stay. And Bones knows it.
And it doesn’t work.
Bleeding out after tensions erupt, knowing transporters are jammed and it’s too late for rescue, Jim spends his last minutes recording messages for his family and senior crew.
Bones’ message is last, and Jim knows just what he's going to say.
He puts on his most winning smile and says, “You were right, Bones. Next time, I'll listen. And now, here’s your recording as proof. Thanks for everything. I hope you play it non-stop."
After the ceremonies, the speeches, and the handoff of the Enterprise to Spock, Bones finally pours himself a glass -- bourbon, not Saurian brandy -- and watches his message.
"You were right, Bones."
It doesn't give him sweet dreams. In fact, he doesn’t sleep for three days.
He never plays it again.
#star trek#star trek aos#leonard mccoy#jim kirk#mckirk#star trek tos#bones mccoy#captain kirk#you were right bones#ficlet#fanfic#cw: mcd#cw: death#long post#cw: long post#cw: drinking#cw: sad#sorry for the super sad fic it just wouldn't leave my head#this doesn't really happen everyone's fine#@fireinmywoods maybe don't read this one#but also...payback for siel maybe?#why do I keep writing sad stuff idk
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Now that you've mentioned frat boy childe, all I can think about is him goading the reader into drinking more than they can handle and fucking their barely conscious body 😌
THIS IS REAL!! his drink of choice is straight vodka and consequently his tolerance his high as shit... my brain is rotting out of my skull uuoowwhh small blurb btc
anytime the opportunity arose Ajax could be found organizing or attending parties. it was an easy chance for him to get wasted and enjoy whatever he or his friends could get up to. with houses chalked full of sweaty bodies and people already making out against all surfaces it wasn't hard for him to pressure you into whatever he wanted. if he's having another drink then so should you! you don't feel well? he feels fine you're being dramatic about all of this. look at all of the other people making out and listen to all the closed doors of people having sex. it would only be right to do the same, no? you wouldn't want to be left out! you're still nervous? okay, another drink then. surely you can keep up with him.
the night ends with Ajax in between your thighs moving at an inconsistent pace that you'd never notice with the alcohol flowing through you. you felt like your head was full of water and your limbs were made of lead. everything was so very distant and so very heavy. what was up or down no longer made sense to you. all you knew was the ginger man fucking himself into your drooling cunt with a lopsided grin on his face. he seemed rather proud of himself and all the effort he went through to get you in this position. he had practically hand fed you drinks all night and kept himself glued to your body. he had been rather handsy all day so you shouldn't be shocked that this is what he wanted after all. Ajax knew how to get what he wanted and it seemed like your pussy was his end goal. once finished he had the mind to throw his varsity jacket over your form before taking you back to his place for the real pounding he knew you needed.
but, who doesn't get fucked unconcious at parties? you wouldn’t want to be left out!
#cw: noncon#cw: manipulation#cw: alcohol#cw: drinking#alto my beloved#female reader#childe x reader#frat boy childe#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin x you
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Drarry microfic: Guilty
content warning: drinking/hangover
Harry is rudely awakened by a folded newspaper swatting his aching head.
“Rude,” he grumbles.
“You go to a Ministry dinner without me one time,” Draco starts in, before Harry can open his eyes, “and this is what happens?”
Harry turns his face into the pillow. “What happened? Erm, exactly? I’m a bit funky on the details. Fuzzy, I mean.”
“According to witnesses,” —there’s a deliberately prolonged rustling of paper near Harry’s left ear— “you convinced the 107-year-old Ambassador to Sweden to play a risqué drinking game with you.”
“She quit after three shots of Firewhisky. What a lightweight. Speaking of drinks, you didn’t happen to bring me some Hangover Potion, did you?”
“I’m not done yet. Then you held up the buffet queue in order to sculpt a tray of mashed potatoes into an anatomically-correct, female mountain troll.”
“I did? Wow, I wish I could remember that.”
“Lucky for you, a photographer from the Prophet captured the moment for posterity.”
“Oh, good. Big tits on the troll?”
“Ridiculously so. And then, Potter…” Draco applies the newspaper to Harry’s arse, this time with more force. “Then you started shouting ‘Right on!’ and ‘Damn straight!’ at random moments during the Minister for Magic’s speech.”
“Heh. I did do that, didn’t I? It was a right snoozefest, that speech. Thought I’d help him out.”
The mattress dips next to Harry’s hip, and he hears Draco sigh. Surrender. Harry wins! He slides one arm out from beneath the duvet and waves it around until a glass vial hits his palm.
“You’re shameless. Don’t you feel even the tiniest bit guilty about ruining an important Ministry function, you menace?”
“Nope,” Harry says blithely after tipping the potion into his mouth. “Maybe this will teach them never to leave my husband off the invitation again.”
Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, "guilty."
masterlist of my microfics
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Wife just gave me a throwback to a moment a few years ago that wasn’t my finest hour, but definitely one of my most iconic.
Ever been so drunk you’ve turned into this?
“The Betrayed”. Yeah, betrayed by the way that wine snuck up on me after eight vodka cocktails. 0/10 do not recommend. I blacked out and became a Falmer.
Apparently I was completely non-verbal and hissed at my wife when she opened the bathroom door. 💀
She had to resort to speaking to me like I was a feral cat, and coaxed me out of the shower by going “pspspspsps!”
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Week Four, Day One of Kinktober 2022
Foot Kink: Boku no Hero Academia: Midoriya Izuku
Word Count: 1.1K
Tags: foot kink, mentions of drinking/drunk Izuku, foot jobs at breakfast table
Izuku doesn’t drink much, hardly ever if you really think about it. Maybe for occasions, like celebrations, and parties, and UA get togethers. As often as he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t get drunk either. You’ve never seen him sloppy or stumbling or crying, just smiling more and definitely clings to you like a koala.
