#and to then just like. stream of consciousness ramble every thought that enters their head

[bilestat]

insane how quickly something small can tank my mood

[rocorambles]

Meeting in the Middle

Pairing: Sakusa x reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Misogyny, Controlling Behavior, Degradation, Non-Con/Rape, Spanking

Summary: Sakusa shows you that he’s more than capable of meeting you in the middle and listening to you for a change. But be careful of what you ask for.

A/N: This is for the Poly Wives Angst Collab~ RIP us and our never ending collabs we create for ourselves.

If someone had told you five years ago that you’d be dating one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors, a professional athlete fawned over by media and fans nation-wide, the epitome of the strong and silent type, you would have laughed in their faces. What is this? Some silly fairytale? The childish checklist of “things I want in a boyfriend” you’d written in middle school?

But life has a funny way of working and you find yourself in an obnoxiously lavish and rowdy nightclub, made only more crazy by the surprising appearance of some VIPs.

It seems like volleyball has somehow become Japan’s national sport overnight and although you aren’t necessarily the biggest follower of anything remotely athletic, even you know exactly who the rambunctious trio catching everyone’s eyes are.

You can’t deny there’s more than just a bit of appeal in the way their button up shirts cling to toned muscles, but you’ve never been one for crowds and you stray to the emptier corners of the establishment to avoid being swept by the crowd of excited fans. But when Atsumu cheesily winks and flirts as he signs scandalously bared skin of female fans, you mockingly gag, only to whirl in embarrassment when you hear an amused snort from behind you.

“Not a fan of Miya Atsumu?”

Staring wide-eyed and slack jawed when someone asks you a question is very rude and you want to answer. But you don’t trust yourself with basic human speech when Sakusa Kiyoomi is staring at you expectantly. So you shake your head side to side instead, heat rising to your face at the small upward curve of his lips.

“Neither am I.”

Atsumu never lets the two of you live down how he’s the one who technically brought you together, even if it was at the cost of his pride. (You chuckle when you remember his loud squawking when Sakusa recounts the dialogue exchanged at your first meeting.) But even months later, even after Sakusa has officially introduced you to the rest of the MSBY team, even after they’ve accepted you as part of their cozy and rowdy family, you can’t stop feeling impostor syndrome.

Dating Sakusa still feels unreal and you can’t help but feel like you’re living someone else’s life, stuck in a rose-tinted dream, playing dress-up and make believe as you parade around in clothing far more luxurious than you’re used to, whisked around on your lover’s strong arm as you follow him around the world from match to match. And as lovely as it is, you long to truly make this relationship your own, to feel the rawness and grittiness of love and life, to experience the charm and comfort of being true to yourself and knowing Sakusa loves you just as you are.

But your desire to be with him, to call him your own trumps your own wishes and you find yourself quickly backing down everytime you suggest something that he’s quick to turn down, desperate to appease and please him even at the price of your own desires.

He’s never outrightly rude about his preferences, never raises his voice. But somehow that makes the judgement and disdain in his dark eyes that much more apparent. You remember a rough day of work you had, the relief you had felt about being able to swiftly swap your constrictive work apparel for a pair of worn-in shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Your outfit would certainly not win any fashion awards, but you blissfully sigh at how comfortable you are as you call a local pizza shop, ordering delivery self-indulgently.

You could feel yourself becoming one with the couch you’re lounging on, the television playing in the background. But even in the hazy in-between of sleep and alertness, your eyes snap open when the door opens and you lazily smile as your boyfriend enters your shared apartment, returning from another grueling practice.

“You look like you’ve had better days.”

Your smile slips, anxiety flooding through you as you self-consciously curl in on yourself while his lips purse, eyes scrutinizing your sloppy appearance.

“Umm, yeah...tough day at work-”

“Maybe you should freshen up with me. You might feel better in a...real outfit.”

You know better than to think that it’s really a suggestion, cursing yourself, humiliation coursing through you when you think of how foolish you were to get so comfortable so quickly. You’ve seen the caliber of the women who lust over your boyfriend unabashedly despite his long-time relationship with you. You need to try harder. You need to be better.

Self-deprecation rips you to shreds as you painstakingly groom yourself, donning a dress you know Sakusa loves, applying a full face of makeup and a spritz of his favorite scent. And despite how exhausted you are, how much you’d rather be slumped on the couch, gorging on a slice of pizza, it’s all worth it when you see the appreciative look in his gaze as his eyes rake over your figure.

But worry gnaws at you once more as the doorbell rings and his eyebrow raises questioningly at the interruption. It’s a painful walk of shame as you plaster on a fake smile, tipping the delivery boy, the usually tantalizing smell of cheese and grease only making you nauseous as you bring the box to the dining table.

“What is that?”

“Dinner…”

Your voice trails off and you feel so small, so pathetic as Sakusa’s face borders disgust as he observes the offensive item.

“You didn’t cook?”

The disappointment in his voice has you spewing excuses and apologies, your heart shattering when he merely waves off your ramble, telling you he’d order a salad from elsewhere and to enjoy your meal.

You never order pizza again and a steaming hot plate of freshly cooked food is always waiting for Sakusa when he returns home while you patiently wait for him with a painted face and impeccable outfits.

Your friends and family tell you how grateful you should be, how envious they are as they oggle your latest high-end designer pieces, cooing over how picture perfect the two of you always are, staring wide-eyed at your gorgeous home, not a speck of dust or object out of place. Who would have thought that you would be the epitome of the ideal housewife in such a short time?

Yes, you wonder. Who would have thought? Certainly not you.

If only they knew how deep down the deception goes, how lost you are in this pretend world you’re stuck in. And your heart twists and turns when your friends share about the little and big spats that happen behind closed doors, giggling and sighing in an understanding you’re not part of when they playfully complain about how much work love is.

But it’s always worth it in the end because the good always outweighs the bad if you’ve found the right person (not to mention the makeup sex is a bonus). Or so they say, but you wouldn’t know what any of that feels like. Sakusa doesn’t leave room for any arguments, any disagreements, any hint of anything less than a perfect relationship.

Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you feel like you’re in a cheesy porno, dressed in the prettiest white slip dress decorated with dainty lace and a string of pearls around your neck. You feel like a doll as you’re positioned on the bed, eyes demurely looking down, letting Sakusa do as he pleases while he guides you, calloused hands roaming over your skin. You’re sure he means for it to be pleasurable and intimate, and you can’t deny that he knows your most sensitive areas, shuddering when he grazes over your hardening nipples. But there’s a coldness to his movements, a calculating aspect in the way he examines you, dark eyes scrutinizing every inch of you as if they’re looking for a blemish, a reason to lecture you on not taking care of yourself.

Yet as predictable and standoffish as he is, he does know how to pleasure you and you writhe underneath him, moaning, lower lips dripping in your own arousal. But you whimper when he growls at you to stop moaning so loudly, to stop acting like a slut.

“I’m dating a lady, not a whore.”

The words cut you, pain and emptiness mixing with the rising pleasure, muddling into a confusing and overwhelming mess insides of you. You don’t trust yourself to speak, hot tears pricking at your eyes, unsure whether a moan or harsh words would slip past your lips. But you know that neither will work in your favor, so like always, you hold your tongue, doing whatever you can to keep your lover happy. You close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the tightening knot inside of you, submitting to the waves of pleasure that crash over you as you cum, fingers tangling in the rumpled sheets, back arching in ecstasy.

Only when Sakusa is asleep, his back turned to you, the two of you cleaned and freshened up, do you let your tears stream down your face, feeling more alone than ever in your shared bed.

You hold out longer than you should, much longer than you should, in the hopes that things will improve, that Sakusa will loosen up, reveal his true self to you, let you reveal your true self to him. It’s just early dating jitters, early relationship issues. Things will get better.

Except it’s months later and things aren’t better. If anything, they’re worse and you can feel the weight of his expectations and the stress of perpetually living by a prewritten script crushing you.

It’s time to put an end to this charade.

It’s just another uneventful night and you idly stare up at the ceiling as you wait for Sakusa to join you in bed. Your heart is racing, throat feeling dry and choked up as he slips under the covers. You’re terrified, of Sakusa’s reaction, of ending everything, of starting from scratch. But you know it’s the right decision and when he finally settles in beside you, you begin to speak.

There’s only the sound of your trembling voice as you quietly tell him how you’ve felt all along, how everything has felt so prim, proper, fake, how everyday just feels like another session of rehearsing your lines, making sure you meet whatever standard he’s set for you. You want passion, real love, fights, laughter. You just want to be yourself. You just want to be with someone who loves you exactly the way you are.

“Kiyoomi, maybe we should break up. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I don’t think I’m what you want. I don’t think I’ll ever be what you want.”

“You’re right. Despite how much time, work, money, and patience I’ve spent to better you, you haven’t changed at all.”

You’re left reeling from the matter of fact harshness of his words, the slight exasperation in his tone, as if this is all your fault, as if you’re just a bothersome misbehaving pet.

“Prim and proper? Passion? Fights? So you’re tired of manners? Tired of being a respectable woman? You just want to fight and fuck like animals?”

You open your mouth to protest, anger licking at the open wounds his verbal assault leaves behind. But before you can retort, the air is ripped out of your lungs in a stunned yelp as your body is swiftly flipped over, your face shoved into the mattress until it’s a struggle to breathe, fabric and cushion all you can taste.

Your arms flail as you struggle to breathe, nails clawing at the sheets, arms trying to push yourself up against. But it’s no use against Sakusa’s strength and just as specks of black begin to enter your vision, fingers tangle with your roots and you gasp as your head is harshly jerked up, neck bending painfully back, jaw forced open from the strange position.

You whimper, tears beginning to blur your sight as a calloused hand turns your face until you’re staring at a condescending impassive countenance.

“If you want to be treated like a slut that badly, I’ll be a good boyfriend and give you exactly what you want. Ass up. Now.”

There’s no room for disobedience and spurred on by fear and pain, you listen, awkwardly shuffling into position, shame heating your face at how exposed you feel. But it’s only the start and you scream as a heavy strike lands on your bare ass, more and more blows raining down upon you, until you’re sobbing for mercy, agonized cries forced from your mouth, thighs trembling at having to support yourself through the torture.

Your upper body slumps in relief when the hits finally stop, but you flinch when fingers methodically prod at your entrance. You instinctively try to lurch forward, away from the touch, but it’s no use and you clench your eyes in humiliation at the sloppy wet sounds betraying your arousal.

“This is the wettest I’ve ever seen you. You really do like being used and treated like a bitch.”

You wish you could deny it. You wish you had the spirit to talk back, maybe even spit on that handsome face. But all you can think of is how full you feel as Sakusa’s cock slams balls deep inside your dripping hole, how deep he is inside of you from this angle, how overwhelmingly pleasurable the mix of pain and lust is as he uses you like you’re nothing more than a warm breathing sex doll.

All you can do is lewdly moan and take it, tears slipping down your face, drool seeping into the ruined sheets, eyes rolled back in your head. The coil in your stomach tightens and tightens no matter how hard you try and hold it at bay, desperately trying not to cum, not to inadvertently admit your body’s betrayal as it succumbs to every thrust. But it’s too much, the unfamiliarity of this brutal pace, the overpowering sensation of his tip reaching new depths inside of you, and you shatter to pieces, pussy convulsing, body twitching, pleasure like you’ve never felt before surging through you.

All through it Sakusa continues his relentless rhythm, a sneer marring his flawless face as he watches you suffer through your orgasm, writhing underneath him. It’s disgusting how much you love this, pathetic, pitiful, and yet he’s harder than he’s ever been, more turned on than he ever thought possible. And all it takes is a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of you, a strong hand holding you still and tight to him as his groin presses against your ass, not an inch of space between the two of you as he paints your insides white.

Maybe you had a point all along. You’re absolutely filthy and wrecked and he grimaces at the tear, sweat, and sex stained mess he touches as he shoves your exhausted body away from him. Yet there’s a certain appeal to your disheveled appearance, how ruined you are because of him.

How beautifully you break.

Well if you have no desire to improve yourself, he can learn to meet you in the middle, learn to let you be the low-life whore you have no desire to move up from. After all, that’s what you said love is, right?

Accepting each other’s differences.

[amphxtrite]

cedric diggory x fem!reader

part two: Dreamiest Boy in School.

warnings: smut, shower sex, swearing, oral (female receiving), masturbation.

If you are not comfortable please do not read.

summary: Cedric’s been in love with you for years. What will he do when he catches the reader moaning his name after a quidditch game in the prefect’s bathroom. Fluff at the end.

a/n: characters are 18+ and it is fully consensual.

word count: 4.2k

enjoy<3

__________________________________________

Cedric first met you in his fifth year when he’d first been appointed captain of the hufflepuff team, it was your first time trying out despite also being in your fifth, but it was no secret that it wasn’t your first time on the pitch. You were a natural, blocking quaffles with ease, letting none enter the goal. Your movements were smooth, elegant, but forceful, effectively getting the job done, but truly showing off the art of flying. Cedric had to forcibly pinch himself after you touched down. 

Today was a rough game against gryffindor, It went on much longer than it needed to with Ms. Pink Toad calling random people from the pitch and ‘hem hemming’ every time someone managed to score a goal. When Cedric had eventually caught the snitch, he had to deal with a ten minute long speech from Umbridge speaking of his bravery and strength, he cut it short after she began to run her hands over his face.

Now came Cedric’s favourite part of the game, his friends had already congratulated him on the win, but he was close by you and your friends as you touched down from the goal post. You were distributing high-fives to everyone, even throwing Cedric a quick thumbs up before running to your gym bag and taking a long sip from your water bottle. Here it comes, your pupils glance from side to side, scanning the area before grabbing the hem of your jersey to dab at the sweat running down your face. No one on the team cared you did this, but you still felt weird randomly pulling your jersey up to clean off your face. You did this after every practice and game, and although he didn’t mean to intrude Cedric found himself gazing at you often.

Cedric takes his bottom lip into his teeth as he looks to the grass beneath him, his thoughts running wild. He pictures what it would be like if he was the one pulling at your shirt, slowly pushing it up your gorgeous body as you beg him to take it off, rolling your hips desperately against his. The seeker’s pants were starting to get a little more constricting at the thought.

Ever since his first time seeing you at the pitch, he’d find himself thinking of you this way a lot. His name spilling from your lips, mouth agape, legs quivering. It kept him awake often, thinking about you. Imagining the feeling of your lips pressed to his as he rocked his hips in and out of you. He didn’t appreciate the sinful thoughts encasing his mind every time he saw you, it drove him insane. Any time you licked your lips, shook out your hair, smirked or even simply laughed, he’d have to excuse himself to rid of the heat from his face.

It was even worse the two of you had become close friends in the last two years, you were the person to help and train him for the triwizard tournament, working out with him often and supporting him through his challenges, also being his unofficial ‘date’ to the ball. You pushed him well, preparing him for the physical challenges that lay ahead in the contest, but only having his crush grow as you worked by his side and hugged him good luck. After he won, you were one of the first people he went to after his father. You had jumped into his arms and held him tight as he recounted the story of how Voldemort had stunned him and Harry had saved his life. Upon finishing  the story, you had kissed him on the cheek and whispered.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone.”

He knew then that he was never going to let you go.

Cedric did his best to put your friendship first, reminding himself of your platonic status and your great history. He couldn’t jeopardize it all, even if he fancied you. Running himself a cold shower after stripping down his robes in the prefect’s bathroom, he tries to place his thoughts in a different headspace. He ignores his surroundings as he tries to rid himself of the dirty images, letting the cold water stream onto his face. It was practically useless, his mind drifted back to your lips pulled between your teeth or how your lips felt against his cheek after each hit of cold water. With one small thought, his arousal and need grows.

Sighing quietly and shutting the tap off, the hufflepuff head boy wraps a towel around his waist as he picks up his bag to begin getting changed. Halfway to zip open his bag, he can hear a shaky voice calling, not to far away.

“Oh f-fuck Ced.” 

Body immediately going rigid, the wide-eyed boy regains his train of thought and remembering where he is, glancing around the showers. The voice was so familiar, close.

So... dream-like. Sifting through his memories to match the voice, he thinks of people close to him that were also prefects or head girls, the only person to came to mind was you, but that was impossible. What were you doing saying his name so beautifully.

“Faster, please.” The voice rang out again in a softer mewl. The brunette’s cheeks light on fire as the voice finally registers in his ears, no doubt it was your soft cry. Despite his better judgment, Cedric needed to check this out. To make sure he wasn’t just imagining your voice begging for him.

As he approaches the shower he hears the voice from, he can hear a heavy pant and a shower getting louder. Standing before the closed curtain. His hand hovering over top the thin material, he mentally debates this, perhaps he was wrong. He might’ve misheard, and the he’d be barging in on a random girl. Pulling his hand away he turn to leave, but another moan perks his attention.

“F-fuck Cedric, I-I’m gonna c-cum.” A quivering whimper, cries his name again.

He’d heard you say his name about a million times, cheering him on, talking to him, laughing out his name. That was you inside, about to cum to his image.

Not able to take it anymore and he rips open the shower curtain, his cock springing up under the towel and pure desire taking over his senses. There you were, damp hair streaming down your shoulders, leaning against a wall with one hand on your breast and the other deep between your legs, pushing in and out at a rapid pace, practically sobbing for release.

“Are you masturbating?”

You barely register the soft question, but as your eyes open they instantly flash with horror and you immediately pull your hands away from your body, meeting gazes with a wide-eyed Cedric. A flood of embarrassment consumes you, he must have heard you. Merlin, you felt disgusting.

“Oh my gosh Cedric I’m so sorry!” You apologize frantically, rushing to grab your towel and cover yourself as tears of self-consciousness begin to well in your eyes. “I didn’t- I’m so sorry.” You try and push him out of your way, but Cedric will not let you pass, his grey eyes still staring holes into you. Agonizing seconds pass as he simply looks you down, your head swiveling around to look anywhere but his stoic gaze. 

Finally smirks in amusement, Cedric reaches over and takes your chin in between his fingers, forcing your head up to meet his eyes, you ready yourself for a lecture, or maybe screams, but it doesn’t come.

“I like the way you said my name.” Cedric teases, pushing you back into the running shower.

“Hands between your thighs and on your breast, were you thinking about this?” Cedric purrs, pushing you against the smooth wall and pressing his chest against yours, slowly rocking his hard on against your sensitive clit with the rough towel around his waist. 

“Imagining me taking you in the shower, fucking you against the wall and whispering dirty thoughts into your ear?” He continues in a low voice, continuing the gentle rock of his hips.

Your mouth drops open at Cedric’s reaction and the waves of pleasure clouding your senses. “Answer me.” Cedric growls, pushing harder against you and encasing you in his arms, his elbows by your head and his forearms against the wall. “Y-yes, I-I was.” your soft voice breathes out. “Yes, who?” Cedric grins, his eyes growing dark with lust as he watches you writhe beneath him. “Yes Cedric.” You moan as the toned hufflepuff continues to roll his hips slowly, an approving smirk spreading on his lips. 

 “You don’t know how long I’ve wished to do this love.” Cedric begins to nip at your neck, sucking and kissing around until he finds the spot that makes your breath hitch. You bite your lip to suppress the upcoming moan.

“Stop.” Cedric’s needy voice growls at you. “The only one who’ll be biting those lips is me.” He states, desire lacing every word.

Roughly pushing his lips against yours in a heated kiss, his warm tongue swirls around your mouth, drinking in your intoxicating taste and gliding his rough fingertips up and down your body, memorizing every curve before coming to rest on your hips. Your teeth clash, pleasure and heat travel to your core, fueling your arousal as a hard member prods at you from under Cedric’s dangerously low towel. 

“Besides, I want the whole castle to know you’re mine.” The grey-eyed hufflepuff bucks his hips into yours again making you squirm. “C-Cedric!” You cry out, wrapping your arms around his muscular shoulders and digging your nails into your champion’s back, the steam in the shower clouds your perception even more, all you could sense was Cedric’s body against yours, every muscle every scar. Cedric’s teasing lips pull up again as you begin to ramble.

“I-I need you.” you beg nervously, grinding your hips against the soaked material of Cedric’s towel.

“Would you like my fingers or my tongue love.” Cedric’s cool digits brush the inside of your thighs, you nearly jump at the feeling. “Both.” You manage to whimper out as Cedric’s hard stare bores into you.

“Dirty girl.” He smirks teasingly, his voice smooth as satin and dark as sin. “Beg for it.”

You could feel your arousal growing at Cedric’s words. You’d never seen him as the type to wish his partner to beg, but Merlin you weren’t complaining.

“Please Cedric, I need you. You make me feel so fucking good, please don’t stop, let the whole castle know who I belong to.” 

Your champion’s eyes go from a piercing grey to almost black as lust and arousal course through his veins. He slowly lowers himself to the ground, pressing kisses all the way down to where you needed him most. Cedric takes his time spreading your legs apart and kissing up your inner thighs and blowing on your clit, sending shockwaves up your trembling form. He looks back up at you as he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your folds and begins to swirl his tongue around your clit. Your thoughts run cold, all that consumes your mind was the ecstasy running through your veins, Cedric flicking his tongue around your sex, fucking you with his tongue and lapping hungrily at your sweet juices.

“Oh fuck Cedric, please don’t stop.” Your mewling voice begs needlingly, breathing heavily to keep yourself from falling over. 

Cedric smiles into you and slowly teases his fingers around your entrance, tracing along the edge of your slit before sinking two long digits into your wetness. spots flash in front of your eyes as your head falls back against the wall. Cedric pulls and pushes his fingers in and out of you at a quick pace, twisting them around and bending slightly as your walls grow tighter around him. He uses his body to keep your legs from doubling over in pleasure and continues to ravage you with both his tongue and fingers. flicking and sucking at your bundle of nerves while thrusting his fingers in and out of your core. A familiar knot begins to form and you dig your hand into Cedric’s damp hair, pulling him closer to you and desperately rocking your hips against his face, desperate for any more friction he could give you. Cedric chuckles at your moaning form. Sending even more delicious vibrations to your sensitive clit, as moans mix with longing cries of your lover’s name. Cedric pulls his mouth away, bringing himself to a standing position, still burying his fingers in you, replacing his tongue with his calloused thumb to massage your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“You don’t know what you do to me darling. How does it make you feel that you give me a hard-on every time you lift that shirt up to wipe your face? Every time you bite that gorgeous lip, or flip your hair you’d have me wanting to bend you over and fuck you senseless.”

You try and respond, but the pleasure Cedric was giving to you was all your mind could take. The sound of his fingers pounding into your wet core and Cedric’s deep pants were driving you insane. You can only moan in response and crash your lips against his again. You can taste yourself as Cedric dips his tongue against yours, nibbling on your lip and picking up his pace with his fingers. A familiar knot forms in your abdomen and you have to pull away from Cedric’s lips to moan and arch your back even more, you can feel your walls clenching tighter against the rough fingers pounding in and out of you.

All at once the knot snaps and waves upon waves of euphoria washes over you and consuming your vision in white. Crying out Cedric’s name over and over again, the brunette helps you ride out your high, continuing to pulse his fingers in your clenching hole and kneeling down again to lap up your juices as you moan out and rock your hips gently, Cedric’s cock begins to twitch like mad watching he waves of cum spill from your core, but he takes his time, savoring every drop of your sex.

