#and just being outside getting some sunlight or also meeting people

[mxal24]

Paint It Blue

Sevika & Jinx & Isha

Warnings: Arcane Act 3 spoilers (Do not read summary), Angst

Word Count: 898

Summary: Sevika is dealing with the deaths of Isha and Jinx and well, she's trying her best.

Her grey eyes open and she just knows. It’s going to be one of those days. She sits up, the hum of Zaun outside her window faint against the stillness of her apartment. The place is too clean for her liking—newly painted bland walls, new furniture, paid for with her new councilor money that she’s also still getting used to.

For a moment, a flicker of blue seeps at the edge of her vision. She turns her head sharply, but there’s nothing there. Probably just the neon glow of Zaun through the blinds.

She gets up from bed to prepare for the day, having to take a trip to Piltover for a Councilor meeting, something about reconstruction. On instinct, she reaches for her arm. 

The cool metal hits her palm, the coolness grounding her. Her fingers trace over the careful craftsmanship, every groove and bump that she made for her… until she feels the engraving. She doesn’t have to look to know the notorious monkey symbol, engraved near the shoulder. 

Her jaw tightens as she pulls back her hand away. Damn it. She grabs her poncho off the chair and throws it on, going without the prosthetic for the day. She eyes the monkey and she swears she hears her laugh echo through her ears. She shakes it off and moves on with her day.

The walk to Piltover is uneventful except for the way her feet are dragging like they are fighting every step. It’s not nerves. Sevika doesn’t do nerves. It’s something in the way of the quickness of the people passing her by. As if she’s missing someone- 

There. She sees the familiar safari-like hat with goggles pass her by. Her gaze snaps back toward the figure to see a brown-haired kid with their parents. The kid gets picked up, smiling. Their laugh rings out as they wave toward her. Her face softens, just for a moment, as she gives a soft nod toward the kid before turning back toward the bridge, walking forward. One step at a time.

The Piltover Council Chambers are as stifling as ever. Despite the tragedies and the so-called reconciliation between Piltover and Zaun, the classism is quite clear with the sideways glances she gets from her fellow councilors. 

Let them look. Zaun deserves a voice here, even if it’s hers. Maybe in another time, it would’ve been Silco. But he would’ve never gotten this far without her anyway. Without her and… 

They talk about repairs, where to point funds first, and how to bridge the divide between Piltover and Zaun. The talk of a decrease in shimmer is being put on hold for a later discussion. She stands firm in conversation, ensuring the people of Zaun don’t get the scraps and that they get equal funds. 

When the question comes—where should the funds go first?—her mind blanks for a slim moment. Then it’s clear.

“The Last Drop.”

The bar is a husk of what it was, a skeleton of charred wood and broken glass. Sevika steps carefully through the rubble, her boots crunching against the debris. It’s been a few weeks since the fire, but the air still carries a faint, acrid tang.

She’s halfway through the ruins when something glints in the sunlight. Kneeling, she pulls out a small, soot-covered toy from beneath a fallen beam. The monkey’s cymbals are dented, it’s fur blackened. No wind-up key in sight. She frowns at the damage before pocketing the toy.

There’s not much else other than some surviving bar equipment, seats, and a very roughened-up Jukebox. She’s about to leave when her foot hits something hard. It rolls a few inches before coming to a stop. A spyglass, battered and cracked, its edges charred and dented. It’s unlikely this belonged to her… but it’s something. 

She picks it up and roams the ruins a bit longer before finding the burnt-up chair she had once reported to. She sighs before lighting a cigarillo, looking at the empty chair as she leans against a half-collapsed wall.

“One hell of a shithole you left me,” she mutters, exhaling the smoke.

“I get it now.” Her voice softens.

“You’re lucky though. You only had Jinx. I had Jinx and Isha. You’d think that it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Hell, when you died, the most I got was a migraine.” She bitterly laughs. “But them? They snuck in. I should've seen it coming. After all, Jinx by herself sneaked into your shriveled-up heart.” 

The cigarillo burns to its end, and she crushes it under her boot.

“We have a seat on the council now. I’ll do better than you ever could. After all, they have no one to use against me… and I have to. For Zaun and for them.”

She walks out, leaving the ruins behind.

The reconstruction of The Last Drop is swift. She works closely with the workers with the blueprints, ensuring an empty wall for a mural to be painted and asking for Ekko’s assistance. 

In her new office, the first items she places on the desk are the spyglass and the monkey toy. The rest of the space is bare, waiting for graffiti to find its way there. 

Sevika steps out, surveying the newly constructed bar, ready to be designed. The workers look toward her for the next plan of action. She doesn’t hesitate.

“Paint it blue.”

[adore-gregor]

How being sick messes with your mental health is sometimes worse than the illness itself honestly 😕

[bogleech]

In your general appreciation of nature, I am curious about your take on this - do you believe nature has reached "peak complexity"?

There was a time without flying animals. There was a time without land animals. There was a time without vertebrates, without segmented exoskeletons, without fur, without feathers, without complex social structures, without eyes. There was a time without plants, or any kind of photosythesis. There was a time without multicellular life.

But at this point, do you feel nature on planet Earth has evolved all "milestones" there are (and from now on, all additional complexity will have come from civilization, one way or another)?

I mean in terms of potential, assuming for a moment "nature" of some kind still exist during the next billion years or so.

Yes or No would be enough (lol), but of course spec evo ideas would be even cooler!

Nah I think there's absolutely infinite things nature could evolve some day that we can't even imagine. You really never know. Like it's 100% biochemically possible for something to "breathe fire;" there just has to be a sequence of mutations and the right competition to gradually make it happen, possibly starting with something that sprays boiling hot compounds like a bombardier beetle. I could also imagine a whole class of animals evolving like the modular people from All Tomorrows, because we already have Siphonophores. It's just a matter of something evolving to be a colony that can also come apart and keep functioning. I'm also obviously obsessed with the concept of a creature that weaponizes its own little symbiotic bugs, since I've used that a million times. Like maybe millions of years from now, a descendant of sloths will have upgraded from being full of moths to being full of tiny wasps? And then what if that's so effective they actually start diversifying like crazy and there's a whole era dominated by mammaloid wasp nest beasts ranging from grazers merely cleaned and guarded by their insects to predators who hunt with their assistance. Plant/animal physical symbiosis is also another thing that's not really taken off outside a few insects. Why shouldn't a plant some day decide it likes growing on some kind of animal's body? It's not a plant, but lichens grow on a species of weevil. It's so rare there aren't even photos, but I swear I saw video of one on BBC when I was a kid:

What if a moss adapts just to the shell of some big reptile and eventually the reptile starts to derive sustenance from it too?? Over time what if this evolves into basically real life Bulbasaurs, where the animal part can be sustained off sunlight? It'd just have to slow its animal metablism way, waaay down to meet the plant halfway. Maybe it hibernates for years and years at a time or spends decades developing like a cicada and then it emerges in pure mating mode, using up all the food it conserved as its flower finally blooms. I know most of my examples are now elaborations on something that's kind of almost already begun happening somewhere but you get the idea. Furthermore you never know if all life as we know it will die out one day while there's still a couple billion years left of the planet's physical existence. Then a whole new line of life could evolve that we can't conceive of at all, from the ground up. Like crystalline mineral trees that start talking to each other with laser light. Or maybe only bacteria are left but for some reason bacteria develop what they need to start sticking together and building a new kind of multicellular organism. What the heck would an equivalent to "animals" look like if the ancestor was a bacterium????? Holy fuck I'm mad I won't see it. Fuming and seething actually. This is the worst thing ever. Why am I doomed to die on regular animal planet with google bots and disney remakes. I wanna see salmonella animal planet. It's not fair.

[writing-intheundercroft]

The Night Shift

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 10,206

Rating: T (just some smooches but plenty of angst)

Summary: You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

A/N: Took a break from my long fics this week to deliver a long angsty Seb one shot. I heard Phoebe Bridgers cover Night Shift and became feral over it. Perhaps it needs a smutty part two???

Night One

“I’m so glad you were able to slip away from work for a bit.” Poppy says, pouring tea into your cup.

You smile up at the brunette girl, who still wears her hair in a cropped bob, albeit a bit more fashionable now that you’re in your twenties.  You miss Poppy’s presence in your life, but her career as a mazoologist and yours as a lead healer in the intensive care unit of St. Mungo’s has your schedules rarely crossing.  

“It’s nice to be out in the sunlight,” you say coyly, lifting the cup to your mouth. It's the truth–you haven’t been out to tea with a friend, dressed in a pretty lace gown in what feels like ages.  Your career usually has you in a tightly pulled bun, hair out of your face to focus on your patients, with bloodied aprons.  Magic can heal most ailments, but your ancient abilities make you the best bet for the most gravely wounded.  So much so that you’ve worked six nights a week every week for the past five years, sleeping during the day to make it to your overnight shifts at the hospital.

With few exceptions.

But there’s coverage today, giving you a rare Saturday afternoon off to enjoy the warm spring day.  You and Poppy are sitting outside a tea shop in Diagon Alley, catching up on all things personal, while people watching.  It’s strange, you think, to be surrounded by so many people.  You leave for your shift at seven thirty in the evening, when most people are getting home for dinner, and return to your flat far after everyone has left for work.  

Poppy had just started telling you a story about a wild herd of manticores she’d encountered on her travels abroad, when a familiar face walked up to your table.

“Merlin’s beard, I never thought I’d see the likes of you two ever again,” Andrew Larson grins.

“Andrew,” Poppy smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

There are obligatory kisses on the cheek as the handsome Ravenclaw pulls up a chair. “What are you doing in town, Poppy?”  

“Visiting my gran, of course.” She tilts her head towards you. “And catching up with friends.”

“And you, it’s like you’re back from beyond the grave.” Andrew shifts his attention, teasing you. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just busy keeping people from their graves, that’s all.”

“I’ve heard.” Andrew elbows you. “Youngest lead healer in all of St. Mungo’s.”

“Yet being the youngest earned me the night shift.” You wrinkle your nose.  “And very few days off.”

“How’s the auror office doing?” Poppy quips, leaning her chin into her palm.

Andrew shrugs. “Busy; we’re working on a big case right now, but we finally got a few hours off to enjoy lunch.  I was just heading over to the Cauldron, meeting Sallow and Clopton for a bite.”

You swallow thickly.  It’s been five years since you last spoke to Sebastian Sallow.  At this point, you can’t exactly remember how it ended, except that the two of you had screamed at one another.  You were fairly certain you’d thrown a book at his head, and he’d knocked over your favorite mug in the process. You still had it, the handle broken off, now used as a quill holder at your desk.

“Oi, Larson!  Quit flirting, we’ve just gotten a message. All hands on deck at the office.” 

Both you and Poppy turn to the voice; Everett Clopton is standing a few paces away, wearing a smart suit.  He still has his gold wire glasses, but he’s grown into them. He’s wearing a hat, tipping the brim to you both in acknowledgement.

You hate the way your breath hitches when you see their companion.  Sebastian is also dressed well, sporting a tweed three piece suit, shiny black dress shoes, and a gold auror badge attached to his lapel.  He meets your gaze briefly before looking back up to Andrew, who’s moving the chair back to its proper table.

“Emergency meeting,” Sebastian utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

Your stomach twists at the sound of his voice.  It’s no more than six words, but your insides feel like a wet towel being wrung out.  And Sebastian doesn’t even have the decency to look at you, avoiding eye contact with the person he considered his best friend for three years.  The audacity of him, to completely ignore the person who once held his fate in their hands–you feel the bile rising in your throat, swallowing down the anger that once consumed you.

No, you won’t let a tiny interaction with Sebastian ruin five years of hard work.  You stare at the cutlery on the table, willing him to leave.

Andrew Larson sighs, rapping his knuckles against the table. “It was good seeing you girls,” he smiles. “Hopefully I run into you again.”

The three boys–men, rather, you are all twenty three at this point–shuffle away.  

There is a heavy silence between you and Poppy, until she clears her throat.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

You nod, collecting yourself as you smile at her. “Perfectly fine.  It’s been ages, Poppy. We’re all over it.”

She grabs your gloved hand, pulling it towards her.  “You certainly are,” she says playfully, twisting the sparkling bauble on your left ring finger. “It’s gorgeous, by the way.”

“I never get to wear it,” you admit sheepishly. It’s been a month since your engagement, and you’ve hardly worn your ring; your fiance’s parents are perturbed that the announcement hasn’t been posted to the Daily Prophet yet. Despite having courted for the last year and a half, it still feels like everything has moved too fast, like you’ve fallen off your broom mid flight. For the most part, your engagement ring is safely tucked in its box atop your dresser, at the risk of getting bodily fluids on it during your shifts.

“He’s a lucky man.” Poppy echoes, sitting back in her chair. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

You’re doing fine, you think.  You’re at the top of your field.  You have a fine flat in a nice part of London, and a promise from a man that’s kind to you.  The kind of man who waited for you to get off your shift to bring you breakfast, and took you to a nice restaurant on your Friday nights off. You hadn’t expected a pretty ring from him, especially since you only graced him with your presence once a week, but then again, your last relationship had taught you not to expect anything at all.

A flash of brunette hair crosses your mind; you blink away the thought.

“I’m happy.  Very happy,” you say simply, holding your teacup up to your lips again. “So about the manticores…”

You jolt out of bed, a blue wisp of a rabbit bouncing around your bedroom.  It’s rare to get a patronus message at this hour; it can only mean an emergency at the hospital.  It also must be bad, considering they’re calling you in on your day off.

Without another thought, you tumble out of bed, rushing to your wardrobe to pull out your clothes.  Your unit specifically wears a deep purple–dark enough to hide stains.  Your shrug on undergarments and petticoats, and a burgundy gown with a high neckline.  Your hands know exactly how to tighten your hair into a knot within a minute, having perfected the craft over the five years of your career. Your wand is stowed in your dress pocket; you’ll grab an apron at the ward.  Grabbing a fistful of floo powder next to your fireplace, you step in, yelling out for St. Mungo’s.

The ward is in a flurry as you step out of the flames.  A nurse hands you a white cotton apron, which you wrap around your waist as you hold your wand between your teeth.  There are men all over, gashed and bleeding, as other healers take their information. 

“What’s happened?” You bark at an orderly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Auror ambush by some ashwinders,” he says dryly. “It’s awful.  Lost a few–even more are bleeding.  It’s dark magic, some sort of spell to keep the wounds bleeding.”

“Of course it is, those bastards.” You mutter. “I’ll take the worst of them.  Can someone bring me a coffee?”

He nods, pointing over to a bay of beds a few feet away. “Those three–they specifically requested you.” He hands off the charts, promising a caffeinated beverage.

You’re about to start flipping through the charts when you hear your name.  Your head flies up at the familiar voice, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You can see Everett Clopton waving his hands at you; Andrew Larson’s voice is yelling behind the curtain.  And just your luck, a pair of black shiny dress shoes are dangling off the examination table, twisted in an unnatural way.

Before you even realize it, you’re running to them.  The charts are promptly cast onto the side table when you duck behind the curtain, a gasp catching in your throat.

Sebastian looks awful.  

Correction–Sebastian looks dead.

“He jumped in front of me,” Everett panics, his hands on his head. “He shouldn’t have–we were talking, we thought we were out of the thick of it–”

“He’s been hit badly,” Andrew interjects.  His sleeves are bloodied from trying to apply pressure to a gash across Sebastian’s chest, the blood seeping through his shirt and vest. “You have to do something,” he pleads. “He’s the best of us–we can’t lose him.”

“Move,” you urge the two of them.  They scoot out of your way, and you make quick work of Sebastian’s clothing.

Years ago, tearing off Sebastian’s shirt would’ve been done out of passion, out of love.  You push those thoughts out of your mind as you rip through his white dress shirt, which is sopping wet with blood. Sebastian’s skin is cold and clammy; even his freckles are pale, disappearing from his face.

“Get me some dittany and shrivelfigs,” you screech at the other healers. “And the blood renewing potions, please.” You run your hand and your wand over Sebastian’s wounds, uttering a healing charm. “Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur,” you mutter under your breath.  The spell isn’t healing fast enough, Sebastian is still losing too much blood.

You let out the  blue wisps of magic from your fingertips as you channel some of your ancient magic into the healing spell. You’re still mad at Sebastian, of course, but you’ll be damned if he dies on your watch.  

To your relief, the wounds start knitting themselves shut faster, but the scars look awful, all purpled and raised.  Another healer is next to you, urgently crushing the dittany and shrivelfigs into a paste–an idea you got from the patient lying in front of you during your sixth year.  You’d been battered so often during Crossed Wands, the two of you had experimented with salves and balms to lessen the appearance of your scars. 

“He appears to be stabilizing,” the junior healer claims. “Good job, as always.”

You suppress the choked out cry that’s stuck in your throat as you think of Ominis, and how he used to scold the two of you for experimenting.  He’d be thankful now that you did.

“There’s others,” another healer urges you. “We must move on to the next.”

You don’t want to.  Sebastian seems to be stirring, groaning as the healer rubs the salve onto the gaping wound that streaks across his chest.  You can hear Everett and Andrew crying and laughing on the other side of the curtain, exclaiming your name for having saved their partner.

There’s so much commotion, you could swear Sebastian uttered your name, but when you look back, his head is flat on the table, eyes shut.  The color is slowly returning to him, now no longer pale and gray.

“We have to keep him for observation,” you instruct another healer, handing her Sebastian’s chart. “I’ll check on him later.  In the meantime, there are others.”

Without another glance, you move on to the next bay.

“Excellent work as always,” your boss pats you on the shoulder. “You saved six good men tonight with your quick work.”

“I should just move into the ward,” you mutter under your breath before taking a large swig of coffee.  

Your dress is stained with blood, fingers aching from all the healing you’d done.  From the twelve aurors in the ambush, three had superficial wounds (Larson and Clopton included).  Two had passed in the field, another before you’d gotten to the hospital.  But all six of the aurors you’d treated, Sebastian included, were now tucked into private rooms, safe and breathing. You were keeping them for observation, unsure of what kind of curse the ashwinders had used on them.  Your ancient magic managed to seal the wounds, but all were badly scarring.  They’d all have to stay until you could rule out the cause.

After a much needed shower and an owl sent to your fiance, regretfully informing him you’d not make it to brunch with his parents, you start making your rounds. Most of your patients are sleeping deeply, others dizzily asking what happened.  You save Sebastian’s room for last; Clopton and Larson, faithful companions, are sleeping in chairs outside of his room.

You quietly shut the door behind you, gulping as you stare at the man laying in the hospital bed. His chubby cheeks are long gone, hollowed and chiseled by age. You’d laughed at him when you were seventeen and he claimed he had a beard coming in; now you can see traces of stubble lining his jaw. His unruly chestnut hair has been brushed out of his face in a way you know he’ll hate.

But you don’t know that, not truly. Because you don’t know Sebastian anymore.

“Oh Sebastian,” you tut, sitting at a stool next to his bed. You hover your hands over his body, a misty blue glow emitting from them. No internal bleeding at least. He’s had at least three blood renewing potions, and his breathing is steady. You would examine the scars across his chest and torso, but the thought of undressing him in his current state is inappropriate to you. 

You’re about to get up, leave him to his slumber when you hear it. He whispers your name in his sleep, head falling to the side. And instead of him being the one with a gaping wound, you feel like a hole has been drilled into your chest. 

Maybe you’ll ask for tomorrow off.

Night Two

You’d asked for the day off again, but the request was denied.  Begrudgingly, you dress for your shift, tucking your hair behind your ears as you walk with your daytime counterpart down the hallway.

“You’ve missed all the commotion,” your fellow healer gasps.  She’s filling you in on the day shift, and all that’s transpired since you left in the morning. “There was a memory charm laced in with that blood curse from the ashwinders—some of them have lost weeks, years of memories. Not recognizing their wives or their children; we’ve had to close the doors to all visitors.”

“That’s a nasty curse.” You mutter, flipping through charts. Only someone sick in the head would mess with memory tampering curses—you wonder why no one has petitioned for them to be banned. The long term care wing at St. Mungos is filled with too many people who’d tinkered with memory spells, and you sincerely hope none of the aurors under your care end up there.

“Terrible, of course. But it made for an interesting day.” She hums. “You should’ve seen Rowle’s wife, security had to cart her out after he called her the wrong name. Think he courted her twin sister too.” 

You laugh with her as you walk through the hallway, until your heart fills with dread.  

“How is Sallow?  The patient in 213.”

She tilts her head. “Fine I think–oh, he was asking for you.  Do you know him?”

You fight back the red flush that’s creeping up your neck. “We were schoolmates.” You say. Nothing more. Sebastian can’t be more, especially after you’d done such hard work to forget him in the first place.

After your colleague has clocked out and you’ve checked all your other patients, you quietly rap your knuckles against Sebastian’s door.  It’s late enough at night that he might be asleep already, and you can avoid the entire awkward conversation.

“Come in!” 

Shit.

You open the door, and Sebastian is staring right back at you.  He isn’t scowling like you thought he would be–his eyes are bright, a beaming smile on his lips.

“They told me you were working the night shift.” he says happily, scratching at the collar of his hospital gown. “I stayed awake.”

“Right, Mr. Sallow,” You say curtly, eyes down at the chart in front of you. “It is late, you should be getting rest–”

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he frowns. 

You look up at him, and instead of a grown man, you see the puppy dog eyes that got you in trouble the few years you had at Hogwarts. “Mr. Sallow, rest is essential to your healing. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, and you need to go to sleep.”

“Why are you talking to me like you don’t know me?” Sebastian asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pet, it’s me.”

You inhale sharply, white knuckling the edge of the bed. “Sebastian,” you mutter (you hate how easily his name rolls off your lips still), “what year do you think it is?”

He rolls his eyes and chuffs. “It’s 1893, duh.”

“It’s not,” you sigh. “It’s 1898. You were in an ambush yesterday, and it seems the Ashwinders are using a memory curse as retaliation nowadays.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before he bursts into laughter. “Really?  I’ve lost five damn years in my head?  What have I missed? Don’t tell me we’re not married yet.”  Only Sebastian could be jovial about such a matter; all the others were utterly distraught at losing their memories.

“Sebastian, darling, we haven’t seen each other in five years.” you confess, moving to the edge of the bed.  Your voice is quiet, and although it’s been ages since you last called him darling, you think it might be too much on his poor heart if you don’t. The poor man just asked if you were married, for Merlin’s sake.

His smile fades. “What?”

“We…we went our separate ways five years ago.” You clear your throat. “It…it was a mutual decision.” you lie.  Was it a lie?  You honestly can’t remember.

“I would never,” Sebastian bites back.  “I would never break up with you.”

“Darling, it’s been a very long time,” you say softly, wringing your hands together. “And I’m okay–you’re okay.  We’re both doing well…just on our own now.”

“I can’t–this doesn’t make sense,” he jolts away from your touch, and you flinch. “Why would I ever agree to such a thing?” 

You can recognize the tell tale signs of panic on a patient’s face, so you hurry over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of water.  Sebastian is too far away to see you slip the vial of dreamless sleep into the glass, swirling it into oblivion.

“Here, drink this.  You’ll feel much better,” you assure him. 