Last night, though, he was trashed by the time he made his way home. Stumbled in, crying about how much he missed you, sloppily kissing at your face and cheeks and neck with too much spit. You couldn’t help but laugh though, and clean him up as you got him ready for bed. As you did, he said something to you. A little comment that made your face warm and your heart skip a beat, mainly because of the lovesick look on his face that he only got when you agreed to try out one of his weird kinks again.
You shouldn’t be so surprised that he tells you about his foot kink. Honestly, you two have tried less kinky shit than anything dealing with feet, but it must’ve been something really bad for his raging hormones if he kept it from you for this long. Izuku lays in your bed with his head at the end of the bed, your foot grabbed in his strong hands tightly, holding it against his face as he peppers kisses along your toes. He finally falls asleep when you stop wriggling them and let him hold your feet, him content and happy, you annoyed and grumpy that now you have to sleep with his feet in your face.
He obviously forgot about the whole situation by the time he wakes up. In the middle of the night, he must’ve changed positions, because his back is to your chest when you get up. You wriggle away from him, getting up to put some water and headache medicine on his bedside table, before you make your way into the kitchen to make breakfast.
It’s about an hour before he finally wakes to the smell of breakfast, groaning and moaning about this and that as he drags himself behind you to cuddle into your neck. He doesn’t mention the feet thing, and neither do you—for the moment. Only direct him to grab a plate and another water bottle from the fridge, before you’re both seated at your kitchen table across from each other.
You ask him how his night was, if he remembers anything. Izuku’s too busy digging into his food like a man starved to pay your slick look any mind, too busy guzzling down everything you cooked to notice. He shrugs about this and that, laughing about memories he can hazily recall, shaking his head at the more embarrassing ones. It’s when you make your move.
“You remember this?” You ask him with a teasing lilt to your voice as you lift your foot up until it rests in his lap, right where you can feel his heavy cock laying. Izuku pauses, eyes widening as his entire body locks up. He looks at you through dark green lashes, his cheeks stuffed and full to capacity with food, scanning your face as you feel a twitch beneath your ankle. Izuku swallows hastily, damn near choking, as he splutters when his mouth is finally cleared.
“Remember w-what?” He tries to chuckle through it, but you can see the sweat on his brow and feel how he tries to shift his hips away from your foot. You only let the weight come down harder, watching how his eyes flutter, as you smile softly.
“How much of a pervert you are, Izuku.” You never use his name, so it makes his entire body shiver when you do. He drops his utensils finally, slumping back in his seat as he grabs your ankle, looking at you with little shame this far into your relationship.
“Can you really be that surprised?” He asks, far past stuttering and stumbling when his kinks are discovered. You both embrace it at this point, chuckling at his haste in lifting his boxers and pulling them down so that he can feel the arch of your foot against his shaft.
Izuku settles more into his seat now, tip of his cock resting against his belly, eyes locked on how your sole starts to slowly caress and stroke the veins on his length. It’s an awkward feeling, with your knee bumping against the top of the table and having to angle your foot a certain way, but Izuku obviously doesn’t seem to mind it.
Only grabs your ankle tight between thickened fingers and starts to slide the tip of his cock against the back of your toes and the now slick sole of your foot from his precum. He groans under his breath, bare pecs heaving as he finally gets to live out this dirty fantasy he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long and gods knows why.
“So many kinks with you, can’t keep up,” you pout at him, letting him use your foot to grind against, watching how his stomach tenses from the other side of the table when he starts to buck his hips up. Izuku only grins at you, dimples and bright smile blinding you, despite defiling your foot with every rut against it.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and he’s so unapologetic it makes you snort. “You just bring out the worst in me. Everything about you’s so fuckable.” Izuku groans at that, head thrown back as you start aiding him in rubbing his cock with your foot, even deciding to bring your other one up so that he can slide between the arches of your feet.
“Or maybe you’re just a lewd bastard. How about that, huh?” You tease, focused on cupping your feet together as tightly as you can, watching how Izuku falls apart before your very eyes. Breakfast is long forgotten as he curls in on himself, panting, eyes screwed shut, as he focuses on bucking his hips and fucking his cock between your arches.
Izuku cums with a gasp, his fists tightening up as his body lurches hard, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You only watch him though, feel drips of his cum coating your feet all the way up to your shins, biting your lip when he looks at you between his fringe with a huff. He inhales deeply once more before he falls onto the table, cheek smushed against the coolness, barely missing his plate. You reach over and pet his hair, humming under your breath.
“You spoil me.” He murmurs, eyes slowly closing like he’s about to go back to sleep. You only laugh though, and massage his scalp.
“Yeah, I know.”
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since i'm 21 now, i thought it'd be fun to go watch fantasy high and take a sip every time fabian says "papa"
i'm less than 10 minutes in and i need another cider this was a mistake
#fantasy high#d20#dimension 20#fabian seacaster#d20 fantasy high#comedy#shit post#mistakes have been made#cw: drinking
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let’s mix it up here, how about ❄️ and 🌈 for the ask meme :D
Hiiiii!
Mh, mix it up, you say?
Ok! Let's go with a WIP for the Fenris AU I... I started to write but never finished. And I honestly don't know whether I'll put an end to it, but it's here. And it's something angsty, ready to be soothed by the second. For the second I'll add a drawing wip, I hope you don't mind!
But I'm kinda falling off wips to share, writing wise. x°D
(and the ones I have are all angsty?)
🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.
Translation:
C: "Ok, if you have so much to say about how light Fereldan beer is, I CHALLENGE YOU.
A: "Aaaw! No, come on, I don't think it's necessary… How would you cope with tomorrow's Council?"
C: "I insist."
A: "Aaaaaaaah. hiccups This reminds me of that time that bla bla bla I think I'm a little out of shape, ih ih ih!