Cedric is practically beaming with pride as he stands again, holding the back of your head in his large hand. 

“So sweet love.” He smirks, wiping a drop of your cum off of his bottom lip with his thumb and licking it off slowly, keeping direct eye contact with you. Your face was red, your legs quivering, and deep breaths sounding from your lips.

“I’m not done with you yet darling.” Cedric drops the towel from his waist and boxes you in his arms again.

“You won’t be able to walk when I’m through with you.” The toned seeker teases in a dark voice.

Feeling his length against your stomach you bite back a moan, fuck he was big. You were unsure what to do, but taking his twitching cock into your hand, you pump his length experimentally, receiving a soft moan in return. Picking up the pace, you spread the precum on his tip as a lubricant. Working your hand against him, he reconnects your lips, a soft whimper flowing from Cedric’s lips. You keep using your hand to pleasure your champion, but Cedric can’t take it anymore.

“I need to be inside of you darling.” Cedric rasps, reluctantly pulling your hand from his throbbing tip and wrapping his arms around you.

“jump.”

Without hesitation you leap up and wrap your legs around Cedric’s hips and he presses you against the wall for support.

“Ready Love?” Cedric smirks, his hands squeezing your ass and cock teasing your soft folds.

“Shut up and take me Diggory.”

Cedric wastes no time sinking into you, slowly at first, letting you adjust to his thick shaft, small grunts sounding from your lips as Cedric sink deeper.

“You’re taking me so well darling, f-fuck.” Cedric groans, sticking his head in the crook of your neck, nibbling on your sensitive skin and squeezing your hips.

Tears prick in your eyes as Cedric bottoms out in you, burying your hand in his wet brown curls you whimper at the feeling of being so full.

After a couple moments the pain turns to pleasure and you shimmy around motioning to Cedric it’s okay to move. The brunette begins to thrust in and out of you, slow at first, but soon finding a rhythm, pulling in and out of you in a quick pace, thrusting out to almost his tip before burying himself to the hilt inside you once again.

“Faster Cedric.” your pleading voice gasps and pleads.

Cedric obliges, snapping his hips back and forth to the point you see spots in your vision and you’re dragging your nails down your champions back. Cedric frantically presses his lips against yours again as he groans loudly. You swallow the moan in the kiss and cup your hands around Cedric’s defined jawline, pulling him closer and clenching your core in surprise as he pushes his thumb to your clit.

Your reaction pulls another breathy moan from Cedric, but his thrusts don’t stop. He continues to pound into you, his desire out weighing any tiredness that should’ve been.

Your loud moans only egg him on further. Your sinful, desperate pleas for more drive him insane. Arching your back and rolling your hips, Cedric pounds even further into you.

“Fuck Cedric, right there.” Your loud beg cries out and Cedric smirks, slamming his hips into your spot over and over again. Screams of pleasure and sighs of satisfaction fill the air. Wet sounds of skin on skin ring throughout the large bathroom as Cedric sinks deep into you with each needy thrust.

Parting your lips, another choked moan is pulled from your lips and your vision goes blank once again as your coil snaps and your grip tightens on Cedric. Your champion doesn’t stop, his thrusts are still merciless and needy, but as your slit clenches his cock in a tight hold, his thrust becomes lazier and he can feel his release coming soon.

“You make me feel so good Ced, I’ve had my hand in between my legs thinking about this for so long, o-oh fuck.” You moan in a teasing voice against the brunettes ear. You can feel Cedric’s upper body go rigid as he uses the last of his strength to snap his hips into yours like his life depended on it. Your dirty talk making him imagine your naked body lying on your bed, moaning out his name, probably only a hallway away from him. Years of lust and love fuel his next thrusts. Every time he’d painfully gotten hard because of you, every time he imagined you underneath him and making you scream his name in ecstasy was all coming true and groaning your name into the crook of your neck he snaps his hips in a desperate thrust one more time before releasing all over your tight walls, his body pulsing in euphoria sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire being.

Your eyes roll back and your legs jolt at his powerful stream, thanking Merlin you had taken the potion to help with cramps not too long ago. You begin to roll your hips lazily to help Cedric ride out his orgasm, your core practically numb with pleasure and your entire body exhausted. Cedric is panting heavily, his hand buried in your hair and his other still supports your body. He gives your bum a small squeeze, your body still against the wall and his still pressed to yours in support, letting the warm water from the tap relax your tired muscles and wash the proof of your pleasures off of your legs, while still intimately connected.

Cedric smiles as he looks deep into your eyes, still panting heavily, but now with nervousness and a slight anxiety. He couldn’t keep his true feelings from you any longer.

“You know I love you right?” The hufflepuff head boy confesses, running a hand down the side of your face.

“I’d hope so, considering you just fucked me senseless.” You giggle and wrap your arms around Cedric’s toned shoulders. 

Your giggle dies down to a grin and a pink blush makes it’s way onto your face as you look down to see the two of you still connected

“I love you too.” You smile earnestly, a smile playing on your lips and you press a kiss to Cedric’s pink cheek. “I’ve loved you since those days in fifth year when I trained with you, you don’t know how relieved I was you survived, and with Umbridge around I thought I might never get the chance to confess.” Your emotions come through and Cedric has to blink the pure happiness from his eyes to respond.

“I’ve loved you since the moment you came rushing into my arms after the maze, I had a crush on you before, but i’ll never forget when you said those words, I knew I’d never let you go.” Cedric’s smile falters a bit as your stare drops to his lips.

“C-can I kiss you?” His face grows closer to yours.

“Didn’t ask for permission while you were cumming in me.” You tease, peppering kisses all around Cedric’s handsome features as his face grows hot in embarrassment.

“I-Is that a yes?” He murmurs hopefully, your soft lips trailing down his jawline.

You smile and press a kiss to the corner of Cedric’s mouth.

“As long as I can be your girl.” You giggle.

Cedric immediately pushes his lips to yours in a more delicate, but wanting kiss. Taking his time now to show you his adoration and care for you. The sounds of your lips molding together sounding through the large shower. Cedric runs his tongue through your mouth again, slowly this time, sighing at the taste of your after-game drink and the light taste of strawberry chap stick that remained on the inside your lips, begging to be found and appreciated.

As Cedric continues to ravage your mouth you run your hands up and down his chest and abs, taking deep breaths of his autumn like scent. Campfire, vanilla and honey were the most prominent, while his aftershave also offered a sharp, wood like smell.

“I love you y/n, so much. It would be an honor to have you as my girl.” Cedric sighs against your lips, placing one final peck before pulling away and grinning like a little kid. A smile begins to form on your face.

“Hey, did you think you could, you know.” You awkwardly motion down towards where you were still intertwined. “My legs are kid of sore.” Cedric’s eyes widen in realization and he nods frantically, apologies spilling from his lips as he slowly pulls out of you with a small ‘pop.’ Cedric lowers your feet to the ground and begins to back up, but the sudden weight removed from your body made your legs forget how to move and you crash into Cedric’s chest again.

Your legs felt numb and you couldn’t get them to move properly without falling. Cedric does his best to hide his pride as your lips pull into a frown, but a small smirk emerges as he bites his lip to stop it. He glances down and also notices the small purple love bites littering your neck and he almost beams.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself Ced, I can’t walk.” You roll your eyes at his useless attempt to stop his smile.

“I am, and I must say you look absolutely ravishing sporting my love bites darling.” He grins darkly, but a light chuckle breaks free.

“Alright let’s get you dressed, come on.” Cedric turns the tap off before leaning over again and catching your legs in his arms, carrying you bridal style out of shower, grabbing your towel and gym bag on the way out.

Placing you down on a bench, he grabs his own fluffy, white towel from his bag. Using it to pat your hair and body dry, making sure to get every inch of your body, and being careful around your intimate parts as you winced often. Grabbing another school-provided towel, he pats his upper-body dry before tying the cloth around his waist. Shaking out his damp hair, he grabs your bag and places it next to you.

“Do you think you can do it yourself darling?” His voice is filled with concern, but you nod and zip open your bag. Cedric turns to his own clothes and after tugging on a pair of boxers and sweatpants, wipes his hair dry before throwing on a t-shirt.

He turns to see you in a black sports bra, tugging on a pair of black tights, but unable to get them up your bum. Cedric smirks, walking over to you and pulling you up, holding you against him as a support while you finally get the leggings on. He sits you back down before pulling a jumper out of his bag and slipping it over your head.

The sweater seems to swallow you whole and it takes a moment to find the holes for your arms. You thank Cedric and sigh at being engulfed in Cedric’s sweet scent, pulling the jumper over your nose and smiling in content.

“You look better in my clothes than I do.” Cedric smirks happily, pulling you up again and interlocking your hands.

“Well in that case I guess I’ll keep it.” You grin, slipping on your sneakers and following Cedric out the prefect bathroom to the best of your abilities, having to stop often due to the aftershock of Cedric’s desperate pounding. Finally resorting to Cedric carrying you once again. Thankfully Dolores and her goons seemed to be missing from the scene.

Finally making it back to the hufflepuff common room, Cedric sneaks you into his dorm and closes the canopy around his four poster bed. Breathing out in content, The head boy cuddles you into his chest and wraps his arms around your torso.

“Can’t believe you’re actually here on my bed with me, I’ve only dreamt of this.” Cedric murmurs giddily, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your nose.

You snake your arms around Cedric’s broad chest and cuddle closer to him.

“I’m never letting you go, you know that.” Your champion teases, kissing your hairline.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You reassure, closing your eyes tiredly and slowly drifting off, exhaustion from the day's activities getting to you.

Cedric peers down at you a happy smile resting on his lips as he too yawns and relaxes into his pillow. This day couldn’t have gone any better. He won the game, fucked you in the shower and now he’s cuddling you in his bed. His blush reappears onto his cheeks as your breathy moans engrave themselves into his brain, but pride takes over as he reminds himself it was him who made you moan like that. Peppering kisses on your forehead he finally closes his eyes and replays your evening with a small smirk.

This is my first time writing smut so tips would be appreciated!

[ellewords]

you know those posts of people saying to send a wedding invitation to celebrities because sometimes they’ll send gifts congratulating the couple? and you know how sometimes the celebrity will actually show up? this is my head cannon of who would end up showing up just because.

(little bit of a warning: these are very half-baked and mostly just stream of consciousness because my brain is fried and i’m in need of a distraction from writing essays, but the thought hasn’t left my head, so now you have to deal with my brainrot, mwahahaha!)

i think oikawa would show up to a bunch of weddings for he people he doesn’t know. it starts in argentina when a fan sends him an invite, and he’s stupid happy about it and no one really knows why. he just really enjoys weddings, they suppose. it’s in the area, too, so he buys a gift for the happy couple and he shows up. he genuinely tries to be really low key because he doesn’t want to ruin their big day, so he stays in the back for the ceremony and he is the perfect wedding-goer. at the ceremony, though, he has a much harder time remaining out of the spotlight. when the bride and groom notice that there’s a tiny bit of a commotion happening, they lose their minds when they realize that it’s because oikawa actually showed up!!! they thought he was kidding when he accepted the invite, or maybe that he’d send an assistant or something!!! but nope, there he is, looking both enthused at being the center of attention but also kind of uncomfortable. when the couple lose their minds in front of him, though, being utter fanatics and hyping him up, he eases up and finally begins to have fun, dancing on the dance floor with different people, drinking responsibly, talking to people, bashfully signing autographs. he doesn’t lose steam for even a second, and when the party seems to lull just a little bit too long, he goes out of his way to make sure everyone gets back to enjoying themselves to the fullest (which the bride and groom appreciate). nearly everyone in attendance gets his attention for a short portion of time, and if they don’t, he tries to snag a picture with everyone on the way out. at the very end of the night, he records a short video for the couple telling them how lovely they are, thanking them for the invite and the great time, and wishing them the absolute best. it’s the highlight of their lives, besides, y’know, the whole getting married thing.

it’s gets out that oikawa actually went to a wedding he was invited to by strangers when someone posts a picture of the wedding online and he was spotted in the background, so now he gets invites all the time. he doesn’t go to all of them because he’s busy and some of the places he gets invites from are across the world, but if the location intrigues him and he has the time, he’ll usually be there.

kageyama would definitely go, too! but it would be mostly because he can’t remember for the life of him if he knows the couple, and it stresses him the hell out. he’s definitely gotten a lot more confident since he was in school, but at the root of him is still an awkward kid who questions everything about himself if it’s not volleyball. so he panics about it for weeks before the wedding, wondering what they’ll want as a gift, accidentally tricking himself into believing that he does in fact know the couple and buying a gift that he assumes they’ll like based off of thinking it’s one of his old classmates from school and buying something that they’d like. and when he doesn’t recognize either of them at the ceremony, he gets so distracted trying to place anyone’s face as someone he knows and he just can’t for the life of him figure it out. he’s half a beat behind everyone when they start cheering for the couple as the kiss and leave because he’s so deep in thought. it isn’t until the reception that he finds out that he doesn’t actually know anyone and he gets so pouty about having stressed over it for so long that he broods in a corner, trying to avoid everyone. he doesn’t start to enjoy himself until someone recognizes him and rambles for nearly ten minutes about how amazing he is and about this one play that he did that they practiced for weeks after seeing it but they still couldn’t nail and that he was their inspiration. imagine everyone’s surprise when they find them in the hallway of the reception hall with a volleyball kageyama had in his car, kageyama teaching the person how he did it. a small game breaks out in the obnoxiously big hallway with a scrappy set up of chairs precariously piled on top of each other until they were high enough and a bunch of coat jackets tied together along the top and bottom of where a net would be so they can see through. the noise is just barely softer than the music, but they gather a bit of a crowd until the game is over, and as much as kageyama enjoyed it, he apologizes to the bride and groom afterwards for feeling like he took away their spotlight. they laugh and say they don’t mind as long as the groom can play the next match.

a picture of kageyama smiling and cheering as his impromptu teammate makes a good play goes viral days later and kageyama does everything in his power to get the pictures taken at the wedding so he has the memories of that night forever. he even sends an awkward thank you card to the couple after.

ushijima accepts an invite, too; mostly because he feels it would be rude not to accept when they spent the time and money going out of their way to send him one. he spends a lot of money getting them a gift, and he cleans up super nicely, and he’s almost distracting for the entire ceremony. the quiet mysterious type suits him well, and everyone notices as he stays in the back, politely applauding when necessary and offering tissue to anyone crying and helping when it’s needed. at the reception, he mostly stays in his seat, but he stops to have conversations with anyone that comes by. most of them are very to the point, and don’t get longer than a few minutes because ushijima doesn’t beat around the bush much, but as off-putting as it sounds, everyone absolutely adores him. some people are trying to size him up, but he’s just too straightforward about how they are perfectly good on their own without having to compare themselves that they wander off shocked that he was so... nice? no, he is, but that’s not quite it... honest? about it all that they feel validated and off-kilter by the time they walk away. others come over to ask him to dance, which he politely accepts and he’s just so earnest in his attempt that they can’t even be upset that he’s a little stiff and bumbling. if anything, they fall for his charm even more. as he leaves, everyone insists that he take a few plates to-go and that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask. he was very confused by this proclamation as he didn’t know anyone well enough. in his bag of to-go boxes, however, he finds a ton of business cards and stuff that he stores away just in case he does need any of their services.

at his next interview, he gets asked about the entire experience, and as always, he’s super honest: “i had a wonderful time. everyone was very kind. that being said, i felt as if i was intruding on a very personal moment meant to be shared by those you hold dearest, so as much as i appreciate the sentiment, i do not plan to attend anymore weddings if i don’t know someone involved. it should be their big day, after all, and i would hate to distract from it.” if he gets anymore invites, he politely declines and instead sends them a gift and his congratulations.

i’ve been gone for a few days because of school, but i’ve been itching to send something in ever since i saw the wedding prompt. plus, all of the hc coming in from it have been so good! you have so many talented followers, and your additions are great as always, elle!

anyway, i have to get back to school. hope school is going well for you, elle! and make sure you’re taking care of yourself! -🌙

— from elle ! wait, hold on i love this >_< but hello moon anon !! i hope all those essays are working out well for you and i hope you’re able to take breaks in between :) anyways, this definitely made me love and i like that it’s true to the characters (esp. kags). my quick lil scenarios (under the cut as usual) is kind of an amalgamation of what you sent in because i'm just thinking of what would happen if the couple took a shot in the dark and invited all three of them. and they all attend :>> thank you for this and i hope you are having a wonderful day ! <3 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“yohoo, tobio-chan!” kageyama heard, a figure sliding into the empty seat next to him. the voice is airy, familiar, one that he had heard several times in the past. the ceremony was due to start in five minutes, everyone from the guests to the wedding party already taking their respective place.

he narrows his eyes towards the figure, recognising the man just after a couple of quick beats, “oikawa-san?”

“ah! i'm glad you could still recognise me.” oikawa grinned, squinting his eyes at the vast amounts of sunlight that entered through the windows, “too bright in here, isn’t it?” 

“what are you doing back in japan?” he asked, eyes growing wide as he’s unsure if the sight in front of him was actually real. 

 “visiting family, taking a little vacation.” oikawa replied, leaning back in his seat, “so how do you know the happy couple?”

“i...i'm not sure.” kageyama admitted, looking down at his lap in embarrassment.

“can you keep a secret tobio?” oikawa leaned in to whisper, waiting for him to nod before continuing, “i don’t think i know them either.”

__

it was about halfway through the ceremony and oikawa was getting just a little bit restless; he loved weddings, truly, but this one was dragging on much longer than the ones he previously attended. his gaze was lingering everywhere — from the loved-up gazes of the couple, the flowers that lined the aisles, to the guests who hung onto every word of the vows. one of the guests in particular was more familiar than most.

“pst, tobio.” he spoke, nudging kageyama’s shoulder, “doesn’t that guy look familiar?” 

he tilted his head towards the man who sat at the very back row, trying his best to keep a relatively low profile. kageyama followed with his eyes, attempting to be as discreet as he could. he recognised the man immediately, “that’s ushijima-san!”

maybe kageyama had exclaimed a little too loudly, earning himself a few shhhhs from the people who sat around him. he bows his head slightly as an apology while oikawa bites his lip to hold in his laughter.

__

the three of them were able to meet up during the reception, opting to sit at the same table — the one farthest away from everyone as to not draw any attention to themselves. well, oikawa insisted that they did and kageyama and ushijima didn’t really know anyone else to be comfortable enough to sit with them.

“what did you both get the bride and groom?” oikawa asked as an attempt to make conversation, taking a sip from the glass in front of them.

ushijima was one to spare no expense when it came to gifts, but he wasn’t one to brag about the cost of it either, “just a simple tea set. nothing much.”

what he failed to mention was that simple tea set cost several thousands of yen. but of course, oikawa took it as a bit of an opportunity to one-up ushijima and brags about his gifts. yes, gifts. plural.

__

ushijima was in the bathroom and oikawa had gotten the attention of a couple of bridesmaids — flirting with him while he tried his best to subtly deflect their advances — leaving kageyama all alone at the table.

he felt a hand tap on his shoulder, soft and hesitant, “kageyama tobio?”

“yes?” kageyama asked, turning to face the source of the voice. he’s met with a teenage boy, possibly not older than sixteen, looking at him with complete nervousness in his eyes.  

“i'm sorry to bother you. but i've just been such a huge fan of yours for the longest time and i wasn’t even sure if i should approach you but i really needed to let you know how much you have inspired me and i still have so much to learn but...uh, yeah.” the boy finished, looking at everything but kageyama at that point.

and a light flush colors kageyama’s cheeks, completely flustered. it was the first time anyone had approached him like that before, and he’s unsure how exactly to take the compliments. but he noticed the way the fan’s hands trembled, and he recalls all the times he’s approached the players he was a fan of when he was his age. “is there anything you need help with?”

__

needless to say, oikawa and ushijima were surprised when they found their table completely devoid of kageyama’s presence; only to find him in the incredibly large hallways with a makeshift volleyball court with chairs haphazardly stacked on top one another.

“where did you get that?” ushijima asked, pointing towards the volleyball that kageyama held in his hands.

“my car.” he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“well then,” oikawa smirked, eyes lighting up as he looked around the halls, especially at the gathering crowd, “how about a friendly little match?”

kageyama and the fan he was meant to be teaching stood on one side of the makeshift court while oikawa and ushijima stood opposite them, getting into position. most of the guests had their phones out, recording everything and posting it on social media.

“at least i will finally know what it’s like to finally play with you in a team instead of against you.” ushijima commented, briefly glancing at his teammate for the night.

oikawa choked on air, taking a few seconds to compose himself before responding, “should have come to shiratorizawa, huh?”

it was barely even noticeable, barely lasted a few seconds, but ushijima cracked a smile. 

__

the night ends with the newlyweds approaching the three of them, expressing their gratefulness for their invitations but also apologising for stealing their thunder on their wedding, going so far as to offering to pay for their honeymoon.

“as tempting as that may be,” the bride smiled, “it really is no problem. we’re surprised that you even attended in the first place.

the groom nodded in agreement, “we had a lot of fun watching you play tonight, so we feel like we should be thanking you more. you didn’t have to bring gifts too.”

oikawa waved a hand as if to say it’s nothing, while kageyama and ushijima offer tickets to their next match in exchange for photos from the wedding — particularly that of their little volleyball match.

the three of them finally make their way out into the night and into their respective cars, but not before oikawa lets out one more question.

“the three of us should hang out more,” oikawa smiled, not a trace of teasing or malice in his tone, just a genuine offer, “at least once before i get back to argentina.”

years ago, none of them would even consider such a thing, but all three liked to think that they moved past such trivial things.

kageyama gave him a small smile, “alright.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

a question: what would the hq characters be like at a wedding?  |  written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky_29 @sakusasimpbot​

join my hq taglist here. <3

[sarcasmandships]

celestial bodies ~ sterek

sterek imagine inspired by venus by sleeping at last 

word count: 1.4k

warnings: minor sexual content

 At first, I thought you were a constellation

“D-did you know we’re made from stardust?” Stiles spluttered, jumping to his feet.

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“I mean every element that makes up our cells, from the iron in our blood to the calcium in our bones, was made in the heart of a star billions and billions of years before the earth was ever created.”

Stiles paced up and down the length of the loft, gesticulating animatedly as he explained the secrets of the cosmos to Derek, who looked up lazily at the rambling universe in front of him.

I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation

“And since the first law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, the atoms that existed then are the same atoms that exist now – our bodies were once stars and supernovas and-”

“So what? The atoms in my hands could’ve been next to the atoms in your hands during the Big Bang?” Derek said coyly.

“Well actually,” he began again, sounding as though he’d swallowed a textbook, “immediately after the Big Bang there was only hydrogen,” he paused in his tracks for a moment and tilted his head to the side slightly, “and a little helium,” he added before continuing to pace, “but mostly hydrogen!”

“Mostly hydrogen,” Derek repeated, nodding solemnly.

“And gravity forced all that hydrogen together to form stars, and then nuclear fusion created carbon and oxygen - which have a far more important role in the formation of human cells.”

“Is that so?” Derek mused.

“Yes. Since hydrogen only makes up like 9.5% of our bodies and considering the scale of the universe, it’s unlikely that our atoms could’ve been together at the Big Bang.”

He avoided making eye contact with Derek, who said nothing.