Sebastian absentmindedly takes the glass, gulping down the water as he tries to make sense of the current situation. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters under his breath as he starts rubbing his eyes.  He’s fighting the effects, and he looks up at you, a deep set frown on his face. “You dosed me, dammit.” The glass rolls out of his hand and onto the bed, where you scoop it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it's sincere.  But you’re not equipped to handle Sebastian in such a state–you aren’t equipped to handle him, period.  It’s been five years since you’ve had to mind his temper, and your heart can’t handle the pain.  

Before you know it, Sebastian is knocked out, the dreamless sleeping draught taking over his body.  With his eyes tightly shut, you can finally examine him.  The scars across his chest are still purple, bruises lining his torso.  Your fingers dance across his skin trying to heal him, but alas, they stay.

You make notes on his chart, letting the other healers know he may be groggy and upset when he wakes in the morning. Even though they’ve put a no visitors policy on the aurors, you remind them to call upon Ominis and Anne to see if they can talk some sense into him.  

The last you’d asked Natty about Sebastian, he was happy.  He was climbing up the ranks in the auror office, and he’d finally moved out of Ominis’s spare room.  You’d cut her off once she started telling you how he was dating–that you didn’t need to know.

That had been two years ago.  You wonder what’s changed since then.

Night Three

Your pleas for a night off have gone unanswered.  Your boss tells you that you’re too integral to the auror case to be gone for more than twelve hours.  

There’s a note left by your fiance’s owl; he’s sad you missed brunch, but he’s excited to take you out on Friday, your next scheduled day off.  His mother is insistent the two of you sit for an engagement portrait that will be posted in the Daily Prophet to announce your impending union.  You fold the note and toss it onto your desk; when you have a free moment, you’ll write a letter explaining that you would like a lengthy engagement.

Planning a wedding and working the night shift is just too much work for you.  You twist your large engagement ring off your finger and put it in its box before taking the floo network to St. Mungo’s.

You’re barely five steps out of the fireplace before a body hits you.  

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Anne Sallow breathes, her arms enveloping you. “You saved him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Anne,” you sigh into her touch.  Similar to her brother, it’s been ages since you’ve seen her.  She’s still thin and delicate, but her bangs are long grown out. “What are you still doing here?  It’s so late.”

“Ominis and I wanted to catch you,” she claims. “The healers called us in to talk to Sebastian.”

“Right, I asked them to.” you say, smoothing your apron. “How was he today?”

Anne winces. “He’s…he’s still pretty confused.”

You give her a sympathetic smile, biting back the sarcastic words you had in mind. “It must be awful.”

Anne pulls away, digging her toe into the ground. “He keeps asking what happened between the two of you.  I’m not sure what to say.” she admits.

You bite your lower lip. “You can tell him the truth.  That we ended amicably.  That we were fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have disappeared for five years.” a voice says behind you.

It only takes you a second to recognize the rich voice of Ominis Gaunt.  Whirling around, you throw your arms around the tall blonde.  It’s been ages since you’ve given him a hug let alone seen him, so he chuckles into your shoulder when you grasp him.

“I missed you,” you pat his cheek.

“We missed you,” Ominis hums. “I’m surprised St. Mungo’s would call me; I haven’t been Sebastian’s emergency contact for a while.”

You furrow your eyebrows as Anne takes Ominis’s arm. Why wouldn’t he be his emergency contact?  Ominis is his best friend, and having been together with Anne for so long, practically his brother.

That’s a question for another time, you decide.

“It’s late, you two should be getting home.  Visitor hours are over.”  you remind them.

“I’m not leaving before you promise to see me again,” Ominis says sternly. “Five years is far too long.”

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Ominis, I’m sorry.  I just thought that when things ended, the two of you were best friends…”

“That was my decision to make,” he says softly. “Not yours.  I decide whose side I’m on.”

Ominis’s words warm your heart, but they also leave cracks.  Ominis and Sebastian were a package deal when you met them, and you’ve spent far too much of your time with the boys driving them apart. 

After much coaxing, Ominis and Anne take their leave.  You’re finally able to start your rounds.  Rowle is starting to regain his memories and they’ve allowed his wife back into the ward.  Travers still has a nasty gash on his leg that’s festering, but he’s otherwise remembering things from last week.  Cattermole is fast asleep, so you avoid his room to let him get some more rest.

Your hand falters on the handle of room 213, taking a deep breath before you push in.  Just as you thought, Sebastian isn’t asleep.  He’s sitting upright in bed, arms crossed over his chest, frowning at you.

“You’re looking much better,” you offer, shutting the door behind you.

“You gave me a sleeping draught last night,” he accuses you. “That’s not fair.”

“You were getting hysterical, Sebastian.” you remind him, flipping through his chart.  Nothing particularly new, and no memories back.  He’s spent the entire day asking for you, the chart says, and fighting with orderlies.  It mentions Ominis and Anne arriving, and that the two gentlemen had sharp words for one another. Ominis was right—he isn’t Sebastian’s emergency contact anymore. There’s an unfamiliar name, a woman.

“Open your shirt, please.”

Sebastian waggles his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure we’re not together?”

You roll your eyes. “Your cheekiness, I didn’t miss it.” you mutter, hands on your hips. “I need you to take your shirt off so I can check your wounds, you idiot.”

Sebastian gives you a familiar grin as he unbuttons his pajama shirt; he’s flexing his muscles, you can tell.  A pinch to his pectoral has him yowling, and he stops.  You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Perhaps we did break up,” he grumbles.

Sebastian’s breath stutters as your fingers prod at his scars. They’re still ugly and raised, but the color is improving. 

“I’m not sure there’s much more I can do,” you frown. “I think they’ll stay.”

“That’s fine,” Sebastian breathes. “You did always say you preferred when I was roughed up.” 

You give him a strained look. “Sebastian–”

“Please, listen to me.” Sebastian urges. “Ominis…he told me what happened between us. And I really, truly can’t believe we would let it get to that.” Your name is a gentle whisper from his mouth, and he pushes his brunette hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

You swallow thickly, backing up. “We were so young, Sebastian.  Let’s leave the past in the past, please.”

“Ominis and I haven’t spoken in two years.” Sebastian interjects. “He just told me.  Annie says we had a fight, and you were part of it.”

You turn around, shutting your eyes. “I don’t want to hear this,” you admit weakly.

Sebastian is rustling in his sheets; he lets out a low hiss as he adjusts his still healing torso. “If the version of me, the one that got cursed, isn’t talking to you, Anne, or Ominis…I don’t want to go back to that.  I don’t want to be that version of me.” Sebastian pleads. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to remember.”

“You have friends, Sebastian.” You remind him, turning to face him again. “You have friends, your job…” you trail off, picking up his chart again.  You pinpoint the section with his emergency contact; a woman who is likely sitting at home, worried sick over him. “You have a girlfriend, probably.  One who is desperate to see you.” There’s a lump in your throat as you try to imagine her, but your mind comes up blank.

“I don’t care,” Sebastian breathes. “She’s a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger,” you remind him. “Sebastian…I’m engaged. I’m getting married next spring.” 

That’s a lie–you and your fiance haven’t even discussed a timeline, but it seems more official to say it with a season.

The hope on Sebastian’s face crumbles, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“You’re engaged,” he croaks.

“Engaged.” The more you say it, the more it’s real. “He’s lovely.  You would like him.” Now that's an even bigger lie–Sebastian would’ve called him a prat if he met him. You appreciate your fiance’s softness and meekness, especially after having been with a firecracker hothead for most of your teens.

Sebastian is crumpled in bed, twisting onto his side. “I’d like to go to bed now,” he mumbles.  It was textbook Sebastian–whenever something didn’t go his way, he’d turn away from you in bed like a petulant child.  It’s almost a relief to see that he does the same thing at twenty three years old.

“If you ring the bell, someone will come to aid you.” You wave your wand, dimming the lights. “You can ask for someone else, if you’d like.”  

Sebastian doesn’t say anything as you shut the door, and when he does ring the bell for assistance, he requests anyone but you. It’s stupid to be upset over, it’s what you wanted–for him to stop pestering you.  

But you have a nice long cry in the potions ingredient cupboard anyways.  

The rest of your shift goes by uneventfully.  Rowle has regained his memories and will be discharged in the morning.  Cattermole finally woke up from his deep sleep and he’s on the mend, moved out of the intensive care ward. Travers has also been discharged, prescribed a salve to make sure the cut on his leg stays clean.  It leaves Roberts, Jorkins, and Sallow as your only three patients left from the case, and perhaps now your boss will let you take a night off.

Night Four

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Sebastian says sheepishly.

“Whatever for?” You mumble, pressing a strip of gauze to his chest wound.  You’re trying a new salve recipe you’ve been working on, just to see if it’ll help break down the scar tissue.  His bruises are starting to go yellow, and if he works back up on his memory, Sebastian can be discharged from your ward.

“For being rude.” Sebastian sighs. “I’m…it’s starting to come back to me a bit now.”

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Is it?”

“We fought that night.” Sebastian swallows thickly. “You and me.  I can’t exactly remember what we fought about, but you threw a book at me.”

“And I hit your eyebrow.” You remind him.

“Lucky shot,” Sebastian rolls his eyes, and you have to suppress a laugh. He winces as you press the salve in; his body is still sensitive.

“I’m sorry for that.  I never got to apologize to you,” you admit, rubbing the mixture in. “But I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what?” Sebastian asks softly.

“For putting up with all of it,” you pat another piece of gauze over the salve.  Sebastian looks like a mess and he’ll have to sleep sitting up, but you’re hoping to salvage his handsome chest. There are a bevy of flower vases strewn across the room, and plenty of Sebastian’s favorite sweets piled on his bedside table.

“I see you had quite a few visitors today.” 

Sebastian nods, trying not to move too much. “Anne and Ominis again; he’s warming back up to me, I know it.” he brags. “Clopton and Larson too. I can’t believe I was paired up with two Ravenclaws as partners. That’s probably how I got all bungled up in the first place.”

“Everett said you were quite the hero,” you back away, admiring your work (and his muscles, he’s grown quite a bit since you last saw him).  “And they stayed the entire night when you first came into the ward, so I know they’re loyal to you.”

There is a silence between you two for a moment, until Sebastian breaks the tension.

“She visited earlier.” Sebastian echoed. “Rebecca.”

You turn away at the name; at least it’s not the girl you remember from your last argument.  “Rebecca is a lovely name,” you offer.  It’s all you can give him without treading into dangerous waters.  You’re engaged after all, and stuck patting balm into the chest of your former lover.

“She was distraught.” Sebastian hummed. “Hates the scars.”

You turn around, rolling your eyes. “She’s dating an auror, she should get used to it.” you scowl. 

“That’s what I said,” Sebastian laughs, trying not to move the salve covered strips. “But she wasn’t having it.  She was worried I would never look the same, so I broke up with her.”

You blink at him.  He seems completely unbothered.

“Sebastian!” You exclaim. “You shouldn’t break up with her over that alone.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Y’know, the boys filled in a few of the blanks for me.  Apparently, not very many people actually liked Rebecca and I together, so I guess it was impending anyways.”

You put your hands on your hips. “I cannot believe you broke up with your girlfriend because Everett Clopton and Andrew Larson told you to.” you shake your head. “She was your emergency contact, Sebastian.  You’ve probably been dating a while.”

“According to Clopton, I was planning on breaking up with her soon anyways.”

“Idiots, the lot of you.” You tut, washing your hands in the basin.

“We’d only been dating three months.” Sebastian interjects. “I put her as my emergency contact because I had no one else.  Ominis and Anne…well, they weren’t talking to me apparently.”

You don’t say anything, letting the water run over your hands.

“I guess I’ve been a real arse the last few years,” Sebastian echoes. “Everett said I hadn’t been quite myself since we…well, you get the gist.”

“Everyone is an arse when they’re eighteen,” you remind him. 

Sebastian snorts. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

“I think I might’ve been.” You chuckle under your breath. “Poppy always said I had a one track mind.  Only ever thought about myself, my career.”

“Well, it’s done a lot for you.” Sebastian offers. “Youngest lead healer in St. Mungo’s history.”

You roll your eyes. “The others think I’m a show off.”

“You’re gifted,” he shrugs, and a slice of gauze slips from his chest. “That’s all.”

“Lay back darling,” you advise him, stuffing a pillow behind his back to keep him comfortable. 

Sebastian does as you say, his hands balled up in fists at his side. “So, your fiance,” He trails off. “What’s he like?”

You purse your lips, pulling his sheets over his waist. “He’s nice.”

“Nice.  That’s it?” Sebastian snorts. “Surely he has some better attributes, you said yes to marrying him.”

“He’s calm, quiet.” you say, turning your back to put away the excess gauze. “He’s a junior secretary for the Minister of Magic.” turning back to Sebastian, you already know he has a smug smile on his face. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say,” you warn, wagging a finger.

“What?” Sebastian scoffs. “I would never say anything about an esteemed junior secretary,” he says dramatically. “Besides, you’re the one who thought it…”

“I didn’t think anything!” You laugh. “I just knew exactly what you were thinking.”

“And what is that?” Sebastian asks coyly.

“You were going to call him a pencil pusher,” you accuse.

Sebastian fakes a gasp, holding a hand to his chest. “My stars, I would never say such a thing.” 

“Stop it,” you laugh again, slapping his hand. “You’re ruining my hard work. I’ll have to do it again.”

“No,” Sebastian groans. “It’s cold.  I just want to put a jumper on, I don’t care about the scars.” he pouts.

“I need you to get better,” you hold your hands on your hips. “The auror office will have my head if I keep you here any longer when your colleagues are back home.”

Sebastian fumbles with the edge of the blanket. “And what would consider me healed?” 

“Well, I’d say besides the appearance, your physical wounds are fully healed.” You shrug. “But we can’t discharge you until your memories are back–or at least substantially returned.”

Sebastian is quiet, and he stays quiet until you finish putting away all your supplies.  You’re about to leave him, implore him to get some rest, when he clears his throat.

“Pet,” he says cautiously (he hasn’t used your old nickname since the second night of his stay).  

“Yes, Sebastian?” You ask, slipping your hands into the pocket of your apron.  When you look at Sebastian from the doorway, he doesn’t look like a twenty three year old man.  He looks like the Sebastian you used to know–the hotheaded eighteen year old who only ever got shy around you.

“Would you…could we be friends after this?” He asked lowly. “I know you said we haven’t seen each other in five years, and I know there’s some blame there on my end. But we’ve been through so much together, and you’ve saved my life.” he rambles. 

You once told yourself that if Sebastian Sallow ever came crawling back, you’d slam the door shut in his face.  The first year of your separation had been excruciating; the second had been dreadful.  Once you’d gotten on to your third year without him in your life, the pain had become bearable.  And once you’d gotten on to four years without him, you realized you didn’t think of him anymore.  In fact, you hadn’t thought of him at all until you saw him standing a few paces away from your tea table.

“Of course, darling.” You assure him. “Only if you promise me that you’ll actually sleep.”

Sebastian’s face lights up in a way you distinctly remember–the first time you’d seen it was when you arrived in Feldcroft to meet Anne when you were both fifteen.  He adjusts himself to the pillows as you wave your wand to dim the lights. 

You shut the door behind you, letting out a sigh when you’re out of sight.  You feel guilty calling Sebastian darling again–you’ve never even blessed your own fiance with his own nickname.  And despite your refusal of the situation, you can’t help the shiver you feel at the base of your spine when you hear Sebastian calling you pet again.

Perhaps being friends is not a good idea.

Night Five

Sebastian is asleep when your shift starts, and you nearly skip over his room.  But against your better judgment, you push into the door, knocking lightly.

The brunette man is slumped over, snoring lightly as if he were waiting for you.  At the sound of the door, he jolts, rubbing his eyes. 

“Why can’t you be on the day shift?” he complains sleepily. 

You chuckle. “I can leave you, let you get some rest.”

“No,” Sebastian clears his throat. “I’d like you to stay.” He shrugs off his shirt, proudly displaying his scars. “They still look like hell, but at least they aren’t purple anymore.”

You stride over, running your hands over them.  Your ancient magic was able to overpower the bleeding curse, but Sebastian will forever have a dip in his chest and bubbled over scars.  They’re at least turning pink, a much better place than they were a few days ago.

“They look great,” you pat his shoulder. “And once we get your memories back in order, we can get you home.”

Sebastian gives you a strange look. “Ominis came again during the day…filling in the blanks again.”

“And?” You ask softly, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Why did we break up?” Sebastian asks firmly. “Can you tell me? And don’t give me the whole spiel about us growing apart.  I want the details.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands. “We were eighteen, Sebastian. I was careless, you were lonely, we were both focused on our careers and not on each other.” Truthfully, you had spent years thinking of the many ways you’d address this conversation, how you’d confront him if you ever saw him again. Now five years later and after having almost witnessed Sebastian’s death, the downfall of your first love is easily compounded into one simple sentence.

“You started working the night shift,” Sebastian says.

“I started working the night shift,” you echo. “I wanted to rise up quickly in the ranks, so I volunteered. I was working so many hours, and you were gone during the day at your job, so we barely saw each other.”

“I asked you to take time off.” Sebastian adds.

“And I said no.” you admit. “I told you that you were being insecure.  That my job was more important, because I was saving lives.” It’s one of the few shames you’ve compartmentalized over the past few years–that you’d ever downplayed the importance of his career compared to yours.

“I went out that night.” Sebastian whispers, looking at his hands. “And I didn’t come home until the morning.”

“It was my only night off of the week, and you came home at four in the morning, stinking of firewhiskey and perfume.” Your eyes shut, replaying the awful scene in your head.

“Did I?” he croaked. “Did I cheat on you, really?”

“No,” You shake your head, and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You said you could have.  You said you wanted to.” You add, rubbing the temples of your forehead. “That you were tired of living in half of a relationship, and that you’d wanted to kiss that girl.”

“You threw the book at me,” Sebastian says weakly. “And I smashed your mug.”

“I told you to go to her if you really wanted.” You admit. “And you left.”

“I stayed at Ominis’s that night.” he whispered. “I didn’t go to her.”

“I didn’t know that.  So I packed my things and left.” 

The silence hangs between the two of you, and all of the feelings you had at eighteen come flooding back.  After the fight, you apparated to Natty’s place, while Anne and Poppy had cleaned out your bits in the apartment. What was meant to be a one night stay turned into a week, and then more. After a month without word from Sebastian, you committed to the night shift, forsaking your friendships and social life for work.  Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and before you knew it, you were promoted.  Sebastian Sallow was a blip in your timeline, a faded memory of teenage love.  He’d been just a memory until you saw him in Diagon Alley.  Your heart hadn’t felt anything but anger towards him until you saw his shiny black dress shoes.

“Did we throw it all away?” Sebastian asks sorrowfully.

“We became the people we needed to be.” You remind him. “Look at you, an auror.  A damn good one.  The kind that jumps in front of their partner to save them from a curse.” you assure him.

“And you’re a healer,” Sebastian inhales. “A bloody amazing one, that saved my life and five others.  I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian’s lower lip wobbles, and you know your heart is in danger.

“You seem to remember quite a bit,” You point out. “More than you let on.”

“I was talking to Clopton about you.  We thought the ambush was over, we were trying to get to a floo point so we could get Larson’s leg checked out.” Sebastian says. “I told him how beautiful you looked, and that you looked happy.” his voice cracks. 

“Sebastian.” It’s not a warning, just a statement.  A week ago you would’ve never said his name aloud, let alone thought of it.  But it feels right rolling off your tongue.

“Everett said something about you being engaged.  It’s…it’s fuzzy from there on, but I remember the fight.  And I jumped in front of him, but not just to save him.” Sebastian says, his fingers drumming on his stomach.

“Why?” You almost don’t want to hear the rest. It might upend your life entirely.

“I jumped in front of him because I knew I’d be okay.  That you would probably be at St. Mungo’s when I got there.” Sebastian said weakly.  “And I’d get a chance to see you again.”

“Sebastian, we’re different people now.” You remind him. 

“We’re better now.” Sebastian says, giving you pleading eyes. “I was an idiot when I was eighteen; I thought I was being a man, but I wasn’t.  And I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been happy the past five years–there hasn’t been another woman who’s made me feel the way you do.” he confesses.

“It’s been too long,” you try to say, but you know it's no use trying to argue with him.  From your first fight in the Undercroft at fifteen to the fight that broke you two up, Sebastian has never backed down.

Before you even realize it, Sebastian has reached his hand out, taking yours. He’s rubbing your left ring finger–the one missing your large, ostentatious engagement ring.

“Don’t marry him,” Sebastian croaks. “Please, don’t marry him.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I understand you now.” Sebastian says. “I understand you in a way I didn’t when I was younger.  And that’s good–it’s good for us now.  It wasn’t the right time then, but we could try again now.” he pleads.

“Four days ago when you saw me in Diagon Alley, you could barely look at me.” You remind him. “I should have you committed to the memory ward at this point.”

“Four days ago when I saw you, I was sick to my stomach with how happy you looked.” Sebastian admits. “I saw you from a distance, smiling at Larson and Poppy.  I couldn’t look you in the eye after seeing you smile.”

You want to tell Sebastian that your fiance is a good man.  That he loves you, cherishes you, and doesn’t fight with you.  But you can’t help being nostalgic as you hold the hand of your first love, who is currently begging you to end your relationship to risk it all again with him. Whatever strength you’ve mustered together in the last five years is about to break as his big brown eyes implore you to stay.

“Your memory seems back to normal,” you change the subject, standing up quickly.  You tug your hand out from his, smoothing your clammy palms against your apron. “I’ll put you down for discharge in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Sebastian warns. “Don’t run away.”

“You ran away.” You remind him.

“And I regret it, every day.” Sebastian says mournfully. “You were my first love.  You were going to be my only love, and I fucked it up.”

“We both made mistakes, Sebastian.” You say, staring down at your feet. “You need to get some rest.  I’ll leave you be.”

He’s arguing as you step through the door, wringing your hands together.  The thoughts running through your head aren’t right–no, they’re crazy.  Except your feet keep walking towards the ward matron’s desk, gripping the stone top.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, frowning.

“I need to go home,” you confess, scribbling what little notes you have onto Sebastian’s chart. “There’s something I have to do.”

Thirty minutes later (your on call replacement is displeased to have been woken up late at night) you’re back in your flat.  Your mind is buzzing as you pace in the bedroom, thinking about the idea gnawing at your brain.

It would be insane.

You haven’t talked in five years.

He’s emotional after having been saved from the brink of death.

He broke up with his girlfriend on the spot, because she wasn’t you.

Sebastian is most well known for his unwavering support and adoration.  At least he was when you were younger.  Sebastian had always been encouraging, cheering you on through crossed wands, battles in the highlands, and even when you got your first job offer from St. Mungo’s. He’d been crazy about you–obsessed with you, even.  The two of you had been the couple of your year when you graduated.  

Sebastian had only ever faltered once, and it ended your relationship.

Don’t marry him.  

The words replay in your mind.  It makes you realize your stomach has flipped more in the last four nights than it has in years.  That your even tempered fiance, a kind but boring man, has not once made you feel what you’ve felt in the past week being back in Sebastian’s presence.

It is insane, you think. But you’d rather take feeling than nothing at all.

Digging through your dresser, you pull out the box holding your engagement ring.  

Night Six

It has been a long, long day.

What time you would have spent sleeping is spent assuring your now ex-fiance that nothing untoward has happened.  That you appreciate his kindness and companionship over the past year, but that you cannot lie to yourself. 