Shall we ask another round, Cullen? You know you have such nice hair? They do look very, very soft, like a halla! 💜
(it's before they got together and if he would have been awake to listen he probably would have collapsed)
(in my headcanon, Dalish brew liquors from everything, each Arlathven is basically an excuse to share recipes and introduce youths to drinking. Refusing offered alcoholics is rude, each young Dalish gets absolutely trounced at his first event in drinking age. She' survived attended two.)
❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.
A month of less than nothing.
A common ground, by the stable, Aisling taught and Fenris listened and grumbled as he wasn’t able to do something she asked, or she made something look too effortless. It was normal, as normal it could be between them. She knew Radha was looking at them, whenever they were together, and she didn’t mind. A reminder that all they could really have was that. Polite and purposeful, together through circumstances.
Bringing him to Valammar seemed the most logical thing to do. It was for Varric, and they were friends too. She handled the trip in close proximity, carefully keeping her distance. She became good, in the 8 years they were apart, in keeping distances, she could manage it. Even if with him, somehow, it was more difficult than with all the rest. Fenris knew, she didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t sad and struggling and scared. He knew, as well as Radha did.
But, she couldn’t like Bianca, she couldn’t be polite with her. It was like looking in a mirror, without lingering affection. The worse was that the woman wasn’t even sorry, or not sorry how she should have been. Did she knew how many people died? Did she knew that-
“You’re not the one to talk to me about disfunctional relationships and not managing to let people go, ok?” Varric snapped, when she approached him after getting back to Skyhold for some confrontation about it, and she let slip a less than praiseful comment on the smith.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you think it’s a big secret about you and Broody? Because it’s not. Quit it and let him go if you want it, or do not and stay there dancing around the other like you are, dance around Curly as well at the same time. I really don’t care, but whatever you do, don’t you play the moral judge with me and Bianca.”
It hit her. It hit her close to home, and it hurt because she saw the truth in his words. But, she saw the truth in her words too, and if years ago she would have been angry, right now she just felt cold calm creeping in. The same that she called for passing judgements. And as Varric knew where to hit her, she did as well, now.
“At least when I fucked up, nobody died.”
They didn’t speak to each other for the whole week afterwards, and something cracked between them. It was ok, with Aisling. It wasn’t like she allowed herself to make friends anymore, she was ready for things to blew up, and they did. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t taken into account.
All in all, tho, she stopped going to the stables in the morning, and when she practiced with her horse, she just took him out for a walk, on her own.
It was better like that, Varric was right.
She was just the Inquisitor, she could bury her heart something deeper still, and ignore the question in Fenris’ eyes the first time she walked out of the paddock without a word.
It was better like that.
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who else needs a drink
#nemesestext#I don’t even drink#but I could use one right about now#cw: drinking#cw: alcohol#just in case
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what is the wolfy drinking tonight? is it yummy?
ummm just soem mike's hard lemonades, i had 2.8 of them but i'm a lightweight ehe
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August Contest Submission #2: Empty Space
Words: ca. 7,000
Setting: mAU
Lemon: no
Content: underage drinking and smoking, some recreational drug use
Song: Empty Space by The Story So Far
I spent the plane ride sick with nerves. Getting ready had taken hours. Doing my hair, putting on make-up then wiping it all off again, agonising over my outfit. How is a seventeen-year-old supposed to prepare to meet their mother and sister for the first time? None of us had really planned this trip, but since I was going to be passing through their city, it seemed only natural. Nevertheless, I was a wreck.
They took me out to dinner between my flights. I was on my way back from one of those model United Nations conferences, where we all pretend to be a country and debate international politics. I saw their eyes glaze over when I tried to explain that not only would it look great on scholarship applications, but I actually enjoyed such a thing. I wasn’t sure what exactly they were thinking, but I sensed they weren’t impressed.
“So, uh,” Iduna laughed nervously, “do you like football?”
I lied and said I did.
Dinner passed in awkward stop-starting conversation. I felt suddenly naked, as if I didn’t know who I was supposed to be to these people. As if my true self would most certainly disappoint them, but all the masks I’d grown accustomed to wearing weren’t quite right either.
My attention fell on Anna. I was fixated. Mesmerised by every detail, the freckles, the turned-up nose, eyes just a shade greener than my own. A stranger, yet familiar in a way I couldn’t articulate. I wanted to know everything about her. But every time I asked her a question, Steve interrupted.
Oh, Steve. My mother’s husband was a short, balding guy in a football shirt who laughed at his own jokes and made plenty at my expense. Mainly implying that their crass, working-class ways would offend my posh sensibilities. As though I was raised in a palace or something. It felt rude to correct him, so I just laughed along, feeling as if I’d done something wrong.
“I hope you don’t mind riding in our little shit-box,” he said as we piled into the car.
I wasn’t really listening by that point. Too busy staring at Anna. Crushed that the night was over already, that I had to leave her. Wanting to say something more, but for the life of me unable to think what. She turned to me, and when our eyes met, we both looked away, embarrassed.
When we arrived back at the airport, her hand brushed over mine just as I was about to get out. Warm and soft and comforting. “Bye, Elsa,” she said. “Come back soon.”
She filled my thoughts as my second plane pierced the black sky, and I wondered what she was doing down on the ground, in that never-ending expanse of a city grid. What hopes and dreams and secrets lay behind those big green eyes, and would I ever be privileged to be their keeper? My heart sank as I descended into my dreary hometown. Already, I missed her.
…..
I tried not to think about Anna, because it caused such a gnawing in my chest. Instead, I threw myself into everything to pass the time until I was back there in the big city. Student council, orchestra, chess club, prefect duties. My days were filled with class, extra-curriculars, volunteering, and my nights with homework and extra credit assignments. And when all the work was done, Dad slept and the world went quiet, I crept outside to indulge in my one and only vice. A cigarette.
It was always freezing outside, but I was distracted by the wide black sky with the milky way snaking across the middle, old as time.
I didn’t know back then how much I would miss those stars once I moved to the city. It’s true what they say, that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. You also don’t know what you’ve been missing until you get it back. Sometimes that can hurt even more.