You're as beautiful as endless

“But y’know maybe a couple billion years after…like our atoms might have been chilling together in a supernova cloud,” he said with an awkward, and slightly shrill laugh.

A smile played on Derek’s lips, “so you’re saying we could’ve been together since nearly the beginning of time?”

“Well, sorta. But no not really, I mean maybe – but psychologists don’t really understand consciousness, so no one knows what the stuff that makes us…y’know us is exactly-”

“Stiles, breathe.”

“Right, thanks. So, we can’t really say if what makes up our consciousness so we don’t know if it can be broken down to the atomic level or if there’s something else going on-”

Derek stood up, he smiled adoringly and crossed his arms across his chest, Stiles gulped as his eyes raked over Derek’s exposed biceps; the grey material of his t-shirt strained against them.

“So…” Derek prompted.

“So! So…so no one can say if we – as in our conscious minds – could’ve been together because no one knows what consciousness is. But theoretically, the atoms in my body and the atoms of yours could’ve been created in the heart of the same star-”

Derek edged closer to him, “and if those atoms found their way from a celestial body to our bodies, then I guess that’s sort of meant to be, huh?”

Stiles stared blankly at him.

“And what happens to those atoms after we die? Do they stay together?”

“Well, the first law of thermodynamics says-”

Derek stepped closer, so close that Stiles could smell the spearmint on his breath, “Stiles?” he whispered.

“D-derek,” Stiles stammered in response, his eyes shifted around the room, focusing on everything except the details of Derek’s face in front of him.

You're the universe I'm helpless in

Stiles couldn’t recall a time his lips had ever been so close to Derek’s.

“I got an A in psychology.”

“Oh, good for you…bud,” he said awkwardly, punching Derek lightly on his well-defined bicep.

Stiles’ heart hammered in his chest, and he was acutely aware that Derek was so close to him that he could likely feel it too.

“I also got an A in physics.”

“W-what? So, you already know all of this? Why did you let me ramble on so much then? God Derek-” Stiles shifted his body away from Derek’s, ready to continue his pacing as he entered a new rant.

But before he could break away, Derek’s hands flew up and gripped his wrists tightly – pulling him back tightly into his chest.

“Maybe I felt like a refresher course,” he said breathily, staring into Stiles’ eyes.

The remnant rays of the setting sun streamed through the window and bounced off Stiles’ irises, highlighting golden reflects. They burned back against the stare of Derek’s icy gaze; like his own, personal sun.

“Well, I don’t really think I’m the best person for that so-”

“Stiles?”

“Y-yes.”

“Shut up.”

Derek’s lips crashed against Stiles’, and billions of primeval atoms were reunited as their lips moved softly against each other. Derek released his grasp on Stiles’ wrists and instead snaked his hands down his body to grip his hips, pulling him even closer into him.

Shivers rippled across Stiles’ body as Derek’s hands raked over him. He groaned against Derek’s mouth and an energy hot enough to rival nuclear fusion ignited in the pit of his stomach, burning lower, and lower, and lower down his anatomy.

With hands still securely gripping Stiles’ hips, Derek steered them from the centre of the loft forwards, and slammed Stiles’ back into the wall.

One of his hands entangled itself in Stiles’ soft hair. Derek tugged on it harshly, pulling Stiles’ lips away from his own, he whined initially but let out a low moan as Derek lips softly traced along his jaw line. He left a trail of gentle kisses across his neck, as he reached a spot just under Stiles’ earlobe, he let out a moan so desperate Derek had to restrain himself from tearing away both their clothes there and then.

An astronomer at my best

Stiles was seeing stars in the ceiling of the loft as Derek’s lips caressed his neck, the initial gentle kisses had turned rough as Derek responded to Stiles’ moans. He gripped onto Derek’s biceps and toned back for support as he explored his neck.

“God Derek-” he groaned as Derek’s lips traveled down to a spot against his collarbone, Stile’s couldn’t stop his hips from bucking upwards to grind against Derek.

Derek pulled away from his neck and looked up at him, his lips were cherry red, “you good?” he asked, panting slightly.

Stiles nodded furiously, admiring the soft, golden flecks surrounding the pupils of Derek’s otherwise cool, green eyes, “good? I’m…I’m great. I- oh God Derek-” Stiles threw his head back as Derek’s lips resumed their place on his neck, and one of his hands drifted from his hip to his crotch.

Stiles’ vision blurred slightly as his head connected with the wall.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a sex injury already,” Derek mumbled in his ear, having returned his attention to the spot beneath Stiles’ collarbone.

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy that’s all. Kind of…nice though.”

“Nice?” Derek said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Y-yeah, nice. Heightened the overall…experience y’know.”

Derek nodded slightly, he pressed his body tighter against Stiles’ which kept him firmly pressed against the wall as Derek’s left hand left its position on Stiles’ hip and wrapped round his neck.

Derek pressed gently, “like this?” he whispered in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles’ let out a shaky breath, “h-harder.”

“What was that?”

Stiles’ swallowed, “harder, Derek. Please.”

“Harder with this hand?” he said, squeezing tighter around Stiles’ neck.

“Yes, yes, God Derek-”

Derek interrupted him quickly, “or this hand?” he whispered breathily into Stiles’ ear and pulled back to watch his eyes roll back as Derek palmed him roughly through his jeans.

“Derek…” he whined, thrusting his hips upwards again.

“You didn’t answer the question Stiles,” he whispered, “this hand?” he asked squeezing his left hand around his neck, “or this one?” he resumed kissing Stiles’ neck as he increased pressure with his right.

“Both, both Derek, please,” Stiles cried, throwing his head back again.

And smashing it off the wall again.

When I throw away the measurements

“Why don’t we move somewhere else? Somewhere you can hit your head off a soft surface when you do that.”

Stiles gulped before nodding furiously, “yeah, g-good plan.”

Derek guided him to the bed and pushed him down into the sea of soft pillows and blankets, as their lips reconnected Stiles felt a burst of energy strong enough to rival the Big Bang ripple through him. Derek broke the kiss to smirk down at him and something akin to a growl burst out of Stiles as he pulled Derek’s face back down to his.

“Someone’s impatient,” Derek teased in between kisses.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Stiles replied, moaning as Derek grazed his lips across his jaw.

“Me too, feels like I’ve been waiting since the beginning of time.”

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[nightbts]

through the night | jjk | 06

pairing: jeon jungkook + stylist! reader

word count: 6.2k

genre: fluff, angst + idol! au, friends to lovers! au

parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

listen to this playlist while reading!

best of friends. that’s what you and jungkook were. as their stylist for several years now, you and jungkook got along like no other and over time developed a friendship that was special to the two of you. but what happens when an IU collaboration deal, a jealous childhood-best friend and secret feelings get intertwined with the simple life you thought you were living?

“Y/N? Y/N!” a voice called out as you looked up, startled to see a hand waving about in your face. 

“I said your name a million times sweetie, come on we gotta go!” Stylist Yoon tsked as she ushered you towards the luggage filled with members’ clothes, accessories, and makeup before walking away and muttering something about kids these days. 

“R-right!” you squeaked as you quickly scrambled from the chair you were sitting in. Grabbing all your things and cursing at yourself under your breath,  you ran out the door as you tried to catch up to the other stylists. 

You honestly couldn’t help it. Your mind was consumed by one and one thing only: Jeon Jungkook. Even though it had been weeks since the night at the dance studio, the memory had been permanently imprinted on the forefront of your thoughts, refusing to leave. And anytime you even looked at Jungkook, you were reminded of them instantly: the way he held you gently in his arms, how his nose brushed against yours, and his lips that were just millimeters away—

“Get yourself together Y/N!” you groaned to yourself as you shook your head. 

“What happened now?”

Looking behind you, Jiho stood there with a raised brow as you instantly flushed knowing he had heard you.

“N-nothing!” you squeaked in response before hurriedly moving past him, as Jiho simply stared at you suspiciously. 

Neither you or Jungkook had brought up that night, to each other or anyone else. But as the days went by, you couldn’t help but feel something had changed. Whether it was in the way you looked at each other, or didn’t more specifically, or how the both of you watched your words and your actions more carefully, things weren’t the same anymore. 

“Anyone would be able to tell that nothing was something.” he chuckled softly to himself, as he watched you stumble over your things before flashing him a sheepish grin. 

“Come on ya clutz,” he laughed as he approached you, helping you carry some of your belongings as the two of you rushed out the door, trailing behind the other stylists as you waited to get into the bus. 

Today was the last day of the boys’ international tour, and the final destination was in Seoul. While they were all relieved to finally be back home, there was still a sense of anxiousness to put on a final great performance, an amazing finish to their amazing tour. 

Once you had put away all your things, you followed Jiho all the way to the back of the bus. Moving out of the way, he motioned for you to take the window seat, giving you a knowing smile. 

Smiling widely at him for remembering, you sang a small thank you as you settled into the seat, while Jiho plopped himself down beside you. Letting out a soft yawn, you stretched in your seat before falling back with a sigh, “This is it, isn’t it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Turning to look at him, you said with a small shrug, “Last concert.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jiho replied, “You’re making it sound like it's their last concert forever. It’s just the end of their tour Y/N.” 

Waving your hand dismissively in the air, you said, “Yea, yea I know. I’m just saying, our lives were super hectic the last couple months and now it's going to be the complete opposite for a while. Just when I got used to the chaos...” 

Humming in agreement, Jiho rested his back against the seat before saying, “I suppose you’re right about that. It’s okay though, we all need a bit of downtime before things start picking up again.” 

A couple seconds of silence passed over the two of you when you felt Jiho’s gaze lingering on you, causing you to turn back to look at him, “What are you looking at—?” 

“You’re wearing my jacket.” 

Blinking in complete surprise, you stared at him before looking down at the jacket you had been wearing. This morning you had been getting ready in such a rush you had barely noticed the jacket you had grabbed wasn’t yours, but the one Jiho had leant you a couple days back. 

“Oh! Huh, you’re right...” you trailed off with an awkward chuckle, your face flushing with embarrassment. Pulling at the sleeves of the jacket, you started, “Here, I forgot to give it back—” 

“No,” you heard him say softly, his hands pressing down on your own. Eyes slowly meeting yours, Jiho gave you a gentle smile before adding, “It looks good on you. Keep it.” 

“Jiho—”

“I mean it. It’s yours now,” he said firmly, his grip on your hands tightening. 

Nodding slowly, your gaze lingered on him as he turned back to face the front.

Odd, you thought to yourself before shaking your head of the thoughts that attempted to enter your consciousness, silly thoughts that you knew where impossible—

“You never told me how you got home that day.” Jiho said, interrupting your thoughts. 

“Huh?” you blinked dumbfoundedly, before his question registered in his head. Recalling how the moment you stepped foot into your apartment and how your exhausted body fell into bed, you remembered that you sent a quick text to Jiho before letting sleep consume you, your dreams that night filled with the heart-racing moments you had spent with Jungkook just hours earlier. 

The corner of your mouth twitched as a shy smile erupted on your face. Averting your gaze, your fingers began playing with the sleeves of Jiho’s jacket before you started to ramble, the pitch of your voice heightening with every word, “Well um, when I went back, thing was, Jungkook was still there so we both left together after a while. He got a taxi for us and he dropped me off at my place.”

"Oh, I see,” Jiho said tightly, lips pressing together. Even though you were looking away from him, he could see the way your cheeks flushed under the soft light that streamed through the window beside you. Jiho had a feeling something had happened, but his heart told him he was better off not asking.

After all, knowing would only hurt more. 

“Sorry!”

“No, I’m sorry!”

Speaking at the same time, you and Jungkook looked at each other with wide eyes.

Gripping the folders tightly in your hands, you quickly bent down to pick up the papers that had fallen out when you had abruptly crashed into Jungkook. Following suit, Jungkook bent down to help you when suddenly you felt a brush of his fingers against your own, the both of you reaching for the last sheet that lay between the two of you.

What kind of cliche-ass shit it this?! your brain screamed as you quickly grabbed the sheet towards you, and got back on your feet. Giving Jungkook a quick goodbye, you quickly walked into the stylists’ room that was only a couple feet away.

Closing the door, you pressed your hands to your warm cheeks as you felt your heart race in your chest. 

On the other side of the door, Jungkook stood there staring at his fingers, a slight tingling sensation filling his stomach as he turned and looked towards the room you had escaped to. 

“Is Jimin alright?” 

“He just needs a couple minutes, everyone else get ready!” 

“Yoongi, over here please!” 

Commands were thrown left and right as voices overlapped with each other. As the members came backstage after performing a couple songs, they were preparing for a costume change and getting ready for their next set. 

As you ran around, various costumes and accessories in your hand, you stopped by each group of stylists and handed them their needed items. Finally, you made your way to Jimin who you had been mostly helping that day. 

Resting a soft hand on his shoulder, you watched as he took in another deep breath before rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck side to side. 

“You gonna be alright Jimin?” you asked gently. 

Giving you a quick nod, he motioned for you to hand him his new outfit but not before giving you a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” 

Watching as he disappeared behind the changing curtains, you looked around to see if anyone needed any additional help when your eyes fell on Jungkook. Stifling a laugh, you watched as he struggled with his earpiece that found a way to get tangled with his earrings. 

Walking over to him without a second thought, your hands reached out towards his as Jungkook paused, his eyes widening at your sudden appearance. 

“I told you a million times if you're going to change your accessories to take out your earpiece you dumbass,” you mused with a shake of your head. Inching forward, you grabbed the wire of his earpiece with one hand, and his earring with the other, quickly untangling them. 

“There.” you murmured before turning your head to look at him, a wide grin on your face. However, the moment you did, you felt your nose softly brush his cheek, the smile on your face instantly dropping. 

Blinking in surprise, you nearly launched yourself off of him as he gave you a wide-eyed look in response. Pointing towards his ears, you stammered, “T-There, that should be good now.” 

“Y-yea, thanks.” Jungkook stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Hearing someone call his name, Jungkook gave you a quick smile before running in the direction of the sound. Watching as he disappeared through the crowd of people who were rushing about backstage, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

As a couple of weeks passed, each day slowly became better as both you and Jungkook started going back to normal. While the awkward moments appeared now and then, neither you and Jungkook talked about them and just went on with your lives as if they never happened. 

Work today for most of you finished early, including the boys’ practice sessions.  As you were packing up for the day, you heard Jungkook call your name as he popped his head into the doorway, his eyes twinkling with excitement.  

“The variety show episode I filmed is airing in a couple minutes, do you wanna come watch with the rest of us?” he asked, his voice laced with excitement. 

Glancing at the time on your phone, you looked back up at Jungkook who was gazing at you with expectant eyes. 

Smiling, you said, “Yea, I’ll be there.” before adding with a smirk, “After all, I don’t wanna miss you seeing your ass get whooped anyway.” 

Rolling his eyes in amusement, he simply stuck his tongue out at you before flashing you a wide grin, “See you in the lounge room then!”

As he disappeared from the doorway, you turned back around to quickly finish cleaning up your station, a certain feeling of giddy excitement rising within you.

//

Walking in alongside Jiho, who you had grabbed as he was planning to leave, the both of you entered the lounge room to already see all the members there along with some of the producers and other stylists. 

“I see there’s a whole watch party here.” Jiho chuckled lightly as he stood next to you, the both of you scanning the room for a spot to sit. 

Just then, you saw Jungkook waving his hand at you, motioning for you to come sit by him. As you made your way towards him, Jungkook’s gaze fell behind you and his hand faltered mid-air, his eyes widening in slight surprise. 

Giving Jiho a small nod, Jungkook forced a smile as he greeted him. Feeling the sofa dip beside him, he turned to see you giving him a soft smile, one that made the corners of your eyes crinkle into the shape of half-crescent moons.

“I didn’t realize all these people would be here,” you said in a hushed whisper as you looked around the room, giving small waves to your fellow stylists. 

Sitting beneath you on the floor, Jiho replied nonchalantly, “Yea, I’m only here cause Y/N dragged me.” to which earned him a smack on the head from you. Rubbing his head sheepishly, he grinned at Jungkook, “No offense bud, I was just ready to go home today.”

“None taken.” 

Just as you were about to say something, you heard Hoseok start shushing everyone, as he raised the volume, “It’s starting!” 

Grinning in excitement, you turned to look at Jungkook who was staring at the TV screen nervously. Placing your hand on his arm, Jungkook turned to look at you as you gave him a reassuring pat. Almost instantly, Jungkook felt himself relax as he gave you a grateful smile in return. 

Biting down on his lip, he sighed nervously. He hoped everything would go well.

// 

You wish you hadn’t come. 

Your gaze remained glued to the TV screen in front of you, not because you couldn’t stop watching but because you were afraid to look anywhere else. 

As time passed, the voices surrounding you began to suffocate you; the voices that all teased Jungkook, that all gushed in excitement at every opportunity possible, the voices that kept uttering the same two words over and over again within the same sentence -- Jungkook & IU. Jungkook & IU. Jungkook & IU.

If you had known, you wouldn’t have been here. 

It had been only 30 minutes since the show had begun, and the number of times you had seen or heard a comment regarding the two would be more than both your fingers and toes combined. 

And once again came that feeling. The gut-wrenching, sinking feeling that erupted within the pit of your stomach. 

“Alright, Jungkook-ssi! Why don’t you go stand by IU?” 

“Wow, look at how good-looking they are together!!” gushed the female TV host, as she clutched her chest and sighed, “So beautiful!”

“IU-ssi, now do you prefer dating older or younger men? Cause if younger, you have an amazing one sitting right beside you!” The male TV host grinned cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows at Jungkook. 

“Jungkook-ssi? We all know what an amazing singer you are. Why don’t you serenade your ideal type, IU with a song?” 

You sat there, fists clenched in your lap as you watched Jungkook on the TV flush, a soft red dusting his cheeks as he smiled shyly towards IU who equally looked flustered, a nervous chuckle spilling past her lips. 

The other guests on the show all began cheering Jungkook on, pushing him towards IU while one of the hosts shoved a rose in his hand. Giving IU an embarrassed smile, you saw him lift his microphone and begin singing one of her songs, Through The Night.

“Jungkookie! Did you prepare this huh?!” you heard Taehyung tease as he playfully nudged the boy next to him who simply returned a shy smile. 

But all you could hear was his voice; his soft, gentle voice that would usually make your heart flutter, but today, made it ache. Your eyes remained glued to Jungkook’s face on the screen. The way his eyes softened. The way his lips formed a nervous smile. The way his body naturally moved towards her. No hesitation in his movements whatsoever as he grabbed IU’s hands in his. 

The room erupted in exclamation as they watched Jungkook make his bold moves towards IU. As the rest of the members began to pile on more teasing words, many of them tackling Jungkook, ruffling his hair playfully you started to hear him nervously laugh in response as he shook his head, “Guys, calm down. It’s just a shooting. It’s not a big deal—”

“When was the shooting?” 

The question spilled past your lips before you could stop yourself, but even then, the curiosity burned within you. You had to know. 

Turning to look at you in surprise, Jungkook cocked his head to the side, thinking, before finally responding, “It was about two weeks ago.” 

“Ah.” you nodded casually, turning back to look at the TV. But on the inside, you felt everything slowly fall apart. Your hands began trembling in your lap as you clenched them tightly, hoping nobody would notice around you. Biting down on your lip harshly, a metallic taste flooded your mouth as the pain caused tears well up in the corners of your eyes. 

Two weeks ago. 

Just three weeks ago, you were in Jungkook’s arms, your forehead against his as you could still remember the way his warm breath fanned your flushed face. The way his eyes softened as they looked down at you, his nose that brushed yours as his grip tightened on your waist, time slowing down. Just the two of you. Alone. 

A moment. 

A moment where you felt like you had the entire world in your hands. Where you felt like you could spill all your inner thoughts and feelings. Where you felt like you could tell Jungkook you loved hi—

Scoffing aloud, you softly shook your head when you felt a certain wetness wash over your cheeks. Eyes darting to make sure nobody saw you, you quickly swiped the back of your hand against your cheeks, sniffling softly. 

Could you get any more pathetic, really?

After years of falling for the boy who now sat obliviously next to you, whose eyes were filled with adoration as he smiled softly at the TV that graced IU’s face, you felt like the world’s biggest joke. You had held that night so close to your heart, every second, every motion, every breath as something to hope for. But now you knew. 

You were the only one. 

//

As the show came to an end, you saw everyone talking to one another, about the show, about ordering food and other things. Slipping your purse around your body, you slowly got up from the couch and made your way towards the door, hoping to get away before anyone noticed. 

A foolish hope that was. 

Feeling a hand grab your wrist, you turned around in surprise. Looking up, you saw Jungkook grinning down at you when you suddenly jerked your hand from his hold. The smile on his lips instantly died, his brows furrowing together as his once-bright eyes were now clouded with confusion. 

“Y/N—?” 

“I-I have to go—!” you spluttered out, averting your gaze. Feeling a hand rest on your shoulder, you turned to look at your side where Jiho stood. 

Lips forming a tight line, he looked at Jungkook before saying, “We’ll be going now. You should be getting back to your members, Jungkook.” he added pointedly, motioning towards the rest of the boys who were all now calling Jungkook’s name. 

Looking back at you, Jungkook’s lips parted to say something else but Jiho bid farewell at the younger man before softly pushing your back towards the door. 

The walk to the bus station was relatively silent. Neither you nor Jiho talked about what had happened just mere minutes ago. As you got settled into your seat on the bus, with Jiho sitting beside you, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Taking it out, your eyes fell on the home screen, messages lighting up the screen. 

[9:26] jungkookie: hey.... are you okay?

You had tried so hard. 

The entire night, you had tried so hard. 

But as you stared at his name on your screen, your iPhone suddenly lighting up to show the picture you and Jungkook took years ago filling your screen, you couldn’t try anymore. 

As your head fell to your hands, your shoulders began to shake, silent sobs racking through your small stature; floods of tears gushed down your cheeks as you felt your chest tighten, every second getting harder for you breathe. 

Feeling an arm pull you into their chest, you only cried harder as Jiho wrapped you closer to him, his head resting atop yours. 

It was like a flip switched within you. 

While you continued to remain as normal as possible, it would take a fool to not notice how much you had changed. 

While you always worked hard, you worked harder now. You ran around the building, taking on assignment after assignment, meeting with different stylists, and calling different brand companies with your proposals that you had worked on endless nights in a row. 

You had always been known as one of the “quiet and shy” one, but now you were anything but that. You made sure to eat with others, happily engaging in their conversations. You often went to drink after work was over, tagging along with fellow colleagues. 

But on top of everything else, while you were always found somewhere around Jungkook, now the two of you were rarely seen together. 

All your life, you had let in people. One after the other. People who had said they were your friends. People who had said they cared for you. People who had said they loved you. 

But in the end, they all left. They simply stopped talking to you. They ended up avoiding you. Some ended up cheating on you. And as every single one of those people you let in left you, it furthered the crack in your heart, each and every single time. 

And you didn’t know if your heart was well enough to handle it once again. 

As you’d hurriedly brush past the members, head ducking down to avoid Jungkook’s worried gaze. As you’d walk the longer way to certain places in hopes of avoiding Jungkook. As you’d stutter out incoherent, meaningless words to him when he would ask if you were okay, you would think to yourself, again and again.  

You’re acting ridiculous, Y/N...