You cannot marry him because you don’t love him as you should.

You prepare for the night shift with a spring in your step, because when you get there, you’re heading straight to Sebastian’s room.  You’re going to tell him what you’ve done, and hope that he’s still feeling just as crazy as you. You pull your hair into its usual bun, wishing you could wear something a little nicer to what will be your reunion.  Sebastian used to love when you wore green; perhaps you’ll buy a green dress the next day you’re off.

When you get to the ward, it’s quieter than usual.  Holding your wand between your teeth again, affixing the white apron, your heart beats out of your chest as you approach room 213.  

This is it.  This is the start of the rest of your life.

You push through the doors of 213, but your breath stutters when you see the empty bed.  It’s stripped of any linens, and all of the flowers and candy boxes Sebastian’s colleagues sent are gone.

“Where is the patient in 213?” you whip around, grabbing the closest orderly.

They give you a curious look. “Discharged this morning–you put it in their paperwork.”

You swallow, and it feels like shards of broken glass are tumbling down your throat. “I…I did.”

“Isn’t today your day off, too?” They tilt their head at you. “Honestly, it feels like your head hasn’t been screwed on at all this week. Might want to take some focus potions, ma’am.”

“Uh, right.” You admit, turning red.  You were so excited at the prospect of seeing Sebastian again, you completely forgot that Fridays were your nights off from the ward. You were rather busy after all, imploding your life. “”Does it say who picked him up?”

They shrug, flipping through the charts again. “He was taken to his home in Diagon Alley by his sister and brother-in-law.”

You curse under your breath as you try to plot a plan.  There’s no way Ominis still lives in the small flat he had when you last saw him, and you have no idea where Sebastian lives.  The ward doesn’t have an address either, so you’re shit out of luck.

Unless…unless you were to find one of his loyal partners.

Apparition is frowned upon inside of St. Mungo’s, but you’ll take a scolding from the matron ward on Saturday. You immediately apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, where most of the ministry’s aurors spend their evenings.  You know this because you’ve been avoiding the biggest pub in Diagon Alley for five years, hoping not to run into your ex.

The crowd stares at you in your St. Mungo’s uniform; you push through throngs of ministry employees, all wearing fine suits and dresses from their day jobs.  Your eyes scan the room, heart losing hope by the second, until you spot Everett and Andrew sitting with a gaggle of your classmates from Hogwarts, Natsai Onai included.  Andrew elbows Everett at the sight of you, and Clopton beams as if he’s won a bet.

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, approaching the group. 

“Figured you might turn up.” Larson teased. “Gaunt, Clopton, and I had a bet on how long it would take.”

“What’s going on?” Natty asks, clearly confused. She says your name, tilting her head. 

“I need his address,” You gasp. “He wasn’t at the ward when I got there–”

“Anne and Ominis picked him up this morning.” Everett says, pulling out his wand and a paper napkin.  He aimed his wand at the scrap, delicately burning an address into the paper. “He doesn’t live far from here. Perhaps you’ll keep him from spending too much time at the pub now.”

“Who doesn’t live far?” Natty asks again, elbowing Andrew.

“Sallow, of course.” Larson winks. “You two had enough time to talk it through, yeah?”

“What the bloody hell–they haven’t spoken in five years,” Natty claims with wide eyes. She gives you a look, and you can’t do anything but shrug.

“Near death experiences will change you,” Everett says smugly, taking a sip of his tankard. “Well go on then, what are you still doing here?”

You mouth an apology to Natty; you’ll have to explain it to her someday soon.  For now, you’re pushing through the crowd, trying to get out the door.  Looking down at the napkin, Everett Clopton is right; Sebastian lives maybe a stone's throw away from the pub.  Your feet are pounding on the cobblestone of Diagon Alley, looking like a blue wisp to any passersby.  

Before you know it, you’re turning onto his street, with only the lamps in front of each door illuminating the numbers.  You stop, gasping for air, trying to find the right one.  Of course he’s at the end of the row, a dark green door with a gold knocker.  It’s late now, the sky pitch black, as you start pounding.

It takes only thirty seconds for the door to swing open; Anne is standing behind it, looking shocked.

“You’re here,” she breathes.

“I told you she would,” you hear Ominis yell from the inside. “Clopton owes me ten galleons.”

“Can I come in?” you ask.

Anne bites back a smile. “Of course you can.”

You walk into Sebastian’s home; despite having never seen it, it positively reeks of him. There are touches of him all over the house–from the books stacked in the hallways, to the shoes messily kicked in the parlor room.  He has trinkets from his travels on the mantle, and you can see he still leaves his teacups all over the house (something you once fought over–it seems endearing now).  

Ominis is in the sitting room, lounging on a chaise. “Took you long enough.” he says teasingly. “I was rather surprised you abandoned him last night.  He was absolutely bereft when we picked him up in the morning.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you admit sheepishly, digging your toe into the carpet. “I…I just had something I had to do first.”

“A break up and a make up in one day, you’re a busy woman as always.”

“Shut up.”

Ominis gives you a toothy grin; something he saves only for those he loves. “I missed you.” he stood, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can only hope Sebastian doesn’t bungle it all up and we lose you all over again.”

You press your nose into Ominis’s shoulder; it seems silly you ever thought you could live without this group of people in your life. 

“I thought you were mad at him,” you say, pulling back to look up at the blond.

“I was mad that he was being stubborn,” Ominis says softly. “That he wasn’t being himself, drinking every day and dating girls who weren’t right for him.  I told him he had to pluck up the courage to speak to you again, or get over it and make peace with his life.  He’s been rather stuck, as you can imagine.”

You have been too, you think.

“Is he upstairs?” You ask, turning to the slim staircase. Anne is standing next to the railing, giving a signature Sallow smirk.

“He might be asleep,” Ominis warned. “But he is. First room to the left.”

You squeeze his hand in thanks before walking up the stairs.  The floor creaks underneath you as you push in the door; Sebastian is laying in his bed, sleeping fitfully. You nearly knock a stack of books over as you kneel next to his bed; you also recognize the book on his side table, the spine dented from when you threw it at his face five years ago. It reminds you of the shattered mug you keep on your desk.  Perhaps you two have been subconsciously keeping pieces of each other around.

Sebastian stirs as you brush his brunette hair out of his face.  He opens one eye, then the other, blinking furiously as he tries to sit up.

“You’re here,” he groans, a hand flying to his torso. “Is this a good visit, or just a hospital house call? Because my scars are killing me now that I’m home.”

You give a watery chuckle. “It can be both, if you like.”  You pull the blanket aside, examining his puckered skin.  The scars will stay for good, but that’s fine.  You did always like it when Sebastian was roughed up anyways.

“You’re here.” Sebastian repeats, only this time it's softer.

“I had to go to the Leaky Cauldron to get your address from Clopton.” you admit, blue waves emitting from your fingertips as you try to take away some of the physical pain. “But yes, I’m here.”

“By the sound of our last conversation, I thought you were done.  That we were just going to have to live with our mistakes.” Sebastian breathes.

“I wanted to say more, but there was something I had to do first.” you sit on the bed; Sebastian adjusts to give you more room, taking your hands in his. “I had to give back the engagement ring.”

“You did?” Sebastian asks hopefully.

“Seeing you…being around you for the first time in five years…” You’re trying to compound all of your feelings in a simple sentence, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “It made me realize I just didn’t love him.” You confess. “I shouldn’t feel the way I’ve felt seeing you.”

“Pet,” he murmurs, putting a hand to your cheek. “You’ve saved my life. I can’t ask anything more from you.”

“Then can I?” You ask, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes as you place your hand over his. Sebastian’s hand is warm and familiar, fitting perfectly against you.

“Ask me anything,” Sebastian echoes.

“Let’s try again.” you whisper.  

Sebastian scoots over, making space on the bed for you.  You don’t care if anyone else has slept in it over the five years you’ve been apart; something about the way Sebastian melts against your touch tells you he’s only ever belonged to you in the first place. 

“Let’s try again.” Sebastian whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips.  It feels positively electric, like it’s awoken something that’s been dormant inside you for five long, sleepy years.  You take good care not to press too much of your weight onto a still recovering patient, but Sebastian does everything in his power to draw you closer.  His hands start pulling pins out of your hair, the tight bun coming unraveled as he weaves his fingers through your tresses.

“You’re still healing,” you remind him as he starts working on the buttons of your dress. “And your sister is downstairs.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian murmurs into your skin, tugging your collar down to press a kiss at the base of your neck. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

You have, you think.  So you let Sebastian ravish you with kisses, blushing when you hear Ominis loudly call up the stairs that he and Anne are leaving.  You only leave the bed to unlace your dress, Sebastian eagerly watching as you strip the fabric from your body.  He groans in a good way when you press kisses to his chest, fingers dancing across the scars on his chest.  Not all scars would disappear, and there would always be reminders of the past.  But it was good to acknowledge them, to know that they were there, and that they were healed.  

The two of you stay awake the entire night reacquainting yourselves with each other’s body; the sun is streaming through Sebastian’s curtains when you realize you’ve been awake since Thursday night, running off adrenaline. Your eyes begin to droop as Sebastian presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Go to sleep, pet.” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

You’ll have to call in again, you think. You need an entire day of sleep after this week.  And the next time you get to the ward, you’ll turn in your official notice, asking to move to the day shift.

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

The Distant Sound Of The Washing Machine

pt. 2 of Washing Machine

Summary:

Minho and you take a well needed nap and return to the familiarity of each other's presence.

Minho/ Reader

domestic fluff, cuddling, insecurity, assurance

word count: 1856

'Your hair is in my nose', Minho grunted, frantically turning his head from side to side. 

He proceeded to sneeze and hurried to turn completely away from you. His body ebbed due to the sudden reflex and he automatically tightened his arms around you to hinder you from falling off him. Your sleepy whine made him halt all movements and as slowly as possible, he looked down on you. 

'Keep sleeping. It's all good', he whispered and pushed your strands of hair down, away from his face and used the opportunity to lovingly pat your head. 

He tried to get back into some sort of slumber, but he was already too awake. He noticed the bright sunlight that found its way through the gap of the curtains and the distant sound of birds told him that it was indeed the middle of the day. Your full weight on him was calming and despite the warm spring temperature outside, he was still able to fully enjoy your radiation of warmth. 

'Sleepy baby, hm? You need this nap so much, huh?', he cooed, running his fingertips over your scalp. 

He gazed down on you, studying your features, getting lost in counting your eyelashes and had to start over again when you slightly move with a big sigh with which you were cuddling into him. He suppressed his smile and frowned when he realized that the only person he was hiding his giddiness from was himself. Ironically, he himself was the person most aware of his adoration for you, so he allowed his lips to take up the space of a big grin. 

'I love you', he hushed in a hitched breath, just now understanding that his smile took up all of his concentration. 

The washing machine was still running in the adjacent room, and the steady sound put his mind in a meditative state. There wasn't much talking before you fell asleep on top of him, gripping his shirt so tightly that he now understood how his black sweater managed to be so ridiculously wrinkled. He even doubted that washing and ironing it could possibly help evening out the fabric, but he also knew it wasn't necessary to bring it back into its initial state. As long as it helped you, it was fine to him.

His mind repeated your few whispers that you gifted him before your last energy finally left you. He silently reconstructed your phrases about failed exams, rude people, and friendships that ended. The stories weren't new to him. The daily video chats served well as opportunity to share the significant events for the months of separation, but physically feeling your words meeting his ear, paired with your breath and the minuscule nuances of how you tapped his hand when you emphasized something or how you looked away when you were thinking just to return looking back at him with a spark in your eyes that he was only able to see in person, brought the closeness he enjoyed most. Sure, taking your hand, hugging you, kissing you, all of that he loved, but none of that was as much needed as simply being in the same room with you, experiencing you talking to him. Your voice wandering through a room so naturally was what Minho defined as being home. 

'I missed you so much', he mumbled and placed a tender kiss on top of your head. 

The washing machine's sound faded out, and its beeping announced its work being done. To Minho's dislike the high-pitched repetition of the machine's notification managed to wake you, and he tightened his embrace around you when you started moving in the process of gaining conciseness. He wasn't ready to let you go yet. 

Your hair ruffled around his face again, and he desperately started blowing into your direction to keep the tickling strands away from him. When you lift your head, he is met with your frown and immensely sleepy eyes that were still reddened from your recent crying. However, he could also see the little spark of annoyance that you only managed to bring out when you were energized enough. Therefore, the nap must have helped, and Minho smiled at the hope of you feeling better. 

'You might have forgotten, but-', you started and were interrupted by a yawn that caused you to nuzzle into Minho's shoulder, before your continued, 'but I am not a cat, so, would you stop blowing at me?'. 

You groaned and lied back down, still in need to adapt to being awake and Minho started sorting your hair again, trying his best to braid it what proved to be rather difficult from the position he was in. With a proud hum, he secured his work with the hair tie that he kept around his wrist. The habit  of carrying it with him in case you needed it lasted through the whole sequence of being long distant. His arm felt empty without the elastic. He played with it when he was nervous, feeling closer to you. He could pretend that you were just in the next room and about to return to him every second when his fingers stretched the tie only to let it spring back into its original radius. He needed your little mundane belongings just as much as you needed his black sweater.  

'I'm sorry, but you are my little kitty and your human form can't trick me. I have seen your soul', he whispered in a hushed laugh and placed another kiss on your head.

'You have seen my soul?', you asked and rolled down from him to the empty side of the bed, causing Minho to move with you to keep facing you. His hand on your waist never left, and he squeezed your soft skin like he always did, an action that never failed to make you a tiny bit shy.

The same happened this time. It is a sensation that strangely carried the sentiment of a tickle, yet Minho did it with the slowness of specific intention, allowing his warmth to transfer through your clothes right onto your skin and for some reason this touch of his directly went to your heart. You were still surprised by your shy smile that heats your whole face. The tickling feeling that he only placed on the surface travelled through your cells, an exponentially multiplying tingle that ultimately assailed your soul that adapted with a bright vibration. 

'I did. It's beautiful', he told you with his sickening sweet voice and his mischievous gaze.

'Yeah? It's supposed to match my face, so it makes sense', you returned the demeanour and gain a  light playful squeeze on your waist.

'Your face only makes sense for your soul because it's framed by your hair, and who is taking care of your hair looking good? Me', he snorted and placed a smug kiss on your lips, but what started as a complacent reward to him proceeded into a desperate linger. 

Being around you was so familiar to Minho, whereas his existence suddenly felt so unaccustomed to the feeling of your lips against his. It is not like he forgot your power over him, but it seemed like his body forgot and now made it obvious that it only functioned as host for his own soul and that essential essence of him wanted to be with yours. 

When you pressed yourself further into him, silently returning his kiss, his breath was entirely knocked out of his lungs. The way you proceeded to touch him so tenderly, so fully and attentively convinced him that if ever necessary he toured, just transfer his soul into your vessel, trusting you to continue being his home forever. 

'The washing machine is done', he found himself whispering into your mouth and besides your power over him he is now also once again reminded of his incapability to put his deep feelings into words that could make their way to you. It made him sad, the idea that he would never be completely understood by anyone but himself, not even by you. In this life, he would always have to rely on being interpreted rather than understood. 

'But our nap is not done yet', you assured him and smiled against his lips, playfully licking over them, and he couldn't but think that his cats were doing that too. 

He looked at you and found your eyes that were focused on him. There was this spark, so obviously, so overwhelming to him, that he wondered why no one ever pointed it out, why no one ever mentioned it or seemed even remotely as caught up on it like Minho was. 

'I love you', he whispered so quietly that he was sure the phrase only popped up in his head, but you told him the same thing right away. 

He involuntarily squeezed your waist again, needing to hold onto the most reliable thing he had in life, and your reaction of nuzzling against him, all shy and giddy, mirrors his hidden away soul's attitude. The faint shadow of the list on the shelf caught his attention and went through all the points he had written down to not forget how he wanted to reencounter you after such a long time, wanting to make sure you understood how much you being in his life meant to him. He was so scared that you would return, grown without him, maybe even outgrown him, so that you would realize that he just wasn't for you anymore. Once the illusion of who he was, who he used to be without being that anymore, bursted, you would just move on. He would let you go, perfectly aware of the pain, pain that you might be able to guess but not fully understand, because he was the one carrying the pain at a place that only he could access. 

'What about the sweater?', he asked and heard the tremble in his voice, quickly faking a yawn to conceal his insecurity. 

'Got you back', you mumbled and suddenly searched for his hand. 

He placed it on yours and let you move it between your bodies. He felt you turning his palm towards you and your lips pressing into it. He let you form his hand into a fist. He wasn't looking, solely trying to follow what you were doing, how you were moving, by tracking the synergy of your both's bodies. His fist was pressed against your chest, and you kept holding this hand so ambitiously that he was sure it was yours now. 

'Is that enough?', Minho asked, throwing the words into the air, recklessly waiting if they rain down on you.

'You are everything', you answered and kissed where his heart beat is pounding against his chest from the inside and he decided that he might never be understood like he understood himself, with all the big and small words, intense and nuanced feelings, but your interpretation of him was his favorite, the one that elevates and grounds him and made him believe that his soul could live on in you just as well as it was living in himself. 

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Nice to Meet You

Jaime Reyes x Reader

Fandom: DCEU

Summary: You and Jaime have been kicking ass together for years, but you’ve never seen his face before. Hell, you don’t even know his name. That changes one night when he shows up on your doorstep, injured.

Notes: So I had a dream last night that I was in a Miraculous Ladybug situation with Jaime, so have this fic hahaha. Also I have never seen Miraculous so…idek where it came from.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader is: Female, Apollo’s champion

Being a superhero and a normal person with a normal-ish life was not for the faint of heart. You spent your days working in the local history museum, your afternoons getting whatever sleep you could, and your nights sitting by the police scanner, waiting for news of some rogue giant robot or guy with a freeze gun. As it was, you were in no position to expose your identity. Not even to your partner.

Your mission partner, that was, the Blue Beetle.

You’d been fighting crime with him for the past three years, a few times every week. It had started as an accident. He’d show up to the same crime scenes you did, helping evacuate people out of burning buildings, stopping rampaging mutants from the questionable labs popping up around town, redirecting a plane with a broken propeller. It was admirable. He was admirable.

You’d never seen his face. You didn’t even know his first name. You knew his power came from the scarab in his back, an alien symbiote that was bonded to his body. It talked to him sometimes, like a computer, analyzing things. It also served as body armor and a built in artillery of weapons.

The scarab saved his ass a lot, basically. And yours, too. You couldn’t count the amount of times he’d saved you from blows you’d never seen coming.

Which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock on your door, Beetle’s voice on the other side of it sounding…worried.

“Suncatcher? Are you home? I…I…I need some help!”

You were surprised to hear it at all, actually. You didn’t think he knew where you lived.

Also, you weren’t in costume, just in a cropped tee and some sweats, hair pulled back and face bare. Not that your mask covered a lot of your face, but it gave you anonymity. Or at least, you thought it did.

You pushed the thoughts aside when you heard him knock again, preparing for the very real possibility that someone had cloned his voice and was using your public-ish friendship against you.

You lit your fist with power and crept towards the door of your townhouse, peering through the peephole to find…nothing. You pulled the door open slowly and looked around. Sitting on the cement outside your door was a guy with luscious black curls, and, more importantly, a giant gaping wound on his stomach.

“S-Suncatcher?” He asked, meeting your eyes, tears brimming in his own.

“Oh my God.” You dropped to your knees, looking over him. “What happened?”

“Y-you’re…?”

“It’s me. It’s me. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know where else to go…” He confessed.

“It’s okay, hey, can you stand? Where���s Khaji?”

“Offline.” He groaned as you helped him off the ground. It was clear he’d lost a lot of blood. You closed the door behind the two of you and locked it, lowering him onto the couch.

“How long have you been out there?” You asked, assessing the injury.

“Not long.” He assured you, moving to support the wound.

You took a breath, grounding yourself before tapping deeper into your powers, sunlight lit in your palms, creeping up your arms. “Alright Blue, I need to get in there.”

“Jaime. My name is Jaime.” He told you, pain etched across his handsome features. “Nice to finally meet you, sunshine. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” You replied, too preoccupied to offer your name in return. You gently lifted the fabric from his battered torso, revealing the wound. It was pretty bad, but it wouldn’t be for long. Using the power from your patron, you extended your hand, your glowing sunlight working to close the wound with warmth and precision.

Jaime watched, his eyes wide. He stared at you as you set to work. It tingled, the spot in his abdomen, where he’d been stabbed repeatedly by a guy with a glowing green sword. But it didn’t hurt anymore. And less than a minute later, it wasn’t there at all, completely smoothed over without so much as a scar.

You turned your attention to his face, where there was a cut across his nose, a purpled bruise on his chin.

If Khaji was online, he was sure she’d tell him about his increased heartrate due to your proximity, that focused look in your eye as you soothed his pain away. But she wasn’t. That was a problem he’d have to solve later.

The glow in your palms dimmed and you met his eyes, looking relieved. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

“Nah, I think that about covers it.” He replied, still staring at you. Maybe he’d never stop. “How did you…?”

“My patron, Apollo. The god of…well, lots of stuff, but healing is one of them. I’ll leave him an offering later.” You explained. “He’s pretty chill, as far as deities go. Met him when I got my job at the museum and, well, the rest is history.”

“That’s really cool.” He said, sitting up without trouble. “I didn’t know that.”

“I guess it never came up.” You shrugged. “My name is (Y/N), by the way. Would have introduced myself earlier if I wasn’t so busy trying to prevent you from bleeding out in my apartment.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

You smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

He took in your face, seeing most of it for the first time. He smiled, eyes soft and sparkling, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re really pretty, (Y/N).”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Jaime.” You looked him over, taking him in for the first time. Warm brown eyes, a handsome face, fluffy black curls, toned build. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this under that suit of yours.”

He laughed, sheepish. “We should have done this sooner.”

“Way sooner.” You agreed. “Not the fatal wound part, of course, but…we could have gotten coffee or something.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” He murmured, leaning closer. “If I’m moving too fast, stop me.”

“You’re not.” You replied, a hand cupping his face as you pressed your lips to his. He melted at the contact, arm settling around your waist and tugging you closer to him. “I’ve been waiting to do this for…so long.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “That makes two of us.”

***

At the museum, a few weeks later, you sat at the guide desk in the center of the lobby, typing away on your laptop, researching an ancient relic Apollo was interested in, a necklace he’d gifted to the Oracle of Delphi that had gotten into the wrong hands.

Someone cleared their throat. You looked up to find Jaime there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Is this where I find the pretty tour guide? If she’s not too busy, that is.”

“Jaime!” You leapt to your feet, walking around the edge of the desk and straight into his arms.

“Hey, sunshine. Thought I’d come brighten up your day.”

“My day has been brightened.” You assured him, pressing a long kiss to his soft lips.

“Khaji, not now.” He murmured, cheeks burning red.

“Hi, Khaji.” You whispered.

He chuckled. “She says hi.”

“This must be Jaime. I’m (Y/N)’s coworker, Jess.” Your favorite coworker introduced. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. Is it alright if I steal her for a bit? I’m excited to finally see the place.”