But I couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t make time go faster. All I could do was wait, and love her from a distance.
…..
It was summer when I returned. The sky was sweltering, a bubble of humidity, and the plane struggled through it onto the sizzling tarmac. I was drenched in sweat by the time I got to the car, and embarrassed for Anna to see - or rather, smell - me like that. I wasn’t acclimatised to proper mainland summers yet. I’m a child of ice and snow. Dark, unforgiving winters and rugged mountains. That’s where I felt at home. Not like them. They were a saltwater family of sunburnt shoulders and long summer days.
“Already on the good side of the city,” Steve laughed as we drove through leafy suburbia, past tidy two-story houses, new cars, old schools with elaborate crests and vine-coated heritage buildings, much like my own back home. But I wasn’t back home.
I was so, so far from everything familiar and safe. The realisation hit me with a stomach-churning clarity. I guess that’s why they call it home-sickness.
Anna reached out and touched my hand again, as if reading my mind. And for a moment, I was home.
Finally, we arrived at the university. Hundreds of eighteen-year-olds milled around with nervous excitement, exploring the courtyards, the halls and common rooms where kitschy social events were advertised on flyers tacked to notice boards: themed parties, beach trips, pub-crawls and so on. Laughter and chatter spilled through open doors where groups congregated, many with bags of wine and bottles of beer, somehow already in their little cliques that I knew, instinctively, would not hold a space for me.
“What have you got in here?” Steve grunted, “A whole library or something?”
Again, I felt like I’d done something wrong as they lugged my bags up the stairs, huffing and puffing as though it was mandatory community service. Only Anna had a smile on her face. She was the last one left standing in the claustrophobic off-white cinder-block room, with its popcorn ceiling and tiny bed. She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced over her shoulder, “Well, I guess I’d better go. Mum and Dad wanna get back in time to watch the football.”
Well, that explained the rush.
“But you should come visit us on the weekend! I’ll show you around the west side. It’s not as scary as people say. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, anyway.”
I lacked the frame of reference to be scared of any particular neighbourhoods. But her words caused a bubbling warmth in my chest, regardless, and I lost my voice.
She peeked into the suitcase Steve had been complaining about just before, and said, “I like your books.”
Then, after a tragically short hug, she was gone.
…..
University was lonely. Academically, it was fine, of course. Dad called me once a week at six pm on a Sunday, in that regimented way of his. My scholarships ensured I was never hungry or stressed about money. I bought a new wardrobe, one Dad would never have approved of. Low cut, sparkly dresses that hugged my waist and showed off my cleavage. High heels. I started wearing my hair down. I felt grown up and sexy and free.
And impossibly alone.
I went to toga parties and pub crawls and networking events. I struggled through stilted conversations and laughed at jokes I didn’t get. It felt hollow, as though I was playing a role. There but not there. Living in the empty space between the life happening all around me.
…..
Visiting my new “family” was somehow even lonelier, but I still did it without fail, rain, hail or shine, every weekend, thinking that if I persisted, I would find my space amongst them. Or around them, or between them. Somewhere. The trainline was decrepit, a never-ending view of old silos and defunct box-cars left to rust in endless, empty yellow fields, now claimed by graffiti. Junkyards and old factories. Abandoned, forgotten by time, belonging nowhere.
I felt a kinship with them.
This family was different from what I was used to. A loud, messy, cluttered, chaotic house with classic rock always blasting and people constantly dropping over for a cup of tea. They had two dogs, three cats, a tank of fish and a hutch full of guinea pigs out the back. Walls were covered in endless football memorabilia, traditional Indigenous dot-paintings, and of course, framed photos of all their (our) fifty million relatives. None of me, for obvious reasons. I tried not to be hurt by it, it wasn’t like it was their fault. I was there in the empty patches of wall. In the empty space between them.
They took us out on these little day-trips, and I cherished the moments I got to spend with Anna. Her gentleness, her humour, her boundless energy. Her willingness to throw herself with unbridled enthusiasm into whatever dorky activity Iduna and Steve had organised for our bonding purposes, whether it was mini-golf, bowling, or picnicking at the botanical gardens. I relished her attention like the warmth of the sun.
I learnt little things about her, like that her favourite flowers were sunflowers, and she always ate ice-cream too fast and gave herself a brain-freeze, and I kept these tidbits like little treasures in my heart. Sometimes she would bring her guitar and bless us with a song. I’d never known any sound so heavenly. I wished those days would last forever.
But they didn’t. They turned to night, and the nights were a different matter.
Iduna and Steve drank a lot, so I drank a lot too, desperate to be what they wanted. To find my place within this family.
“I’m so happy to have you back,” Iduna would tell me as she squeezed me a little too tight, after the first bottle. It was nice to hear. She was my mother, after all. But I’d built my identity around being a girl who didn’t have a mother, and her affection felt strange and foreign. Like I was an imposter in someone else’s life. Still, I could see this meant a lot to her, and I liked the attention. So I refilled my glass when she refilled hers, told her I was so happy to have her back too, and hoped she didn’t hear the uncertainty in my voice.
She would tell me how she was sorry, oh, so sorry, with tears in her eyes. How much she missed me and regretted leaving it so long to contact me, how fear just got in the way. I hugged her and told her it was okay. Was it okay? I didn’t know. But there was something so small and kind of broken about her. I couldn’t bear to see her cry. I put my feelings aside to cradle hers.
It was at this point that Anna would usually say something about “leaving us to it”, and disappear to wander the grimy streets with her friends.
My heart would sink. Every time, I wanted to ask her to stay but… something stopped me.
Steve would shake his head and click his tongue disapprovingly. “No good,” he’d say, proceeding to describe her friends as dropkicks, losers, and even more colourful terms that seemed awfully harsh to describe children. This one was in a gang, he said, and that one’s selling drugs. This other one’s on a path to nowhere. And so on with the claims for which he presented no evidence.