But you couldn’t help it. You knew Jungkook wasn’t going to leave you, no, he’d never do that. He would be your friend, always. 

And that is the very reason why you were acting the way you were now. 

Knowing how it feels to be near him, to hold him, to touch him. Knowing the happiness that bursts like a thousand fireworks within your heart when he gives you his soft smiles, cheers you on, pats your head, pokes your cheek, hugs you, and tells you that you’re amazing, you just knew; your heart couldn’t handle just being friends anymore. 

It was selfish of you, incredibly selfish. You could see the way he was hurting, and it pained you more than anyone knew. However, after being selfless all your life with every single person in your life, you realized that in the end, nobody cared about the sacrifices you had to make, the emotional turmoil you had endured, the mental pressures, none of it. And for the first time, you decided to be selfish, you took a decision that was for you and not someone else. 

But as you took off your makeup at the end of the every day, washed your face, brushed your teeth and got into bed, and as the tears streamed down your face once again, you couldn’t help but think, why did being selfish hurt even more? 

Head hung between his legs, he lifted it up and ran his hands through his hair as he let out a cry of frustration, the sound echoing in the empty dance room. He grabbed his phone that laid next to him, the time reading 5:45 PM. Unlocking his phone, he opened iMessages to see the several unread messages, some from the members’ group chat and others from his friends and family. 

Scrolling down, his fingers hovered over your name as his eyes fell upon the date he had last texted you. 

It was over a week ago when Jungkook had texted you asking if you had been alright; remembering the way you rushed out of the room after watching the show, Jungkook felt confused at the way you had looked at him. 

A flash of pain and sadness had washed over your face, your cheeks stained with tears that Jungkook had noticed almost instantly. Yet before he could make sure you were okay, Jiho had whisked you away. 

His jaw clenched slightly at the thought of the older man; at that moment, he wanted to grab your hand, pull you to a quiet corner and hold you in his arms as he’d ask you what was wrong. But the chance never came, and now it had all seemed too late. 

On top of you avoiding him like the plague, it seemed like things had suddenly gotten a million times busier in every single aspect of his life. Album planning, new choreographies, photoshoots, brand deals, and more swarmed his daily schedule and whenever he had a break, you were nowhere to be seen. 

And just like that, an entire week passed by with Jungkook not able to see you properly or talk to you, and he absolutely hated it. Yet what he hated more was not knowing whether you were okay or not. 

As he got up from where he was sitting, he let out a small yawn before stretching out his limbs when he heard the familiar sound of faint laughter coming from outside the room. 

Eyes lighting up, Jungkook grabbed his things in a flash before sprinting out the door; eyes darting side to side, he looked down the hallway for your figure. 

“Y/N?” he called out earnestly, the hope in his heart slowly starting to deflate when suddenly he saw your head poke out of the nearby office room. 

“Yes—?!” you started, as you looked outside the room in curiosity at who called your name. Turning around, your gaze fell upon Jungkook who stood outside the dance studio, beads of sweat dripping from the tips of his hair as he stared at you. 

“Hey.” he breathed. 

“Hi.” you smiled tightly, as your heart started to race in your chest, yet this time not for the same reasons. 

“I thought I heard you—” Jungkook started with a soft chuckle when you quickly interrupted, “Did you need something? I-Uh, there’s somewhere I need to urgently be.”

Slightly taken aback, Jungkook slowly shook his head, “No, but I—” 

“Y/N, let’s go,” a voice called. Coming up from behind you, Jiho grabbed the folders you were holding in your hand before walking through the door and into the hallway. Not even sparing Jungkook a glance, Jiho only looked at you before motioning for you to follow him. 

Jungkook’s expression immediately hardened, jaw clenching as his fists tightened at his sides. He didn’t know what came over him in that instant, but within seconds he was standing by your side, his hands grabbing yours within his. 

“I need to talk to Y/N.” he stated with firm persistence. You looked up at Jungkook in surprise, his grip on your hand only tightening as his gaze remained on Jiho’s back. Turning around, Jiho’s eyes fell on both of your hands before trailing up to Jungkook’s face. 

"Sorry Jungkook, but we’re busy. Y/N doesn’t have time.” Jiho stated, forcing a smile. 

“Listen, it’ll only take five minutes—!” 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Jiho’s entire demeanor changed instantly before he said lowly, “No, you listen Jungkook—”

Removing your hands from his grasp, Jungkook looked down at you as you moved away from him and towards Jiho. Resting a hand on his arm, stopping him from saying anything you knew he’d regret, you quietly said, “Jungkook, Jiho is right. I’m busy right now.” 

Scoffing, Jungkook looked to the side as his eyes blazed with irritation, “Whatever Y/N. Avoid me like you have been doing all week. Just don’t think you’re fooling me, I’m not that stupid.” 

With that, Jungkook turned around and made his way back into the dance room, the door slamming behind him as the sounds of loud music followed just seconds later. 

Gripping Jiho’s arm tightly, you felt a lump form in your throat as you let out a heavy sigh, “Jiho, what am I going to do?” 

Turning around to face you, he bent down so that his face was level with your own. Brushing away the stray tear that slipped out of your eyes, he whispered sadly, “I’m sorry Y/N...”

Shaking your head, you cried softly, “What for? You didn’t do anything...this is all my fault.” 

No, he thought to himself, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the one for you. 

You thought things would only get easier as the days went by; slowly but surely, ignoring Jungkook would become normal and you’d be fine.

At least that’s what you had painfully hoped for. 

But now things were worse in ways you hadn’t even imagined. After the day Jungkook confronted you, he had made it a point to ignore you even more so than the ways you had avoided him. He refused to talk to you at all. Whether it was when you were helping style him for an event or if you saw him in the hallway, before there used to be at least small talk or some acknowledgement but now, there was nothing. 

You thought you were doing this for yourself, but your selfish wishes started to bite you back. You felt absolutely helpless, no matter what you did, nothing  seemed to work. 

Standing there in the staff break room, you yawned as you made yourself another cup of coffee. It was late at night, yet you stayed behind since you were working on a project proposal you knew you couldn’t do at home. 

Hearing the door open behind you, you turned around and greeted Jiho with a tired smile, “Hey, you’re still here?” 

“I should be asking you that.” 

“We seem to be doing a lot of that recently,” you chuckled softly, turning back towards the coffee machine, watching as the dark liquid poured into your mug, the mechanical whirring the only sound filling the small room. 

Walking over to stand next to you, he replied, “It’s only cause you’re always working yourself to the bone, even more so lately than ever.” 

Giving him a half shrug, you poured in your creamer and sugar, and stirred your coffee, “Work is just getting busier, that’s all.” 

Laughing slightly, Jiho gave you a pointed look, “Or you’re just giving yourself more work to do.” 

Humming softly, you didn’t respond since the both of you knew Jiho was exactly right. Work hadn’t gotten busier, you were just really good at making yourself busy.

“Y/N...” Jiho trailed off. Noticing the hesitation in his voice, you stopped stirring and looked up at him. 

“When are we going to talk about it?” 

Stiffening, you looked at Jiho in surprise. Blinking at him, you slowly chuckled as you started to wave your hands in denial, your typical first step of action when anything uncomfortable was presented to you. 

“And don’t tell me nothing is wrong.” 

He got you. 

You tended to forget how long Jiho knew you for at times, failing to realize he knew your characteristics and mannerisms like the back of his hand. 

Picking up your coffee mug, you took a sip as the hot liquid ran down your throat. Pressing your lips together into a thin line, you simply sighed, “Jiho, I think I’m going to quit. Working here, that is.”  

Taken aback, a look of surprise flashed across Jiho’s face, his eyes wide. If anyone knew what you were going through right now, it was him yet he didn’t think you would ever come to a decision like this. A decision where you decided to run away. 

Fists automatically clenching at his sides, Jiho felt a deep sense of anger begin to boil within him. 

“Y/N, don’t joke around,” Jiho replied lowly, as he stared at you, trying to study the expression you wore on your face. 

Shaking your head, you said softly, “I’m not. Honestly, I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Turning around, you rested your back against the countertop, “All my life I’ve adjusted, no matter what the circumstances were. I’ve always been selfless, but this time I decided to be selfish for once.” Looking down at your shoes, you let out a bitter laugh, “Look where that got me.”

“But—” 

“Jiho,” you interrupted. Looking back at him, your soft eyes met his rigid ones, “No matter what solution I can think of that requires me staying here, doesn’t seem to work for me. I never thought it would have to come to this, you know I love working here. But...with how things are recently, I don’t know if I can continue to work here and be happy.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

Taken aback at the coldness in his voice, you watched as Jiho ran his hands through his hair, before letting out a sigh of frustration, “You’re telling me you’re running away? You’re going to run away because of your silly crush on him?! Y/N do you hear yourself?!” 

“Silly?!” you breathed in sharply. Your soft eyes turned cold instantly as you shot him a glare, “How could you say that Jiho?!!” 

Throwing his hands in the air, he bit back, a scowl forming on his face, “What do you want me to say Y/N? Listen, I have been there by your side since we were kids and I’ve always supported you no matter what, but this?! Quitting your job because of the guy you like?” 

“Jiho, I don’t care whether you support me or not. I’m telling you what I’m going to do and that’s it. I’m done trying to live my life because of other people, alright? I’m done!” you yelled, your chest rising with every breath as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. 

“How could you tell me my feelings were silly?!” you cried, your voice shaking with every word, “You have no right Jiho, not when you don’t know how I feel.” 

Jiho stared at you for what seemed like too long, when he finally let out a harsh breath. Rubbing his temples, he spoke softly, “What makes you think I don’t know how you feel Y/N?” 

Your brows knitted together in confusion as you stared at Jiho. His face contorted into an expression you had never seen on him before, a look mixed with years worth of hurt, despair and sadness all in one. 

“Jiho, what—?” 

“I know exactly how you feel Y/N, and I’ve been feeling it for years now—” suddenly faltering at the end, his face flushing, “I—Just, don’t tell me I don’t understand.” 

You stood there silently as the tension grew between the two of you. Even without Jiho telling you word-for-word, the thoughts that you had subconsciously ignored all this time finally crept up from the depths of mind, the thoughts that you wished weren’t true, seemed to be otherwise. Glancing back at him, your gaze softened when you saw his head hanging low, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him, a habit you knew all too well. 

“Jiho,” you started softly as you grabbed his hands within your own; however, Jiho didn’t miss the apologetic tone in your voice, as he quickly jerked his hands away. 

“I don’t wanna hear an apology, Y/N. Anything but that.” 

Sighing in exasperation, you pleaded, “Jiho, I-What do you want me to say? I-I don’t know what to tell you—” 

“Why can’t it be me?” 

Lips parted, the words faltered on your tongue as you watched Jiho finally looked up at you, his gaze suddenly different. You found him moving closer to you, causing you to inch further back, the countertop digging against your back. 

“Jiho—” 

“Tell me Y/N, why can’t it be me? When I have been here for you, all along.” he croaked as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you between his arms as his forehead laid against yours, his face dangerously close. 

You had been this close to Jiho a number of times, but never in this way, this time, things were completely different. Before you could say anything, Jiho dipped his head down and soon after you felt his lips hesitatingly brush yours before pressing harder, pushing you gently against the countertop and kissing you with more force than before. 

As your mind fumbled around you, you stood there frozen when suddenly a voice in your head whispered a name so softly, a name that was enough for your hand to fly out and press down on Jiho’s shoulder, pushing him off of you in an instant. 

Jiho gave you a dazed look, until he took in your face.

Surprised. Shocked. Startled.

Face contorting into pure horror, all the color drained out of his face as he spluttered, “Y/N, I—” when you shook your head softly, unable to even look him in the eye.

“I-I need to go, I—” you stammered. Squeezing out from between Jiho and the countertop, you rushed towards the door. However the second you opened it, you felt your heart go still, the world and everything in it coming to a full stop. 

dun dun dunnnnnn

[tenpointstoq]

So thanks to this we now have Flower shop Geraskier AU

Flower shop au - Geralt needs a bouquet to say ‘fuck you’

Don’t mind this stream of consciousness rant. It’s a mess but so are they 🤷🏻

Geralt storming in and Jaskier has fucking flowers in his hair and it’s not some traditional hippy shit flower crown. They look like they ended up there over hours of work, plucking things here and there. There is even what he thinks is a dandelion behind his ear. What flower store sells dandelions? Jaskier is excited as ever because the language of flowers is so wonderfully poetic and isn’t that just beautiful? To speak to another with nature’s first language. Geralt’s just staring at him like he is insane, though he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t oddly endearing really. He ends up leaving with a pretty beautiful arrangement but it does have certain ‘fuck you’ vibes that Geralt can’t properly explain. He also finds out later that several of the flowers caused the persons chambers to smell HORRIFYING when the flowers began to die and others dropped pollen everywhere that stained a lot of things. It’s like 3 punches in one and he will admit he’s impressed. He doesn’t mean to end up going back, but he keeps on running into the damn flowers. It’s like Jaskier and dandelions are following him. To events and lords chambers, even Yen gets on the Jaskier train cause the boy has style and she’s about to go all out for her anniversary with Tissaia. Getting that woman to blush is hard, but Jaskier nails it and Yen sort of won't shut up about him. To the point that he’s at a fucking dinner party Yen refuses to let him skip. They are seated side by side and while he isn’t coated in flowers this time, he still has a distinct floral smell that isn’t overwhelming as much as it is oddly charming and perhaps even a little comforting. He’s bright eyed and sharp as a whip, he can keep up with Yen’s humour and Ciri’s already signing him up as another found family member.

Usually Geralt would brood in the corner, which he does a bit, Jaskier half teases him about it as the group splits up after dinner. A glass of wine in his hands, his cheeks just a little pink. Geralt grunts some kind of response as Jaskier settles himself on the side of the large old reading chair Geralt always favours when he comes over. Jaskier talks about the flowers he put together for Yen, about love and loss and how nature can be astoundingly beautiful just as it can be cruel. He’s making metaphors like an actual mad man, which would piss Geralt off, except somehow it doesn’t. In fact he feels his lips curl a little as Jaskier continues to ramble, watching the way the light from the hearth turns his sea blue eyes shades of pale green and stormy navy. He’s like a hummingbird Geralt thinks. Almost like a fae but not the annoying kind he has to kill every other day, he is otherworldly but with a strange kind of grounding nature that brings a sense of ease to Geralt’s heart. It takes a few more months for Geralt to realise he has actual feelings. But now he’s helping out at the shop because they’ve had coffee a few times and Jaskier has come over to help Geralt with some issues with his greenhouse he keeps to make it easier to create potions at home. Each time Jaskier gives him flowers to take home, and Ciri makes note of it. Geralt won’t admit to actually rather liking being given them, so he doesn’t look at the deeper meaning.

It sort of hits him like a truck, he gets a call from Ciri late one night and all he can hear is her tone, Jaskiers name and wherever the fuck they are. He meets them at the shop, because Jaskier has a little flat above it and the two had been heading out to grab dinner. Ciri’s girlfriend is doing her masters and lives in the same area so the two had been getting dinner whenever Loni her gf had to stay late. That evening however Jaskier on his way to meet Ciri had been mugged. He was okay, his fight or flight mode hadn’t kicked in well and he’d half fought back while also standing like a deer in headlights. So he’s got a growing black eye, some scratches and a split lip. Geralt’s pretty sure he didnt breathe once until he actually saw him. Jaskier is in his arms before either of them know it’s happening. He can feel Jaskier shaking from the shock of it all and Geralt’s running his fingers through his hair, noting the way leaves and flower petals cascade around them as he does. He stays the night, watching Jaskier sleep, fighting so hard not to go and hunt the bastards who did this. What ends up stopping him is the notebook he finds in the kitchen when he goes to get himself some water, it’s just a list of dates and descriptions, it shouldn’t make sense. He reads the cluster of meanings, borage- bluntness, direct. While Camellia - you’re adorable, chamomile (one that pops up very very regularly) patience in adversity. White clover - think of me. Gardenia’s - secret love. Honey suckle- bonds of love. But as Geralt reads on it starts to click into place. There is so much, he looks at the last date, remembering back to the week before when Geralt had come in, truly exhausted after a long hunt and longer bullshit with the elderman who owed him coin. To find Jaskier surrounded by wilting flowers,face in his hands, too caught up within thought to notice the bell ringing or Geralt entering the back room. He’d had a call from his parents. The ones he never talked about because they were rich and powerful and thought Jaskiers trade was foolish and beneath his birth rights. That his university degree had gone to waste and that in general he was not fit to be their child or lay claim to their name (which he hadn’t done in a long time.)

Geralt wakes Jaskier up with coffee and breakfast. He looks so soft in the morning light. Insane bed head and a banged up face that Geralt wants to kiss more than he’s ever wanted to do anything else. While he’s fighting with himself on the thought Jaskier leans over the tea tray and presses a kiss to the corner of his lips as a thank you. He tastes like wild berry jam and milky sweet tea on the tray lay three Camellia’s, pink, red and white. Jaskier grins, holding each one up and explaining the meaning, though for once he knows Geralt already knows. ‘Longing for you, you’re a flame in my heart, you’re adorable.’ Geralt’s never been good with words, so it’s a relief to be allowed another language to explain his love. It’s part of what drew him to Jaskier, someone who said so much but seemed to inherently understand the need and worth of silence.

In the end no one is surprised when the two turn up to Yen’s next dinner party side by side. Geralt’s not one for announcements, but the new grace with which they move is like planets orbiting one another as if they were each other’s sun speaks the volumes their stoic Witcher cannot. Jaskier brings a lightness to Geralt’s life he didn’t know he was missing. While Geralt brings a stability Jaskier has always craved. They balance one another out in equal measure. It’s messy and weird at times, but it’s the happiest any of them have ever seen their white wolf . And if they think he looks entirely adorable with flowers braided into his hair and monster blood staining the petals, well they all just smile and keep it to themselves. Thankful that two lonely wonderful beings found just what they needed.

[shadybagelsludgecolor]

Last Words to My Love [Gn!Reader x Spencer Reid]

A/N: This is inspired by a tiktok chain I saw so please bare with me. Also I'm really not good at heartbreak writing so..... this is this and yeah. WOAH wrote this in an hour

Summary: Reader is on borrowed time after being fatally wounded. They say their goodbye’s with Spencer. 

Pairing: Reid x Gn!Reader

Rating: sad but sweet.

My [short] masterlist can be found here.

Warning:  Idk , Death, angst, murder, cursing, sad ending. 

Word Count: 1.3k

Today was the day Spencer lost himself. The day it was all too much. The day the weight on his shoulders finally broke him. It was the day Spencer lost you.

-

The day had gone by fairly quickly, the unsub was [thankfully] very predictable. You had caught up to him really fast, thanks to Spencer’s amazing geographic profile, and your ability to decode the messages the killer left behind. As you approached the apartment of Sheila Jacobs, the latest victim, you took caution. Something didn’t feel right. Then again, you’re approaching a serial killer with a hostage; how was it supposed to feel? Hotch signals the team to begin their silent entrance, and guns aimed, you entered the apartment.

“Jared Anderson? FBI. Drop the weapon.”

“Don’t move. I swear to god I will shoot her. Stay back!”

Holstering your weapon, you begin, “Jared? It’s alright. We don’t want to hurt you. Let Sheila go and we can work this out.”

“You think that’s fair? After what she did to me? All those years in high school? Nuh-uh. I don think so.”

He had a far point. This Sheila girl was, according to Garcia, a Grade-A mean girl. She and her friends, all of which now dead, tormented Jared all throughout high school. Of course, that doesn't excuse murder, but your heart slightly ached for Jared.

“Look, Jared. I’m with you. Sheila really is a bitch.” You knew what you were doing and so did your team, which is why they allowed you to continue, hands in a position of surrender, hoisted in the air.

“See! That’s why she needs to die!”

“No, Jared. She doesn't. She needs to live. Think about it! Think about what all the news channels are going to say! You will finally get to be the victim Jared. Nobody is going to feel sorry for the bully. She practically brought this on herself. Let her go so we can show the world how fake this woman really is.”

Hoping that this worked, you study Jared’s face. Of course, you didn't mean any of this, but Jared's fantasy has blurred the lines of reality, and now all you had to do was play along.

You see Jared’s face soften as he begins to surrender. He let’s sheila go, and she runs behind you, probably into the arms of Tara or JJ. You reached for the gun Jared held, when suddenly he jerked his arm away, aiming the gun right in between your eyes.

“Wait. You lied to me. I can see it in your face.”

“Don’t do this Jared.” You heard Derek say firmly in the background.

“What? You mean this?”

Two gunshots. That’s all it took. One from the revolver Spencer carried, and one from the handgun Jared possessed.

Your side felt warm. Rubbing your fingers over the area, you felt pain. A lot of it. Your bloody fingertips only confirmed your theory; you'd been shot.

The rest was a blur. Bouncing in and out of consciousness, losing so much blood, your head pounding, your side throbbing, the screams of your team calling for an ambulance.

This might just be it, you thought, my final moments.

“Hey. Listen to me, okay? I need you to stay awake for me. The ambulance is a couple of minutes away. Stay awake for me and for them okay?”

You felt your body lift off the cold ground. Your turn your head.

“Spencer.”

“Shh. Shh, it's okay. I’ve got you. Just stay with me, okay? Stay awake sweetheart.” Tears were streaming down his face as he attempted to flash a comforting smile at you. He had never called you that before...sweetheart. You liked the sound of it. It sounded much better than ‘Agent’. You tried your hardest, you really did, to stay awake.

You know, maybe the darkness isn't so bad. It’s warm there. Let me go there.

“Hey. I said stay awake.”

The bright white of the ambulance severely contrasted that of your beautiful darkness. It took you a second to adjust but once you did, you saw Spencer. The beautiful agent stared down at you. You wish you could tell him sooner, you thought, how beautiful he was. He needed to hear that. You wish you had the energy to tell him that now. He needed to hear those words, even if they were your last.

“I love you” you managed to croak out.

“Hey, hey. I love you too. Save your words okay? Talk to me when you’re recovering.”

You could tell by the look on his face that it was hopeless. You were too far gone. Nothing could save you.

“It was always you.”

“W-What?”

Damnit. If you weren't so weak, you'd tell him everything. You’d tell him how you had looked forward to going to work if it meant seeing him. You'd tell him that his big brain amazed you and that you blushed every time he would ramble about some irrelevant fact that only he seemed to know. You’d tell him that at times, you'd dream of kissing his soft, pink lips. You’d tell him how sometimes when you felt lonely, you’d hold your palms together, imagining they were his. You’d tell him that you loved him and that he was pretty stupid for a genius to not see it. You wish you could tell him everything, but you couldn’t. Your words, much like your time, were limited.

Somehow, someway, Spencer understood. He understood what you meant. He took your hand in his, tears incessantly leaking out of his eyes.

“The thought of loosing you makes it bard to breathe. I wish you could stay. I wish you could see how much I need you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I wish I would've told you sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Its okay. In another life” You knew Spencer didn't believe in this, but maybe you would. These thoughts comforted you in this sad time. 

“Visit my dreams, would you? Find me again. I can't make it here without you.” He was sobbing. He lifted your hand to his face, your skin feeling the cool tears that streamed down his cheeks. You were slipping away, you could feel it.

Before you could finish your last “I love you”, the darkness consumed you for the last time.