“Oh, of course. You two have fun. I’ll put those in water for you.” Jess said, taking the flowers with a careful hand and a knowing smile.

Jaime took your hand and you led him proudly through your workplace. You loved getting to know the real him, without a mask in the way. Finally, your two lives had combined into one and you couldn’t be happier.

[i-wanna-write]

If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Chapter Warnings: Angst, cussing, brief discussion medical malpractice

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: Lots angst. Moving this plot along

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You searched for Logan after you escaped the facility. All Canadian territories then all the rural states of America. You searched for months, for years. Soon, it was five years since your capture and every day you had some hope that you’d find him again.

It eventually felt like forever since you saw him and had slowly come to accept that he was going to be like everyone who came into your life. A fleeting moment for a few years that turned into just a memory. As that’s how it went when you’re a mutant with a long life span.

So you tried to forget about him and his soft lips and muscular build. His smoky scent and dark brown eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. The way he entered you and made you feel almost loved, normal. You tried to forget.

But it was hard.

Especially when you were sleeping. You used to love it, how you’d dream of him when he was at war and wake up remembering your time together. But now your dreams taunt you and your nightmares are worse. Your dreams are memories and made up scenarios of moments with Logan.

The two of you are hunting together. The two of you are cooking dinner. The two of you in bed. Sometimes there’s a child in there, those ones wake you up in tears.

Others are memories of your month in the facility. Strapped to the table, needles poking you, and someone prying in your most intimate part. Those ones wake you up in bouts of anger, claws grown and sheets shredded.

You went about the next ten years of your life as you did before meeting the two brothers. It was almost easy to fall back into your old routine. Never expecting to run into someone you know or another mutant. You continued traveling across the United States and Canada. Finding secluded cabins and routinely buying supplies then simply living off the land and animals around you as you did once before.

You decided perhaps this was how your life was supposed to be. That you were meant to move around and be alone forever.

Your personal library continued to grow in size, having over 200 books now. Their genres ranged from science fiction, to romance, to poetry, to historical nonfiction. But you still had your favorite. Only it became your favorite for perhaps a totally different reason.

So, you easily fell back into your old ways, trying to keep James in a locked part of your mind. Your days were back to reading, occasionally stealing, sometimes killing another mutant who was dangerous and looking for a fight. You accepted a life alone was truly meant for you.

You are currently living outside Montreal, enjoying the sunlight as it shined down on your skin. You were renting a small cabin on a campground for the month. It was a little closer to civilization then you liked but nature for some reason always called to you. You weren’t able to hunt as you would’ve liked, in fear of being seen, but were still able to be alone and read, occasionally taking a dip in the lake if you wanted.

The food in the local restaurants were also really good. A rare burger or steak always called to you and for some reason, people in the town knew the perfect way to cook it.

So that’s where you were now, face buried in a burger with a side of fries and of course whiskey your drink of choice. Not that you were an alcoholic as it took almost triple the amount of a non mutant to get your drunk.

You were currently reading 1984 by George Orwell. It was surprisingly your first time reading it and you were enjoying it thus far - it’s themes similar to Brave New World. For some reason your favorite book choices tend to reflect the same world you lived in.

“Ah. 1984. ‘Where there is equality, there is sanity’. A great read in my opinion.” A man’s voice sounded suddenly.

Only the words weren’t said aloud. No, they were said from inside your head. Tensing, you put your book down and immediately glanced around your area. You didn’t see anyone in sight but did pick up three scents that you didn’t recall smelling when you moved in. You assumed they were intruders and couldn’t be your neighbors.

You stood, lunch and book now forgotten. Your claws grew to reveal themselves and you scanned the area again, trying to see through the foliage for who you assumed were three mutants.

And with your history, you didn’t want to bet that they were friendly.

“You can put them away. We mean you no harm.” The voice sounded in your head again.

“Yeah, how ‘bout you show yourselves and I be the judge of that ,asshole.” You thought back at it, itching for a fight.

Ever since your capture, you were more paranoid, more inclined to trust your instincts. You got too complacent, too happy the years you lived with James. You realize your instincts are the only thing you can truly trust.

Suddenly, the sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping sound from your right and you turned to see three adults make their way through the woods.

One was a women. She was dressed in black pants and a jean jacket. Her hair was gray, though she looked to be the same age your body appeared. Another was a man, who for some reason looked familiar. Then it clicked. It was the same man that was there the day you escaped the facility. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel. He was wearing sunglasses again that had red tints rather than the black, his hands stuffed into his front pockets. He too looked to be around your age.

The final man was older, perhaps pushing 70. He was bald and dressed odd for an outing in the woods as he was wearing a suit. He had no hair and appeared kind with a smile on his face, as if he held all the secrets in the world. He was also in a wheelchair, using a power control on his right to push forward.

“Hello Y/N.” The old man said as the three came to a stop about ten feet in front of you.

“The fuck are you?” You questioned, noting that this was the same voice from inside your head.

You did a quick scan of the area, always having an escape plan and an attack plan ready if needed.

“You do not need to escape or attack. We merely would like to talk.” The old man added.

“Stay the fuck out of my head old man.” You growled menacingly, not liking how he could read your thoughts one bit.

“Understood.” He began. “I’m sorry to have intruded. But I did not want us to startle you.”

“Who are you? Why are you here,” you asked, nodding at the three.

Why are three mutants, and by their scents, with completely different mutations, together?

“Ah, yes. Introductions. My name is Charles Xavier and this is Ororo Monroe and I believe you may have recognized Scott Summers.” The man gestured with his hand to his respective companions.

“Well, thank you for getting me out of that shit hole but it doesn't explain why you’re here.” You state, wanting him to get to the point.

“It’s a bit difficult to explain but I know you’re aware we three are like you. We -“

“I’ll stop you right there old man.” You interrupt, holding up a clawed hand. “Only met two others who are like me, and no offense, you guys aren’t.”

Charles nods. “My apologies. You are correct, our mutation is not like yours. However, we do have our own unique set of abilities. As you’ve already been exposed to, I acquire the ability of telepathy and can speak inside another’s mind.”

“Congratulations.” You say sarcastically. “You can go now.” You point to the way they came.

“This is a waste of time Charles.” The man to his left speaks up. “She didn’t wannna come ten years ago and she sure as hell won’t come now.”

You turn your attention to him and you notice how he smells a little of fear. As if he knows who you are and what your capable of. You smile at that thought. It seems he’s done some research on you since your last meeting.

Charles ignored the man, Scott, and continues. “With telepathy, I can also reach out and find other mutants. After Scott informed me of you, I’ve been searching for you. Although, I can only pick up those within a few hundred miles radius. A few days ago, I found you.”

“You're saying you’ve been inside my head, just poking around for the last few days!” You question, voice beginning to raise and anger starting to enter you.

You can’t even begin to think what Charles has seen in your head. The lives you’ve taken. The few you’ve saved. The moments between you and James.

These people are definitely bad news.

“We are not bad news.” Charles states.

You go to yell again, irritated that he once again entered your head. However, you don’t get the chance as the woman finally speaks.

“We run a school.” She reveals, your eyes meeting hers and seeing no threat, no violence. Only concern and sincerity. “We recruit children who are mutants like us. We teach them regular classes that normal kids go to, as well as others that help them learn to control and grow their abilities. Sometimes, a few of us go out on missions and help those in danger.”

You take a moment at that, listening to her heartbeat to determine if she is truthful. You only hear the steady beat. You notice how her respiration is also steady and there’s no sweat - all the simple signs of being deceitful.

“Again, congratulations.” You start. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Simple. We want to recruit you.” Charles says simply, a smile on his face.

You laugh. You can’t help it. You’ve never been around people more than a few days in ten years and here comes three lunatics who apprently want you to attend their school. Maybe you’d have said yes before everything happened, but you cannot imagine being surrounded by so many people. Your life is insane.

“Recruit me?” You ask incredulously. “Sorry but I’ve been out of school for about, hmmm, 70 years.”

“Not as a student, but as a teacher.” Ororo corrects a small smile on her face as if she saw your laughter amusing.

You laugh again. These people have got to be on soemthing.

“If you’ve been in my head the past few days like you claim to have been” you point at Charles, “Then you know I hate being around people. You know that-“

“You get territorial. That you can easily blend into your environment? That you have 207 books in your own personal library - most that you did not obtain legally? That your favorite book is Brave New World and that you enjoy hunting for your own food and occasionally taking out what you deem ‘assholes who shouldn’t be on Earth’?”

You gape. You can’t help it. You guess this guy has been in your head. You grimace at what he may have seen.

“Just, give us time to explain a little more. Maybe visit the school. If you want nothing to do with it after - that’s okay. We won’t bother you again.” Charles proposes.

You swallow, thinking this through. While you do not know what the other two’s abilities are, you’re confident you can take them if the need arises. They seem sincere. Well, maybe not Scott but Charles and Ororo do.

If they want you to teach there, maybe this is your opportunity to finally understand the world. Why non-mutants hold so much hatred. Maybe you’d actually be able to learn how to handle being around other people- how to not be lonely.

With all these thoughts in mind, you nod.

…

The moment you visited Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters you said yes to teaching there.

You couldn’t explain it, but the school was different than anyplace you’ve ever been. Maybe it was because it was place solely for mutants. Maybe because you realized you could be yourself without the threat of revealing yourself. Maybe because it made you feel less alone.

You didn’t have someone there to guide you when you discovered your mutation. You didn’t have someone to explain your mutation. To help you through all the differences you had compared to the average human. You realized you could make a difference at the school. Being there for kids just like how you wanted someone to be there for you.

Charles, or old man as you continued to call him, only fondly, offered you to teach English and Literature, as well as assist with combat training due to your skill in that field. You agreed, excited for the opportunity to share your love of literature with younger minds.

You were given your own room, which was connected to a private bathroom. You brought the minimal items you owned with you, as well as all 207 books from your personal library. Due to the room size, your books were brought into your classroom, with the exception of some that you kept in your nightstand and a bookshelf in your room.

There was a communicable mess hall for meals, as well as a kitchen that everyone had access to at any time during the day. In addition, faculty had access to all classrooms if needed as well as the combat room.

You learned that Scott’s mutation was the cause of him wearing sunglasses 24/7. He was able basically shoot lasers from his eyes. Apprently the sunglasses prevented that from happening.

Ororo’s mutation was interesting to you, as it was soemthing you never thought possible. She has the ability to manipulate the weather and atmosphere. She could call a snowstorm at hand, a lightening strike, or even tornado.

You made a note to yourself to never piss her off.

The one thing you bregudebly relented to was a physical exam by Dr. Jean Grey. Charles informed you that at any moment you could stop the exam and nothing further would be done.

But you wanted to do it. For some reason you trusted Charles and he trusted Jean so you allowed the exam to happen.

Jean was a women that appeared a few years younger then you. She was tall, with fair skin and long red shit. She was a strong telepath that thankfully didn't invade your mind, understanding the invasion of privacy.

She was completely professional throughout the whole thing. Quickly drawing your blood, listening to your heart, and asking you to show off your mutation. She completed a gyno exam, gave you a full body CT scan - the school was super rich cause you have no idea how they could afford one - and an ultrasound.

All that was the during the first week of your stay and found you where you are now: seated in what they call the review room, listening as Jean explains her findings with Ororo and Charles present.

You did not like Scott, and did not want that man present to hear what you’ve been through. He seemed to have a superiority complex and you’d rather claw your own eyes out than have him know what was done to you.

You sit in front of a large screen, your body scans on view. You have no idea what you’re looking l at or what the numbers on the screen mean. Ororo is seated to your left with Charles in his wheelchair on your right.

Jean stands in front of you all, an electronic tablet in her hand - soemthing you didn’t even know existed. Again, this school is rich.

“From my results, I was able to hypothesize a few things that may have happened while you were held for a month.” Jean starts, having you on the edge of your feet.

“Is it safe to assume that once your mutation revealed itself, you never got sick” she questions, looking to you.

You nod as it’s the truth. You’ve never had the common cold, seasonal allergies, or the stomach bug.

“I’m assuming they injected you with multiple viruses to see how your body would react. I myself did that with one blood sample and a known strain of measles. When I combined the two, your cells immediately attacked the stain and eradicated it in mere seconds.

When comparing you to the average human or even mutants blood, you have a significant amount of neutrophils - a type of white blood cell - that fights of the infection. Typically that causes an average person to become sick, but your mutation produces it naturally to fight of any infection.”

You nod again. You don’t know much of biology but Jean at least explain it in laments terms so you can understand.

“As for your healing ability, which I’m also assuming they tested, works basically a hundreds times faster then soemone without your mutation. The level of neutrophils lends a hand to this but you also have high levels of fibroblasts and macrophages - cells responsible for the beginning and end of the healing process.”

You’re in awe. Since you’ve discovered you were a mutant, you always wanted to learn how. How anything you do is possible. That’s why you would always bug James about his own as they were so similar. Now though, you’re finally learning all you can.

“You also have a large number of keratinocyes, which allow your nails to grow at the rate and length they do into claws. When it comes to your teeth, you have an increase in all the cells responsible for growing and protecting them. I believe that is why yours are able to sharpen at will and are as indestructible as you described.”

You smile at hearing that. While you always tended to slice someone's throat with your claws, your teeth were your best asset. You shared with Jean how easy it was for you to tear into someone’s throat with them - namely dick Vic as you’ve begun to call him in your head. You got a laugh form Jean at those stories.

“One thing I did find, however,” Jean pauses, frowning slightly as she looks at her device.

Your heart starts to hammer in your chest and you feel Ororo grab your hand. You have no idea what she’s going to say but know it’s going to be bad. Why else would she have paused.

“However what?” You quesiton, one of your legs starting to bounce up and down in anxiety.

“I think it’s best we discuss this privately.” Jean’s voice is suddenly in your head.

You nod your consent, staring ahead and she informs Charles and Ororo that she wishes to speak about the last matter with you alone. Charles shoots you a look you see out of the corner of your eye before leaving.

Ororo gives your hand one last squeeze before rising from her seat and following Charles out. Suddenly it’s just you and Jean and you suddenly get nervous when she takes a seat next to you.

“You informed me during our exam that you have not gotten your period since your mutation revealed itself, correct?”

You don’t like where this is going. You nod.

Jean continues. “With some of the tests I did, as well as the gyno exam, you’re in perfect, healthy condition for soemone who is also your age. Ignoring the mutation.”

“But?” You question, searching Jeans eyes for what’s she’s going to say next.

“But, on average people who are your age have about 80,000 eggs available for fertilization. You have half that.” Jean reveals.

“Are you saying I can’t have kids?” You stand, running a hand through your hair. “I mean I never imagined having kids.” You start to rant, beginning to pace the small room. “But I mean, I did think of it once with one guy but that was almost a life time ago. I mean I-“

“Y/N” Jean starts, stopping your rambling. She’s now stood up and is facing you, hands on either shoulder. “I’m not saying you cannot have kids.”

You let out a breath. You didn’t expect that possibility to rattle you but it did. Maybe, somewhere deep down, you’re still holding on for Logan to turn up. For you to return to your cabin in the Canadian Rockies and actually have little runts of your own.

“Then what are you saying?” You ask weakly, having never felt this nervous before.

“You told me you remebred waking up once, when you were first at the facility, correct?”

You nod.

“And that there was a doctor, or someone, between your legs, and they made a comment about how they were surprised you weren’t with child?”

You nod again.

Jean sighs, leading you back to your chair. She sits down and grabs your hands in hers. You’ve only known her a week but have never seen her this worried, this emphatic. She’s usually all business, all serious.

“I believe that, based on my findings, during your month at the facility, they were extracting your eggs from your oaveries.”

You feel your entire body freeze. Extracting your eggs. Extracting your eggs. Taking something you have that can create life, from you.

“But only men can pass down the mutation gene.” You state, confused.

Jean nods sympathetically. “Correct but, you are a rare mutant. Not many posses an animal like mutation, specially one as feral as yours. I think -“ Jean cuts her self off.

“You think what?” You question harshly.

Jean sighs. “I believe they may have taken your eggs, which are from a strong, rare female mutant, and planned to see if they could find traces of the X-gene. And if that failed..”

Jean trails off but you’re able to figure it out. If they were unsuccedul with that, they still had eggs with your genetics. Eggs that can be mixed with a male mutants sperm and injected into some poor girls uterus. Thus engineering a mutant child they would have complete controls over.

“I - I need some time alone to process this.” You say, rising from your feet and quickly leaving the room, ignoring as Jean calls out after you.

You quickly move throughout the mansion, your room your destination in mind. You push past Scott who tries to stop you; an Ororo that looked concerned, and many teenage mutants who simply looked confused.

You finally resached your room and slammed your door shut, locking it. You rested your forehead against it, body rising and fall as your breath increased. Your mind whirling at all the possibilities of what they could have done or still be doing to your eggs filling it.

You let out a frustrated scream, right arm reaching and sending all the objects on your desk flying. Not quit satisfied at the damage, you made quick work of the small bookshelf in the corner, knocking it over with a growl.

At this point, your mutation is on full display, teeth grown and claws long. You let out another rgrowl and make a fist, sending it flying through the wall that is shared with your bathroom, your hand going through it.

Suddenly, a bang is heard and you look up to see Scott and Ororo standing there, the man having kicked it in. You turn your body towards them, growling lowly and ready for a fight.

Scott takes a step toward you, and you mimic him, ready to take him out of you need to. You watch as Ororo places her hand on his shoulder to stop him. She says something to him but your mind is still whirling you cannot comprehend what.

Your mind is solely relying on all your instincts. The human part of you is not able to cope with this discovery and has backed itself into a hole in your mind, allowing your animal side to deal with it.

And it’s dealing with it aggressively.

You watch as he sighs and nods before exiting; leaving you with the other women.

“Y/N.” She says, voice calm and low, as if talking to a scared animal.

You guess that’s what you are right now. Your instincts have taken full control of your body and kill and maim is the only action that seems to be what it wants. You want to make those suffer who hurt you. You want to slowly run your claws along every one of their arteries, watching them bleed. Then, you’d bite into their throat and take out a chunk.

“Y/N!” Ororo says, this time more stern.

It seems to gather your attention a little more, gaze shooting up to meet here eyes. They only show concern, soemthing you’ve only ever seen from one other person. Seeing them from her, it does soemthing inside of you and you break.

Your animal side seems to notice it too as soon your claws are gone and teeth back to normal. Tears immediately begin to leave your eyes and the women crosses the room to enlope you into her arms, pulling you into a hug. Your body immediately relaxes as you let out a sob.

You finally found out what happened to you but now you have to cope with it.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///

Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @somiaw @sseleniaa @whyamistillontumbler

A/N: I said lots of angst… now we know what happened during readers time being held captive. Sorry about no Wolvy- next chapter I promise!!

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑴𝒆

pairing: javi gutierrez x fem!reader

genre: smut, romance, minors dni

word count: 2.9k

summary: living in a small town has its perks, watching a movie completely by yourself in the cinema being one of them. however, this time, you meet a charming stranger willing to comfort you during a horror movie.

warnings: strangers to lovers, very explicit blowjob, public blowjob, soft dirty talk, praise kink, horror movie,brief male masturbation feat. spitting, I say public but no one is really there

Living in a small town can be boring in many ways. There aren’t enough places to visit, you risk seeing someone familiar every time you go out but…it also has its perks too. One of your favorite things to do is to go to your favorite mall. You’ve been going there since you were a kid, it was a constant, comforting presence in your life and it might be dramatic to say, but you had a connection with it. It’s an open mall, which means there’s alot of sunlight and crisp air going around. 

But the best part of it, by far, is the movie theaters. 

It’s almost always empty, sometimes it’s just you in the theater, or a couple more people. It was like a private screening and you loved that. You can’t imagine another place on earth where you could go into a cinema only to view an entire movie by yourself as if you were at home. It’s the best. 

You step into the lobby of the theater, greeted by the familiar sight of movie posters and ticket booths. The air conditioning hits you immediately, providing a refreshing break from the heat of the day outside. 

The smell of fresh popcorn wafts through the air, making your mouth water. You take a moment to peruse the concession stand, eyeing the candy, soda, and various snacks on offer. However, you’re not really feeling up for snacks today so you head to buy your ticket. It’s for a horror film and it’s from one of your favorite directors. You’re feeling giddy, excitement rolling in your stomach. As always, you don’t need to pick a seat because there’s only one other person that’s going to be in there with you, so you can sit wherever you want to. 

After sitting in the lobby for a little while, scrolling through your phone, the kind man you often see (and you presume runs the place) approaches you and says you can head inside now. Thanking him, you do exactly that. 

A chill settles across your skin. In typical fashion, you were fooled by the heat and forgot to bring a jacket for this exact occasion. You shrug it off, eyeing the seats as you step in. This is one of the smaller theaters, which you find even better because it’s cozier. Just as you were told, there was only one other person inside. A man. Your eyes lock for a brief moment. You swear your steps slow, he has kind brown eyes, long lashes that touch his cheek with his every blink. He smiles at you and you find yourself smiling back. In that brief moment, your eyes linger over his broad chest. 

Embarrassed, you quickly avert your gaze and take a seat. Coincidentally you’re sitting in the aisle right behind him, he’s not directly in front of you but across, his gaze fixated on the blank screen. You drop your bag to the side of you, another thing you love about this particular cinema, they have “couple” seats so you basically have a couch you can lounge about for the next two hours.

There’s a minute of silence before the lights go out and the soft glow of the projector fills the room. 

You smile and settle in. You hug yourself, ignoring the gooseflesh of your skin. Right as the commercials begin, you glance at the handsome stranger one last time. Some childish part of you wants to lean over and touch the honey-traced brown locks. They just look so soft. 

You take a sharp breathe. Thank god this isn’t the type of horror movie that has needless sex scenes in it. 

You find yourself getting increasingly sucked into the movie. The sense of unease and foreboding that permeates the film is palpable, and you can feel your heart racing in your chest. Your nails biting into your cold and clammy palms. There are scenes of family dysfunction and grief, of supernatural occurrences that defy explanation. The cinematography is hauntingly beautiful, with shots of the sprawling family home and the surrounding woods that give you chills. 

At one point, a particularly gruesome scene plays out on screen, and you let out a gasp of horror. The man in front of you turns around. Thinking that he must be annoyed, your lips move to form an apology but then you notice the look of concern on his face. Your lips form a kind smile instead, and lifting your hand, you whisper an apology. 

Then it happens again—fuck this movie was really going to make you see nightmares tonight—and he turns around, again. Before you can say anything, he beats you to it. 

“If you're scared, I would be happy to keep you company.” 

You're momentarily taken aback by the offer. Your lips part, a soft noise echoing from the back of your throat. He’s staring at you with amusement now, the corner of his lips twitching. You swallow, wet your bottom lip. You’re about to give him an intelligent answer. 

And just like that the intermission starts, the movie comes to a sudden halt, and soft lights flood the room, hurting your eyes. 

Oh god, he can see your face now—shit. 

You look away and wave your hand in dismissal, “Ah, thank you but that’s okay. I’ll try to keep quiet. I usually don’t get this riled up.” 

He smiles. You sweat that you melt into the cushiony seats at the sight of it. You swallow thickly around the know that formed in your throat. His eyes soften, his smile nothing but kind. 

“I am quite scared too,” he informs. He has a soft baritone, a melodic lilt to his voice. “It is embarrassing to admit.” 

