#drabble really

He knows it's not a hotel. On the ceiling there are glow in the dark stars, in the corner of his eye a keyboard.

It's Tim's room in this new house they had for god knows what reason because having a house, sharing a bed out of want rather than need felt so…normal.

Sometimes he woke up in Alex's bed instead, head on his chest, Alex holding him near until he had to comfort the other from a dream neither of them knew was good or bad. But more often than not Tim would narrow his eyes at Alex and you could practically hear a growl or bark despite the fact Tim would say nothing and Alex would back off, heading to his room alone.

It had been one of those nights. And now he was waking up. But it was still dark outside. The streetlamp just outside illuminated the room just enough to see the figure above him, standing closer to his legs than head.

It's hands were raised, shaking from the shifting glint of the knife in them. Jay tensed immediately, pushing up on one elbow. Tim gave a soft grumble but didn't wake up and Jay didn't care if he did right now.

“Alex?”

His eyes were hollow, like they had been..like they kept being. But Jay said his name and he blinked and his friend was back, dropping the knife and ignoring how it clattered on the ground and shaking some. “I'm sorry- I'msorryi'msorryi'msorry-” it was whispered, frantic, tears building up.

He didn't even have his glasses on.

Jay carefully got out of the loose hold Tim had on him and stepped around the knife. “Hey, hey it's ok, it was just a dream. Sleep walking, you're fine, Alex.”

Alex sunk to curl up against the wall, gripping his hair and staring at the ground. He was a shaking leaf, not even due to the t shirt and shorts he was wearing. Jay chose to ignore the jacket he was wearing, the same one from when he- Tim had demanded he throw it out, Jay had said Tim should throw out his mask first and that was the end of that fight.

“It's ok, Al, it's over. C'mon. Why don't I take you bed?”

Alex didn't seem any more ok at the comfort but he nodded to the request and let Jay help him up.

Jay would wake up in Tim's bed, most often than not. But he always seemed to end up in Alex's.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Maybe it’s because your unholy hands could never touch something so divine unless bathed in its blood. Like red wine cleansing the body’s sins. You’ve heard wine is good for that. Some God-follower interpreted it and some doctor agreed with it.

Maybe it’s because all you know how to do is hurt. Your touch is poison and it drags him down, down, down. Until there’s nothing left of that burning star but a husk.

You drag him down and you can’t even catch him unless he’s bleeding. Unless you’re holding his body together with your bare hands. That is when your skin can grace his vessel - his body. That is when you are allowed to touch this divine thing.

It’s not a reverent touch. It’s terrifying. It’s shaking and aching and wanting. Always wanting.

Once upon a time, an old entity told you that you never hungered because you were so damn empty inside. If that Famine could see you now. See how damn empty you are now. Not because you don’t hunger, but because all you do is hunger.

K I've never written for beetlejuice but I just… need more bastard in my life okay?

~~~~ 

You had been with the Bugman for about a month, he would occasionally have to leave when called but you didn't mind, he had a life in the afterlife just like you had your own strange life outside of hanging out with Beej

Well you didn't mind until he came back one day looking worse than usual… and not in the ghostly way… more like in the "I just had the shittiest day in existence" way 

"Being dead is no excuse for you to forget to look after yourself!" You lectured the ghost with the most who rolled his eyes one was hanging out of his eye socket due to a… worm? He refused to elaborate on that 

"To be fair I was terrible at taking care of myself when I was alive" beetlejuice said as he popped his eye back into its socket as if it didn't bother him even though it made you flinch, you weren't used to him being… dead 

"THAT'S EVEN WORSE" you exclaimed folding your arms over your chest huffing as you tapped your foot. 

"Um babes I think ya don't understand, you're talkin' to a dead guy!" He scoffed in response annoyed that you were acting like you were worried…. Even if it did stroke his ego you were being annoying.

Especially when you were trying to patch up the ghost which is what started the whole argument since he was FINE. 

"You can't just come home and expect me not to freak the fuck out when you look like you are dying AGAIN" you hissed back tapping your foot as your face scrunched up angrily. 

"As if anyone could hurt ME. Babes you're with the ghost with the most!" He crowed disappearing and reappearing behind you in response to your upset trying to ease you in his own special way as he took off his head 

"See? Just fine Babes" he teased as you went to put away the first aid kit with the demon floating behind you letting him brag about how he was essentially invincible 

"Just… take care of yourself Beej… I care about you" you said as soft as butterfly wings making him stop in the middle of his boasting.

He coughed, his blush barely visible as he stopped midair 

"Yeah… sure things babes I'll be as careful as can be hot stuff!" he called 

You might've not been used to his seeming invincibility but he was definitely not used to your kindness and having someone care so much about him.

It was kinda nice if he was being honest with himself

~~~

~*~

Harry is about five sheets to the wind and so not looking forward to tomorrow morning’s hangover when he looks across the bar and sees… her.