-

It had been almost a year now, since your departure. Your team missed you. Your sad picture hung on the wall of fallen agents, and not a day went by where they didn't look at it and miss you. You missed them too. You wish you could've said goodbye. It hit Spencer the hardest, however. But healing takes time. Spencer missed you, of course, but he knew you wouldn't want him to sulk around. You'd want him to look for you. In reality, Spencer never really believed in the reincarnation theory. For some reason, you took his “If science can't prove it, it isn't real” mantra and threw it out the window but the slightest bit of Spencer knew you would come back for him, and you did.

You came in his dreams. Whenever Spencer really needed a pick-me-up or any form of encouragement, you would tell him the exact words he needed to hear.

He knew you were there through your smell. Throughout the day, Spencer would smell vanilla, your favorite scent. The warm tones of vanilla always seemed to calm him, as he was reminded of your beautiful face.

He knew you were there by the clock. Whenever he’d get a random urge to look at the time, or whenever he just simply needed it, you'd always be there. 11:11, 2:22, 3:33, 5:55. You were there with him.

Spencer was at comfort knowing this. Hopefully one day you'd come back to him through someone else, so he could finally say the things he needed to say. So he could finally say, that he’d been in love with you for so long.

[audiblesmirking]

erratic heartbeats ~chapter 5: she sells seashells by the sea—ohmygod SHE'S DROWNING~

⚠️Minor Swearing⚠️

Legend: "English unless stated otherwise" --- 'Thoughts' --- "Telepathically speaking" --- [Authors' Note]

——————————

'Ah, the beach... I would've enjoyed your sand today if it weren't for my parents forcing me to go out' Azumi sits on her beach mat, an umbrella implanted behind her and shielding her from having heatstroke. 'A shame, Atsumi-san reported me for being closed in my room all summer. They never really did like me, I suppose.'

The psychic let out a sigh, her hand moving to shut all the thoughts around her up and wrap her arms around her knees. 'I don't understand how people can be so sociable.' Azumi commented, turning her head at the party going on near her. '... and loud.'

She thought the noise was getting louder, so she decided to pack and move to a different, and quiter spot on the beach. Wearing her sunglasses, she began her search for a new place to sit. The sound of the party slowly fades as she walks away from her previous position. 'Atleast they're having fun.'

The wind felt nice on her skin as it gently blows against her. Azumi was watching the swaying palm trees as she saunters on the cemented sidewalk, when a stray pebble made its way into her footwear. Cringing, she raised her foot to shake off the small stone, successfully relieving it from its discomfort. However, due to her movements, she accidentally stabs the back of someone with the end of her umbrella, earning a yelp from the aforementioned someone.

"SHIT. I'm so so sorry—" The situation surprised Azumi, as well as the poor person who was hurt from her carelessness. She extended her free hand to help support the boy—who looked oddly familiar to her—as he stands up.

"It's fine. Just be careful next time—"

"Hairo-san?" Azumi finally recognized the person in front of her once he turned around to face her, she lifted her sunglasses and laid them on top of her head. Hairo had a hand stretched behind him to sooth the spot in his back that had been jabbed, when he saw the familiar face of his classmate. Before he could greet her though, she already started talking. "I'm sorry for stabbing you with my umbrella. I was distracted because there was a pebble in my slipper; and I didn't see you because I was making sure the pebble was out and not providing discomfort to my foot. I should've looked at where I was going. I—" Azumi shut herself up by covering her own mouth after realizing she was rambling. "Again, I'm so sorry, Hairo-san."

Kineshi laughed at her reactions, successfully lightening the atmosphere. "It's alright, Kanasawa-san. It's good to see you."

His words brought a smile on Azumi's face. She liked his presence, because he always seems to bring her out of her shell at the right times, plus he's the kindest to everyone he meets. Atleast, that's what Azumi sees in him. "You too. By the way, what brings you here?" She gestured at the whistle he picked up from the ground after dropping it out of shock from their encounter.

"Ah, well, I volunteered as a lifeguard—" Hairo was cut off by a yell followed by splashing, a tell-tale sign of someone slipping into the water. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" He was already sprinting down to the shore.

'Kusuo-san, Kaidou-san and Nendou-san? Surprise to see them here.' Azumi thought, walking astray from the sidewalk and following Hairo.

He dived into the shallow waters, the force pulling down his pants, as he lifts the seemingly unconscious Kaidou. 'Hairo-san does have a knack of not wearing underwear.' Azumi sweat dropped, at his partial nudity. She layed her things on the sand close to Saiki and sat down, having decided that this spot was suitable.

"Oh, it's you Hairo!" Nendou greeted as Hairo stood up, holding Kaidou as he lay limp in his arms.

As Kineshi took notice of Nendou and Saiki's presence, Azumi is left puzzled. 'How did he pull up his pants while holding Kaidou?'

Hairo walks out of the water and places Kaidou on the sand in front of Azumi's mat, as if nonverbally saying 'look after him' and moving on to answer Nendou. 'It's a mystery to me how you don't see Kusuo-san as capable for this.' Azumi was about to turn off her power limiter to see how much water her friend inhaled, when the boy in front of her stirred, halting her hand mid-air. Saiki, who has been silently watching, squinted his eyes at this. "Kaidou-san, are you okay?" Azumi loomed over his head, with some of her hair that failed to be pushed back by her hand falling down and tickling his face.

She was too late to gather the ones that hanged, sitting back and expecting the sneeze Kaidou let out. Azumi grimaced, eyebrows knitted and looking apologetic, "eesh... sorry." moving to kneel beside him as he sat up. She hesitated to hold his shoulder as he coughed out the water that entered from his nose and mouth, instead she gave pats on his back, attempting to help get rid of any excess sea water.

Once Kaidou settled down, he took notice of Azumi's presence, having been the first face he saw after regaining consciousness. "Ka–Kana–Kanasawa-san?! Wh–What–HI."

His response relieved her, Azumi let out a sigh before smiling at him. "Hi to you too, Kaidou-san."

——————————

"Ugh... who's at the door this early in the morning..." Azumi groaned, dragging herself out of her room and in the hallway in front of her door that overlooks the front yard and gate. She had a hand on her ear cuff, sluggishly twisting and turning, in order to deactivate it. "And on the day Atsumi-san isn't here."

Atsumi was hired only for the duration of the summer break to maintain the lavish look of the Kanasawa manor, with a weekly day off for them to refresh themselves. Yesterday was their last work day before the next term starts.

Azumi squinted her eyes at the person in front of their gate, wanting to confirm herself despite the person's thoughts distinctly confirming almost her every doubt. "Hairo-san?"

'Hmm... Kanasawa-san isn't answering the intercom. Maybe she's not home.'

'What kind of teenager is up and about at 7 am on the last day of summer?' Azumi sighs, wanting to go back to bed, but her drowsiness has already left the moment she used her powers. 'Apparently, people like Hairo-san'

'I came here to return Kanasawa-san's beach mat and umbrella that she left yesterday...' He looked down on the bag he was holding.

Realization hit Azumi like a wreaking ball, as her mouth dropped, her hand raising to cover it. 'Oh yeah... That's what I forgot...' No wonder the feeling of having forgotten something never left her until she went to bed.

'Well then, I'll just give this to her at school tomorrow.' Hairo turned and was about to leave.

'No way, I'm not carrying those at school.' Azumi already teleported behind her home's front doors, creaking one open and successfully halting Hairo from his departure.

"Ah, Kanasawa-san! Sorry to bother you, but you left your beach mat and umbrella yesterday" He exclaimed once he saw the figure of Azumi walking towards the gate.

"No, I'm sorry to bother you, Hairo-san. You came all this way to bring me back my things" She opened gate and took the bag from Hairo's extended hand. "Thank you..." Azumi smiled at him.

'Oh My, My Dear, forgetful as you are, you're so rude. Invite him in. Invite the guest in. Invite him in.' She froze. She thought she heard the voice of her mother, but remembered she was at work. "... in...?" She hadn't realized she spoke before it was too late.

"In?" Hairo repeated, confused at the dazed look his classmate was showing. "Ah! Are you asking me to come in, Kanasawa-san?"

Azumi felt embarrassed for spacing out in front of him, she answered in confirmation. "yes...?" It sounded unsure and more like a question, but Hairo laughed it off and thought it was her usual shyness that was preventing her from speaking clearly. "I–Come in, Hairo-san." Azumi opened the gate wider for her classmate to enter.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm sorry, Kanasawa-san. Today's my last day as a volunteer lifeguard. I have to do my best until the end!" Hairo was determined; he almost always is.

"oh thank god" She felt relieved he declined, wanting to be alone for the rest of the day to prepare for school tomorrow.

"Hm? Did you say anything, Kanasawa-san?" Hairo was distracted at his self-motivating thoughts. He turned to Azumi, who simply shook her head as a reply, a tight smile displayed on her face.

"Good luck, Hairo-san" She closed the gate before letting out a sigh.

'Even without her physically being here, I can feel my mother's criticism on everything I do' Azumi agonized, comical tears streaming down her face as she clenches her fist in frustration.

Teleporting to her room, a weird clinking sound came from the bag Hairo gave to Azumi. 'Hm?' She peeked inside, there was her umbrella sticking out, her mat neatly folded in and... are those seashells?

They were pretty, Azumi confesses, and had unique shapes, but she doesn't remember picking them up yesterday. She may be quite forgetful, but she knows she isn't one to get everything that catches her eye. No, that would be her mother.

'Why did Hairo-san give me seashells? Strange.'

——————————

A new semester starts at PK Academy. Some classmates were complimenting Hairo on his new tan, while most of them were flocking around Teruhashi, surprised to find out she had an eye on someone special.

Azumi was sitting in her designated chair, observing around her classroom, when she cringed at Teruhashi's sly excuse after she accidentally yelled and broke her perfect figure. 'Who in the world is Yurwei Offidjot?' She facepalmed, feeling vicarious embarrassment on Teruhashi's act.

Though, Kaidou, who was standing behind Saiki, misunderstood Azumi's actions. "Hey, Saiki, Kanasa—huh? Are you okay, Kanasawa-san?" Azumi lowered her hand, turning her head to face Kaidou.

"huh...? Ah, yes." She absentmindedly nodded. He looked weird today, with his hair styled strangely and sporting an eyepatch over his eye.

"Really? Well, if you're not feeling well, just tell me—us! Just tell us—! We're you're friends, right?!—"

"Get to the point, Kaidou" Saiki cut him off before he spiraled.

"O–Oh, right. Don't you think Nendou is acting strange today?" Kaidou stuttered, before glancing at the mentioned guy sighing and shifting his hand all over his face. "Normally, he'd be bugging us to get ramen or something"

"True. He is acting a little strange."

Kaidou and Saiki planned to stalk Nendou after suspecting him to be hiding something, and invite Azumi with them. However, "Azumi-san! Please help me!" Yumehara appeared next to her and dragged her out of the classroom, leaving the two boys to spy by themselves.

She dragged the psychic into a more secluded place, behind the school. "I don't know anyone to talk to about this, but please hear me out, Kanasawa-san!" Yumehara started, her voice cracking at the end. "My boyfriend, Takeru, and I haven't been getting along, and I think we're growing apart..." She sobbed, holding onto Azumi's forearms for support.

Azumi sweat dropped, not knowing what to do or how to comfort her. "Ah, I thought you liked Kusuo-san. When did you get a boyfriend?" At her words, Yumehara raised her head, showing the tears that were trailing down her cheeks.

"That's another problem! I think my crush on him is resurfacing..." She weeped, wiping her cheek. "Takeru used to be so romantic..."

"here we go..."

"He loves to say this phrase, but he's so repetitive at it. It's getting a bit tiring. And when he finally says something different..." Yumehara cringed at her memories, earning furrowed eyebrows from Azumi. "... it made no sense and turned me off."

Azumi nervously laughed, grabbing Yumehara's hands and holding it in hers. "I see. I appreciate you telling me all this, Chiyo-san, but I'm not the best choice to ask for love ad—"

"That's not all. Takeru's feet stink, he makes lots of noise when he eats, and he holds chopsticks weird, too. He's very condescending to store clerks, he's got terrible fashion sense, and he kills the mood at get-togethers all the time by dislocating his jaw..." Yumehara cut her friend off, enumerating all of her boyfriend's flaws. "These days, all I can see are his faults"

'Good grief. I normally couldn't care less about other people's relationships, but she might go after me again if they break up.' Azumi resisted the urge to look up and at the watching Saiki.

"okay, alright... What do you want me to do, Chiyo-san?"

"I predict that Takeru would bring me on a date later, before he walks me home. I want you to follow behind us, and if anything goes wrong, (like if we break up), atleast I have someone to be there for me." Yumehara turned away mid-sentence, whispering something inaudible—for an ordinary person—before continuing.

Azumi's features softened at her words. 'She just needs a friend.' She nodded, earning her a hug from Chiyo.

"Thank you, Azumi-san!"

.

.

.

'That's Chiyo-san's boyfriend?' Azumi thought, standing by the gate while holding open a book.

"Sorry to make you wait. Now that I'm here, the rain in your heart is—"

"Oh, it's fine. I just got here too." Yumehara didn't even let him finished, as she deadpanned at him.

'I'm guessing he was about to repeat his usual phrase Chiyo-san got tired of.' Azumi raised her eyebrows at the sight of Saiki behind one of the pillars of the entrance. 'Ah, he did say to himself that he wanted to salvage their relationship.'

"Wanna do something? Go somewhere?" Takeru started, walking beside Yumehara as they leave campus.

"Either is fine." Chiyo boredly replied.

"Then let's go somewhere."

"I can't go too far."

As the couple conversed, Azumi pretended to be busy reading her book as she follows behind. 'It'll be awkward to walk behind them with Kusuo-kun.' She resisted the urge to sigh, instead, she placed her free hand in her pocket. 'The two are heading to the town center... Maybe I can just stop by one place and wait until something bad happens to Chiyo-san.'

Azumi already turned a corner, opting for a shortcut to the town center and get ahead of the couple and Saiki. 'It beats having to act like I'm reading. And besides, Kusuo-san will be there to make sure everything goes perfectly.'

•°●•°●•°●

Azumi found a quiet café to rest and wait, having ordered a slice of cake to not raise suspicion. Her power limiter was turned off for her to listen to the thoughts of the people around her, primarily Saiki's, so as to keep track of Chiyo's actions.

Yumehara and Takeru's date was going smoothly, thanks to Saiki and his powers. 'I wonder when can I control mine like how Kusuo-san can control his.' Azumi sighed, lightly envying Saiki's ability to use his varying psychic powers at will.

'Her favorability meter is at ♡95♡. There's no way they can break up now, right?' Azumi had a bad feeling, suspecting that Saiki likely jinxed everything after thinking that. She stood up, grabbed her bag and dashed out of the shop.

'Good thing I paid after ordering.' Azumi headed to the direction of the Okonomiyaki place that Yumehara entered with her boyfriend. 'What is this 'favorability meter' anyway...?'

.

.

.

Saiki was about to turn and go home, having done so much for Yumehara's relationship, when he heard a yell from inside the Okonomiyaki shop. A voice belonging to a condescending, insensitive young man.

♡67♡

Takeru removed his shoes, his stinky feet fumes invading the air. "Man, I'm starving!"

♡49♡

He held up his hand that had his fingers weirdly tangled in his chopsticks. "Time to eat!"

♡31♡

He began chewing with his mouth open.

♡00♡

"... I can't take this anymore!" Yumehara ran out of the restaurant, crying as she leaves. "Goodbye!"

"Huh? Hey..." Takeru tried following after her, but he stopped at the restaurant's entrance, still chewing his food with his mouth open. "What's her problem?"

Azumi arrived just as Yumehara was about to bump into her. "Woah, hey. Are you alright, Chiyo-san?" She held the crying girl's shoulders to keep her upright, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

Yumehara peeked through the space between her fingers, immediately wrapping her arms around Azumi's neck once she saw it was her friend in front of her. "Wahh, Azumi!" The sudden physical contact distressed the psychic, she froze. "I broke up with my boyfriend!"

"... Um... There, there...?" Azumi hesitated, trying to choose her words right. She panicked when Yumehara cried louder, earning a few stares from the people passing by. "fuck, wrong words... um... ice–Ice... cream...?"

Yumehara sniffled, wiping her tears after withdrawing her arms from Azumi. "Ice cream?" She repeated, before brightening up a bit. "Yeah, ice cream will probably cheer me up after all that."

Azumi sighed in relief at her response. "Alright, I'll treat you to some ice cream."

——————————

"Kanasawa-san...!" Kaidou called out to Azumi as she walks along the school's hallways. She turned at the call of her name, just as Kaidou reached her. "I, the Jet Black Wings, will be holding a meeting later after school."

Kaidou had his hair covering one of his eyes, a serious look plastered in his face. "I have assembled formidable seni—no, allies in our quest to defeat Dark Renunion and stop their human seperation plan. We'll gather behind the school and discuss our plans." He turned and walked the opposite way Azumi was heading.

'Oh? He made friends, good for him.'

.

.

.

Azumi was fiddling with her ear cuff as she walks to the back of the school. Kaidou has always been talking to her about the secret organization of Dark Reunion, how overpowered he is despite the initial impression, and the reason behind his bandaged limb. She asked once about the torn hems of his shirt, pants and blazer, and was met with,

"I go through difficult battles everyday before school. Dark Reunion has been sending assassins after me, and I don't want to get the school involved, so I defeat them all before the morning bell rings."

Even though his thoughts reveal otherwise,

'I cut the hems of all of my uniforms, because it makes me, the Jet Black Wings, look cool.'

Azumi keeps hearing from others, even from Saiki, about how Kaidou has eight-grader syndrome. She searched about it, since it was the first time she heard about the syndrome, and was intrigued.

"Ah, Kanasawa-san, you're here." Azumi reached their meeting spot. There was Kaidou, but no sign of any one else. "The others are probably running late." He seemed to know what Azumi was thinking.

She nodded, walking towards him and laying her bag down on the bench. "How many are the 'others' we waiting for?" She knows Saiki was one of the others, having felt his presence nearby as he silently watches.

"There are four more, counting Saiki" Kaidou crosses his arms, trying to act tough and collected, but his thoughts were panicking. 'What if they don't show up?! That just means I wasted Kanasawa-san's time...! No Shun, they will come! The fate of the world rests on our hands! We have to be ready for Dark Reunion's next attack!'

•°●•°●•°●

'... they didn't come...' Kaidou sulked on the opposite end of the bench they were sitting. About 2 hours have passed, and the sun was shining just over the horizon. He hung his head low, his bangs covering most of his face. '... I wasted Kanasawa-san's time...'

Azumi hid her frown, head turned to her sad companion.

"Is he still there?" She piqued at the laughters her heightened hearing heard. She subtly looked up and saw the peeping heads of three seniors. "Yeah, dude, he's still there." They continue to fail to stifle their laughter.

Azumi faced front, trying to act like she was patiently waiting with Kaidou and ignorant of the three seniors' set up. She sensed the seniors peer over the window, leaning each of their elbows on the window frame, thinking he wouldn't look up and call them out. "What a loser. You were right when you said he had eight grader syndrome so bad." The three made fun of what Kaidou said to them when they first approached him, disparagingly mimicking his words.

"Haha, right?!—Hey, who's that chick with him?" One of them pointed out, the rest looking down in curiosity. "This is the first I've seen her. Is she a freshman?"

"I don't know."

Kaidou stood up, drawing Azumi's attention as she turned her head. The seniors ducked under the window. "I'm sorry I brought you here for nothing, Kanasawa-san." He grabbed his things and walked away with a half-hearted wave. He didn't bother to turn and look at her, he was too ashamed to. "I'll see you tomorrow."

This time, Azumi openly knit her eyebrows, worried of the effects of this prank to his mental state, before her expressions turned terrifyingly blank. An eerie and powerful aura surrounds her as her ear cuff lit up like a strobe light, indicating that it was trying to control the haywire burst of power coming from within the psychic.

"Ah, that was fun. Let's go."

"Hey, are we still on with our maze run?"

'Maze run... ?! They still have the nerve to go and have fun after fooling the poor heart of Kaidou?!'

"Heck yeah, come on."

'You all will pay for what you did to Kaidou...'

Azumi properly dealt with the three pieces of trash.

But she did not kill them. unfortunately

.

.

.

'Is she... really a psychic like me?'

——————————

Azumi was worried for Kaidou after yesterday, but he reassured her today by acting like usual. "I feel a great disturbance in the air today. What is Dark Reunion planning?"

"Let's go eat ramen!" Nendou exclaimed, as he walks home with Kaidou, Azumi and Saiki.

Azumi tried to walk behind them, but Nendou and Kaidou insisted she walks first, next to Saiki. So there she was, nervous out of her mind and mindful of her gait and expressions.

"Huh...?" She turned to see what grabbed Nendou's attention, stopping the other two in their tracks. "They installed a new playground over there... And there are no kids playing on them!"

"W–Wait—! Nendou!" Kaidou tried to stop him, but he was already running towards the monkey bars that seem too high for a small child to climb. "Hey, you can't play on those!"

Kaidou ran after him. 'Good grief. Those guys have the minds of preschoolers.' Saiki peeked at Azumi beside him. She had such an ignorant expression, with her eyebrows raised and mouth opened slightly, curiosity dancing in her eyes. 'Her expression right now is such a far cry from the one she made yesterday.' His eyes followed Azumi as she walks to sit on one of the swings.

Saiki observed the scene for a few seconds. Kaidou and Nendou were shouting at each other over the slide, while Azumi sits and watches them argue. 'This is probably the best time for me to go home now.' Saiki thought and turned to walk away.

"Hey Saiki...!" Kusuo clicked his tongue and faced Kaidou. "Come over here and tell Nendou that this is a jungle gym and not a prison for little kids!"

"I'm not the only one here. Ask Kanasawa." Despite the uninterested façade, Saiki walked over and sat on the other swing next to Azumi.

"See?! He said it's a jungle gym!"

"I said no such thing"

"Huh?! I thought it's a jail for children..."

"Idiot! Why would they add a jail for children in a park?!"

Saiki peeked once more at Azumi as Kaidou and Nendou continue to yell. 'She's awfully quiet today' He commented, assuming she knows that he knows about her previous usage of psychic powers.

Just after he finished his thought though, the girl spoke up, pointing at one of the playground equipment. "What's that called?" She asked, like a child.

Nendou and Kaidou ceased their argument, turning their heads at where she was pointing. "Merry-go-round?" Kaidou whispered the answer.

"Ah, that! It's a round-and-round-and-round!" Nendou gave Azumi a thumbs up while walking towards it.

"No, it's a merry-go-round! A. Merry. Go. Round!" Kaidou ran in front of the jock, and stepped up on the merry-go-round in efforts to seem taller.

Nendou took the opportunity to spin the playground equipment, causing his friend, who went ahead and climbed aboard it, to scream from the top of his lungs.

"NENDOU...! THAT'S ENOUGH, PLEASE!"

•°●•°●•°●

The street lights were already on by the time Azumi and Saiki were walking towards their houses, the sun having set minutes ago. They just came from having a ramen dinner with Kaidou and Nendou, and were now heading home.