Your eyes flit across his face, then drops to his neck. His sun-kissed skin looks delectable. Heat settles at the end of your spine, a shudder coursing through your veins. He’s too kind to be from here, so he’s likely a tourist. 

You push out your bottom lip and then down to your lap where your fidgeting hands rest. 

“Well…if you’re scared…you can come and sit with me.” 

Your lips draw a tight line as you lift your gaze and meet his eyes. You’re pathetic. Even if he was scared, It’s obvious he was making an excuse on your behalf so you won’t be embarrassed. 

“Thank you, princesa. I am forever in your gratitude.” 

You’re highly aware that he’s humoring you. But it’s hard to care about that when he stands up. You watch as he walks down the aisle, his figure silhouetted against the light from the lobby. He’s much broader and taller than you expected him to be. He reaches your row and with heated cheeks, you quickly pick up your bag to make room for him. The cushions dip with his weight and your mouth floods with saliva. 

You’re not sure you can focus on the rest of the movie like this. 

“I am Javi by the way,” he says, voice low. He extends a hand as you introduce yourself, the inside of his palm is soft and warm and you’d be lying if you didn’t say that you’re fingers lingered. 

For the rest of the film, you're acutely aware of Javi's presence next to you. Every time you jump or gasp, he leans in closer, as if to shield you from the movie itself. You find it rather charming. Javi's arm brushes against yours, you feel a spark of electricity shoot through your body. You try to ignore it and focus on the movie, but you can't help stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye.

Before you know it, he has an arm around your shoulder, fingers feather-light against your bare arm. A loud noise echoes and your breath hitches. Upon hearing you, Javi pulls you closer. 

Javi whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Don't worry, I've got you." 

Normally, you wouldn’t dare to get this close to a stranger—and that was what he is; a stranger—but it’s really hard to see him that way when his presence is like a pillar. And it feels rather good to be held during a horror film. Most of your friends don’t enjoy them so you often see them alone, coming out of them needing a hug. 

With another jarring scene being reflected on the big screen, you find yourself seeking solace in the crook of his neck, your nose pressed firm against the thick column. His arm tightens around your tense frame. You might be imagining it, but you think he’s shushing you. It’s not in a cruel way. It’s soft and comforting. His hand moves up and down your arm, spreading warmth along your skin. You jump again when a fleshy sound echoes. This time your lips touch the skin. You feel his pulse and his scent floods your nostrils; a mixture of bergamot and cinnamon— and something so undeniably him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks and you nod, your lips brushing along and following the ridges of a vein that lingers underneath. He’s so warm. So secure. You’re melting against him, forgetting completely that you just met this man and that you’re in the theatre. 

The kiss happens unexpectedly. You have no idea where it comes from, but your lips press into his skin. He feels so soft under the plush of his lips. Javi doesn’t say anything but his body stiffens. A sudden burst of embarrassment warms your cheeks and you start to pull away, only for him to hold you there, his hand coming up to gently cradle your cheek and a part of your neck. 

“It is okay,” he whispers as if someone might hear. “Your lips are very soft. It feels very soothing.” 

You continue to kiss him. Your lips dusting over his neck as you inhale him, engraving him to memory. He shudders. And with a sudden boldness, you lick a stripe down and gently nip the sensitive flesh. He jumps a little, his hand moving to your scalp to softly tug on your hair. The sounds and moving pictures fade into the background. All you can focus on is the heat growing between your legs and the beat of his heart under your tongue. 

Your hand moves to the front of his pants, you cup his length through the fabric and slowly stroke him. 

“Can I?” you ask. 

Your gaze lifts when you hear the whimper that echoes from the back of his throat. Shadows dance along his face, eyes sockets looking deeper than they were. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip and he swallows with a nod. A wolfish grin spreads across your face as you sink down to your knees. He gets comfortable, spreading his legs and allowing you to nestle between his thick thighs. In all honesty, a horror movie doesn’t make for the most romantic backdrop, however, the sight of him cheating his hand down his pants and grabbing himself makes up for it. 

Your breathing short paced and frantic, you help him out of his pants along with his boxers. His cock bobs heavily between his legs, precum smearing against the fabric of his shirt. With shaky hands, Javi unbuttons his polo, only to reveal that his white top underneath has ridden up a little, exposing the swell of his stomach and the soft curls that trail down his belly button. He’s definitely thicker than you imagined. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around the base and give him a firm stroke. A moan that’s a mixture between pain and pleasure hits the back of his teeth. 

“Hermosa,” he says, voice barely audible over the movie. “Let me help you a bit.” 

You draw your brows together, not quite sure what he meant by that. Javi doesn’t give you a moment to put the pieces together. Your eyes still glued to his cock, he spits in his hand and coats himself. You hold your breath and your lungs burn. Without much thought your own hand unbuttoned your jeans, sneaking a hand under the waistband, you stroke between your clothed folds. You’re soaked for him already. 

Javi touches himself gently, his cock glistening under the changing lights of the movie. His length twitches, growing bigger. Again, you swallow. You press two fingers to your aching clit. You gasp a little, which makes his eyes glimmer with amusement. 

“You like watching me?” he asks, palm swiping over the head. “Are you wet? Tell me.” 

Everything about this feels like a fever dream. You’re hald sure you fell asleep during the movie and dreaming all of this. But you’re not. Because when he lets go of his cock and gently cups the underside of your chin with wet fingers, your skin prickles so fast that it almost hurt. You exhale the breath you’ve been holding, your mouth dry like sandpaper. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I’m soaked for you, Javi.” 

He hums with approval, “Good. That makes me very happy.” 

You’re not sure why hearing that makes your pussy throb, but it does. His smile never fades as he guides you to his cock, his hand sliding to the side of your face to cup your cheek. You part your lips and take the bulbous head of his cock into your mouth. With a pointed tongue, you taste him, and a groan trembles within his chest. You take a deep breath. Despite the hand on your cheek, he’s not forcing you to take more of him. Instead, he looks down at your patiently. His length throbbing on your tongue. Then, when you feel ready, you swallow more of him. Javi’s head falls back, his hips slightly raising off the seat. You purr at the way his blunt nails scratch your scalp

“Your mouth feels amazing,” he gasps and swallows. He follows the praise with a string of Spanish words that you hope have the same sentiment. 

Looking up between heavy lashes, you part from him and drag your wet lips down the side of his length. A thick vein meanders down, twitching with your every move. Your eyes flutter closed as you kiss the curve of his testicles. You flatten your tongue between them, feeling the weight while his cock lays heavy on your cheek. 

“F-Fuck,” he moans, gently grinding and dragging his length down. 

Pulling yourself back up, you take him between your lips once more.  

You're lost in the sensation, the taste of him on your tongue, the weight of him in your mouth. You savor the taste, the musky and slightly salty flavor making your mouth water. You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, teasing and licking him, feeling him pulse and throb against your lips. You take him deeper into your mouth. You love the way he responds to you, the way his nails bite into your skin and his breath catches in his throat.

With a wicked grin, you pull back and watch as he groans in frustration. "Tease," he breathes out, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice. You just smirk and run your tongue over your lips, giving him a show that is, hopefully, worth missing the movie. 

You use your tongue to trace the veins along his length, feeling the texture of him under your lips. Sliding your mouth up and down his shaft, you feel the heat building between your legs. You're getting wetter and wetter, your body responding to the sounds he’s making. You suck him deeper into your mouth, taking him all the way to the back of your throat, feeling him hit the back of it over and over.

Javi's hips start to move, thrusting gently into your mouth, his cock sliding over your tongue. You love the way he tastes, the way he feels in your mouth. He pulses over your tongue. His breathing growing more ragged and loud. As Javi's thrusts become more urgent, you know that he's close to the edge. You keep your lips wrapped tightly around him, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, urging him on. And then, with a strangled groan, he starts to spill into your mouth.

You feel the heat of him spreading across your tongue, the taste of him making you moan. Your jaw aches, but still, you keep your mouth wide open for him, swallowing over and over, until he’s dried out. With a gentle tug, Javi signals you to let go and pulls you up onto his lap. 

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, tasting himself on your tongue. 

You moan into his mouth as he slides a hand between your legs, feeling how wet you are for him. He chuckles softly, breaking the kiss to trail hot kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. Your head falls back, your body arching into his touch.

“You weren’t lying,” he says, hot breath fanning your neck. “You are wet for me.” 

You nod frantically, grinding to meet the sinful touch of his fingers. But just as you’re getting used to it, the lights slowly flicker on and when you turn, you notice the credits rolling. 

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling away from him and letting out a breath. Javi is by your side in an instant, the curve of his nose snug against the side of your face. You can’t help but smile. 

“We should buy a ticket for the next one,” he whispers, lips touching your cheek. “Since we missed the ending.”

a/n: So, this was actually inspired by an actual mall we have here. And honestly, the empty cinemas are probably the biggest thing I'm going to miss about this place. It's seriously the best. Sadly tho I never had a javi to comfort me fgbgfbg

Normally yesterday I wanted to see beau is afraid but apparently it's not out in our country yet and is going to be in theaters on june 9th--I'll probably end up watching it online. Anyway since I oculdn't watch beau is afraid, the movie that's actually playing in the background is Hereditary which didn't spook me the first night but def spooked me the second night. And the more I think about it the more I wish Javi si with me lmaodfvdf

Hope you guys enjoyed the cinema filth! sending you all love xx

[miasmal-sweetness]

Eye Level

NSFW - MDNI - 18+ ONLY

My brain is currently refusing to cooperate and work on any other writing until I spit out my dumb little one-shot with my favorite trope (size differences) with one of my favorite demons. So here ya go. Hopefully I’ll be back to writing out my planned Cloud fics afterwards.

Eye Level

Summary: Alastor x reader. 4.1k. You're short. You know it, everyone at the hotel knows it. You've assumed that it's some sort of divine punishment for whatever sins you committed while alive, but it's really not so bad, as long as no one hides your step-stool. Today, you've found a new problem with it, though, when you try to get a little closer to your favorite 7-foot-tall demon.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, dead dove do not eat, size difference (reader reaches Alastor’s hips), smut, reader is gender-neutral with reference to having a vagina, reader wears a dress and bloomers, Alastor being sadistic, reader being a masochist, Alastor calls you “good girl” because I’m a sucker for it

The red light of the sky outside is bleeding in to the hotel, burning your eyes and causing an ache in your head. You want to shut it out, but Niffty is busy cleaning all the windows. Rubbing your right temple, you shift on the couch in an attempt to angle yourself away from the worst of the light as you continue to read your book. The words on the page seem harsher than before against the rough, yellowed pages. In addition to Earth’s actual sunlight, you also find yourself missing the convenience of heading out to the pharmacy to pickup some painkillers that weren’t illicit substances.

“Something the matter, dearest?”

You lift your head at the sound of Alastor’s voice. He’s blocking the light as he stands in front of you, his long shadow easing the pain in your head. You have to crane your neck to look at his smiling face, but you’re used to it at this point.

“Oh, I just have a headache,” you say with a light shrug. “I’m okay. How are you doing?”

“Wonderful as always, darling,” he assures. “Why don’t you join me for a cup of coffee upstairs? I’ve found it works like a charm for a headache.”

You perk up at the thought. It’s a little late in the day to have coffee, but you’re not one to turn down a drink and a snack with Alastor. You take care of most of the cooking for the hotel, since Niffty took over your old job of cleaning, so having something made by another person is a nice treat. Plus, he’s good company—he’s the most polite person you think you’ll ever meet in Hell.

“I’d love to,” you say, sliding off of the couch. You smooth out your dress and tuck your book under your arm; you can finish it another time. Your certain that if you were taller, Alastor would do the gentlemanly thing you see him do with others and link arms with you, but that’s not really possible at your height. Instead, he leads the way by engulfing your little hand with his.

You’re barely focused on the small-talk he makes with you as he guides you up the stairs. His gloves are smooth, and you can feel his claws tickling the skin on your wrist and hand. You know that, as much as Alastor enjoys invading other people’s personal space, he does not enjoy allowing others in to his personal space. Despite this, he has been rather open to your presence; picking you up, holding your hand, ruffling your hair. It feels nice. It makes you feel special—like he’s bestowing an honor on you just by patting you on the head, one that the others don’t get.

You nearly trip over a step, and it snaps you out of your thoughts. Alastor stops you from hitting the ground by extending his arm, letting you put your weight on him for balance.

“Careful, dearest,” he chides, “I’m not always here to catch you.”

Your headache is back, caused by the heat rushing to your face and chest. “Right, thank you,” you mumble, ducking your head. “I-I was just thinking.”

“About what?” You should have seen that coming.

Your eyes dart around as he guides you towards his room. “Uh, j-just—the book you lent me,” you spit out. “I’m almost finished with it. It’s really good.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says, holding open the door for you. “It’s not often I meet another down here that enjoys a good book.”

You smile and step in to his room—immediately, you’re hit by the scent of paper, candles, wood that is well-cared for, and decaying leaves and other plant matter. You know his room changes. You know that what you see is different from what the others see when they enter. You’ve heard them mention the swamp that makes up half of the room, often complete with a decaying deer. Every time he has invited you in, however, it has been nothing other than a lovely room that looks like it belongs in some fancy townhome from the 1920s.

Just another thing that makes you feel special.

“If you have a favorite book, I’d love to read it,” you suggest as you slip out of your shoes.

Alastor’s grin grows even wider than usual. “Really? Well, I’ll have to think about it; I have quite a few in my collection that I favor.” It’s a lie, an excuse to put this off for later. There’s something he doesn’t want you to see. You can sense it, deep down in your gut, but you ignore it. He’s always shielded your eyes from the bad—from the gore of Hell, from those that would try to take advantage of you, even from some of the arguments among the others. This is no different.

Moving on from the topic, Alastor snaps his fingers, and a tray of coffee and small snacks appear on his dining table. He’s added cream and sugar for you; he doesn’t understand your sweet-tooth, but he does indulge it.

“Oh, and a treat for you, little one.”

He snaps his fingers again, and when you next blink your eyes, you find that a dish has appeared on the tray. It’s a slice of cake—the same you remember ogling outside the bakery window the last time you went outside the hotel. The hotel doesn’t offer payment for your services, so your measly pocket change was not enough to get it. He must have noticed your longing for that delicious, soft piece of cake. You don’t even remember the last time you had the luxury of cake. The last time was probably when you were alive, and you have the feeling it was one of those store-bought cakes that are dry and covered in thick, sickeningly sweet icing.

This cake is fancy. This cake is fluffy and standing tall, covered in berries and whipped cream with just the right amount of sweetness. And most of all—it means that Alastor paid that much attention to you on a silly outing that he didn’t need to be a part of.

“Thank you, Alastor!”

You throw out your arms and wrap them around him. It’s a chance as good as any. The closest you have come to hugging him is when he’s picked you up and carried you around like a doll. Surely a gift like this means he would be okay with it—although, the second you touch him, you realize you’re probably reading a little too much in to a slice of cake, and maybe it’s because you forgot to eat lunch.

Your arms wrapped around his legs, your feet in between his. And now you remember just how short you are compared to him. Normally, you’re either staring at the ground or you’re turning your head all the way up to look at his face, which makes it easy to forget that your head reaches an… unfortunate location that you have just unknowingly pushed yourself against.

Your face is burning again. Your head is throbbing. If you weren’t already condemned to Hell, this would probably have gotten you in. Your cheek is right against his groin. You fear looking up at his face for a reaction, but you do it anyway and see that, despite his smile, he looks to be just as shocked as you, if not more. And then it changes. The shock is fading. His eyes are getting darker, and that strange look in his eyes—one that you’ve never seen on him—is directed at you.

You force your body in to action. “I-I’m sorry!” you squawk, stumbling away from him. “Um! I-I just—I was excited; I didn’t mean to—uh, s-sorry, sorry!” You’re clumsily making your way back towards the door, nearly slipping from the lack of friction your socks have on the polished floor.

Alastor takes a step closer to you, and you bristle, picking up the pace. “Ma cher, don’t—”

“Sorry!” you cry one last time, slipping out the door and in to the safety of the hallway. You dash to the end of it and around a corner, where you wait to hear any signs of him following. Nothing. The only thing you hear is your own racing heart and the blood rushing through your body. You feel hot, shaky, and a little sweaty—your feet are sweating through your socks.

Your socks.

You forgot your fucking shoes in his room.

Groaning, you sink down to the floor and peel off your socks, freeing your overheated feet. You replay the event in your mind as you stare emptily at your toes, wiggling them all one by one. You just had to go and try to hug him—you couldn’t just be patient and wait for him to one day, just maybe, initiate it himself. At the very least, you could have been more careful. You think it might have been a nice hug otherwise. You can still feel the crisp fabric of his pants and the warmth he radiates; you can smell the light scent of smoke and cologne on his clothes. The button of his pants had been against your cheek, and you have no control against the intrusive thought of how the bulge in his pants had felt.

Smacking your cheeks with your palms, you shake your head, as though it would toss the thought out. You need to stop being a little creep and get your shoes. You have one pair of shoes, and you are not willing to walk barefoot anywhere in Pentagram City. The longer you leave them there, the more likely you are to abandon them entirely in hopes of never having a confrontation with Alastor. Well… maybe you could ask Charlie to get you a new pair of shoes? You groan at yourself; you’re already trying to get out of it.

You push yourself to your feet and dust off the skirt of your dress. You take quiet, slow steps towards his room. You can do this. Just don’t think about it. Did he like it? No, stop it. Did it excite him, like it excited you? Stop that! You’re wet—maybe from fear, maybe from arousal. Your hands are shaking as you reach for the doorknob. You contemplate whether it would be best to knock or simply crack the door open and grab your shoes without entering. Alastor is polite, though; you know he’d much rather you be decent and knock.

Heart racing, chest heaving with tiny and anxious breaths, you tap your knuckles against the door. It opens almost immediately.

“Yes, dearest? Have you calmed down now?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at his face; instead, you resort to looking at your bare feet. “I—um, I realized I forgot my shoes here,” you mumble, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

He laughs at this—it makes you shiver, and you hope he doesn’t notice. “You were in quite the hurry,” he teases. “What scared you so badly, darling?”

You mean to simply snatch your shoes and flee, but the moment you cross the threshold, he’s closed the door behind you. Your heart is pounding, as though it thinks you’re sprinting down a hallway from a monster. But it’s just Alastor! He’s never harmed you, only kept you safe—and yet, you feel like you’re caught in a trap. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating from behind you; he’s close, and for once, you wish he’d be less comfortable with you in his personal space. Despite this, you can’t bring your dumb feet to move. You are caught like a deer in headlights.

“What’s wrong, pet?” He’s never called you that before. It’s new and exciting, even though you internally scold yourself for the warm feeling building up in the depths of your gut. “Why have you gone quiet? You’re not ignoring me, are you?”

His fingers ghost over your hair as he speaks, his hand finally coming to rest on your shoulder. It’s not as though you’re hiding your discomfort well, but that doesn’t stop him. Alastor’s left hand comes from behind you and cups your chin, slowly drawing you back until your spine touches his leg. You shut your eyes. You won’t look at him; it makes you feel at least a little less exposed, even if you know he can see the red in your face all the same.

“I don’t appreciate the silent treatment, dearest,” he warns, giving your cheeks a squeeze. “I guess I’ll have to find a way to snap you out of it.”

You’re lifted off of your feet; the sudden feeling of instability makes you open your eyes, even though you try to resist. Before you can register it, Alastor has dropped you on his bed—a bed that seems rarely used—and is now kneeling before you.

“You’ve been terribly rude, pet,” he chides, resting his hand on your knee. “First you get so close to me, then you run off and leave me wanting? Now you come back and refuse to say a word to me.” He clicks his tongue in disdain; its the feeling of his claws digging in to your skin that truly express his displeasure. You shift in place, but keep your mouth sealed. Your mind is blank, anyhow.

When his claws pierce your skin, you move out of reflex, jerking your leg away from his hand. Alastor’s grip is iron-clad and holds you in place so tightly that you can’t even move it a millimeter. Your skin feels hot and cold at the same time, and goosebumps are running up and down your arms. Your mind is getting hazy, to the point that your vision blurs as his other hand creeps up the skirt of your dress.

You try to control your breaths, try to look anywhere other than him. He’s relishing the sight of you as his fingers curl around the waistband of your frilly bloomers. He grips your hip harshly—you know it will leave a reminder in the form of a bruise later. His thumb lightly brushes over your clit, and your toes curl in response. It’s like he’s fascinated by the response your body has to it; he’s watching every twitch, shiver, and shake as he toys with you. Finally, a mewl escapes your lips. Something about the noise draws him out of whatever it is that he’s thinking, and he looks you in the eyes.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman, darling,” he says, relaxing his grip on you. “So… yes or no?”

This is closer to the Alastor you’re familiar and comfortable with. He looks so calm and pleased that it’s like it’s just another day for him, one where he does not have his hand in your underwear and he’s just making you feel special by gracing you with a pat on your head. The familiarity is reassuring, and you’re such a sucker for how special he makes you feel, so surely there’s no harm in this…

“Yes,” you finally eke out.

Alastor’s grin widens; his thumb immediately resumes teasing you. His other hand strokes up and down your thigh, his claws tickling you and leaving red streaks in their wake. You moan again and are met with the reminder of his watchful gaze; unable to take the feeling of scrutiny anymore, you grab the lapel of his coat and tug on it.

You hear him chuckle and crack your eyes open again. He’s released you—for now—to shrug off his coat and set it aside.

“An eye for an eye, pet?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to agree to this suggestion; he pops open the buttons on the back of your dress in one quick motion. Your dress is pulled from your body, leaving you and your bloomers entirely exposed. You instinctively cover your chest with your forearm. This is hardly an eye for an eye—and you know, deep down, that he knows that and enjoys every bit of imbalance between you two. And you do, too, even if you don’t want to admit it.

His hands are on you again, this time running up and down your waist, back, thighs, and chest. He’s parting your legs and moving in between them, leaning down to press his lips to your throat. You whimper, now suffocated by the dizzying smell of tobacco. Alastor gives you a gentle peck, before his teeth graze your delicate skin and earn a moan from you. You instinctively bristle from the delightful pain, and he pushes your legs apart again.

“Relax, sha,” he murmurs against your neck. “Relax. Would I let you get hurt?”

Yes. He absolutely would. You know that, and you stuff it down. Who cares? Who cares if you get a little hurt? If he lets it happen? If he’s the one to do it, if he’s the one watching and enjoying it, that’s all that really matters.

So you relax for him and melt in to his touch, letting him guide you down to the soft bed. You don’t resist when your bloomers come off. You’re completely exposed to him, and he’s simply standing over you, grinning at the sight. The one sacrifice he does make is his gloves, shedding them to feel your skin in its full glory. His hands are much warmer without his gloves on; the feeling of them rubbing your legs is soothing.

“Alastor,” you mewl—for a moment, you realize just how pathetic and weak you sound, but decide that it’s fine to be pathetic and weak for him and slip back in to your haze. For every inch of fog clouding your mind, Alastor seems to gain a new degree of focus. You can’t tell exactly what it is he’s so focused on, so hungry for, but you enjoy it all the same.