“A responsible older sister,” he said, slurring from the eighteen beers he’d already downed before the sun had set, “that’s what she needs to get her head straight. Someone she can look up to. To set a good,” he belched, “example.”
Perhaps I ought to have swelled with pride, but the weight of his expectation felt like lead in my chest, with so many others already stacked like stones in my throat. My scholarships, my own father’s dreams for me, Iduna’s guilt.
I couldn’t help but wonder, what if I wasn’t someone to look up to? What if I failed to set the example Steve hoped I would?
“I only wish you’d been with us sooner,” he said things like this often, even though he and Iduna didn’t seem particularly interested in me. They kept forgetting what degree I was studying. Never asked much about my life. Still, he would assure me that he was the one who encouraged Anna to reach out and he always wanted me to be part of the family.
A look of hurt would cross Iduna’s face at this, and I felt guilty, like I was responsible for her absence from my life, and her subsequent guilt and inner turmoil. Their words would become sharper, hidden meanings I couldn’t decipher hiding between the lines, and they would retreat to their room for whispered arguments, leaving me alone, feeling, again, like I’d done something wrong.
…..
Historically, I’d never much cared for sports. But watching Anna do sports was another matter. In fact, it quickly became the highlight of my week. The reward for getting through the slog of study, the lonely march to classes, nights of memorising case law and taking practice tests, and then of course, enduring the emotional vomit of Iduna and Steve.
My eyes were glued to her lean form as she took off gliding over the red pitch, muscles rippling in the sun in her crop top and tiny shorts. I was just admiring her prowess, her strength and speed and agility, the physique she’d worked so hard to build. That was totally normal, right? A normal, not-weird response to witnessing a human in peak condition.
I was proud of her, too. It was just pride that was swelling in my chest, warm and bubbly. What else would it be? I’d never had a sibling before, so I assumed it must be normal to feel these intense feelings, these desperate feelings. This yearning, this vague sense of want.
Sometimes her stupid boyfriend came with us. The huge, dumb oaf would sit in the tiny space between us, in a backseat that wasn’t designed for three. He belted out ‘I Want to Know What Love Is,’ off-key, with a voice like a strangled cat. Anna giggled as though the hideous sound was charming, and for some strange reason I wanted to punch him.
That’s when it dawned on me that maybe the way I felt wasn’t totally normal.
…..
Realising you have feelings for your own sister is kind of like learning the shocking twist to a movie. It changes everything. You can’t just go back to how it was before you knew it.
The secret scratched and struggled at my chest, like a feral little animal, impossible to ignore. It loomed in the forefront of my mind when I tried to focus on lectures, when I made my breakfast in the shared kitchen, when I attended study groups in the library. Even throwing myself into the dorm’s regimented social activities and drinking myself silly didn’t help. The idea that I may be in love with my sister always sat uncomfortably on the roof of my mouth, threatening to escape. I felt more alone than ever, further away, less real, less alive.
The only solace I found was in the deep dark trenches of the internet. Stories of others like me, who had grown up apart from their family and reunited only to be thrown through this wringer of shame and confusion. Something called ‘genetic sexual attraction’. According to official sources, it wasn’t real, just “pseudoscience”. But all these strangers angsting on the internet certainly suggested otherwise. I lost myself in story after story - mostly adopted, but similar enough - until those forums became more real than the world outside. Days passed in a blur, the weather grew colder as I drank alone in my dorm and, as I reached the end of the content, began to read through it all again.
…..
They took me on this camping trip and it was a big deal, because Aunty Yalena was going to be there and she was some sort of matriarch. I had to be respectful to her, obviously, but not too nice because she and Iduna apparently had some beef and I still had to be loyal. It was complicated, for sure. I would have been more stressed about it, but the sleeping arrangements dominated my attention.
“W-where?” I almost choked, not quite believing what I was hearing.
“Were you expecting a castle, your highness?” Steve grunted as he pumped the air mattress. “It’s a little hard to get a four-poster bed out here to the desert. It won’t kill ya to share a bed with your sister for one night.”
So that was it. Like some kind of cruel joke the fates were playing, I was going to be sharing a bed with my sister. I sighed and tried to put it out of my mind, focussing instead on the vivid blood-red plains and quartz glittering under the bright sun in the wide-open sky.
Night fell over the desert with quiet stillness. Stars shone like diamonds in the inky black sky, and I greeted them as old friends. Still ignoring the anxiety of our sleeping situation, I found an empty space around the campfire, between all the many strangers who were in fact my relatives, and let myself fall into the soothing rhythm of Aunty Yalena’s voice as she told stories of a time before time. A time before universities and alcohol and passive-aggressive step-parents and blow-up mattresses. Animals that turned into mountains, tears that became lakes, feathers that fell to the ground and grew into forests, snakes that carved rivers into the land, siblings that turned into stars.
I fell onto my back, so enraptured that I momentarily forgot to worry about the spiders and the snakes and the way the soft desert sand stains everything crimson, and I looked up.
“When the nights are at their longest and darkest, that’s when you can see the Dark Emu,” Yalena said. “It’s a shape inside the Milky Way, up there, see?”
I didn’t see. I didn’t expect to. I’ve never been any good at picking out constellations, couldn’t even find the Southern Cross if my life depended on it. But it was nice, nonetheless. It was pretty.
“It’s a different way of seeing. It’s a shape in the darkness, in the empty space between the bright stars.”
I let her words sit for a while, not really expecting anything. Just feeling comfortable, for once, on the soft face of an ancient country, bigger than myself. Bigger than my little problems. And then, I saw it. Clear as day. The curved neck, feathery body, and long legs.
The Dark Emu.
Right above me, in the middle of the radiant winter sky. A figure of darkness between the milky bright patches of starlight. A figure I must have seen so many times in my life, and yet I didn’t see. I only saw the bright stars shining all around.
I found my eyes were full of tears. I couldn’t say why. Just, for a moment, I was found.