The two grew used to the silence that falls on their atmosphere whenever they walk together. It was one of the rare quiet times Saiki gets after dealing with nuisances everyday, and he appreciates it. While in Azumi's case, she grew tired of the constant nervousness she feels at these times, so she gave up in filling the silence.

"See you tomorrow, Kusuo-san."

Azumi entered the gates of her house, still feeling the happiness from the afternoon's activities. And, oh, how she wished she knew what was coming for her once she entered the doors of her home.

"You're home late, Zumi-chan..."

Azumi froze in her steps, the small—almost nonexistent—smile on her face dropping. She was just about to walk past the open doors of the main living room, when she heard the voice of her father. She turned her head, hoping she was mistaken and was just hallucinating. She immediately regrets.

"Come here, my dear. Sit down." Akina, her mother beckons, as she was seated on one of the single seats. Aiken, her father, was seated on the other, opposite of his wife. A coffee table was laid in front of their diagonally-positioned seats, then a camelback sofa facing them.

Azumi didn't want to, but it would seem rude or even disrespectful to ignore her parents. Her legs shook, but with every step she takes, it would become almost unnoticeable. She was nervous, because this was the first in such a long time where they would talk face-to-face and was not over dinner. Atleast when conversing over food, she could avoid the discussion under the guise of eating. But right now, there are no distractions.

Once Azumi sat down in front of her parents, she stayed silent to let one of them start the conversation.

"Now, why were you late to go home?" Akina was the first to talk.

The young Kanasawa felt like she was in an interrogation room. The pressure she feels over the two pairs of eyes staring at her is overwhelming. "I... was out with friends... mom, dad." She tried to speak coherently, drawing out false confidence by raising her chin to meet her parents' eyes. "... We... stopped by the park and ate dinner at—"

"Who are these friends of yours?" Aiken cut her off.

"Kaidou Shun, Nendou Riki, and—"

"What did your group do for you to be home at this time?" Aiken continued.

"... We stopped by the park and ate dinner at Hayanari's ramen shop—"

"You had ramen for dinner?" The tone Akina used to state her words were heart-racing, and not in the good way.

"uh—Yes... mom."

"Hm, is that so?" The mother leaned back in her seat, meeting her spouse's stare for a moment before redirecting her gaze at her child in front of her. "Tell me, about your friends... Are they psychics?"

"..." Azumi hesitated at this, but tried to quickly recover. "No but–"

"If that's so, then why are you still hanging out with them?" Azumi's façade almost slipped at her mother's comment.

'She didn't let me finish.'

"You should be training your powers before it gets out of hand." Aiken spoke up. "Because of how late your powers awakened, you don't have much control over it than if you had them sooner."

'Ah, we're back at it with my powers again.' Azumi lowered her eyebrows and turned to look at the roaring fire in the fireplace, a little upset at the shift in conversation. Big mistake.

"Kanasawa Azumi. Look at us when we're talking to you." Her mother pronounced her full name, indicating that the topic has turned serious. "I don't remember teaching you such disrespectful manners."

'That's because you didn't. You and dad are gone most of the day, all week, every month.' She frowned this time, angry to the point of tears. She hid her gritted teeth and resisted the urge to glare at them.

"What's this...? You're talking back now?" Aiken stood up when his wife did. She was surprised, but soon that shock turned into irritation and disapproval.

'fuck' Azumi made the mistake of not shutting her mouth, because of her tendency to speak what's on her mind becoming a more common plot tool of the author to cause drama.

"What has gotten into you, Azumi?" Aiken tried to make sense of their daughter's sudden attitude. "Ever since you've started attending traditional school, you've been more recluse and irritable."

"Yes, you avoid us at dinner. And I suppose those friends of yours may also have an impact." Akina huffed, crossing her arms before sitting back down, her husband slowly following suit.

"what... what are you saying?" Azumi mumbled, suspicious of her parents' next words.

"I guess you'll have to go back to homeschooling if PK Academy has that much of an effect on you." At her mother's words, Azumi feels like she was electrocuted by lightning.

In her surprise, she jolted up on her feet. "That... That won't do, mot—mom... Wasn't the reason you've placed me in a traditional school was to well-round me? To cover the 'social skills' I lack?!" Azumi tried to reason, giving up on masking her emotions. "Mom, it's about time I meet people who can give me perspective into the life I wasn't able to live...!"

"Enough with this attitide! The whole reason we ever enrolled you here was to expose you to a more experienced esper...!" Akina didn't realize her slip-up until Aiken called her name.

"I—You... what?"

——————————

|A/N|

discuss the plot holes of "erratic heartbeats" with us! @ the link in my bio.

[stillness-in-green]

Spinaraki Week, Day 1: Fantasy

I didn’t intend for this to get so D&D so fast, but then Mr. Compress started talking about different types of summoning spells and there was no going back.  

League of Villains, D&D-style!  Featuring a few other familiar faces as well.

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

It’s been a dozen hallways and more individual rooms of creeping around, checking their guesswork map, resting and recharging where they can.  Between Toga’s shapeshifting, Sako’s near-endless bag of tricks, and Dabi’s ability to roast small fry to death before they can even scream a warning, they managed to sneak past almost all of the temple guardians—and then they hit the atrium.

Sunlight bathes the room, streaming in through a huge circular skylight in the roof.  There might have been glass in it once, to keep out the elements, but if so, it’s long gone now, and nature’s well on its way to taking back the space. Vines spill across the floor and climb up every wall, dotted with bursts of flowers, their petals a vivid but not entirely natural shade of midnight blue.  Little copses of fuller growth dot the room here and there, scrubby cypress trees and coastal pines spreading over islands of grass.  Tumbled chunks of masonry dot the floor, gradually being overtaken by the expanding green.  There’s a grandeur to it, though probably, Spinner thinks, slanting a glance over at Shigaraki, the original owner would disagree.

The League enters the room in a cautious, well-practiced formation.  Toga takes point, clever eyes cataloging potential dangers ahead even as she turns in place, clearly admiring the view.  Shigaraki’s right behind, stepping over the vines, an out of place black-clad figure amidst all the green.  His head, still covered by his raised hood, turns this way and that, taking in the surroundings.  Dabi and Sako keep close to each other in the middle, the former eyeing the plant life with his usual derision, the latter tipping back his hat to examine the skylight as he lets out a low whistle.  Spinner keeps watch at the back, his sword out and ready.  

“Sako, Toga—thoughts?” Shigaraki asks, voice pitched low.

“Vines could make spotting traps harder,” Toga opines, “but they could be choking some mechanisms, too.  I don’t know; this feels like a fight-a-big-monster space to me, but I don’t see anything.”  

“It’s likely intended as a place to address one’s followers,” Sako chips in.  “I should think if it were going to be turned into an impromptu arena, the ‘big monsters’ would be summoned in from extra-planar regions. Though I suppose if All for One made a habit of mauling guests, we mustn’t rule out holding chambers attached to the room.”

“Harder to see those through the vines, too.”

“Would anything like that even be alive still?” Spinner ventures, eyes tracking along the long curve of the wall.

“If they were natural beasts, almost certainly not,” Sako answers.  “But that’s a rather large ‘if’ to be betting on, given the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”

“Summoned things,” Shigaraki says before Spinner can respond.  He peels his hood back, revealing a pinched, narrow-eyed expression.  “What good would those do with no one to give ‘em directions? Would they even fight us?”

“It would be fairly simple to imbue such prepared spells with basic directives like, ‘Defend the chamber’ or ‘Attack anyone who doesn’t meet such-and-such criteria,’ so likely so.” Sako rolls his focus stone from one nimble hand to the other, back and forth, the movement of clear blue glass near-silent on the rich—if somewhat faded and damp-stained—silk of his sleeves.  “And definitely so when we consider the possibility of, oh, the sorts of binding spells that extract favors from higher agents that needn’t be immediately discharged.”

“Those don’t last forever,” Shigaraki says dismissively.  He pauses, considers, then retracts with, “At least, not if they were cast before.  But the guardians could be using their own, these days.  They could just recast when they need to.”

“A somewhat resource-consuming process, but possible,” Sako allows.  

“So what’s the verdict, Boss?”  Dabi twirls a lick of his signature azure flame around his fingers.  “Around the edges or straight through?”

Shigaraki considers it for another few seconds, glancing around the room and up to the ceiling again.  

“We’ll skirt around the skylight, just in case,” he says finally, “but otherwise, straight through.  If something’s gonna jump us in here, I wanna see it coming.”  

“Still traumatized by that time with the living wall, Tomura?” Toga teases, ignoring the scowls she gets from Dabi and Spinner.  Shigaraki just gives her an unimpressed look, at which she titters and sets out in front of the group, hopping lightly over the sprawls of roots and uneven stonework.  The group falls in behind her.

Spinner brings up the rear, clenching and unclenching his grip around the hilts of his swords.  They’ve been at this for hours now, and the casters are starting to run low—they’re got their standbys and a few more pull-out-all-the-stops type spells before they’re spent.  With Magne and Jin both back at camp, he’s the closest thing to muscle this group’s got, and while it’s definitely a stealthier affair all around without Jin’s cross-grained rambling and Magne’s…  Well, between the chainmail shirt, the shawm, and the lively banter, there’s a lot to miss about Magne, but right now, stepping away from the reassuring solidity of the wall and out into the open air, what Spinner definitely misses most is her strong arm.  The back rank feels empty without her, and it’s got him nervy.  

They progress across the room, gusts of a warm breeze soughing in from the skylight.  Spinner—who spent most of his youth clambering around the woods—focuses on keeping an eye out, with the others distracted by keeping their footing. He doesn’t fully trust the flowers. Wild magic can have really weird effects on local plant life—you find that out quick enough, being in a party with Dabi—and by all accounts, the magic at the heart of this place is something else.  Still, a room full to bursting with fragrant climbing not-quite-lilies in a color that would have a weaver’s guild breaking down the front doors is…  It just wouldn’t have been his first guess for “expected outcome of long-term coexistence with a demonic arcane relic.”

Or whatever it is they’re here to secure.  That’s what Spinner got out of Shigaraki’s explanation, and that much only after Sako helped their leader translate his latest dark-omens-and-portents dream courtesy of his “patron.”  He’s pretty confident about it, anyway, and Shigaraki’s confidence is—well, infectious, if worth second-guessing him on from time to time.  

The second-guessing is what he’s thinking about when the vines burst out of the ground at the head of the group.  

Shigaraki and Toga jerk sideways with a grunt and a muffled shriek, wooden branches wrapping around their limbs, thickening with supernatural speed; between them, something like one of the cypress trees blooms out of the ground, a riot of prehensile limbs growing off of a central mass, dotted with those damn flowers.  A helm-shaped head lifts out of the wood and twists around to face them, a yellow glow emanating from within hollowed out spaces where a normal creature would have eyes.

“It’s some sort of elemental!” Sako calls as Spinner bolts forward, to which Toga groans in frustration, “Ugh, I hate elementals!”  

“Wait—a wood elemental? You’re kidding, right?” Dabi laughs around a leer and steps forward, fire blazing up in a leaping, living spiral from his hands.  The tree thing’s gaze flashes over to him and it falls back in a hurry, dragging Toga and Shigaraki along with it.  Its head cranes up towards the distant ceiling and it shouts something in Primordial.

Spinner’s heart sinks at what’s clearly a rally for backup, then drops even lower when a shadow falls over the room.  A sound like the thrum of dragon’s wingbeat reverberates through the air from above as something huge eclipses across the skylight.

“It was a really nice day out,” a woman’s voice booms in complaint.  “Why can’t we ever get tomb raiders on rainy days?”

“Scatter!” Shigaraki barks out just as the giantess drops through the skylight.

She cracks the floor when she lands, the weight of her rocking the whole room, even the echoes painfully loud. Sako sways wildly but keeps his feet, but Dabi goes over, flames guttering.  Spinner throws himself into a sideways roll, jarring his shoulder but coming up back up clear of her reach.  The wood elemental hasn’t noticed yet, but Toga catches his eyes and widely, exaggeratedly mouths, Door, at him before tossing her head towards the far wall.  

Spinner follows her glance and sees it—there’s no visible sign of doors, but there, on the wall directly across from the entrance, vines have grown around something, a space of ordered, even lines amidst the natural misrule of the rest of the growth.  He can guess at her train of thought: get the door open, regroup, fall back—the outline suggests the entrance is big, but not stone giant big, and the wood elemental won’t stand a chance once Dabi gets his act together. The big patches of grass everywhere offer pretty decent camouflage, if Spinner keeps his profile low—it wouldn’t be hard to slip over there while the flashier members of the group run distraction.

And then he looks back at Shigaraki, pitching and struggling in the wood elemental’s other arm, his writhing fingers unable to find purchase on the lacquered prison, and Spinner’s halfway to closing the distance before he even consciously makes the decision.

Toga makes a sound like a discontented puma, half-annoyed yowl and half-heavy sigh, wheezing from the grip of the snare.  She twists like an eel, too fluid for something with the usual humanoid skeletal structure, and drops to the floor, free hand coming up fast with a vial of acid in her hands.  The elemental makes another swipe at her, and, when she arches away from the rushing leaves, turns abruptly, glowing eyes landing on Spinner as he charges in.

Elementals don’t have the usual humanoid structure, either—because nothing in Spinner’s life can ever be easy—and that means pretty much any spot’s as good as the next with them.  Still, something with a slashing edge seems a better bet than a sharp point, so Spinner sheathes his short sword in favor of tightening up a double-handed grip on his longsword. He brings it down with all the force he can muster on the wooden bough stretching out of the thing’s main mass and entangling Shigaraki.  The sound of breaking glass heralds Toga striking true on the thing’s other side, and the elemental groans and creaks.  

A whiff of smoke finds Spinner’s nose a split-second before the familiar thunderclap sound of flame blossoming into existence in previously empty air finds his ears.  The whole battlefield changes hues as a column of fire erupts in the center of the room, so tall it clears the skylight.  The giantess screams, in rage as much as pain, and for just a second, the wood elemental looks away, head angling backwards in concern.

Shigaraki finally gets an arm free and twists his fingers around a spell gesture.  He spits out a snake-nest of a sentence, all tight cadence and sibilants, and on the last word, reaches back in to lock his hand around a branch holding him.  The elemental cries out, louder this time, and shudders from trunk to tip; twigs snap loose, leaves brown and twist and fall in a sudden autumnal rain.  In the gouge opened up by Spinner’s blade, wooden flesh dries from bright new green to splintering, sawdust yellow.  

Been doing this long enough to know an opening when I see one, Spinner thinks, yanks his sword free, and drives it in again with an angry grunt.  The branches spasm and Shigaraki squirms free at last, dropping into a crouch and scrambling backward.  

“Get to the door,” he growls, and when Spinner starts to protest, overrides him with, “That giant’s making enough racket to wake the dead.  We can handle these two—we can’t handle the whole damn temple’s-worth of backup.  We need to get it open and get the hell out of here.”

“Loud and clear!” Toga chirps and taps one foot on the floor in a quick 2-1-1 pattern before sprinting away.

Spinner nods and falls back before the elemental can gather itself up for another one of those grapples—he doesn’t have Toga’s dexterity, or even Shigaraki’s.  But the elemental draws back as well, casting its gaze across the three of them in quick succession before in folds in on itself and vanishes into the foliage littered across the floor.  

“What’s it—”

“We’ll know when it does it. Door.”  

“Right.”  Spinner’s glances over to where Toga’s already nearly to the far wall, unhindered by the overgrowth.  Navigating the plant life, that’s a simple enough thing for him, too, but Shigaraki…  

“It’ll be faster this way,” he says aloud and, before Shigaraki can protest, scoops him up around the waist and clear off his feet.

Shigaraki snorts but doesn’t fight him, instead taking the opportunity to prop himself over Spinner’s shoulder and fire off a sizzling purple energy blast.  There’s an indignant shriek from the giantess and Spinner redoubles his speed.  Giants have a mean arm when provoked, and he’s got no interest in getting turned into a smear of plant food courtesy of a hurled chunk of masonry—and looking back on it, all the loose boulders around should probably have been a clue.

“Dabi, Sako—fall in!” Shigaraki yells at the kind of volume he hardly ever uses.  

Seconds later, up ahead of them, Dabi and Sako blink into existence by the doors just as they shudder their way open, trailing vines like streamers, filling the hall with the scrape of stone on stone.  

“Just charge through,” Shigaraki mutters to him, throwing off another round of attacks.  

“I don’t think so!” the giantess thunders, and a boulder goes sailing past over Spinner’s head. He sees the trajectory of it—giants have a mean and accurate arm when provoked—and hisses in dismay.  

“Hold on!”  He tightens his grip on Shigaraki and hunkers down in his next two steps, propelling himself into a leap just as the boulder crashes into the wall above the doors.

The next few seconds are a blur of noise and billowing dust and Shigaraki’s face pressed against the side of Spinner’s neck, body tripwire-taut in his arms, and then pain dashed like sea spray across the back of his head, and he barely registers botching the landing as he tumbles into unconsciousness.

     ———–      

He comes to in darkness so total he almost doesn’t expect his hand to move when he goes to pat at his eyes, anticipating bindings, a blindfold, anything but what actually happens, which is whacking himself in the face with a completely unrestrained hand.  

“Good, you’re up,” comes Shigaraki’s voice.  “Come on; we need to keep moving before that giant decides to start excavating.”  His hands wrap unerringly around Spinner’s and tug; obediently, Spinner gets his feet under him and helps Shigaraki help him up.

Why the hell doesn’t someone have a torch lit yet? is his first thought, as he gingerly reaches up to prod at the lump behind one ear.  

“Wait, wait; I can’t see an inch in front of my face,” he complains as Shigaraki tries to get them walking, stopping in place.  

“Yeah.  Magic darkness spells do that,” Shigaraki responds tartly.

“What, are we out of dispels already?”  Spinner turns his head, and it finally penetrates, how quiet it is.  No other voices but his own and Shigaraki’s—no Dabi with a cantrip and a sarcastic remark, no nattering from Toga or Sako.  “Oh, hell, did we get split up?”  

“Yeah.  And before you ask, there’s wards up, so no one’s teleporting in here after us.  We couldn’t even get a Sending through.”

“So we’re just—going on without them?”  His voice sounds suddenly small in the dark; Shigaraki’s hands bob once around his.

“No choice,” he answers.  “Situation’s the same as it was before—if they can’t come through with magic, they can’t wait around out there for the rest of the guard to show up.  We’ll meet ‘em back at camp after I get what I’m after.”

“So we’re just—walking down this hallway in the dark.”  Did you learn how to find traps when I wasn’t paying attention?  Spinner can’t bring himself to say the last part out loud.

“You’re walking down this hallway in the dark.  I can see just fine.”  Shigaraki gives him another sharp jerk and this time, reluctantly, Spinner allows himself to be pulled along.  

“Aren’t you worried about traps?” he manages.  He pats at his waist, finding first his short sword, then his longsword, which Shigaraki must have resheathed while he was out.  He draws it for the small comfort it affords him to have a weapon ready to hand.

A thoughtful silence follows the question.  Shigaraki’s footsteps are even and measured; the floor underfoot, despite Spinner’s hindbrain screaming about deadfalls, remains solid and level.  

“…Shigaraki?” he finally prompts. Of all the times for Shigaraki to get into one of his remote moods.

“No.” Shigaraki’s voice floats back at last.  “This is a strong darkness.  And the path branches a lot.  I think it’s a test, not a trap, and I’ve been dreaming about the answers for months. We’ll get what we’re after or we won’t, but either way, we’re almost there.”

So they press on.  

The farther along they get, the more Spinner’s skin crawls at the feel of the air—colder sometimes, then warmer, air currents that smell rank with rot caressing over his face and leaving him shuddering.  Shigaraki pauses, now and again, to steer them around hazards he doesn’t explain.  Once, Spinner steps on something that pops under his feet—for a second, his blood runs frigid and he nearly panics, waiting for a dart or a drop or something, and then his ear catches up with his brain and tells him, Just a bone, that’s all.  As if that’s more reassuring.  

Shigaraki hums under his breath, distracted, and tugs them onwards.

It’s not like it’s the first time Spinner’s had to deal with magical darkness.  It’s not the first temple he’s gone through.  Not the first time he had to follow someone on faith, either, though more often that’s been Toga, chipperly going on about pressure plates and sliding stones and false floors.  But before, it’s only lasted for a few seconds.  As long as it takes for Sako to dispel it, for Dabi to light up something stronger, for Shigaraki—who sees in the dark like he was born in it, and whose eyes glow brilliant red in even natural darkness—to pinpoint the caster and reel off one of his eldritch blasts that can knock the wind out of pretty much anyone.

It hasn’t been like this. Seconds stretching into minutes in sable air so thick it crawls against his scales, muffling the sound of their footsteps and all but swallowing the periodic mumble from Shigaraki, whose voice is so low Spinner can’t even tell if he’s speaking Common or that witchtongue he casts in.  

It’s like being buried, he thinks, and has to swallow back bile, squeezing Shigaraki’s hand tighter.  But the image doesn’t leave him as the air presses in: each breath another spadeful of dirt strewn over a grave.  Each step another stone piled on a cairn.

“That’s starting to hurt, Spinner.”  The voice crashes over him in a cold wave and he gasps at the shock of it despite himself. “You never said you were afraid of the dark.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Spinner chokes out, voice hoarse.  “This isn’t regular dark and you know it.”

Does he, though?  The thought arrives in his head like a stranger. Does he even know the difference between real dark and this?  

With only Shigaraki’s hand to tether him to reality, Spinner almost can’t identify the thought as his own, wonders for a second if it might not be, but if there’s something in here with them projecting thoughts into his head, they’re in even more trouble than he guessed.

Shigaraki hums in an unconvinced—and really unhelpful—sort of way, and suddenly stops.  

“Ah.”  

Spinner gargles a questioning noise and Shigaraki’s voice returns, flat and affectless.  

“Found it.  Up ahead.”  He walks forward purposefully and Spinner follows, teeth gritted, focusing on believing, really believing, in the existence of a level and unobstructed floor.  

They walk for longer than Spinner would think it necessary for something in range of Shigaraki’s darkvision.   He can see farther in the dark than he can in the light, Toga told him once, laughing, and seeing as Shigaraki was just a regular human and not some kind of nocturnal or subterranean creature, Spinner had written it off.  Now the words come back with a mocking edge.  

Finally, Shigaraki lifts their hands, bringing them to a stop.  A pause, then his fingers rap across Spinner’s knuckles.  “Need this back now.”

Spinner does not whine a protest—his throat’s way too locked up for that.  Still, it takes a minute of internal browbeating to force himself to unclench his claws.  They’re standing in front of something now; he can feel the nearness of it, maybe from how Shigaraki’s voice sounded bouncing off of it.  A big new barrier that they have to figure out, and there’s no reason for them to split up now.  No reason for Shigaraki to just disappear on him.  

Shigaraki extricates his hand as soon as Spinner’s pried his fingers loose enough, and Spinner swallows, easing in closer and concentrating on the sound of Shigaraki’s clothes rustling, of his questing hands thumping lightly against stone and sliding stutter-rough over the surface.  

After a minute of prodding, he falls still.  Spinner waits for something to happen, but there’s just more silence, and then Shigaraki’s voice, just a thin whisper.  

“Spinner.”

“Mm?”  

“Whatever we find in here…”

“I’m not backing out on you,” Spinner says, as if that’s even an option right now, anyway.  