“You sound so lovely when you say my name.” His voice sounds so different now—animalistic, growling. Your heart rate spikes again, but you’re not about to back out now, so you enjoy the adrenaline rush as you gaze up at the ceiling. You hear a shift of fabric, feel him moving between your legs as he looms over you. He slips one hand underneath you to feel the small of your back, and you finally realize what he’s about to—

“Ahh!” you hiss, curling your spine as you reflexively try to escape the source of the pain. You’re brought back to the reality of your situation for a brief moment; Alastor is over seven feet tall, you are definitely not, and he is definitely entirely proportionate for his height. It hurts, worse than anything you think you’ve felt before. You feel like you’re splitting open, despite how wet you are and the fact that he’s barely inside of you.

Alastor’s hands hold you in place by your hip and your arm. You can feel his own excitement and agitation from the tightness of his grip—so tight he’s trembling in the slightest—and the hint of sweat on his palms. “Behave, sha,” he orders through his teeth. He’s trying to suppress your squirming as much as possible, but you can still wriggle in his grip, and every movement of your hips sends a wave of pleasure through him. “Relax and behave.”

Your body is slowly adjusting to the pain, and his voice is bringing you back to that lovely, pleasurable haze. You force yourself to stay still and breathe through it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs with a sigh. “Good girl.” You shudder at the words, and he pushes himself further inside of you. You don’t struggle this time; you simply yelp in pain and squeeze your eyes shut to bear it. He releases your arm to grab you by your chin, forcing your head up. You open your eyes, your face contorted in pain; he’s smiling, of course. It’s a feral, sadistic smile, but it’s not quite the same one you’ve seen before he rips apart some idiot trying to wreck the hotel. This one is different, and you hope it’s one he’s reserved only for you. No matter how frightening it is, you’ll still delight in the honor.

You manage to relax a little more, having adjusted to the feeling of being torn in two. Alastor sighs at the feeling and once again pushes further inside of you. Every effort of yours to behave will be rewarded like this—with more pain, blood, and tears that prick your eyes. You had your chance to say no. You still could. But you don’t. You’re special. He wants you. And you want him—you want him to degrade you, too.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, sha?” he coos in a tone of faux concern. Still, you whimper and nod, curling your fingers in to the linens beneath you. “I know, pet, I know. It must hurt terribly.” Another inch inside of you, another swallowed scream.

“P-please,” you beg. You barely even realize the words are spilling out of your mouth. “I can’t—I can’t take it.”

“You can,” he assures, his hand moving down to your throat. No matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t squeeze. Not yet. He’ll save that for another time, another day. There’s nothing wrong with denying a bit of pleasure now to make it sweeter later. “You can and you will. I will make you.”

You try to scream when you feel the sensation of a burning, sharp pain pierce further inside of you, but he clamps his hand over your mouth.

“No,” he breathes. “You won’t make a sound unless you’re quiet about it. I am the only one who can hear you. This is just for me.”

You swallow back the scream; it feels like it’s still stuck in your chest, making it ache as it tries to beat its way out through your sternum. It’s too painful to breathe. Every single movement is painful. This is as far as he can go without really hurting you—without you truly breaking apart. You can smell blood. You feel like you can maybe taste it, too. The sight of it only spurs him on, and he pounds in to you without any concern for the pain it will cause you.

You can’t even scream; it’s too sudden. Once the waves of pain truly set in, you let out a weak cry and grab on to his arms in an effort to steady yourself. Spots of all colors are appearing in your vision as the sounds of the room—skin against skin, muffled groans that he’s trying to hold back, your own crying—get further and further away. Your grip on him loosens, and he notices.

“I can’t keep going if you’re sleeping, pet,” Alastor taunts, grabbing you by your chin and squeezing. When your pupils only dilate further, he takes a handful of your hair and pulls, giving your head a shake. That does it; you’re awake enough, for now. “There you are.”

You can’t escape the pain. You just have to live with it. Any time he sees you slipping out of consciousness, you’re awakened with a sharp jolt of pain. And now his movements are too fast, too harsh to even begin to pass out. Tears freely flow down your face at this point, as freely as the blood pooling beneath your thighs.

“A-Alastor,” you sob, one hand reaching up for him. “Please.”

The pathetic sight of you stupidly reaching for him is what sends him over the edge. His claws curl in to your skin, and blood drips on to the linens beneath you. He’s looming over you as you feel warmth replace the feeling of an icy knife in your belly, spilling out of you and on to your legs. His eyes are closed, he’s panting, and his brow is furrowed. You like the sight of it, but you can’t fully enjoy it when he’s still causing you so much pain.

Finally, his eyes open, and he pulls away from you without warning, sending another ripple of pain through you. You’re throbbing. You feel like you’ve been impaled and suffocated. You definitely did not cum. And yet, when the look on his face softens, the pain lessens. He’s back to the gentleman you know and adore.

“Oh dear,” he sighs, resting his cheek against his hand—a hand covered in your blood. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

As he helps you bathe and feeds you a potion to help heal some of your wounds, you let that haze settle in permanently in a part of your brain. As long as he makes you feel special, as long as he calls you sweetheart and pet and sha, you’ll take whatever pain he throws at you.

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Rafayel would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too!

1,051 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Sylus

There have been many different things in Rafayel's life that inspired him when it comes to his art, But nothing took control of his heart so intensely as much as you have. Like a whirlpool you shook him to his core from that first meeting, and all he wants to do is capture you on his canvas for eternity.

It really was quite the blessing with how willing you were to become his bodyguard- not only can he keep you within arms reach but you can also protect him from all the shady people after his life. Like killing 2 birds with one stone, except you were so much stronger and beautiful than any stone he’s ever set eyes on before

He absolutely felt like a flirt to you at the start with all of the compliments and casual physical touch between you guys, He just loved to say how amazing you are while enclosing you in a deep bear hug. It was strange at first you'd admit, but it never felt like he was trying to make any passes at you or act like he was expecting anything in return. Perhaps that's just how he acts with people he trusts?

When Rafayel isnt painting, you two spend a lot of time outside finding inspiration all around. He usually has a sketchbook with him scribbling away anytime he sees something interesting- the landscapes, pretty flowers, or even a parfait you guys got to share. You’ve seen some of these sketches as he works on them, it always amazes you how much detail he can capture with so few lines.

He never let you fully flip through the sketchbook however, claiming all sorts of reasons why, like that the drawings were scared of the sunlight or you had to go through many trials to be worthy. It was obvious how much he cherished it and you respected his wishes, though it would be nice to reminisce on some of the good times you guys had together again. Though its not like your phone wasn't filled to the brim with photos already

Late one night, you stop by his place to make sure he didn't need any motivation to finish a painting for a deadline set the next morning. You have confidence he could make it in time, he always did, but you want to help him as best as you can otherwise. When you arrive you spot a stunning completed painting and a Rafayel sleeping on the sofa below it- both stunning as they're illuminated by the moonlight.

Taking it upon yourself to clean up his supplies a little, just enough to not be a walking hazard of course, you spot his precious travel sketchbook on the floor. Surely he wouldn't mind if you took a little peak in it, you'd love to see how he finished the last landscape you guys saw before he locked himself up to work. As you flip through the pages you see so many familiar sights from your time together so far, but scattered around them filling maybe even more pages was many drawings of a person. Of you. All surrounded by hearts and little notes about things you've said.

When did he have a chance to draw all of these? Is this how you look to him?? Questions race your mind as your face flushes at the image of him intensely scribbling in the sketchbook as you dance around the beach being dumb. You decide to grab a pencil and add your attempt of a sketch of him in the back, signing it with a little heart of your own. It’s nowhere near his skill level but something that captures how you feel, and maybe he would get a chuckle out of it once he spots it.

You don’t realize when the casual acts of affection he started out with turn slightly more romantic- going from linking arms together to holding your hand, and you swear you feel him press little kisses on the top of your head every time he wraps his arms around you. But you don't hate it, in fact it makes your heart flutter every time you realize it

Rafayel often messages you at the most random times to meet him somewhere, usually it was because he found a stunning view and wanted to share the experience with you. Sometimes he would even show up at your apartment to whisk you away, and every time it filled you with joy. These dates and every moment you get to spend with him fill your heart with so much warmth.

One particularly warm night you were woken up by a call inviting you to the beach near his studio. It was worth crawling out of the bed at an ungodly hour, not only for the view but for him. While you were admiring the waves, he couldn't keep his eyes off you as a cautious pinky is hooked around yours. Two faces flush as you look at him, it lasts for only a moment before its interrupted by your watch.

Your face falls as you read the notification “It looks like I got a last minute mission in the morning…I guess this means I have to head back already.” As you take a heavy step to start walking away he reaches out to stop you with a pleading look on his face “Wait, don’t go yet” “Rafayel…. I’m sorry, I really am. This night- everything was wonderful, it really was” “Can’t you just stay the night?” He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck “Please just stay the night, I don’t want you to leave.” Your heart flutters as you wrap your arms around him in return “Okay, I’ll stay for you my sweet painter”

He is the most clingy man you’ve ever met, constantly torn between wrapping himself around you while peppering every inch of skin with kisses and diving headfirst into hundreds of paintings with you as his muse. His studio would be covered in nothing but paintings of you if he didn't have to focus on his commissions.

He sculpted out a place in your heart that held him, and in turn you've devoted yourself to him- loving him with every fiber of your being

[skygemspeaks]

I finally got to sit down and finish episode one, and i've got some thoughts!!

I think that introducing garp as a big player right from the get go is a really great idea. His presence at the execution made sense, and his dynamic with roger did well to help establish both of their characterisations

Roger's actor did a phenomenal job with the eerie laugh and his complete irreverance in the face of his own death. I love how he delivered the wealth fame power speech!

It was a bit surprising to me that they showed roger actually getting killed, but honestly i'm in total approval of this direction they're taking with the live action. I really like the more brutal approach, especially because oda's refusal to kill anyone outside of flashbacks pre-marineford is one of the biggest complaints i tend to hear from people. Seeing zoro dragging around the top half mr 7's corpse was so jarring, but it was a good choice

Ilia's perfrmance as alvida was absolutely amazing. I like that they changed her catchphrase from the most beautiful woman on the seas to the most powerful

Overall, i really like the different transitions between plot points, and how this episode set things up in future arcs. All the different things that go on in shells town feel so much more better interconnected than they did in the manga. I'll go into this more in another post, but like one example of what i'm talking about is how the reason zoro allowed himself to be tied to the post was because morgan threatened that if he didn't agree to it, he wouldn't be able to collect any more bounties from any marine bases. It also gives zoro mire of a reason to join luffy - he knows that at this point there's no eay he can continue being a bounty hunter now that morgan has it out for him. So how else is he going to meet other strong swordsmen? By joining a pirate crew of course.

The shanks flashback was awesome! His dynamic with luffy was really endearing, and again i do like that they didn't have higuma attack shanks. That's one thing that never really made sense to me in the manga - i get thst yoy don't have to solve everything with violence, but there's no reason for shanks not to have fought back against someone who was attacking him, even if he did know they couldn't possibly hurt him

Also on shanks' flashback - the scene where he found out luffy had eaten the devil fruit was AMAZING. What a fantastic idea to have little luffy framed in sunlight! And the utter heartbreak on shanks' face as he realizes that there's no way luffy will ever be able to have a normal life now...

Of course, we gotta mention the snippet of Binks' Sake we heard in the scene where shanks is stitching up luffy's cut. I recognized it instantly and it made me really emotional. Love all these little easter eggs they have for long time fans of the series. In addition to this there was alsp the cavendish, foxy, and bellamy wanted posters which we knew about from the trailer

Speaking of wanted posters - what a COOL way to introduce the other pirates!

Morgan going on his monologue about capturing kuro is SO funny know what's gonna happen on a few episodes. Oda played it a lot more subtle in the manga but i like that they came right out and said it here.

And while we're talking about foreshadowing, it was a fantastic idea to include the mr 7 fight in this season! I really hope we get a season 2, just sp we can get the payoff for this great setup.

I'm a little sad that we didn't get to see the luffy and koby hug that was shown in the behind the scenes video (i think that was the one?). I really hope that wasn't cut because i loved that little scene. Maybe it'll happen later in the season?

Buggy's introduction at the end of the episode was SO good. I loved his whole vibe, with him lounging so confidently in his chair, his creepy laugh, everything. I'm excited to see the next episode! They better not have cut chouchou out 😭

[adore-gregor]

Lol I keep on doing this, saying I'd come back to tumblr to only disappear again 😂😭

[somestorythoughts]

Back on my Eldritch Jedi Bullshit

Thinking about eldritch Jedi/Force-Users but not all Jedi. And on the one hand, Anakin being born of the Force and being unbelievably eldritch is good and I like it but on the other hand, Anakin being very powerful but not Eldritch unlike some other Jedi is very funny. See here for a very good version of that.

So some of the Jedi are eldritch. There are faces in their shadows, true faces that aren't silhouettes. There are sunrises and storms and flowers in their eyes. There are more teeth in their mouths than there should be, longer tongues, Power in their voices thrumming along the beats of your heart. There are thorns sprouting from their collarbones, leaves from the gaps in their exoskeletons, ferns from between their feathers. There is sunlight, fire, plasma burning and glowing in their veins, light that can darken into poison, poison that can be purified into sunlight once again. Because Falling doesn't mean you stop burning.

It's tucked away, out of sight. Restrained, much like their emotions. Because when your power reacts to your emotions and you can crush tanks with your mind, it's not physically hard to crush people. They're so much more fragile. The Jedi don't preach self-control for shits and giggles. Sometimes, great power comes with the responsibility not to use it.

And being eldritch it isn't about how powerful you are, though there's some correlation. It's about the way the Force interacts with you. It's the difference between being a channel for the Force and being the Force made flesh.

It's also not something you talk about much in the Temple. It's not exactly a secret, but it's not really the subject of gossip and to people who don't share those traits, it tends to be described as "improving control of one's emotions/relation to the Force." It's personal. Like recognizes like, and padawans with that type of connection tend to get Master's with the same connection. That relationship to the Force makes it easier to lash out, and that's not good for anyone.

It doesn't help that some planets are already leery of regular Jedi. they Really Don't Like the eldritch ones. So over time, this connection became something that was touched on in The Force 101 classes and then not discussed much outside of it by people who DON'T have that connection. Qui-Gon didn't have it, neither did Dooku. Obi-wan doesn't have it, though he knows of it. Anakin Skywalker, as powerful as he is, didn't have it.

Ahsoka Tano does.

Like recognizes like, and most eldritch Force Users know another when they see them. The Jedi make a point, not only of assigning those padawans to similar masters but of taking in those younglings even if they're a bit older than usual. But sometimes, someone just get missed. Sometimes no one sees a youngling's extra teeth, sometimes there aren't any eldritch Jedi in the creche when nightmares scrape the walls, sometimes that connection to the Force is just quiet. Sometimes, that connection to the Force isn't noticed before a Padawan is assigned a Master. Had he known, Yoda would never have assigned Ahsoka to Anakin.

This isn't a slight against Anakin, to be clear. There's advantages to making sure that padawans have masters who know how to help them with their brand of weird Force shenanigans, or at the very least, are regularly meeting with Masters that can help. In normal times, Ahsoka's eldritchness would probably have been noticed within a couple years (if you don't know how to restrain it, it will eventually start showing more) and then she and Anakin would have been introduced to some Eldritch Jedi who would assist with the training. But this isn't normal times. So none of the Jedi notice.

Plo or Obi-Wan could have. Plo's eldritch, and he cares about Ahsoka, but so much of their communication over the war was done over comms. Obi-Wan, having grown up with Quinlan Vos, thinks he knows what eldritch Force Sensitivity looks like and to be fair, if he wasn't distracted by the war he probably would have noticed. But war is Extremely Distracting and Ahsoka's connection is quieter than Quinlan's. He, and Plo, are distracted, and so so tired. So they miss the changing teeth, the periodic gleam in her shadow, the marching beat under her words when on the battlefield that beats in sync with the troopers' boots. And Anakin? He means well and he's trying, but he doesn't know that this is a thing to look for and he can be a bit oblivious.

You know who does notice? The clones. In particular, Kix.

Most all the clones are hypervigilant, thank you Kamino trauma. So they pay A Lot of attention to anything that registers as potentially threatening, even subconsiously. Ahsoka's a kid and they grow to trust her quickly, but there was a time when she was a new inexperienced commanding officer. And after that they were helping to teach her and look out for Threats to the Little Sister, so they were very observant where Ahsoka was concerned.

They don't know enough about Torgurta or Jedi to know what's normal for one, but they do notice the things that don't stay constant. The way her shadow changes, the way her teeth and hands sometimes change shape. Things that are rare in sentients.

Things Ahsoka has started to notice, and worry about.

Kix meanwhile, is a medic who just got an adolescent Togruta put under his care and he has no idea how to take care of her. The Kaminoans weren't told that the medics would be responsible for the jedi (one of those little details that was never clarified and caused confusion in the beginning) so they trained the medics to take care of the other clones and gave them access to some basic medical info for other species for emergency measures. So almost all of Kix's medical knowledge is specifically How to Treat Injuries and Illnesses in Male Humans; Children to Young Adults. Sure, there's overlap, but not enough.

(Yes, the medics do have a private chat where they trade tips and resources and vent about their respective dumbasses. It's a multipurpose chat.)

So he does a lot of research to make sure he can treat Ahsoka properly when she's inevitably injured. He notices things that Do Not Line Up and with Ahsoka's permission reaches out to the Jedi healers.

Now, if eyes might start hovering around your patients when you're doing surgery, that's valuable information to know. So all of the healers know about the eldritchness. They're able to tell Kix and Ahsoka what's going on.

And where it goes from there? I can't say. I can tell you one thing for sure, Mortis undoubtedly makes it WORSE.

[kestalsblog]

Vampire Stanman 🧛🏻🩸

I really enjoyed writing this too much 🙈

TW: Crude language, mention of weapons, blood (nothing too graphic though). For mature audience since Eric has sadistic tendencies, but nothing explicit; all characters are in their twenties.

Enjoy Vampire Hunter Eric and Stanpire Stan 🥰

______________________________________________________________

At one point in Eric’s life, he never would have assumed that the best thing to happen to him would be South Park’s vampire infestation, but then again, nothing in his life (or South Park) ever followed a normal path.

The vampire colony had popped up about a decade ago, just about the time the undead fuckers started appearing in other random places across the globe, and Eric had been finishing high school. Pretty ideal time for Vampire Hunter to become a career option, especially since he’d never been too interested in anything besides potentially becoming a rabbi to fuck with Kyle. Getting paid to murder some bloodsucker, however, was an option he could get behind for real.

Humans were resourceful and quickly had learned the best self-defenses against the vampires, namely a variety of weapons coated in a special silver alloy lovingly deemed AVA (Anti-Vampire Alloy) designed specifically to destroy the vampires’ bodies. The weapons really were quite creative—Eric had wielded everything from an AVA-tipped stake to a flail after his tenth year in the business.

Honestly, even the slayings got boring after a while though because the fatalities were almost always the same, and Eric could only watch some bloodless guy impaled to a tree thrash himself to death before the sun had a chance to finish the job so many times.

Usually it went like this: he’d lure some idiot vampire in with the false promises of blood and/or sex, surprise the idiot with a blow to the back of the neck, and once the idiot was down, get him chained outside so the sun could take care of the rest and there’d be no chance of recovery. Sure, vampires were physically much stronger than humans, but their cravings were stronger too. It was the one case in Eric’s life where being heavy had come in handy because he was also heavier in blood than other, thinner people. Hell, he was practically a walking all-you-can-eat buffet to vampires, in his personal and correct opinion.

Today he’d chosen his preferred weapon—a small but sturdy and efficient dagger—to prepare for his meeting with the boss. He’d been called in for a “special mission,” which usually meant an exceptionally unruly and thirsty vampire had infiltrated the human side of the city. Most emergency cases were because a moronic human had sneaked into “South South Park” (the new nickname for the southernmost part of the city where the vampire colony resided) and gotten himself into trouble. Those cases were the worst of all because, truthfully, the human probably deserved to die for trespassing onto rival territory. As a certified Vampire Hunter, Eric wasn’t allowed to speak that particular viewpoint out loud, though.

Sure enough, things today were different.

“This one’s already killed several people,” Craig explained during the meeting. Eric would never refer to him as “Mr. Tucker” despite their differences in status. Craig had been the only other one of his classmates to go into the Vampire Hunting business after high school, and Eric was more than a little annoyed with how quickly he’d risen through the ranks to the top. He barely did any of the hunting and killing himself anymore, instead delivering orders.

But Eric couldn’t argue with Craig’s unbeatable kill count compared to all the other hunters in the area. Something about his strict personality and rigid moral code had molded him into the perfect ender of immortal lives.

“He burned down an entire farm,” Craig said, reading a report as he sat across his desk from Eric. The small silver crucifix he always wore around his throat glinted in the sharp sunlight from the window. It wasn’t uncommon for most people to wear some kind of AVA weaponry these days.

“Unusual for a vampire to be around fire,” commented Eric, running his finger idly down the engravings of his blade. By now, it had killed about thirty vampires.

“You’ve got that right.” Craig’s cement-gray eyes rose momentarily to meet Eric’s. “Sure is one deranged motherfucker. I’ll give you the coordinates. You think you got this, or you need backup?”

“Dude.” Eric withheld a chuckle of offense. “I’ve got this. I killed like five of them yesterday. Give me a little credit.”

“All right.” Craig laid the reports smooth against his desk, and the crucifix caught even more light, briefly blinding Eric so that when he blinked, he still saw the shape of the cross imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. “I hope your confidence serves you well. Good luck, Eric.”

Eric murmured, “I don’t need luck” as he got to his feet and hoped that maybe this vampire would at least be a little more interesting than the last dozen. He’d gone into this career to avoid the monotony of some unbearable office job, but the drudgery was catching up to him anyway. Why did each of life’s avenues point directly toward absolute boredom and dissatisfaction? Going home to an empty house in between killings didn’t exactly help.

“Please be more fun,” he whispered to himself outside as he checked the coordinates Craig had given him. This vampire was last spotted about a good distance outside of South Park, but since he’d killed South Park residents, he was their problem. Eric checked the app on his watch designed to tell him how long he had until sunset. About two hours. Perfect.

______________________________________________________________

The farm, which had previously been a hemp farm of all things, was a fucking wasteland by the time Eric arrived. Though most of the flames had burnt themselves out, there were black scorch marks rippling down all the rows of weed. Wisps of smoke rose into the air, and really it was hilarious how badly the place reeked now. The stench of skunk probably extended for miles, getting even the most innocent of townspeople high as a kite.

At least the vampire had a sense of humor.

After interviewing the farm’s owners, Eric learned the vampire had last been seen heading to an abandoned toolshed a few acres off the farm. The primary owner, a crude, distracted man, let him know through rambling speech that he’d followed the vampire there until he’d gotten worried about being too isolated with him and headed back. While he spoke, his wife and daughter sat behind him silently with haunted expressions.

Eric wasn’t afraid. He’d brought enough weapons to take down an entire fleet of vampires. The hardest part was the miserable, freezing journey to the toolshed, and the overwhelming weed fumes certainly didn’t help. By the time he spotted the derelict little building a couple of yards away, his head was comfortably fuzzy.