“Hey,” Anna’s voice roused me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t say how long I’d been lying there, staring into space. Everyone else had gone. A few smouldering coals glowed softly where the campfire had been. “What’s the time?”
“The time is now.” She shrugged and sat down next to me, pulled a squashed cigarette out of her bra, and lit it, gazing into the sky. “Want one?”
“I- I mean yes, please, but…” I sat up, blinking in surprise. Who was this smoking Anna, this mysterious girl I thought I knew? “I can’t believe you smoke!”
“Are you judging me, now?” She grinned and elbowed me in the ribs. I relished the contact. “Bloody hypocrite.”
“No! Just, I mean, you’re so sporty and fit. I just assumed you’d never do anything to jeopardise your dreams.”
She took a drag so deep I could almost hear the tiny particles of her lungs turning black, then breathed out silvery smoke into the quiet of the night. “They’re mostly Mum and Dad’s dreams.”
The words reverberated in the cool night air, like a gong.
“I kind of wanna quit athletics.”
Steve may not have projected the same suit-wearing, stern-voiced flavour of expectation as my own father. But I understood, nonetheless. It was a rare moment when the right words, borne of empathy, just came to me. “What’s your dream, then?”
“Music.” There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation, and her voice shone with hope. “I want to focus on music.”
“Really?” Of course I loved her music, but it never clicked that it was quite so important. Maybe it would have, if I’d been seeing in a different way. Seeing what was in the dark, empty space between all the sports trophies and medals and bragging parents. “That’s awesome.”
“Me and some friends have started a band. We’ve written loads of material. We just need to find a new drummer. And then… figure out how to book a gig, I guess.”
God, how did she just keep getting cooler? The idea of her up on a stage, rocking out in some badass outfit was almost too much for my brain to process. “Well, when you do, count me in! I’ll be your biggest fan.”
“Yeah?” She butted out her cigarette and elbowed me again, “you gonna throw some undies onstage for me?”
I choked out a laugh, hoping to God she was just being silly and hadn’t noticed anything suspicious in my dark patches. That this wasn’t some kind of test. The beginning of the end.
“It’s getting pretty cold. Do you wanna head back to the tent?”
I gulped like a guilty defendant and followed her through the sleeping campsite.
Anna fell asleep almost immediately, but I lay stiffly at the edge of the mattress, barely able to breathe in the heat of the shared space. Overwhelmed by both the reality of our closeness, and the impossibility of more.
When the sun rose, she was draped over me in a mess of awkward angles, her cheek pressed against my own and warm breath in my ear. Heavy and soft. Perfect. I breathed in her scent and tried to etch every sensory detail into my memory, wishing the moment would never end.
Tragically, the smell of sausages, damper and billy-tea roused her from my embrace. “Sorry, I’m a cuddler,” she said, “but also, you’re nice and warm.” With a small giggle, she disappeared into the light.
…..
“I’m going down to the creek with some mates,” Anna told me one Friday night after dinner, “do you wanna come with?”
You’d think she’d just gotten down on one knee and proposed marriage, the way my heart swelled. I tried to be cool about it. I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her intimidatingly cool friends. I know, they were just high school kids, but there was a worldliness about them that eclipsed my own. Effortless swag. Street smarts, no doubt.
I’d barely been out in this neighbourhood before. Iduna and Steve always picked me up from the train station, constantly lamenting all the murders and the gang activities and how they’d be moving somewhere nicer once they could get a bit more savings together, but you know, ‘expenses’ always came up and got in the way.
I suspected a lot of those expenses were of the alcoholic variety.
Anyway, these kids led me past houses with boarded up windows and broken toys littering overgrown lawns. A few with police tape across the front. Occasional empty lots full of decomposing furniture and burnt-out cars. They stopped periodically to spray-paint their names behind corner-shops and on bus stops.
None of it was scary or even uncomfortable. On the contrary, it was a privilege to step into Anna’s world. Learning more about her life made me feel closer to her. I couldn’t tell you where she got the money from, or how she was able, at sixteen, to waltz on into this bottle-shop like she owned the place and walk out with a bottle of Grey Goose, but I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything.
The afternoon sky was a moody grey, and the spring rains had drenched everything in sight. I relished the reckless abandon of being damp, hungry and a little too cold, but too drunk to care.
Her friends weren’t all that intimidating, really. They spoke of regular teenage dilemmas, exams, crushes and their dreams of making it big as a band. It was refreshing, a break from the pretentious rich kids I was used to at uni - frankly, I was pretty bored with debates on postmodern art, hermeneutics, and Nietzschean analyses of pop culture.
They sang songs, roughhoused, played on the playground and when that made them too dizzy, fell onto the ground laughing. Anna fell beside me, at some point after the vodka was gone and the distant honking of trains had stopped, and two of her friends were having a deep conversation on the merry-go-round while another pissed in the bushes.
The night was quiet, just the soothing rush of the creek and whisper of wind in the trees. The sky above was a weird, pale red colour. Starless and a little too bright for an hour so small. I had a sudden sense that something was… wrong. That it was some kind of omen, heralding the beginning of the end.
“Why does the sky look like that?”
“Light pollution,” Anna said, “and, you know, regular pollution. From all the factories and stuff.” Her hand inched toward mine, pinkies interlocking, but we kept our eyes focussed above. “Growing up out here, all I ever knew was this night sky. I never knew what it was actually supposed to look like until I went camping for the first time.”
“Yeah…” something about that was so profoundly sad to me, though why I couldn’t quite say, “no Dark Emu tonight.”
“You’re my Dark Emu.”
“What do you mean?”
She rolled over, flush against my side, still looking up into the sky. “When I found out I had a sister, I was so confused because how could I have a sister when there wasn’t anyone else there in the house? I looked everywhere for you. In the cupboards, in the washing machine, down the side of the couch. I thought you’d got lost somewhere in the house. It was like there was this empty space in the family that I could feel, even if no one saw it from the outside. You were still there somehow. And it made me feel… less alone.”