“It’s not that.”  A beat.  “Thank you.  For that. But what I meant was—whatever’s in here has been serving a devil for a long time.  So don’t volunteer information you don’t have to.”

Something rocks back, a counterweight falling or a tumbler settling back in a casing, and a mumbled, “Oh,” is all Spinner can manage before the barrier cracks open.  

After a longer time in total darkness than he ever wants to repeat, or preferably even think about again after today, the light dazzles his eyes, bright enough that Spinner winces back, bringing up his arm and trying to squint out from under it.  Shigaraki huffs in annoyance but stalks forward anyway, leaving Spinner to stumble after him lest the door close between them.

Shigaraki stops once they’re over the threshold, giving Spinner time to blink rapidly until his eyes adjust. It doesn’t take long—as bright as it seemed at first, inside the room, the light is pale, watery green, an ambient marsh fire flickering that permeates thinly across yet another empty hall.  This one’s much smaller than the atrium, a double line of pillars lining a path up to a raised dais set in a stone alcove.  There’s—a throne up there, because of course there’s a throne up there, its surface glimmering a wet black.  Writing marks the wall behind it, two curving arcs of even, scored-in letters.  He doesn’t recognize the words, but the alphabet looks the same as the pair of runes carved into the insides of Shigaraki’s wrists, and it gives him the creeps there, too.  

“So what now?”  

He pulls his eyes away to shoot a glance at Shigaraki but even as he registers Shigaraki scratching at his wrist, his skin chalk-white, some instinct crawls up Spinner’s spine and keeps him turning.  His eyes land on the temple guardian knight from the second layer, standing—impossibly—barely twenty feet away from them, just inside the door.

Spinner’s mouth opens on a sharp inhale and the guardian vanishes.  

Short-range, Spinner’s brain gibbers.  Line of sight.  Four directions.  One down because it’s the one the guardian approached from.  One down because it’d put him right in Shigaraki’s path. So one of the sides, then, and Spinner draws his other sword, sweeping his arm out and stepping wide behind Shigaraki’s back, pushing him into a staggering step sideways just as the guardian reappears to Spinner’s right, taking one easy step in, right into range for both of them.

The man’s hands move in a blur of arcane gestures and gleaming steel; the frisson of magical energy accompanies the fleet sting of the guardian’s blade slicing a furrow down Spinner’s arm. Behind him, Shigaraki hisses in surprise and pain.  Off-balance, Spinner all but trips into the Web spell as it lashes itself into existence around them, clinging fiercely to the walls, the pillars, and to Spinner and Shigaraki both.

“Again?!” Shigaraki rasps, indignant.  “Spinner, tell me you dodged this bullshit child’s play spell!”  

“He did something with his dagger!” Spinner snaps back, pulling for all he’s worth at the web—it is a pitifully low-level spell, but apparently that doesn’t matter when it’s being cast by goddamn temple guardians like the one easing back into position in front of Spinner.

He still hasn’t fully recovered from the number Dabi and Toga did on him before.  His blue and red finery hangs charred and tattered, and a discolored stain marks the spot where Toga put a dagger between his ribs before he even saw her coming.  He’s not much more than on his feet, but that’s bad enough, considering Spinner was pretty sure up to about fifteen seconds ago that he was dead.

“Good instincts,” the man tells him, voice soft.  “But not quick enough, villain.  We guardians have been trying to get into this chamber to purify it for years now, with no success.  Thank you for opening it for us.”

Shigaraki goes still behind him, a dangerous stillness that would be more heartening if the eldritch knight hadn’t already locked down his movements and gotten out of Shigaraki’s line of sight.  

“We don’t know what the demon king promised you, Shigaraki Tomura, but be assured that it was a lie.  And Iguchi Shuuichi, please cease struggling.”  The man reaches a hand down into a pouch at his belt.  “A warlock’s promises are no more to be trusted than that of his master’s.  You’re not the one who’s been dabbling in forbidden magic, so don’t make this worse for yourself and you might still walk away with a fairly light sentence.”

Rage bubbles up in Spinner’s throat, a taste of bile with a familiar acidic bite, boiling up the back of his throat for release.  He should swallow it back like always, but—  

Four years, and I never told them, he thinks, glaring at the guardian.  I didn’t want to have to tell them like this, but—not here.  Not when we’re this close!

He opens his jaw and breathes out all his fury and frustration in one long, hateful burst of poison gas.  

It takes the guardian full in the face.  The man reels backward, breath rattling in his lungs, arm raising to his suddenly streaming eyes.  The web doesn’t dissipate on the spot—there’s not quite enough punch in Spinner’s ancestral breath weapon for that—but it sags away from the near wall and Spinner shrugs himself out of it with the ease of stripping off a shirt.  

Blades still in hand, he’s going in for the follow-through, the guardian already recovering, when the light in the room—pulses. A heartbeat flicker dims and brightens the illumination, and suddenly there’s movement in the shadows between the pillars, the sea glass light thrown back in the same liquid gleam as the throne.  

«How—unsightly.  A champion of good, in this place?»  A burbling laugh follows.  «I’ll have you leave now, hero.  The successor and I have work to do.»

The knight tries to leap past Spinner, eyes on the still-restrained Shigaraki.  Spinner hisses defiance and lashes out, curving his short sword into the man’s path.  The blow catches under the guardian’s arm and Spinner throws his weight into shoving him back, halting the advance.  

And then the shadows are on them.

Gargoyles? Spinner thinks, but they’re way too big for that; he’s fought shorter ogres.  And these things definitely aren’t ogres; their skin looks jet-hard, and though a few of them have the steel-bellied paunch for the thicker sort of giant-kin, the others are all sharp-hewn musculature. They all have the same eyes, though, fixed stares as unblinking as serpents’.  Spinner falls back as close to Shigaraki as he can without chancing the web again, and two of the beasts circle around him in a way that he would peg as a hunting prowl if their gazes weren’t turned towards the guardian.

For his part, the hero takes one look around at the new developments and raises his free hand to cast—Expeditious Retreat; Spinner’s seen that one from Sako often enough, and then the man’s gone, bolting through the exit and into the darkness beyond.

The voices chuckles again, a reverberation in it that, given the mireland phosphorescence, tells Spinner with an unavoidable mortal dread, Undead.  

«After him, my darlings. And one of you close the door after you.»  

There’s a blackwater surge and the creatures streak out in an eerily silent rush.  As requested, the one at the rear of the pack—one of the ones that had been circling Spinner—stops long enough to pull the door closed behind it, yellow eyes holding Spinner’s gaze until the slab cuts it out of sight.

He doesn’t exhale in relief just yet, but turns to Shigaraki, who’s regained his footing, brushing off fraying remnants of spiderweb in annoyance.  Spinner steps up beside him, weapons lowered but still out.  

Shigaraki glares around the room. “Well?”  

The light flickers again and starts to coalesce, leeching out of the rest of the room as it draws inward toward the throne.  A shape begins to form—not in the throne, but standing at its right hand—a short, round man with blank white eyes and a thick mustache, his skin glowing the same sickly shade the light had.  The same runes Shigaraki bears on his wrists are carved right into his forehead, where they burn with a weird black light that gives Spinner the horrible feeling his brain’s trying to rebel against his eyeballs.  The spirit’s dressed in tatters of white, a stark contrast to Shigaraki’s close-cut black.

«You’re an imperious one.»  He laughs again, the pitch high and mad.  «As it should be!  Ahh, let me look at you.»  

He blinks in out of existence, plunging the chamber into a locked-vault darkness that nearly has Spinner grabbing for Shigaraki’s hand again, but reappears just a few seconds later, right in front of them.  From there, he circles around them, milky gaze combing up and down Shigaraki, his mouth moving weirdly out of sync with the torrent of words he lets loose.

«Red eyes, I see, and hair all gone white; I don’t suppose you were born that way.  Those scars and abrasions—did you fight against it for so long? You’re a bit scrawny, but I suppose it can’t easy, getting this far.  And ahh, you have the Tome!  Marvelous, marvelous!  I trust you have the ritual inscribed there?  Your cicatrices, where are they?»

Shigaraki flicks up one wrist and doesn’t even flinch when the spirit wraps glowing fingers around it, leaning in close and peering at his scar, nodding rapidly.  The touch leaves a livid mark, raised on his skin like a scald-wound.

“So you’re the guardian,” Shigaraki says when the ghost finally pulls away.  “You’re supposed to help me take the next step.”  

«Yes!  I am called Garaki Kyudai, Rector of the Great Vault and Pedagogue of the Way.»

Garaki?  Spinner mouths the name, not a whisper of voice in it, but still the spirit wheels on him, the gaze knotting Spinner’s stomach with the same revulsion the rotting air out in the hallway had.  

«Garaki!  A namesake of the great demon king, much as his successor bears, I’m sure.»  Garaki circles Spinner now, regarding him as closely as he had Shigaraki moments before. «And you, dragon-kin?»

“Dragon-kin?”  Spinner winces at the bite in Shigaraki’s tone.  He’s the smartest person in their party, even smarter than their actual wizard.  Of course he noticed something when Spinner breathed poison gas all over an enemy five feet behind his back.  “Is that what that was before?”  

«A perfectly-timed dose of noxious effluvium,» Garaki says approvingly.  «He’s a rather fine specimen, successor.»

Shigaraki side-eyes Spinner, stare lingering on his mouth and his claws before finally moving up to meet his gaze.  “He always told us he was a lizardman,” he says, the words accusing.

Garaki laughs, an explosion of incredulous delight.  «A lizardman!  He must be quite the convincing speaker.  No, he’s an emerald-blooded cur if ever I’ve seen one.  But I suppose if any wyrm-born were going to pass for the lizardfolk, it would be a green.  They don’t have the horns the other breeds do, you know.  In fact—»

“There was a crusade against dragonborn twenty years ago,” Spinner bites out at last, tired of being talked over and irked at the snort Shigaraki had made at the convincing speaker bit.  “I don’t make a habit of telling people.”  

Shigaraki’s eyebrows go up as the ghost tuts.  After a second, his eyes narrow, a familiar measuring expression overtaking his face.

“…You’ve been with us this long and you never used a breath weapon?”  

Spinner shifts in place.  There’ve been a few times over their journeys when he’s been pushed to it.  In Mydsos, when the air was full of so much stinking miasma anyway that he didn’t think anyone would notice.  When everyone had gotten separated in the Cato labyrinths.  When it was just him and Jin that time against that sahuagin chief, and Jin was such a shitty swimmer that he could barely keep facing in the same direction moment to moment.  But this—it felt different.  

But we were so close.  I couldn’t let—

He coughs and forces himself to say, “Only as a last resort.”  

Shigaraki looks—impressed. It’s not an expression Spinner’s seen on his face much, and recognizing it now sends a touch of warmth through him, despite the ghost’s chill presence.  It lasts just a moment, then Shigaraki turns back to the rector.

“Are we done with the inspection now?” he demands.  “I’ve got things to get back to.”  

«Oh, “things.”  I see, I see.»  The spirit’s voice drops into a canny tone.  «Well, you may wish to tell “things” that you’ll be here for a while yet. Taking the power of the demon king isn’t so simple as just planting yourself in his throne.»

“Then I need to get a message out. We can make one of your weird pets do it when they get back.”

«Weird pets!  They’re wonderful creations, I’ll have you know. Loyal beyond death—you might have a need for such loyalty yourself one day.»  

Shigaraki steps between Spinner and Garaki even as the ghost’s attention turns.  “Don’t look at my dragonborn,” he says, a piercing command.  “Look at me.”

Garaki and Spinner both do, Garaki chuckling, Spinner’s heartbeat a stuttered pulse in his throat.  And as Shigaraki starts to lay out a plan, they both listen.

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

Shigaraki: Warlock with a Fiend patron (AFO) Spinner: Ranger, Hunter archetype (sorry about your class sucking so hard in 5E, Spin) Toga: Rogue, Assassin archetype Dabi: Sorcerer, Wild Magic origin (frequently at odds with Tomura over efficient use of one’s spell slots) Mr. Compress: Wizard, Conjuration school Magne: Fighter/Bard, Champion archetype and College of Valor, respectively Twice: Cleric, Life domain (also two levels of Paladin, shhhh; he never broke any oaths if he never advanced far enough to make any)

[galadrieljones]

writer’s review

tagged by @ma-sulevin and @a-shakespearean-in-paris. thank you! i’ve never done this one before.

I will tag @thevikingwoman @shallow-gravy @littleblue-eyedbirdchirps @roguelioness @pikapeppa and anyone who’d like to do this. Please tag me if you do!!

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

Since I have way too much old writing from my life, I am just going to stick with my fanfiction. I chose to compare an excerpt from my older Solavellan work The Dead Season (2016) to my current The Last of Us fic As You Were (2020). 

I put this under a cut, as it’s a little long!! 

From The Dead Season - Chapter 8: The Emprise du Lion

For the first three nights, they’d had to camp in a quarry surrounded by the dead lit veins of red lyrium. The lyrium glowed through the fire, illuminating the snow, keeping everyone awake, bandaged and bruised, all four of them piled into the Inquisitor’s tent where nobody wanted to be alone. Death was too nearby, they decided. Things were better together. Exhausted, hardened, dirty, cold to the bone. Drinking warm ale brought in by Scout Harding’s people, gnawing pieces of rabbit Sene had hunted herself and then cooked on a spit. Iron Bull tried entertaining with mad stories from his stranger youth. He and Solas played whole games of chess through the power of memory alone, and Sera braided Sene’s hair, and asked her all kinds of questions about her childhood and her love for the elven man. She told her about Dagna, that the two had started a quiet affair, and she had such stories of Red Jenny and her foreign life as an elf of the city. Sene listened eagerly, all the time, finding Solas with her eyes, and he would give a small touch. Security in a place of death and blood in the snow.

Despite Sene’s dreams, whenever they slept in the Emprise du Lion, Solas held her with serious possession. He slept deeply when he drifted, without stirring, and his arms hardened around her as stone. A carefulness and new severity imbued them, each movement guessed and exchanged as mind-reading. Somehow, it felt new. Sera noticed one morning, as Solas helped Sene into her jacket: “You do that like it’s all you’ve ever done,” she said to him.

“Perhaps it is,” said Solas. “Perhaps each night I help Sene out of her jacket, and then each morning, I help her back in again. Would that shock you?”

“The two of you,” said Sera. “Like green on sky. Eggs on toast.”

“Interesting perspective,” he said.

From As You Were - Chapter 6: La Crosse (Pt. 1) / The Lapp Farm (Pt. 1)

Joel and Noah drove until they hit what looked to be the town. They parked at an O’Reilly’s Auto Parts, hauled their backpacks onto their backs, and loaded their guns. The signs continued, most of them nailed to other kinds of signs: COTHS, they read. C.O.T.H.S.

C O T H S.

La Crosse had never been a big city. Joel didn’t know a lot, but he could gather as much. It wasn’t big, but it was a college town, and that college was big enough to have a football team. It would have been home to a lot of people during the initial Outbreak, probably forty or fifty thousand, and it was probably a metro-hub for these little Driftless, farming towns, too, with a good hospital, warehouses, factories, and some semblance of a retail industry. It would have been a lot of meth, he thought. Maybe not so much in the city proper, but in the outskirts, in the tin cans and the trailer parks. As a city on the banks of the Mississippi, it would have pretty pockets but mostly, it was just franchises and mini-malls, like anything else.

But this was strange, thought Joel. The goddam of it was, it seemed empty. Really empty. Like, god no longer smiled upon this place, as if something evil had given up on this place, gone on its way. There was nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good. Just the trees, and the nature noises, the grasses, which had grown so tall, they engulfed the cars abandoned at the side of the road. There was a McDonalds sign, growing out of a massive, twisted heap of vines and bramble and it made Joel think of small things that still broke his heart from childhood. He pushed it down.

“This is fucking weird,” said Noah. The air smelled ripe in some places. Rotten. Like an overgrowth of mold in the washing machine. “What the fuck is that smell?”

“Something bad happened here,” said Joel.

“Hey, look,” said Noah. He was headed toward another one of the signs. It said: COTHS.       

“Yep, another sign,” said Joel.

“No, look,” said Noah. He got closer. He had to snap a couple saplings to get to it. This sign was on the ground, leaning against a tree. He pushed back the tall grass, and the milkweed to reveal the rest.

Comparison: I settled on these excerpts because they are both descriptions of places and situations that are new to the characters involved. The biggest difference between my writing in 2016 and my writing now, as shown here, is that I have hugely simplified my prose and my approach to descriptive writing. Four years ago, I was still very flowery, and the dark, magical setting of Dragon Age only encouraged my dreamy, expansive sensibility. I used a lot of adjectives, figurative language, and fragments, and I tended to write big, sweeping descriptions of situations, rather than setting simple scenes. Tbh, I hadn’t really figured out scene-writing yet, at that point. It took me a while to realize how to make scenes do a lot of work in a short amount of time. Notice how I barely enter the scene in that first excerpt. It’s vague. It’s all happening at once. There is not really a specific scene being set in a specific setting at a specific time. I try to avoid that sort of thing now. While I don’t hate my old writing, and I think sometimes I do a nice job of hitting on the right atmosphere, my unwillingness to just enter the scene concretely is a little sophomoric and noncommittal here. Setting scenes is actually hard as hell. In doing this, I was avoiding the hard stuff without even realizing.

Now, I will say that while I am still improving, my writing has become much more concrete and to the point. I use figurative language, but I am much more judicious with my metaphors and similes. I prefer realism, it turns out. I want to describe true things, not ideas. Most of what I describe is there to build setting, whether it be through concrete description of place or a character’s actions in a place. Sometimes I will use my language to evoke a certain kind of atmosphere, but I try not to go overboard. I want my language to be practical, not tricky and overblown. I like strong, complete sentences (with the occasional fragment) and descriptions of specific actions and scenes in real time, rather than fragmented, dreamy language or a style that is overly stream-of-consciousness. I still use Free Indirect Style at times, and I will narrate thought, because I like going into my character’s heads, but I now practice much more stoicism. I do not let my readers know too much directly about what my characters are feeling. I find that this is much more true to what I want to evince with my writing. I now try to imply thought and emotion via what my characters do, what they don’t do, what they say, and what they see. Moving away from Solas, a very “talky” and intellectual character has helped me do this. While I love Solas, writing Joel and Arthur really improved me tenfold, as they tend to speak very little. They are not terribly ponderous in all they decide. They choose their words wisely and let their actions speak most of the time, helping me do the same.

In the past, my focus was almost always on language, ideas, and atmosphere. I wanted to evoke bigness at every turn. Drama, beauty, unfolding abstract ideas and feelings made of synesthesia, using my language to elevate simple feelings and ideas into something epic. But now, and maybe it’s just because I’m getting older or I have less time, idk, but I just want things to be what they are. I want to reveal feelings and themes, not evoke them through force. I want the scenes to speak for themselves. I let the reader do a little more work. I withhold much more. In fact, I rarely write interiority these days. Inner-monologue and emotions come sparingly. One sentence here and there. Never in rambling, abstract, unfurling paragraphs, which The Dead Season is full of. I am always reaching for economy now, and efficiency. It is better for me! Though I do play around still, from time to time, with my language. I will always be a little playful.

[radiosteve]

Need Your Loving Tonight Ch. 19

Summary: You and John have a heart to heart after your talk with Roger.

Note: A lot of angst and drama in this one. Hope you enjoy! As always, the italicized part is the reader’s thoughts. The photo is one that I found on google. I do not own any rights to it. If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you!  

Warnings: Language, Angst

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader, John Deacon x Reader

Words: 3.5k+

  November 14, 1974

 You woke up on the couch the morning after your talk with Roger. A chill worked through your body, bringing goosebumps to your arms despite the blanket that Sally laid over you. You shifted, rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling. A throbbing in your head began, matching the ache that radiated from your heart. I really fucked up.

 It was still dark outside when you decided to get up from the couch, restless and unable to stay still. You checked the clock mounted on the wall in the kitchen as saw that it was just after 6 am. Every part of your body ached with sadness, feeling like you lost something and could never get it back. You moved into the kitchen and turned on the light before crouching down and searching the cabinets for the tea kettle. If I can’t fall back asleep, I might as well make some tea.

 Your fingers fumbled over the pans as your eyes still adjusted to the kitchen light. The feel of the cool metal against your already shivering skin made your sadness multiply. It was something that you just couldn’t explain. Maybe the chilling texture brought you back to Roger’s cold glare the night before. You tried to move a large saucepan out of the way, but instead it ended up falling to the ground in a loud bang. A curse fell from your lips as you placed it back in the cabinet. 

 A rush of anger swept through you with each cabinet that you rifled through. With the tea kettle still missing, you slammed the cabinet door shut in frustration. Wet, hot tears began streaming down your face as you slumped to the ground. Your back hit against the cabinet, jamming its handle into your shoulder, which only made you cry harder. A noise came from down the hall and you saw Sally through the tears in your eyes.

 “Y/n? What the hell are you doing? It’s 6 o’clock in the morning,” Sally walked into the kitchen as she spoke. Her hair was sticking up in the back and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from sleeping. Her pajamas hung loosely around her frame as she squatted down in front of you. Her expression, while annoyed from being woken up early on a workday, was soft and full of concern. 

“I just wanted to make some tea,” you said through a wave of sobs. Your breath hitched and hiccupped as a stream of tears still flooded from your eyes. “But I can’t find the tea kettle. So, I got angry. And that, mixed with everything from last night made me cry I guess,” your sobs lightened a little as Sally stroked the side of your face with her hand.

 “Y/n, sweetheart,” she began, swiping the tears from your face as she did so. “The tea kettle is on the stove,” her voice was soft and caring. The tears stopped flowing as you looked up from the ground and focused on her.

 “What?” you asked, feeling stupid for not checking there in the first place. You shifted your gaze up towards the stove, spotting the tea kettle resting on the back burner. You let out a choked laugh before more tears fell from your face into your lap. “That’s great. I’m just one big idiot,” you stood up and marched back over to the couch in the living room. You threw yourself down face first with your hands above your head. The sound of running water in the kitchen caused you to look up. You found Sally filling the tea kettle before placing it back on the stove to warm up.

 “You’re not an idiot, you know. You just made a mistake,” Sally came over and sat on the edge of the couch. Her hands tangled into your messy hair in an effort to comfort you. “It was probably just a misunderstanding, right? You say something based on impulse that you don’t really mean. Roger gets angry and yells. Then he storms off and leaves you crying. That’s what happened right,” As Sally spoke you raised your head from the couch once more. You rolled over, facing her now as your expression turned sour.

 “You talked to him? I can’t believe it,” you exclaimed sitting upright and startling Sally from the couch. She stood in front of you as her eyebrows lifted in surprise and yours furrowed in anger.

 “It was only for a second. All I asked was what he did that made you cry so bad,” she defended herself, raising her hands as she spoke. “I was just trying to look out for you. He didn’t really tell me anything. He hung up almost immediately after I called,” she took a step towards you, but your face remained hard and unforgiving. 

 “You should have never intervened in the first place. I mean, the reason that this whole thing happened was because I took your advice. You just kept pressing me to tell Roger how I felt, to lay it all out there. And now look where that got me. I fell asleep crying on the couch for fuck’s sake. I was fine before all of this!” you shouted loudly, standing up from the couch where you sat before.