“I know you’re in there, piece of shit!” Eric shouted through the hole-torn wooden door that was barely hanging onto its hinges. The sun was only a thin orange crescent in between mountain valleys now. Pretty soon, the vampire would be at its peak strength. Normally Eric went for a different approach: his usual sweet talk and seduction, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. Right now, he was in a kicking-the-door-down-and-beating-some-ass kind of mood.

The door gave away under his foot like melting snow, and as soon as it was splinters on the ground, Eric saw the shadows in the toolshed’s furthest right corner shift. “Ha, think you can hide from me, fucker?” He slung the rifle he kept strapped to his back over his shoulder. Courtesy of Craig, the bullets were composed almost entirely of AVA. “Try to attack me, and I’ll blast your head off your shoulders.”

A dramatic hiss issued from within the shadows—this vampire was fucking pissed, and hell, Eric inwardly confessed to a little thrill at that realization. He caught sight of two brilliantly shining animal eyes through the darkness, and he aimed the rifle at what he thought was probably the vampire’s shoulder.

Before he could fire, though, the vampire stumbled forward. Dangerous move, considering the thin tunnel of sunlight spilling from the broken door. Between the fire and the crappy hiding place, this vampire must have had some kind of death wish. Eric felt his breath falter; his hands slipped on the weapon.

All vampires were more beautiful than humans, but Eric had gotten used to their steely features so long ago that they mostly had no effect on him anymore. This one, like everything else today, was different.

His face was perfectly pale, almost the same shade as the whites of his eyes. And inside those whites were two pinpoint-sized, crystal blue irises locked intensely on Eric. Even though his features might have appeared soft on a human face, something about his unmoving posture sharpened his jawline and the bridge of his nose. Maybe he was too thin. Maybe his eyes were too wide for his face. Messy black hair that melded into the shadows topped his head, with the finest, darkest strands falling elegantly like long eyelashes down his forehead.

He extended his hands in the universal “stop” gesture, giving Eric a chance to see that his palms and fingers were swollen and discolored to a strange plum shade. He’d seen enough injured vampires to know these were burn marks.

“You accidentally burnt yourself setting the weed up in flames, didn’t you?” Eric couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, whose fault was that, huh? That desperate to get stoned?”

The vampire’s pupils shrunk unbelievably smaller, and he opened his jaws wide to hiss again. This time, Eric realized the sound was oddly muted. Leaning closer, he saw that someone had placed something over the vampire’s upper row of teeth that looked somewhat like a human’s mouthguard. The material appeared less gummy and thicker, though, a gentle grayish shade that told Eric it was laced with AVA too.

 “What the hell?” he mumbled, lowering the rifle by an inch. The vampire relaxed at that, his shoulders and scorched hands lowering. Long strands of saliva foamed out the sides of the mouthguard and down his jawbones and chin. Eric had never seen a weapon quite like it, but he could tell immediately that there was no way the vampire could remove it. If he so much as touched the metal-tinted material, he’d be stricken with terrible agony. Maybe the injuries across his hands were not entirely from the fire, then. Maybe the fire had been an act of utter desperation born out of suffering.

Eric tested another step forward, and the vampire retreated some with another miserable, weakened hiss. “How long has that thing been on your teeth?” he asked. “Who put it there?” Surely Craig would have let him know about any new weapons; he always kept up to date with innovative vampire-destroying contraptions. And why would another Vampire Hunter get close enough to put this thing on his teeth, but then leave him alive? Eric didn’t give two fucks about vampires, but even he felt it was unusually barbaric behavior.

Either the mouthguard made speaking impossible, or the vampire simply didn’t want to answer him. Instead, he kept emitting the same pathetic hisses again and again as he retreated further into the corner’s darkness. Eric wasn’t sure the vampire would be strong enough to fight him even in full nighttime. The vampire’s knees were shaking, clacking into one another.

“You could probably still bite down with it on, you know,” Eric said, wondering why he was giving advice to a killer. “If you tried hard enough, you could probably still break the skin.”

“Hurts,” the vampire choked out, his first word, though it came out more like “hurtsth” with the material surrounding his teeth. More saliva ran from his gums, which were also colored an unusual mauve shade. His eyes searched Eric’s face with anguished fervor. He was starving.

A wild idea struck Eric’s mind—a stupid idea, really, but once it was there, it infested his mind and possessed all his urges. Without further thought, he took the dagger from his pocket and pressed its blade into his own palm. As soon as the first bead of blood budded to the surface of his skin, he heard the vampire’s sharp gasp.

When he looked up, the vampire was staring with merciless focus at his hand. The tip of his tongue protruded goofily from the side of his mouth with the force of his thirst. “You want this, don’t you?” taunted Eric, lifting his palm. The vampire’s pupils snapped almost mechanically to follow every movement of Eric’s hand.  

When the ball of blood grew larger and broke into a small stream down Eric’s hand, the vampire moaned with uncontrolled lust and lunged forward. Eric gasped, trying to aim the rifle again, but it was promptly knocked from his good hand. All light from outside had dwindled now, and the vampire stood before him in the moonlight.

“Wait,” Eric cried with a little anxiety when the vampire’s frigid fingers locked onto his wrist, but then he remembered he couldn’t be bitten. The vampire's fingers were textured with large blistering lumps from his injuries, and Eric felt the strange, softened tips of the vampire’s coated teeth as they grazed against his skin. But then the feeling was replaced with an unpleasantly cold, dry tongue on his palm.

Eric wondered if the vampire could hear his heart accelerating as he looked down and watched him lick violently and urgently at his hand. He curved his tongue down all the lines of his skin and even between his fingers; clearly, he didn’t want to miss a drop. This was the perfect opportunity for Eric to kill him—he was weak and exposed, his faded red and blue coat barely tattered lines of fabric across his torso.

But for some reason, Eric didn’t want to kill him. He watched with fascination as the beautiful man dropped to his knees before him, his long fingers still circled around his wrist, and he continued dabbing his tongue pitifully to the dried-up wound. He was probably (no, without a doubt) the most beautiful creature Eric had ever seen in his life, like someone’s piece of artwork come to life.

Killing him almost seemed like a punishment to himself because he’d never get to look at him again.

Eric wondered why the vampire hadn’t savagely torn some animal apart by now just to lap at its blood if nothing else, even if he couldn’t suck it through his teeth like vampires normally did. Maybe he had been doing that, and it still wasn’t enough.

“Please,” the vampire started whimpering frantically, his jaw loosening with the effort it took him to speak. No more blood would spill no matter how he prodded Eric’s skin with his tongue, which was a little warmer now. Eric watched his eyes pause on the small pulsing vein of Eric's wrist, and his pupils contracted with tormented desire. “Please.” His eyelids fluttered, and his brows rose far into his hair. “Please.”

Eric had never heard a voice like it, had never beheld such violent, feral longing in all his life. Knowing how desperate the vampire must be, and knowing how that desperation didn't make one difference because he couldn't possibly get what he wanted without depending on Eric, warmed Eric's body all over.

The sight of it, the sound of it, sent unsettled excitement all throughout his bloodstream. He couldn’t recall a time he’d last felt like this, though all his life he’d wanted to feel like this and had dreamed about, no craved, feeling this alive and powerful.

This beautiful being’s life was literally in his hands. Strapped to him were all the weapons that could end the vampire's life, but his body was also teeming with the one thing that could keep him alive.

Eric took a step backward, and the vampire threw his arms around his thigh, his pleas continuing while Eric’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Be quiet,” he told the vampire when he saw the call was from Craig. To his surprise, the vampire silenced immediately, freezing in his subservient position with his arms around Eric's leg. Another thrill.

“Eric, it’s been a while,” Craig said. “Are you having trouble? Is it dead?”

Eric glanced down at the vampire, who was looking back at him with large, unblinking, imploring eyes. The tiny dribble of blood he’d consumed had brought the faintest of pink tinges to his cheeks. Like a marble sculpture, he stared with total stillness.

“Uh—” Eric started, the dilemma between the truth and a major lie stalling him for only a moment before he said, “yeah. He’s dead. I told you I had this. Everything’s good.”

“Oh, okay, great. See you soon about the payment.”

Craig was never one for extending phone calls beyond their natural expiration dates, and Eric thanked God for that fact when the conversation came to an immediate close. He turned his focus to the vampire.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone about this,” he ordered. “As far as anyone knows, I killed you. But if you stay here and listen to me, I can help you some." Never mind the long drive, Eric was already telling himself. This was totally worth it. "Do what I say, and I’ll give you more of my blood. Maybe one day I’ll even take that thing off your teeth. If you behave.”

That was all the vampire needed to hear. His head started shaking up and down in rapid, foolish agreement. Eric tested reaching an unsteady hand toward the top of the vampire’s head. His fingers trembled with unbridled exhilaration when he touched the silky-soft locks, much softer and thicker than a human’s.

Instead of withdrawing from him, the gorgeous vampire leaned into the touch, nudging his head closer as if wanting to be petted. Vampires were sexual, needy creatures by nature. Add that to their hunger, and they could be unstoppably salacious. Eric sensed an unusual sweetness to this one, though, even through his rabid desire for blood.

“You’re mine now,” whispered Eric, his eyes never leaving the vampire as he began to craft the lie that he would tell the farm owners. “All mine. Do you understand?” He tugged gently at the hair, and the vampire only lifted his titillating, clouding eyes to meet his.

A feeling returned to Eric then, something he hadn’t experienced since early childhood and thought was long gone—the emotion he’d developed when manipulating his mother into buying him a particularly desired video game, or whenever sliding convenient store candy bars up his sleeves. Secret possession and unconditional control set his body ablaze in ways he’d never been able to explain to anyone, even himself.

Maybe he’d never entirely outgrown breaking the rules.

[cheesy09]

[CN] Kiro's Sound Waves Mind's Quest (Pt. 2)

🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸

[Note: This date was translated with the help of Google Translate :>]

Note: This date explores some very suggestive themes, so if you do not meet the game's required 17+ age rating, I'd suggest to avoid reading this date.

Read Part 1: HERE

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[PART 4]

I don't know how much time passes before I am gently awoken by bright and warm sunshine.

I open my eyes and stare at the swaying shadows of the trees outside the window for a while. Then, I sleepily turn around and find Kiro no longer beside my pillow.

MC: ...Kiro?

No one responds to me, only the faint sounds of scratching come from nearby.

I prop myself up and look around, finding him lying in a corner of the attic with his back turned towards me, a large pair of headphones on his head, and a pen held in his hand, scribbling and writing something unknown.

With it being such a quiet morning, I am unable bring myself to disrupt such a scene. So I quietly sit against the wall and watch him.

Unconsciously, I catch a glimpse of the portable keyboard next to my feet. The black and white keys on it seem to jump on their own in the light and shadow, bringing to mind the melody and our gasps from last night.

Somehow, I pick up the keyboard and gently start to play it.

But for some reason, I am unable to restore that melody for a while.

As I carefully think about it, a sound comes from the side opposite me. I raise my head and find Kiro turning to face me.

The sunshine lovingly embraces him and he smiles at me.

Kiro: Your rhythm's a bit slow. It should sound like...

As he speaks, he taps his fingertips on the floor and hums softly.

I nod in enlightenment, but the melody that forms under my fingertips still doesn't match the beat in certain parts.

Kiro: [softly] A little faster again.

He continues to tap beats on the floor, but this time, he intentionally breaks them down, allowing me to understand them a lot more clearly.

I quickly grasp that motion and play again, and one by one, those notes smoothly play out again.

MC: ....!

My confidence suddenly increases significantly. Feeling exhilarated, I can't help but continue playing the notes.

MC: I seem to have learned a lot. Maybe in a few years, I can be called a music producer~

Kiro: ......

At this moment, all sounds seem to dissipate.

All Kiro sees is the large swath of sunlight embracing the girl and her white nightgown exuding a fuzzy glow.

She sits on the floor and casually plays, the sunshine leaping under her fingertips and shining brightly into her eyes.

He can't take his eyes off of her. All he can do is watch her like this.

For some reason, he suddenly remembers the days when he first formed the band.

At that time, he always heard stories of friendship or love one after another amongst his bandmates. Those people were able to get to know each other through their music and gradually get closer to each other.

He had also listened to music by a lot of other people. Those pure melodies and obsessions have also touched and influenced him.

But her music is different.

The simple and casual notes, her slightly messy bedhead, the shallow wrinkles in her nightgown, and her indulgent smile.

It's so simple and ordinary, yet it makes his heart swell.

He has never experienced this feeling before - like he's endlessly falling into her music, being constantly covered in her hugs and kisses.

MC: Kiro, can you teach me more?

The girl hugs her knees, tilts her head and smiles at him. But he doesn't speak, just stretches out his hand towards her.

Looking at Kiro's open palm, I smile knowingly, pick up the keyboard and walk towards him.

But as soon as I put the keyboard next to him, he suddenly grabs a hold of my wrist and pulls me, prompting me to sit directly on top of him.

MC: Wait. Do - do you want to teach like this?

His warm skin immediately presses against my thigh, causing my voice to stutter.

Kiro: [in a lazy seductive tone] When did I promise to teach you?

MC: Then what are you...?

He stares at me for a while. Then, intentionally or not, his fingertips brush up my skirt.

Every place he touches seems to burn, leaving me feeling hot and itchy.

Kiro: "Teacher Flower" is off work.

Kiro: This time belongs to Kiro now.

The sunlight seems to lean towards him, reflecting the tranquility and temptation in his eyes. His tight chest rises and falls under his half-lifted clothes, causing my breathing to unintentionally synchronize with his.

MC: Then... what does Kiro want to do?

Kiro: He wants to say...

He strokes my cheek and then slowly climbs up to my neck, letting me get closer and closer to him, until our breaths are only inches apart.

My face instantly catches fire, but he still grasps my lower back with ease and restrains me.

Kiro: [whispers passionately x1] I really like you.

Kiro: [x2] I really... like you a lot.

His voice lingers in my ears, as if coaxing me.

Kiro: [x3] I want to kiss you.

His bewitching voice instantly tingles my ears. He raises his chin and gently takes my lips into his mouth.

As if still unsatisfied, he grinds circles into me, then onto my neck and collarbone, leaving sinful traces on every inch of my skin. My brain melts to the point where I toss all of my remaining rationality to the back of my mind and instinctively latch onto him.

He kisses me with his head raised, his sometimes gentle and sometimes turbulent breaths falling all over my body, until the hand entwined around my waist squeezes hard and I let out a soft, defenseless moan.

It's like a stone finally cracking the icy surface, finally exposing all of those restrained and pent-up emotions.

The itch that spreads from the depths of my body occupies my entire being. I helplessly place my hand against his chest, sensing that all my feelings and desires are being controlled by him.

Kiro: [x4] I really want to get closer to you...

MC: Kiro, no more...

As he sits up, I feel his hot chest pressing up against me.

The world trembles and that powerful heart pounds violently against my own, as though it is my own heart.

Kiro: [gasping] I want you.

Kiro: [voice trembling with desire] I want the deepest part of your heart... to become my shadow.

My sight rises and falls, and everything blurs except for those pair of eyes that hold my reflection. They only grow clearer.

I can no longer hold back the urge to whisper his name and lace my fingers together with his, allowing him to continue eroding the deeper corners of my world.

-

After several twists and turns, I nestle into Kiro's arms, basking in the sun, while idly looking through the music sheets and signed photographs scattered around me.

The floor was obviously clean last night, so how did it get so messy overnight..?

Suddenly, I remember the scene I saw when I first opened my eyes, and am unable to keep myself from gently poking him in the chest.

MC: When I first woke up, I found you busy with something. You... you didn't sleep at all last night, did you?

Kiro: Pretty much... I signed a couple of autographs, synthesized the past few days' improvs and then posted them online.

MC: Huh?

Noting my rising tone of voice, he smiles nonchalantly.

Kiro: We are Twinkle, so of course more people need to hear such amazing music.

MC: Wait, wait a minute, where did you post it?

Seeing him point at the computer on the table, I quickly run over and find that there is indeed a recently released song called "Wonderful Night".

I scroll the scroll wheel in shock and horror. Not only does the number of views exceed 1,000, but the number of followers and comments also increases by several with every referesh.

After being left stunned for a while, I put on my headphones and press the play button--

The familiar melody flows out, but is also accompanied by a lot of synthesizer effects that Kiro added to it, making the entire song sexy and trendy.

MC: Kiro... you're so amazing.

I turn around in admiration and find the he has closed his eyes.

Noticing that his stomach is still exposed, I tiptoe to pick up the blanket, but he turns over and holds me in his arms.

I lean close to his ear and and drop my voice down extremely low.

MC: Kiro... did you know that "Wonderful Night" has 10,000 views?

Kiro: Just 10,000... There'll be more in a few days.

He automatically mutters, making me laugh out loud.

This person is way too confident in himself.

I cannot help but snuggle into his arms and close my eyes along with him.

MC: Then after some time, will we have another side job?

Kiro lazily tightens his grip on my hand and rubs his fluffy hair against me.

Kiro: Nope, we're just doing this for fun.

T/n: In the above dialogue, Kiro uses the phrase "用爱发电" which literally translates into "generating electricity for love" which is Chinese slang for "working for little / no reward".

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[PART 5]

Due to how fast the internet changes, I had thought that our song would only stir up a splash and then die down again.

However, I never expected the "viral" spread of that short video would eventually make it top the platform's hot song list.

MC: "When you put your headphones on, you can't help but vibe to this."

MC: "I discovered an amazing band while doing my daily routine."

MC: "Have you ever noticed that the vocals of the lead singer and Kiro sound similar? But the lead singer's voice is bassier and more seductive~

I huddle into my computer chair and delightfully read the comments.

Kiro stands in front of the mirror and buttons up his shirt, giving me a smile through the mirror.

Kiro: Are you that happy? You've been reading the comments all afternoon.

MC: Yeah, because some people in the comments also praised me, saying that the backing vocalist and keyboard player are very soulful! But I know that it was actually you who secretly helped me adjust a lot~

Kiro: Be confident. All I did was put in the final touches.

Kiro walks over to me, leans over and gives me a kiss. Then he bends his right arm and motions for me to take it.

Kiro: Alright, tonight's jazz concert is about to start. Let's get going.

MC: Coming!

I pick up my clutch, loop my arm around his and together, we walk out.

-

Actually, a few days prior to going viral, the two of us had a serious discussion on whether Twinkle should take advantage of this rise in popularity and pursue this victory.

But unsurprisingly, we reached an agreement and decided to let nature take its course--

For us, life has always be full of hard work and seriousness.

So when we are free to be ourselves, we should feel free to be bold.

-

In the dimness of the bar, the melody of jazz flows through the air, sometimes clear, sometimes soft, making me immerse myself into it.

As I listen, I tilt my head and whisper to Kiro.

MC: The keyboardist is amazing... They must all be improvising, right?

After not getting a response for a long time, I turn around and find him staring at his phone, a flash of excitement in his eyes. Just as I am about to ask him about it, he takes hold of my hand and walks out.

-

After passing through one seat after another, we come to a hidden aisle.

MC: What's wrong?

Kiro takes a deep breath and is unable to stop himself from kissing my forehead in excitement.

Kiro: I knew you'd shine wherever you were.

He takes out his mobile phone and shows me an email page written in English. I quickly glance at it and find it to be an invitation.

MC: This is...?

Kiro: Ahem, to put it simply, the WMA committee has invited Twinkle to perform at the awards ceremony.

Kiro: At the same time, they're also hoping that we can participate in the outdoor music festival they're holding the following day, which is, of course, also a performance.

His summary is simple and clear, but I am still left bombarded by the explosive amount of information.

MC: W-what?!

MC: That's impossible. No matter the scale or various factors, there's no way they'd invite us, right?

MC: This is the WMAs! The cast list for that had been decided long ago. Is this some kind of prank?

Kiro: Pranks could never escape the eyes of Key. I've also confirmed it with the sender as to why they want us.

Kiro: They said that a new band was unable to make it due to force majeure, and they'd originally planned to cancel the performance entirely...

He pauses and lowers his voice to my ear.

Kiro: [softly] But one of the judges listened to our song and did not find it to be inferior to the nominated works in terms of style and arrangement.

Kiro: So he sent us a private message asking us if we're willing to take part in the performance.

Seeing the lack of jest in his eyes, I slowly accept this shocking revelation.

But at the same time, I also secretly lament Kiro's genius.

Being able to gain recognition from professionals in such a short amount of time is definitely not something ordinary people can hope to achieve.

Finding me a little distracted, he takes me into his arms and looks down at me earnestly.

Kiro: MC, do you want to go?

MC: Huh? No, no, you'll be at risk of public opinion.

I subconsciously shake my head and wildly wave my hands around.

MC: If everyone knew that a superstar suddenly formed a band, who knows what would happed.

MC: In the event that things don't work out, it could even involve audio copyright issues... commercial endorsements...

Kiro: I've already consulted Savin about that. Although it gave him a headache, he said that as long as it wasn't commercialized, there'd be no economic risk.

Kiro: Besides, Twinkle's true identity is shrouded in mystery. When the time comes, we'll just put on disguises.

Seeing Kiro speak so easily, I squeeze his palm.

MC: Wherever there's an airtight wall in this world, the truth behind it will be discovered sooner or later. We should just stay on the internet.

Kiro: So what if we really get discovered? None of that matters to me.

He pauses then leans down to be on eye level with me.

Kiro: While I am a singer and an actor, I'm also just me.

Kiro: So I know for a fact that this is what Kiro wants to do. What about you?

Kiro: Do you want to perform on stage with me?

MC: ....!

The melodies of dull and distant jazz music comes to my ears, and, as if in response to them, the sound of my heartbeat gradually becomes clear.

I very well know the weight of what he is saying. For him, this is no adventure, but a determination after careful consideration.

No one can resist the "dream" beckoning to him.

What's more is... this is Kiro's light.

All the blood in my body begins to surge. I stare at the person in front of me and respond to him with a kiss.

MC: I want to. Very much. I've wanted to stand by your side since a long time ago.

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[Memory Silhouette]

Late at night, after spending the entire evening practicing the ensemble, the girl drowsily drops onto the sofa and falls asleep.

Seeing how peacefully she sleeps, Kiro leans over and kisses the corner of her mouth.

Initially, he would have collapsed onto the warm sofa with her, but he wasn't feeling the slightest bit sleepy.

So he walks over to the keyboard, puts on his monitoring headphones and starts playing the black and white keys with his hands.

Like a stream in the forest, the music that enters his ears is light and slow.

And then he looks out the windows and sees all the lights of the cafe at the street corner out, the boss pulling down the shutter and walking further and further away with the keys--

The long-lasting memories in his mind that were about to be sealed slowly overlap with what's in front of him.

He's seen this scene too many times.

Always sitting alone by the window and playing... always watching the number of pedestrians and vehicles dwindle, and always watching the cafe close for the day.

Until he was only one left on the street who was still awake.

--"I don't want innovation, art, or cutting-edge. I just want music that the public can understand and appreciate."

--"Because I'm not here to do charity. You're all capable and handsome young fellows, so give me something that'll let me gain a foothold in this industry."

As long as interests were involved, Mr. Lawrence's words would start to become "harsh".

He understood those principles very well, and had to respond and pay attention to them before he could reach the top.

But he wasn't willing to let his music have only excellent yet dull notes, without any traces of "Kiro" in them.

He wanted everyone to see him and remember him.

So he went on a crazy creation spree, trying desperately to find the critical value that balanced the two.