“I…” I felt a strange pressure in my chest, tears welling up in my eyes. I’d seen myself more as an inconvenient leftover, a mystery Tupperware lid, an extra puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere within this family, with a side of irrational guilt for not being there for her all these years, “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Then don’t say anything.” Her hand brushed over my cheek, and I turned my head toward her, not quite able to believe what was happening.
But it was happening. Her face inched closer to mine until there was no more empty space between us. Our lips locked together, soft and warm, and all the universe shifted into alignment.
…..
I awoke to shouting. I was in Anna’s bed, but the space beside me was cold. My stomach clenched as Steve’s voice boomed down the hall. Words and phrases like reckless and ungrateful and throwing your future away.
Anna was shouting back, or perhaps pleading. My mind raced through possibilities, scenarios, implications, each more damning than the last. A sense of impending doom pressed down on my chest. Like a rat in a cage, I knew somehow that the crosshairs would find me soon enough.
My fight or flight response in full swing, I scanned the room for the best escape route, but it was too late. Steve was standing in the door, bleary eyed in a coffee-stained dressing gown, mid-lecture, “Athletics is your chance to move up in the world, to actually be somebody-” he paused and the world ended right there as his gaze fell upon me. “Oh, yes. Of course, I might have known. It all makes sense, now.”
But what exactly might he have known? How much might he have known, and how much more might he have inferred, true or not? My throat closed and my vision blurred. I resisted the urge to blurt out that nothing happened, because that would make it sound like something happened, and realistically, all we did was sleep next to each other, cuddle a bit, stroke each other’s hair… That was essentially nothing. Wasn’t it?
“And I suppose you’re the one who’s been buying her the smokes and the grog, too?”
“No!” Anna tried to defend me, but I’d been in her position before. I knew the soul-crushing shame of disappointing a parent who expected the impossible of you. The occasional need for a scapegoat. I also knew, in his eyes, I would be the bad guy no matter what.
So I simply nodded, avoiding the wrath in his eyes.
When he left, I pulled on my shoes and packed my bag with shaking hands, creeping out to the kitchen like a prisoner to the gallows. My mother was there, sucking on a cigarette, with bags under her eyes.
“Elsa. You know I still love you,” she said, making up some instant coffee in a thermal flask. I braced myself for the inevitable ‘but’.
Because there is always a ‘but’.
“But you know how this looks, right?”
I wasn’t entirely sure just how bad it looked, but I nodded anyway, afraid to ask for clarification. Afraid to know exactly how much she was seeing in the empty space between me and Anna. My eyes pricked with tears but I refused to let them fall.
“You’re an adult. She’s a child.”
The implications of the sentence fell on me like a ton of bricks. The danger of the line I was treading. Of what could have happened, as if the drinking wasn’t bad enough. I wanted the ground to swallow me.
But it didn’t. My mother stared at me expectantly, so I mustered up the words, “I know. I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t enough.
Down the hall, Steve was on the phone to Anna’s coach, claiming she was unwell, planning a make-up training session. And Iduna continued to stare, offering no reassurance. No clarity.
“Maybe it’s best if I don’t come around for a while…” I said, thinking surely she would correct me, tell me not to be silly. That I was still wanted here. Still welcome. That she loved me no matter what, and we would work through this together.
How many times had they both told me I was part of this family and always welcome?
“Yes,” she handed me the flask of coffee, along with the pieces of my broken heart, “that might be best.”
…..
I left with my tail between my legs. Hot, sickly shame flowing through my veins. The world blurred through my tears, but one thing was clear: I’d lost her.
Alone in my room I sank bottle after bottle, neglecting my lectures and assignments. As days turned to weeks, I shut the world out, retreated within myself and drifted into fantasy. More than fantasy - obsession. Different timelines. Different childhoods - a shared childhood. The memories we should have created together.
With all the ethanol flooding my veins and the lack of sleep fraying my synapses as I wandered, lost and forlorn between sleep and wakefulness, they really felt like they might have been real. As though somewhere between the layers of this universe and all the other universes, there existed one where Anna and I had never known the pain of separation, only the mundanity of siblinghood. Lazy mornings, sleepovers, occasional fights and the quiet security of unconditional love found only in family.
When I came to, I found myself alone. My kingdom of isolation was nothing more than a tiny, filthy dorm room. Off-white cinder blocks and unwashed bed-sheets and cigarette butts hidden in the window-sill. A pathetic life, small and empty. Fantasies crumpled to dust. Bitter, ashamed, and in desperate need of answers. Needing someone to blame.
“It broke my heart when Agnarr took you away. Yalena wanted me to go to court and fight for you but… my cousins told me not to. We already had child protection picking off our children one by one. At least with him I knew you were safe.”
That was the reason my mother gave me, when I found the nerve to message her. She also let me know, unprompted, that the family was ‘not ready’ for my return. It began to sink in that they might never be.
“We were only sixteen when we had you. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. She only visited a few times. Always at night, always when she was drunk. I wasn’t ready to be a father either, but at least my parents could support me. That family had a lot of problems, generations of poverty and trauma. I did what I did to protect you.”
That was the reason my father gave me. Both sounded so reasonable, on their own, with all this hindsight and space between now and back then when things were oh so very different and complicated. But neither were enough to justify the loss of Anna from my life, and I from hers.
…..
I sat in a room with the counsellor. I don’t know who made the referral, or why. Perhaps it was the fact I was failing everything, scholarships in peril. Or that I showed up to class with dirty pyjamas hanging off my rapidly diminishing frame, when I showed up at all. Or that I ignored everyone who spoke to me on the rare occasion I left my dank room.
I almost told her. Almost. Said something vague about loss. About deep dark secrets. But when it came down to it, I simply couldn’t. I couldn’t even speak Anna’s name. This kind of problem, well, it didn’t belong in the light of day. There would be no sympathy for a sister like me. Some things you just have to figure out by yourself.