In high waisted dress trousers that look like they’ve been painted on and a backless top that’s heavy with sequins where it drapes across her front, she’s dressed to be seen so Harry doesn’t think she’ll mind him taking an extra look. There’s a crowd around her, men and women alike who are flocking her way like they want just a hint of her light to shine on them.

“I’ll be… bye,” Harry tells Niall, leaving his group of fellow grads behind as he joins the throng half-circling her. He has no chance of catching her interest, knows that half of the people around him are more attractive, better dressed or maybe even both, but he can’t take his eyes away. The others in the circle are all feigning disinterest, dancing with each other or alone, but Harry takes the risk and steps just a hint closer, breaking through the wall formed and catching her eye.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, pitching his voice to be heard over the music and thumping bass line.

“Already am!”

“With me?”

She looks him up and down, focusing on his scuffed boots for a second too long. Harry’s sure she’s about to blow him off- she might not even say another word to do so- but then she smiles and nods.

“What’s your name?” Harry asks, lifting a hand and placing it gently at her waist when she meets him halfway.

“Veronica.”

She doesn’t ask his and the sexy smirk on her lips tells Harry she did it on purpose. She’s playful, teasing in a beautiful way that makes Harry want to try harder and he doesn’t rise to the bait. He dances with her instead, forcibly controlling his two left feet and keeping his other hand free and clear of her body so she doesn’t feel caged in. He doesn’t think she’s the type to appreciate that.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” she says but the insult is softened when she moves closer so they’re chest-to-chest, the sequins of her top rough against the bare of his skin where his shirt’s unbuttoned and hanging open.

“You don’t seem to mind.” He lets his hand move from her waist to the middle of her back, fingers playing with the thin chains that are the only things keeping her top from dropping off. Her skin is warm, soft and intoxicating. Harry could touch her for hours. “You want a drink?”

She agrees and links their fingers together as Harry leads them to the bar, carefully avoiding the corner his mates are holding. He doesn’t trust them to keep their chill, is barely able to keep his own, and he urges her forward so she’s between him and the bar. “Order me something you like,” he tells her, lips gentle on the shell of her ear as he runs his hand down her spine.

She pays before he can- where she’s pulled money from, he doesn’t know- and he tucks his fingers into her back pocket and uses the hook to tug her back. “I’ll buy breakfast,” he tries, snorting out a laugh when she turns back to him with a smile. “I will,” he insists, “if you stay with me until then.”

“Let’s try dancing again,” she says, handing Harry a mojito he sips at cautiously. The mint tickles his sinuses and the rum soaks his tongue.

“I’m not very good apparently.”

“You’re fun, not talented,” she agrees, drinking deeply from her own glass. “And I never let a guy buy the first drink.”

“What about the second?”

She grins around her straw. “Maybe a mimosa over brunch,” she suggests.

“Do you want to know my name first?” he asks, equally playful as he takes a step back and leads her towards the dancefloor again.

She shakes her head. “If I leave with you, you can tell me then.”

Title: Pudding!!

Warnings: embarrassment, fluff, lying, awkward, laughing

Word Count: 250

Summary: reader and gadreel get caught in an area where they aren’t supposed to be… so in her panicked state reader takes a page from Deans book.

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“what are you doing here?” a mans voice snapped. You jumped and turned around- flushing with shame as the director of the sucrocorps company stared at you. Gadreel turned as well- mouth open in shock.

“well?” the man snapped- and you felt your throat close as he took a step forward. A plan began to formulate- and you decided to take a page from Dean’s book… how bad could it really be?

4. bonfire

Would you remember that I existed here, by your side, warm as this coat, honest as this fire and just as destructive?

Sporadic popping of the fire, like kernels finding freedom in explosion. The remnants of logs glow brightly red as iron in the fire, as molten lava is prone to shine in one of the rumbling mountains they have in the North. It reminds Rhysand of emotion, how it radiates just as purely in composition as this. Love, he’d use, for the emotion is abundant, on the forefront of his mind and easy coming to him nowadays having found the destined partner of his soul and a child of his own. If love had a visual aspect, he suspects it’s much similar to things that shine; embers, stars in the sky, sun at midday. A thing which cannot be suppressed, of the same quality of effect on its surroundings as a fire. Almost a cough. How his eyes would water and his throat itch when the cough existed—even he could not be in exempt from its demand to be released.