Thinking of this, Kiro speeds up his fingers, causing the stream to become turbulent.

It seems ambitious, as if wanting to break through all the silt and sand.

--Fortunately, he made it.

Although he wasn't 100% satisfied, at least he wasn't going to feel guilty towards himself.

And as for not being able to make the make the music that he liked... he'd just consider it a small regret from his youth.

Perhaps in the future, it would become an echoing treasure.

As if sensing the emotions in his heart, the music flowing from his headphones becomes softer and more sympathetic.

At that moment, he notices a bit of movement behind him, and the music in his earphones comes to a stop, and then pours out of the speakers again.

MC: Don't keep all the good music to yourself, let me listen to it too~

He turns around in surprise and finds the girl holding the plug of the other end of his earphones in her hand, looking at him with a smile.

All at once, Kiro is pulled back from the past.

And that little seed of "regret" now sprouts and blossoms in front of her.

Kiro can't help but let out a soft smile.

Kiro: I was afraid of waking you up. After all, Miss Chips is now a very popular keyboardist. She needs to recharge her batteries before the performance~

He pulls the girl to sit next to him, kisses her forehead with longing, and continues the melody from just now.

The girl leans on his shoulder and listens carefully.

After a long time, she asks him a question.

MC: Kiro... If I want to create music now, it's all because of you.

MC: Do you think I'm not pious or pure enough about music?

Kiro's fingertips pause slightly and he feels his blood surge uncontrollably.

He doesn't know how to respond for a while. All he does is stare at the girl.

But with that silence, the "uneasiness" in the girl's eyes grows more and more obvious. Unable to stop himself anymore, he laces his fingers with hers and kisses her with all the throbbing in his heart.

Kiro: [murmuring x1] I've asked myself similar questions before.

Amidst that scorching kiss, a very gentle and sincere sound pours out from between their lips.

Kiro: [x2] I'm all too honored to be an opportunity for your creation.

Kiro: [x3] Love is just a premise. The notes that follow will be the happiness that belongs only to you.

Kiro: [x4] I am very much willing to share this happiness with you.

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[PART 6]

Unsurprisingly, Kiro wins the Best Pop Vocal Album Award.

Facing a wave of applause, he calmly walks onto the stage and takes the trophy from the host.

Like a handsome nobleman adored by thousands, the bright lights favor only him, making him seem ostentatious without diminishing his grace.

He takes a step forward and leans over to hold the microphone, solemnly and swiftly thanking every person that accompanied him.

I sit in the audience, my gaze forever on him, until those eyes meet mine in the crowd.

Kiro: I'm still pretty lucky this year, to be able to chase my dreams without any hesitation, and to be able to hug the person most important to me when I get home from work.

Kiro: But I'm well aware that such luck is extremely precious.

Kiro: Sometimes one have to gamble on their love and everything else in order to get a chance to meet it.

He pauses for a bit and laughs.

Kiro: I'll continue working hard and use music to fill every corner of the world with miracles that make people happy and cheerful.

-

In the time after, the results of the awards are announced one by one, and the midfield performances also end one after another.

At this moment, Kiro, who is sitting to my side, squeezes my palm, indicating for me to start prepping for the performance.

When the lights dim, I discreetly leave my seat, put on the half-face mask I prepared and walk towards the backstage alone.

I have no idea how Kiro managed to negotiate with the committee, but the other party ended up respecting our choice to not show ourselves and fully cooperated with us.

In the darkness, I come to the backstage with a restless heart.

Seems like everything has been planned in advance. I don't see any staff members back here, only the sound of the host announcing the rise of the curtain.

Host: Next up is the latest and hottest new mystery band on the Internet - Twinkle!

As soon as my body tenses subconsciously, a warm palm holds me tightly from behind, making me instantly feel calm.

Host: Of course, there must be a lot of people out there who haven't heard about this band, but trust me, just listen to their music.

Host: You will definitely fall in love with them.

The next second, the lights in the entire venue go out, and Kiro's smiling voice falls into my ears.

I turn around and find him putting on a silver half-face mask, and the corners of his exposed lips are slightly raised.

Kiro: From now on, let's have fun.

As soon as he finishes speaking, a beam of light slowly lights up the center of the stage--

It's a "star" growing from the ground, as if it has only just arrived in this world, and curiously blinks its eyes.

Soon, more and more "stars" twinkle on the stage, like flowers that could bloom at any moment.

The next second, he grabs my hand and runs, not letting go until he reaches me to the keyboard. Only then does he release his hand and put the guitar on his back.

I had thought that there would be countless pairs of eyes watching us from the audience. But I see nothing, only the stars in the sky.

My wildly beating heart gradually slows down. I raise my hand and look sideways at Kiro.

This time, it's no longer a dream.

Kiro gently plucks the strings, like a lover whispering to their beloved.

I too gently lower my fingertips to the keys, lingering with the soft sounds of the strings, reminiscent of the times I've spent with him in the past days and nights.

The gentle and melodious ensemble continuously echoes through the stage, like a dense ocean wave with an endless sound.

At that moment, a tight sensation presses against my back, and Kiro leans against me gently while singing and laughing.

My heart suddenly softens and I turn my head to look at him.

In the past, I have always looked up at him from the audience, always chasing after that light.

And now, I am within that dazzling glow.

Slowly, our notes begin to slow down, and finally turn into a single soft note.

--My dream would have eventually ended, but fortunately, I've now turned it into a reality.

-

It's late at night and everything has come to an end.

I drive the car on the road at high speed and Kiro sits in the passenger seat, humming endlessly.

Considering the inconvenience of calling a driver, I deliberately avoided drinking at the after party so that I could safely take this superstar back after all of his socializing.

It isn't until I step on the brakes and stop in a deserted open space that Kiro lets out a confused "hmm?".

Kiro: This isn't the hotel, is it?

MC: Pfft... I thought you'd remember it. Guess that's just how it is with a directionally challenged superstar~

He blankly looks around again, and only after seeing the stage made of steel bars not far away, does he suddenly realize where we are.

Kiro: [laughs softly] ...Oh right. We're going to attend the music festival tomorrow.

MC: That's right. All the staff have already taken their leave. I just took another round and there's no one here~

MC: We have enough time to plan a well-hidden route to the stage.

As I say this, I get out of the car, but Kiro seems to be delayed by something. He sits and checks his phone, only half of his feet out the car door.

Perhaps it's the night casting a faint shadow under his eyelashes, but I still find him to be in a daze. I can't help but walk in front of him.

MC: What's wrong?

Kiro: ...Nothing. Pen just texted me out of the blue.

MC: What a coincidence. You just told me at the banquet that he couldn't make it because of something else. Seems like he misses you too~

MC: Did he congratulate you on winning the award?

Kiro: Yeah. He also said that he saw a shadow of my past in the lead singer of Twinkle, and that it's a bit of a pity.

MC: Pity?

His eyes stay hidden in the shadows, making it difficult for me to clearly see what his expression is at this moment.

Kiro: He believes that the band's style is too self-contained. That it will be difficult for them to get far in this industry.

As he speaks, eighteen-year-old Kiro appears before me again, humming with his guitar in his small practice room.

The afterglow of the setting sun grows darker and darker, quietly blotting out the loneliness in those eyes for a while.

Almost subconsciously, I gently take away his cell phone and put in the basket on the side. Then I bend down, hold his face in my hands and stare at him in all earnestness.

MC: What about you? Do you think it's a pity?

After a moment of silence, Kiro smiles.

Kiro: Of course not. Even if everyone forgets Twinkle tomorrow, I won't find it a pity.

Kiro: Because I'm no longer the Kiro I used to be.

Kiro: I'm now qualified and capable enough to pursue what I want to do.

Kiro: I don't need all those hesitations, concessions, and compromises.

Kiro's voice gets softer and softer. He hugs me tenderly, and is finally unable to keep himself from whisking me into a kiss.

As if facing the most precious treasure in the world, he gently runs his fingers through my hair, and every kiss is like feathers cascading down.

Kiro: All I have to do is hold onto everything I want, [chuckles] no matter what it is.

He stares at me deeply, his blazing fingertips caressing my skin, and unconsciously brushing off the coat on my body.

Pit-pat--

A touch of cold drops onto my skin and a thin curtain of rain melts into the night.

My breathing grows rapid, and I instinctively long to get close to him, touch him, and pour all of my thoughts and feelings into him.

MC: Mm, just do what you want to do most, Kiro...

MC: Hold on to everything you like and don't let go.

Kiro: I never thought about letting you go.

Kiro: You'll always be by my side, right?

His words seem to come from the depths of his soul, and his scorching lips continue to nibble and kiss my clavicle.

The overwhelming numbness causes me to press my fingers against the car door, and seeing that I've unconsciously opened a gap between us, a trace of "dissatisfaction" flashes in those yearning eyes.

The next second, the knees between my legs push up slightly and cause me to lose my balance and fall towards him.

Kiro: [gasping] Answer me.

MC: Of course, I'll always...

He doesn't even wait for me to finish my sentence. He kisses me passionately, his domineering breath completely snapping my string of reason, and prompting me to sink into the deep sea along with him.

The sound of the rain has long since been drowned out by the sound of our pants, and the "heat wave" lingering on our skins gradually causes the rain to evaporate, turning it into an ambiguous mist.

The world spins, and we move along with it.

It isn't until an electronic mechanical sound resounds that I vaguely discover that the open door of the car automatically closed at some point.

He stretches out his hand again and teases my lips, the rough touch of his fingers triggering a fine itch.

Kiro: [softly] I'm going to keep you a little longer.

Gazing into those pair of eyes that could get me addicted anytime anywhere, I climb up to his neck and slowly move our lips against each other.

MC: Just a little?

Kiro: [breathlessly x1] Forever.

That line of sight stops firmly in front of me, and subtly, I seem to sense the touch between my lips get a little bit hotter.

Kiro: [x2] Longer than forever.

[END]

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

Masterlist: Here

[robberskisses]

The boy next door pt 1

* cw: matty healy x reader, smut to come.

fic: you move to a new town as a shy catholic girl, but when you meet your new neighbour you know everything is about to change. This part is more of an intro to the story.

note: this is my first fic ever so my apologies if it isn’t the best!! Feel free to comment tips and suggestions for second partttyy

Pulling into the street your eyes open as a beam of sunlight hits your face, almost like your body knew you are rolling into the street you’d from now on call home.

As soon as the car parks your family springs out preparing for the moving van to soon arrive. Fresh, spring air is all around, breathing it in for the first time you scan the house for as much beauty as you can, feeling a sense of delight when you spot the attic has a bedroom with a pretty little French style window. As you admire it knowing it would soon be yours a loud crash sound comes from the home next door; “Whatever, I could never come home again for all I care”, a tallish dark haired boy stormed out of the home, he wore black jeans and a top that you can’t quite make out the text due to his pace. He seemingly just exited a fight, and rushed straight into white van parked outside, whilst letting out a sigh he looked up my way and made a smile I couldn’t tell the intention of, it seemed genuine but also felt like it was telling me stop being nosy and turn around.

You swiftly spin around with a feeling of buzz, hearing your parents already spouting out comments about him, saying they had never seen such behaviour, but truthfully, neither had you. You’d never seen a boy your age act in such a way to his parents, let alone seen many boys your age at all.

You softly run up the dark wooden stairs to the pretty loft room and claimed it as your own as your father follows, carrying up some of the boxes. You feel a sense of peace for a moment as you plan where everything would go, your fondest pictures, If you wanted my bed near the window or up against the wall for privacy, until you started feeling the sadness of what once was. This room felt perfect, but nothing could beat the old memories made in your old one, the people left behind, you wanted to embrace this new life it just seemed so hard when you didn’t want to move on from the old one.

After the furniture was moved in and you begun decorating setting up my sweet little picture frames and layed out all of my bedding and teddies, time has flown by and it’s now sunset, going to admire the pretty skies you swing open the little window doors when you hear a car pull up outside. Your mind immediately wandered to the boy you had seen earlier, hoping he did come home and didn’t mean what he said. You quickly snap out of it, why should you care? You start mumbling out loud all of the reasons he’s probably the worst boy of them all and that you know what’s good for y- ,a loud creek interrupts you. It’s coming from outside, you sneakily peer around where your bed meets the window and took a peek as the cold nights air blew against my cheeks. Stomping in, it was him. Right across from your bedroom was where he had his, seeing him throw himself on his bed, he looks up. You quickly snap your whole body down, praying he doesn’t see you, feeling my cheeks begin to get warm. You hear him get up and walk to his window, slamming it shut and closing the curtain.

What a mess. You just made a total embarrassment of yourself straight away, he must think a creepy little stalkers moved in next door. Grabbing your favourite stuffy, mittens, you tuck myself in, and say my prayers.

“Dear god, please don’t let any other interaction I have go like this, help me make friends and please guide me to happiness like you did in my last life, Amen”

Ringing the same tune it always has, your alarm clock goes off at the same time it always does, 6 am. However you are already up bright and early making sure your makeup is done to perfection and your rollers are taken out as carefully as possible. Frolicking over to your wardrobe you pick out the freshly steamed shirt and little blue skirt, your new uniform, and put them on. Grabbing white frilly knee socks, you were almost ready. You pull your curled locks into a neat ponytail, everything seems perfect. Four sprays of perfume, slipping into your little black heels, and your pink backpack sitting at the end of the bed you are ready.

Creeping downstairs quietly you don’t want to wake the rest of your family, as you leave you pull your steel white bike out of the garage. See, the real reason you are up so early, isn’t because you want to be on time, or as prepared as possible; it’s because you want to avoid leaving at the same time as the boy next door. Another interaction and this time it could be confrontation. Him approaching you shouting in your face about the feeling of being stalked wouldn’t go well with your plans of a good first day. So you thought ahead and were already biking to school at 7:06 am.

Pulling into the bike rack you feel a sense of pride, everything went according to plan. But it quickly comes to your attention attached to the church in-between your all girls school was something you had never ever laid your eyes on. St. Mary’s catholic boys school. One tiny town and it already felt like everywhere you went, he could be. You feel your eyes jittering around the entire area, slowly making your way to the steps. There. You spy him smoking with a group of boys. You are actually more shocked at the sight of fags than you are him and begin to feel yourself stun. Black curls turn your way. That same iffy smile shoots your direction. A girl beside you is just as stunned as you. “Did matty just smile at you? Do you know him or something?”, “Matty?” You confusedly respond. “Matt, Matthew whatever, why did he just smile at you like that?” Another girl adds. “He’s my neighbour, but trust me I don’t know why either” you respond nervously, what did this Matty have that made these girls shoot questions at me like I had just broken the law. The girls look at each other in an excited shock, and welcome you in with them, they begin to introduce themselves and talk about how Matty is on their minds 24/7 and how all the girls love to attend his gigs after school, how they all admire the way he has no care for religion at all, yet will sit in mass without saying a word.

Matty. Huh, someone that seemed so mysterious and so scary, seemed like just another person now you knew all of this. You had read about boys who put on facades and have egos bigger than the sun. That’s what fit Matty, the boy who lives to entertain, but you’d seen the way he really is. Storming around, leaving home without a care. He must love all of the attention, and that very moment you decided you weren’t going to give him anymore.

The class had ended and you skip along the long corridor linking arms with the new girls you had met, “Just wait till you see how moody he is in mass y/n, he’s sooo cool” Lacey says. “ I bet he pulls those faces on purpose to try impress you girls” you reply profusely. They all giggle in unison. “I sure hope so” Meagan says laughing through her teeth. The moment you approach the doors into the church, you all unlink and you notice the girls try smarten themselves up, you do the same until you realise it’s most likely to impress stupid Matty and the stupid boys. You find your seats and feel your eyes meet the same tall figure once again. He slouches into his chair pulling a little lighter out of his pocket flicking it once or twice. The boys around him converse and you see one of them whisper something in his ear in which he nods in response. You pull your head around and get comfy in the chair, looking straight forward instead, you were so above any of that.

As mass comes to an end, so does the school day, you say goodbye to the lovely girls you had just met and make your way to the little rusty bike rack it had all begun at. Struggling to unlock the chain around your tire, a familiar voice darts your way. “Need help with that?” You jump at the words and swiftly look at him. “What, I” you are at a loss for words, everything feels as it has changed so fast, and Matty speaking to you, asking if you needed help felt like the strangest thing you’d ever heard. “I was asking if you needed help, I’ve seen you tugging at that thing for the past five minutes” he says staring right down at you. “What are you watching me for?” You reply, immediately regretting and realising how ironic that was considering your thought process this entire day. “No, just noticed my new neighbour having troubles” he half smiles, “I’m matty by the way”. You pretend like you don’t know that, and that you didn’t hear half of his life story at lunch, “I’m y/n” you say staring back at him. He bends down and quickly unlocks the bike, getting back up with ease. “Thanks, I almost had it that’s why you got it so easy” you lie. “I’m sure you did” he replies followed by a void of silent awkwardness, as you stand gripping to your bike like it’s about to be stolen. “Hey uh biking from our street is a long ride, especially for a young girl like you, I could give you a ride, if you wanted” Matty asks in a kind tone that distracts you from the fact he called you a young girl, what does he mean young girl. “What are you 50? What makes me any younger than you” you dart back, “plus where am I going to put my bike if I get a ride huh”. “Sorry” he lets out with a giggle “your a tough one aren’t you” he smiles with more meaning than he ever has before, pointing at the van you saw yesterday and the fact it has a giant space at the back for your bike. “I guess a ride would be nice, thanks” you say feeling a little bad, he didn’t seem like the scary bad boy you made him out to be last night, or the egotistical maniac you decided he was during the day.

He helps you roll your bike into the van, then opening one of the doors for you to get in. As you comfy up in the passenger seat, you notice so many little CDs around the front of the van. George and Matty mix. Drive like I do stuff. Matty don’t touch mix. You smile lightly as he gets into the driver seat. “What’s all of this?” You ask him quite nervously, hoping it didn’t come off as rude. He starts grabbing the disks and pulling them into his bag, “those are nothing, just stupid stuff”. “Do you like, make music or something?” You pretend to figure out on your own. “Yeah.. I uh am in a band with some friends, we aren’t too good or anything” he laughs “but I think we are getting somewhere”, “that’s cool” you say meaning it, you’d never met someone your age who had so much going on. “We actually are doing a gig, this Friday, you should come” he looks over at you, “if you want to that is”. You want to say yes with all of your might but you know your parents would never let you. “And hey if your lucky I won’t make you bike I can pick you up again” he laughs to himself. “Sure, il think about it”, you respond seeing his smile slightly fade.

Pulling up at your house once again, he quickly gets out of the van, speeding up to open the door for you. “Thank you for the ride I really appreciate it matty” you say with guilt, getting your bike out carefully he looks your way, “anytime love”. Then once again your cheeks are burning and glowing pink, your heart is spiralling, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. Walking off with your bike you realise life has never moved faster, but the worst part of it all was even if part of you wanted something from this, it could never happen, not even if you wanted it really bad. Your parents, your morals, you wished maybe things could be different.

As the day comes to an end you slip into your white cotton pajamas, and take your wooden cross from your dresser to your bedside table, hoping it would mean something. You swing open your little window to admire the pinks and oranges of the sunset, and feel that sweet spring night air blow strands of your hair softly, someone else is approaching their window.

“Hello you” matty says to you smiling like that meaningful one he shot you earlier. “I feel bad for you, you can’t see the beauty of the sunset from your window, it must be all boring on that side of the sky” you say looking up at him. He looks up at you longingly, “I can see something beautiful, don’t you worry”. Your eyes meet his in a quiet, but not awkward moment, you feel your mouth smiling on its own. “So, have you thought about the gig yet, what would I be if I didn’t have the support of my own neighbour” he says in a sarcastic but somewhat nervous tone. “Matty” you look at him, “I really want to its just”, he looks over at you patiently, you breathe “My parents, they just, let’s just say they are most likely the total opposite of yours, truthfully your one of the first boys i’ve ever even talked to my age and it’s just”, Matty cuts you off wanting to talk eagerly, “I get it, I really do, but that’s no way to live is it” you glance sort of puzzled, “ I mean how much are you really getting out of life in there, alone, and respecting everything your parents tell you, that’s sooo 10 years ago” he jokes giggling. “I guess, I’m just a little scared that’s all”

“Alright” he says softly. You half smile, watching him suddenly exit the room. He walks back in carrying a set of silver metal ladders, under his right arm, grabbing something off of the table near him whilst he kicks the door shut. “What, what’s this im” you exclaim, “Get the other end for me?” Matty says in all seriousness. “No way your no way yo-“ you get cut off with the ladders coming your way. He bends his head like a losy puppy dog begging for help. You grab the end of the ladders, “hold on tight for me”, he laughs. Then just like that, the scary dark haired boy you feared only a day ago is crawling across metal stairs to your bedroom, after calling you pretty and spouting out one of the deepest things you’d ever heard. When he teachers your window he makes a quick stop, twinkling a little smile as you two become face to face. “Watch out” he drops into your room, “Shhhhh quiet!” You quickly exclaim, “My parents they” he places his finger over your lips shushing you. “Quiet, I got it” he says before making his way to the end of your bed. He beacons you over using the palm of your hand as you find yourself obeying him and sitting beside him. “This is a cigarette” he whispers, “probably the tamest out of any of the scary, rebelling your parents items” he whispers. You look at him with a scared expression, you had no idea how to smoke, let alone deal with the chance of being caught. “I can help you” he says softly. “Come closer” he says whilst also shimmying towards you. Moving closer you don’t take your eyes off of him, feeling your heart start to spiral again. “Open your mouth when I smoke, then breathe it in when I blow it out, okay?” He speaks wanting to really know if your fine. “Okay” you whisper back, waiting for him. He takes a puff, leaning in to shotgun the smoke to you. You inhale it, carefully, going back and forth from his big brown eyes, to the little beige cross on your bedside table., letting out a little cough.“Look at me, it’s okay”, he reaches over to the table laying the cross down. “The only moment is now” he says turning back to you. “How was that?” He asks. “That was okay” you reassure him and yourself, smiling at the fact you just did that. “Again?” He asks intently. You nod, and he takes another puff. Leaning in once more you breathe in Matty’s smoke, as he looks down. This time you think it’s gotten to you, you find your body leaning in and pressing your lips against his. Everything feels so safe for a moment. He places his warm hand on your cheek as the moment goes on, you slowly pull away, for the first time not regretting something as you feel heat in your cheeks again. He smiles at you, with slanted brows, as if he’s never been this shocked before. “Sorry”, you whisper, “I don’t know why I did that”, “You know there’s nothing to be sorry for” he looks at you honestly. He pulls you in, and you find yourself being tucked in, as he slowly pulls himself beside you. “Matty if they find out you slept here too, I’d be dead” you fear to him. “No one’s going to know, it’s not like gods watching” he quietly giggles to you. Like any sane person you feel a sense of doubt though, whilst Matty seems to be the most caring and kind soul you’ve ever met, you fear he is just using you and this will all end in tears. “You aren’t.. you aren’t just doing this so you can get more are you?” You whisper to him whilst lying face to face. “Hey, you kissed me little lady” he murmurs, “I do fancy you loads though, so don’t worry about me, I’d never try hurting you”

Pulling you a little closer you slowly drift into deep sleep, feeling the world go quiet for a little while.