But I didn’t figure it out. Not any of it. Round and round in circles I went, but nothing became clearer. Nothing made sense.
It was too much. Too much to swallow, too much to accept. All I could do was run from it. Run and drink, and drink and run, until one night I ran all the way into the still slumbering city. At that lonely hour, it was inhabited only by the miserable homeless and those still partying at the few seedy corners where bright light and thumping beats spilled from dingy doorways. I wandered, heartbroken and forlorn. Exhausted and dehydrated as all hell, feeling too unworthy of even a bottle of water from 7-eleven if I was truly such a blight on Anna’s life, if my own mother who birthed me had turned me away. I wished for someone to hurt me, for the sky to open up and smite me down, for something, anything to happen to reflect the gaping woundedness of my heart and the wretchedness of my soul. For something to fill the empty space where Anna was not. I marched into the filthiest nightclub I could find, where a few haggard lost souls writhed on the dancefloor, and bought a shot of tequila, then three more. Then I stumbled onto the dancefloor, toward a woman with neon corded dreads, white contact lenses and subdermal implants in the shape of devil-horns. She asked me if I wanted to feel good. Called me baby.
I wanted to feel anything other than what I felt, so I danced with her. When she opened her mouth, revealing a pale brown capsule on her tongue, I let her kiss me, and swallowed down the bitter pill like a punishment.
Everything blurred around me, my stomach lurched and my head pounded, I danced like I wanted to die, like I could dance right out of myself, out of this world. I danced and I drank, and I drank and I danced until everything went black to the muffled sounds of “hey, kid… you okay?”
…..
I walked on weightless legs through endless night, galaxies blooming in colours that didn’t exist. I let myself dissolve in the hugeness of infinity. In the absence of light, in the absence of heat, I froze, and I fractalled into the vastness of endless time.
I waited, until the end became the beginning, until all became quiet, and my mind stretched endlessly in a canvas of silver on black. Dots. Kisses. Stars.
They were freckles. Anna’s freckles.
Did I hurt her?
Was I a monster?
I wept and I wept, until my tears became a river, and the river was the Milky Way, and it was crying with me for all eternity. I followed the endless silvery trail of stars, treading carefully lest I fall into the lightless void below, until I stopped.
I saw him. The Dark Emu. He looked into my eyes and I saw myself.
What was I but the darkness hanging unspoken between my family? Lullabies never sung, birthday cards never sent. Bonds never formed. A seesaw not moving. A clapping game with no clapping, little hands reaching out into empty space. Alone. Dark desires borne in the absence of two childhoods not shared.
Nobody’s fault.
…..
I woke up in the hospital. It was too bright, too white, a thousand sounds assaulting my ears, beeping and whirring and ding-donging, voices mumbling and wheels rolling. An empty bag of saline still connected to my arm. I ripped it out, surprised by the pain and bright red alive-ness of my blood.
“Is there anyone we can call?” they asked as I made for the door, “Do you have an emergency contact?”
“Um…” Did I have anyone I could call? I thought of my parents, and my heart softened. Neither were blameless. And yet, I couldn’t find it in my heart to hold it against either. These two broken people who brought me into existence by happy accident. I had no choice in the matter. And I had no choice but to go on.
“No. But don’t worry. I think I’m gonna be okay,” I said, and for the first time, I actually meant it.
…..
It was summer when I saw her again. Her sun-kissed skin glistened golden under the bright spotlights. She looked so grown up, up there on the little stage. Like a rock star. Like the rising sun.
I’d expected to be able to hide in a bigger crowd. The bar was tiny and only about twenty people had shown up to the all-ages afternoon free gig, bobbing to the music, clapping and whooping casually to each song.
Her face lit up when she saw me, and she smiled with her eyes while singing back-up into the mic. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling conspicuous, paranoid that Iduna and Steve would show up to shout or judge or scrutinise.
Out in the beer garden, vines crept up the walls and flowers bloomed like stars above us. We sat across from each other at a sticky table, sipping lemonade. After all those months of yearning, wishing, imagining… She was really, truly there. I wanted to touch her, to breathe her in, to pull her into a never-ending embrace.
But I held back. Instead, I gushed over her performance, like she deserved. Told her how much I’d missed her, though words were inadequate. And she told me she’d missed me too, rather passionately, as she squeezed my hands.
“Really?” I asked, a little surprised. I’d not let my hopes rise too high. But in that mature-beyond-her-years way of hers, she seemed to just understand.
“Mum and Dad told me… to give you space,” she said, puffing on her cigarette with a frown, as if working out a complicated problem. She ran her thumbs softly, a little too sensually, over my own hands. It sent a shiver down my spine. “They’re idiots, though. I shouldn’t have listened. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” I shrugged, stomach lurching a little at their mention. “Are they uh… okay with this? I mean, you doing this instead of athletics… me being here…”
“Well, no,” she smiled a lopsided smile that just absolutely melted me, “but they also don’t know I’m here. I’ve actually been living with Aunty Yalena for a while. It’s a lot more chill. You should come over!”
My instinct was to decline, to assume I wasn’t welcome, wasn’t wanted, didn’t belong. But something stopped me. “I’d love to.”
…..
The Dark Emu has always stood in the entryway of Aunty Yalena’s house. It always will. An image of black amongst a thousand tiny dots of white, yellow, orange, pink, and purple. The painting reaches from the floor to the ceiling, and surrounding it are photos of every distant niece and nephew and cousin ever to walk the earth. I stopped in my tracks the first time I walked in and saw my own face there, amongst the others. Amongst the stars.
I tried to blink back tears, but a few trailed over my smiling cheeks anyway. I couldn’t explain why. I was found.
Anna kissed me, and I kissed her back. Softly, slowly, and without fear. Then she took my hand and led me away, into the light of day.
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