 “Like hell you were. The anxiety and guilt about your feelings for Roger were practically eating you alive. I could tell, and so could Brian. And I told you to just tell Roger how you felt, not offer to run away with him. That was all you,” Sally tried to remain calm, knowing that this was just misdirected anger. But the way you spoke and the anger on your face made it difficult to keep neutral. 

 “Liar! You told me to ‘explore every option’. How the hell am I supposed to explore it if I’ve never even had the experience in the first place? Huh?” Sally didn’t respond, not wanting to fuel the flame of your fire. “How the hell am I supposed to face him now? He probably thinks I’m some psycho that’s just trying to use him. And John. Fuck. What if Roger tells him?” the words spewed from your mouth like a constant string of consciousness.

 “He would never do that. He cares about you too much. Roger would never try to sabotage your relationship with John,” Sally’s words were calm, her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

 “Still. How am I supposed to face John after this? How am I supposed to move forward knowing that I might have just screwed up one of my closest friendships all because I was starting to feel a little boxed in? I mean, John is my fiancé. There’s no way to move forward without telling him. And if I tell him then he’ll probably break up with me,” you slumped back down onto the couch once more and the tea kettle began to whistle from the stove. Sally went back into the kitchen, pouring the hot water into two cups with tea bags already in them.

 “You’re right, he might. Or he might not, that’s something you’ll have to face,” she added sugar to the mugs and brought them over to the sofa. She sat next to you and placed one mug in your hand as she took small sips from the other. “But relationships are built on trust and telling John is the most noble thing for you to do. Even if you really don’t want to,” her eyes gazed softly into yours and her demeanor mirrored that of someone who had found complete bliss. Her words, while anxiety inducing and potentially life changing, caused an odd sense of calmness to wash over you. You nodded, sipping the tea from your mug before looking back at Sally.

 “Thank you,” you said, feeling the warmth and love that she had for you in every second that passed. She smiled at you softly before gently placing her hand on yours. “I love you and I’m sorry,” her thumb rubbed circles over the back of your hand as her eyes locked onto yours. 

 “I know,” she said simply before taking another sip of her tea and going back to bed.

 November 15, 1974

 You had called John the night before, arranging to meet him after you got done with work. He picked you up, taking you back to your apartment afterwards so the two of you could talk. You felt nervous, seeing the entirety of your relationship crumbling down which each passing second. But John didn’t seem to notice. He was too excited about how well received the album had been. He rambled on throughout the car ride about its success and the idea of a tour in Japan soon. In John’s head, everything from here on out was an upward slope. But oh, how your thoughts differed.

 John trailed behind you as you entered your apartment. Sally was still at work, meaning that the two of you were completely alone. That something that seemed to not happen often these days. As you pushed the door open John wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pressing kisses to your neck as he did so. 

 “John,” you spoke clearly, trying to get him to stop. He only hummed a response instead, too invested in your neck to see the warning signs of you wanting him to stop. “John, please stop, honey. I need to talk to you,” your nerves came through in your voice, which caught John’s attention. 

 “What is it, baby? What’s got you so nervous?” John asked, moving to sit down on the sofa as you sat in the chair across from it.

 “It’s just that we’ve been really busy all week and I feel like I’ve barely talked to you, you know?” you plastered a fake smile on your face as you looked at him. He smiled back at you and began to nod his head.

 “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve just been a little caught up with the new album,” John crossed his right leg over his left, placing his hands into his lap. “So, what do you want to talk about?” he asked, looking at you as your stomach twisted. His face was so sweet and full of love. He cared so deeply for you and you felt awful. You were about to tell him something that could rip his heart from his chest. You loved him too, there was no doubt about that, but this was something that you needed to do.

 “Well,” you began, aiming your line of sight towards the ground to stop the guilt from flowing within you. “I wanted to talk about feelings,” you spoke slowly, as if it would stop the words from coming out of your mouth.

 “Feelings?” John questioned; confusion clearly written across his face. You nodded in response trying to avoid speaking. “What regarding feelings do you want to talk about exactly?” his voice was calm but inquisitive.

 “I- uh wanted to talk about feelings and how they grow and change over time,” John only looked more confused as you continued. “In uni, when Smile was still together, I had a little crush on Roger,” you started speaking only to stop when John’s face changed. He looked more so surprised than anything and that made you feel even worse.

 “You had a crush on Roger in uni? Like when you first met him?” John asked and nerves just kept building up within you. 

 “Yes and no. I mean, neither of us did anything about it until Tim left the band. We were both really frustrated that night, and we ended up being a little impulsive,” John just raised his eyebrows, clearly not understanding. “We slept together that night,” you stated bluntly as your leg began to bounce up and down with nerves.

 “Oh,” John said, his eyes staring blankly at the wall, clearly shocked at what you just said. “I had no idea,” he continued, trying to turn his eyes back to you, but seemingly unable to do so. Your thumb rose to your lips in a habitual way as you began to bite at the flesh. “That was before we were together, before we even knew each other, so it doesn’t really matter. Unless you feel like it does,” John went on, finally meeting your worried gaze.

 “If this conversation happened a year ago, I would say no. I would say that it doesn’t matter. I wish I could say that,” tears brimmed along your lash line and you tried your hardest not to let them flow. “It’s just that I had feelings for Roger back then and he rejected me. Then after a little while I met you. And I fell head over heels. I love you, John. I’m in love with you wholeheartedly. I want you to know that,” John nodded even though the confusion had reappeared on his face. “But as time went on, I found out that Roger was in love with me too,” a tear spilled down your cheek before you could catch it.

 “Are you saying that- that you cheated on me?” John’s voice quivered and you felt an ache grow in your heart.

 “No, no, never,” John looked reassured as you spoke, and it just made you feel worse. “You see, Roger and I got into a fight at that Christmas party when you and I first kissed. He told me then that he loved me. And when he said that, it ignited some old flame within me. It brought back that little schoolgirl crush that I had on him, but I was so happy with you. With our blossoming relationship. So, I ignored it,” more tears followed, and you found that the throbbing in your head had returned. 

 “What are you saying,” John intercut, trying to make sense of everything that you were laying out for him. You just ignored him and went on with your story.

 “For the past year or so, I’ve felt nothing but joy when I’m around you because I love you. But I also noticed that I started to feel the same way when I’m around Roger. And I know sounds horrible and you’re probably going to hate me, but I think I love him too,” your words were clouded by tears as John sat catatonically across from you. “And I told him a few days ago. I just couldn’t keep it in anymore. I was being eaten alive by guilt and emotions. I’m sorry, John. I love you and I want to be with you but I’m just so conflicted. I feel awful,” you rambled on as John’s expression remained unchanged. “Johnny, please say something,” you pleaded, coming to kneel in front of him. 

 “I didn’t know someone could feel that way,” he spoke quietly, his eyes staring blankly ahead. More tears streamed down from your eyes as he sat before you. “Damn it,” he stood up abruptly, knocking you back slightly as he did. “I knew love could hurt but I didn’t think it’d be this bad,” he said, cradling his forehead in his hand. 

 “But it doesn’t have to hurt. I can put aside these feelings and move on. Roger has already made it clear that nothing will happen with me and him. I love you and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t think I can even imagine life without you anymore,” the tears continued streaming down in thick rivers on your cheeks. 

 “I don’t know. This doesn’t seem like something that you can just move on from. It’s not like this is some small crush, Y/n. You said that you’re in love with him. Even if you do think you can get over it, you’ll still have to see him all the time. He’s one of my best friends. We’re in a band together. I really don’t know, Y/n,” you noticed that John had tears of his own beginning to run down his face. You stood up, moving towards him to brush the tears away, to reassure him that your passion and desire laid with him. But he moved away. John flinched from your touch and you felt your already breaking heart split further in two. 

 “Please, Johnny. We can work this out. I know we can. I’m your fiancé. It’s not like I accepted your proposal just on a whim. I did it because I love you. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We can’t just let some stupid feelings get in the way,” your hands clasped in front of you as you spoke, feeling like you were on the verge of getting down on your knees to beg.

 “I- I don’t know, Y/n. I uh, I need some space. Some time to think. To think about all of this before I can really decide where to go from here,” his voice was quiet and calculated as if he was trying to hold back any emotion that might set himself off. 

 “Yeah, ok. We can just spend a few days apart. Let things work themselves out, you know,” your eyes fell to the ground as you ran the thoughts through your head. 

 “I want the ring back,” John said, holding out his hand as he spoke. He caught you off guard and you took a step back when he did.

 “What?” it came out as just barely a whisper. A chill ran through your body, feeling a numbness that you couldn’t describe. No. No this can’t be happening.

 “I want the ring back. It might not be permanent, but until I can decide, I want it back,” his hand was still held in front of you. Your fingers trembled as they circled around the ring on your finger. You slid it off, holding the ring in your palm for a moment before placing it into the center of John’s hand. You let your fingers linger on his for another second before pulling away and looking back up at him. 

 “John,” you spoke quietly still, your throat clogged with sadness and tears. He pulled you into a tight hug, holding your boy as close to him as possible. John tilted your head up, bringing his lips to yours slowly. He kissed you with every last ounce of love in his body before pulling away once last time. “I love you,” the words fell from your lips in a habitual way as tears leaked down your face, brushing the corner of your mouth. John didn’t respond, instead he walked out the door and pocketed the ring. You followed him out, watching as he trailed down the hall, hoping that he would turn to look back at you. But he didn’t. He just went down the steps.

 November 16, 1974

 “I’m really sorry, but I need a few days off work,” you spoke into the telephone as your manager barked angrily on the other line. “It’s a family emergency and I have to go away for a while,” you lied, swiping at the tear that seemed to fall without your knowledge. Your manager finally gave in, reluctantly giving you a week off for the time being. The only issue was that you didn’t exactly plan on coming back. 

 With John and Roger both mad at you, you felt your reasons for staying in London dwindle by the second. Sure, you’d miss Brian, Sally, Freddie and all the other friends you’ve made in London, but you just couldn’t stand to be there anymore. Not when your chest ached at the thought of getting out of bed. So, you booked a flight home, arranging to stay with your parents for a little until you managed to get a good job over there. Then you’d move on, leaving behind the life you made, and then destroyed, in London. It would be difficult and lonely, but by now nothing could feel worse than the struggling beat of your heart as it worked itself in your chest. 

 So, you packed up a bunch of clothes, taking only what you needed for the time being. Knowing that even if you were moving to America that you would still have to come back to gather all your things. Sally reluctantly drove you to the airport, warning you not to run away from your problems, despite knowing that she can’t change your mind. You got on your plane about an hour later, heading home to New Jersey. The view of the clouds from the small oval window on the plane helped put you to sleep, something you haven’t done much of in the past few days. 

You landed a little while later, feeling something different in your bones as you stepped onto American soil for the first time in a few years. An odd sense of nostalgia filled you, dulling the pain caused by heartbreak. And you had only one thought pass back and forth in your head as you hailed a cab and gave him your parents address.I could probably stay here forever.

Taglist: @retromusicsalad @bohemiansweede​ @deconsroger @queen-crue​ @ohtheseboysilove​ @Queeniesteiins @kemeryyyy @onceuponadetectivedemigod​ @ixchel-9275​ @rogmeddows​ @ziggymay​ @deakysmisfire​ @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​ @briarrose26​ @greatdinosaursalad​ @killer-qu33n-of-disaster​ @mi55chanandlerbong​ @rogertaylorseyelashes​

[bangtanbetchfics]

Fleur d'espoir (m) | capsule horror au

genre: gothic horror + alternate universe rating: mature pairing(s): au!kim taehyung x au!jeon jungkook + au!park jimin + au!taekook word count: 3.1k suggested listening: noir - sunmi | alone in the city + welcome to dream intro - dreamcatcher | playlist warnings: blood, graphic gore + imagery, death + tragedy summary: a tragic tale of star-crossed lovers is recounted through kim taehyung's diary. notes: it's spooky szn, so i tried my hand at a new style of writing. let's get this bread! navigation: check out my masterlist for upcoming works; new story every friday evening.

KIM TAEHYUNG’S JOURNAL

  Note: Please do not follow me to this godforsaken place, or try to find me if these words end up being the last I write. I fear that in the end, there will be nothing left of me; I have no time to think of it now.

27 Sept | Crash. Screeching pieces of moving metal, screams from every corner of every dark alley, buildings that were crumbling to ashes in the street. Dark figures with rabid expressions roamed and ravaged the streets and ill-sized rats consumed feces off the ground. Rain now dampened the grease-slicked streets, bringing rancid smells to our tip of noses. It was a bone-chilling night in our decaying town, but this is the place we loved. The place my lover: Jeon Jungkook, and I called home.

I moved in to quickly kiss my counterpart on his lips as he neared closer to me. The warmth he bestowed upon me trickled through my frigid frame and cold-nipped fingertips. My lover was a man of similar stature to mine; so much so that people often mistook us for one another. Raven hair that hung to our eyes, alabaster skin, and a strong, lean frame was apart of our makeup. A shadowed figure looked at the two of us as our lips met, and I quickly chilled myself off again, just as the air had before. For as you may come to see, the activity between my lover and I was not typical for our town. We oft found ourselves in inky alleyways and starless corners trying to find relief from the piercing eyes always surrounding us, and tonight was no exception.

As we entered a dimly lit bar, the billowy whites of eyes met our own and we quickly dashed our own gazes away from theirs. As we were seated, my lover shot me an apprehensive look. The fear in his eyes started to grow as we still felt the terrifying presence of those same eyes upon us. I reached my hand out to touch his own, and he quickly pulled his hand away from mine as he realized what I was about to do. I bit my lip and drew blood at the mistake, but I knew I could not make another that night. I did not have that luxury. I felt a strange presence looming over me, but I continued on with my night as Jungkook and I engaged in drink -- enjoying the company of one another.

The two of us exited the property and stood close to each other on the corner, trying to feed each other warmth with our bodies. A shadowy presence watched us, but I dare not meet its eyes. I felt my pulse start to thump in my ears, but I pushed it to the back of my consciousness and hopped into a cab with Jungkook. My brows furrowed as I watched the figure depart as soon as we pulled off.

The two of us became a mess of tangled legs and hushed whispers before Jungkook squeezed my leg. He whispered in my ear and soon after, the menacing whites of the driver’s eyes met mine in the darkness.

Seconds later, I felt a lump hinge in my throat before the side of the car was showered in a blinding white light.

I felt every thought I ever had race through my mind as we flipped through the frigid winter air. The scene felt like it occurred in slow motion: the terrible spins and screeches of the car, the cries that spilled from our mouths, the crackling noises of bones contorting from their homes, the lacerations that formed on my body as a wall of glass engulfed us. The same shadowed figure that haunted us that night stepped from the vehicle that collided with our own. I heard its footsteps crunch upon the glass that spilled from the car. It bent down to observe our overturned state, and its lips curled up into a crooked smile. The shadow stood back up and let out a guttural laugh before vanishing into the night.

I had to remember how to breathe as I took in the scene before me with all of my senses. I could see the fear as it filled Jungkook’s eyes, and tears began to stream down my face. I released my seatbelt from my lap and dropped to the bottom of the car. After I fell, I felt pain start to seep through my body -- but the pain on my lover’s face was greater, snapping me from my own state. His body was a mess of tangled metal and flesh, and syrupy bits of blood leaked from the ceiling of the vehicle. A sharp piece of metal was affixed directly through the center of his spine.

“Please…”

He cried out, and panic started to course through my body. As I tugged at my lover’s seatbelt to free him, a uniformed figure snatched me from his grip and threw me to the street. The car erupted in a roar of flames, and soon after I screamed at the top of my lungs until my voice was raw. I fell to my knees on the concrete as I observed the scene, the rough ground digging into the skin there. The odor of burning flesh and gasoline quickly reached my nostrils, and I felt my lungs fill with smoke. The same shadowed figure I saw earlier revealed his teeth again to me as he stood over my body before I lost consciousness.

***

28 Sept | Aftermath. Tick, tick, tick...I swear I could hear every tick of the clock as I paced around the hospital in circles until I drove myself mad. My breaths seemed to grow tighter in my throat with each passing moment. I slipped into the small chapel that was affixed near the waiting room, and I got on my knees to look up at the figure before me. It’s sweet face seemed to smile back down upon me as I looked up at it, but all my body did was tremble with anger. Heated tears slipped down my cheeks and my fingernails started to dig into the flesh of my palm.

“Mr. Kim?”

A voice called out to me, snapping me from my fog. I lept to my feet and ran for the hall. “Are you Mr. Kim?” The timid doctor inquired, her eyes larger than saucers as she looked up at me. I widened my eyes at her, unable to gather words to utter from my throat. She said not a word, but motioned for me to follow her instead.

“Mr. Kim. Your partner survived, but I need you to be prepared for what you’re about to see.”

Her ominous words filled my ears as she looked at the ground and peeled the curtain back.

My heart sank to my guts as I looked at Jungkook, who was confined to a wheelchair. His face -- oh, his beautiful face -- was ruined from the fire. The flesh on one side of his face was raw and bubbled with yellow pus. Half of his right arm was removed and blood continued to seep through the bandages affixed to it; his right leg, in the same state. Jungkook’s eyes were in a far off place, and he did not manage to acknowledge my presence.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim. But we had to cut him out in order to save his life. He also incurred significant brain damage...”

I dropped to my knees at the horrors before me before I slid to a nearby trashcan and released my guts into it. I hung over the can as my eyes rolled into the back of my head. The stench of my insides suffused my nostrils, causing me to release another succession of my innards. The doctor picked me up by my arms before placing a warm towel over my forehead.

As my breathing grew more ragged, I took another look over to Jungkook before I howled into the hollow night again.

***

30 Sept | Madness. I was oft a man of logic, but a rabid and gripping madness began to overtake me. The succession of events that night -- the mistakes I made...no, not even mistakes. Subtle acts of passion between two lovers threatened to drive me to the brink of insanity. I whispered in hymns and prayers, rambled in tongues different than my own, suffered pills, potions and poisons -- anything to bring Jungkook back to his original state. I searched through books and daily papers to try and find remedies, but nothing came to fruition.

Nothing.

Jungkook’s eyes stayed in that dreaded, far off place that I cursed him to a lifetime of.

7 Oct | Woman. As I stood outside of my home, I sipped in the cool night air. Thoughts paced my mind about the life I now had, and how this newfound loneliness strangled my existence. As I exhaled and opened my eyes, I jolted back as a hooded woman with wilted flowers threaded through her hair was now standing before me. Her dead eyes swirled around my face before her icy fingertips met my skin.

"There is something you seek. Fleur d'espoir."

She hissed. "Hope." She breathed out, moving her cold hands to squeeze my neck. "Seek it again." I felt my air supply cutting off along with my consciousness before breath entered my lungs again.

As I opened my eyes again, there was no trace of the woman.

I ran back into my home and perused through every piece of paper I could find. And alas, as I got to the last page of ads in our daily paper:

[RENIFLER FLOWER SHOP] We have what you seek. In the smallest alleyway where you may peek.

Bloomed in wet ink on the page before my eyes. I rubbed the skin of my eyes again before I took another look, and the words remained there. I knelt down to Jungkook's knees to show him.

"Do you see this? Do you see it, Jungkook?"

I pleaded to him, pointing to the page. His eyes still did not budge from their position, and my eyes filled with tears. But alas, do not fear for me -- this time my tears were ones of joy.

Of hope.

***

9 Oct | The Alley. I arrived in a small Belgian town of legend, rumored to have the item I so desperately needed. This town had the smallest recorded alleyway in the world. I arrived at its supposed location and searched around, but nothing. I tried to call out to a few passersby to help, but they all ignored my pleas. I smashed my hand repeatedly on the wall until it drew blood from my frustrated flesh.

As I caught my breath and touched the wall with my palms, a sweet scent filled my nose that I had not smelled before. I recoiled as a series of fresh vines engulfed the wall, and cracked its edges. The vines settled into the crevices of the dark alley before beginning to melt and decay. A rancid smell quickly filled the air as I approached the alleyway. I held my breath as I slid through the depths of the slim passage.

9 Oct | Renifler. I arrived in front of a storefront:

RENIFLER FLOWER SHOP

The exact place from the ad. The exterior was swarmed by vines and fresh flowers, and an alluring scent seemed to draw me in.

As I entered, my eyes grew wide at the sight. The shop was covered in a variety of fresh flowers -- seemingly from every corner of the planet. Some bunches looked menacing, others beautiful. Some even seemed like they had faces and would be able to talk to you at any given moment. What drew my eye the most was a bed of stark white flowers that seemed to glimmer in the twilight that snuck its way through the glass. This had to be the flower of legend: the fleur d'espoir. I reached my hand out to touch one.

“Only the truly mad make it here.”

I stopped my reach as a voice rose up. When I set eyes on him, I knew he was the man I sought after. Thoughts raced in my head as to what he meant by his phrase, but I had no time to dwell on his words. He gave his arms a reverent cross and rose his head up, looking at me. The man’s hair was a dusty shade of blonde, and his black garments were affixed with various flowers and jewels. There was a seductive glisten to his lips, and he studied me before licking them. “What is it you seek?” The man enquired, as his eyes narrowed at my own.

“Are you Park...P-Park Jimin?”

I asked, trying my best to hide the nerves in my voice. I heard about the man after researching the flower that only he was able to cultivate it in this dark world: the fleur d'espoir, or the hope flower. There were not many texts about it, but I came to discover it had extreme healing properties. Just what I needed to get Jungkook back to his original state.

As the ethereal man approached me, I tried not to recoil as I saw the other side of his face.

It was decayed.

“Who wants to know?” He pouted as he noticed my eyes, and put his hand up to cover his face. “Oh, please excuse my appearance this evening. I just didn’t have time to...as they say...put my face on?” He let out a contagious giggle, and I chuckled alongside him nervously. My eyes wandered back over to the fleur d'espoir, and his eyes followed mine. He raised his head a little as he watched me, gauging my interest in the flower.

***

9 Oct | Vial. “If the bond between two lovers who consume it is strong enough, this plant can do anything you desire.”

Jimin bit his lip as he studied the flower, before picking one from the bunch. He held it up in the twilight, and it glistened brilliantly. My eyes grew big as I watched him, and he smirked, bringing the flower to his nose. He took an erotic inhale of its scent before his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His eyes glimmered at me before speaking.

“You'll return back to the lover's bliss you crave. All you have to do is give it a drop of blood.”

Jimin pulled out a long needle, and the sparkling tip of it drew me in. I pressed my finger to its sharp edge, and the pain snapped me from my daze. A stark chill of fear flew down my spine, and before I could recoil my finger -- Jimin pressed my fingertip to the flower. The flower bloomed a blood red color, and Jimin twirled the flower in its newly bloomed form between his fingertips. As I drew fully from my sudden haze, I watched him run behind the counter and pull out a pestle and mortar. He dropped the flower in and ground it up quickly -- adding a dash of a red, sweet-smelling liquid to it. He drizzled the sticky mix into a small vial before shaking it in the air. He affixed a small white bow to its neck.

“This is all you’ll need to give him. Half for you, half for him.”

Before I could blink, Jimin engulfed me in his robe -- and we both suddenly appeared before Jungkook.

9 Oct | Fleur d'espoir. I collapsed at Jungkook’s feet, and Jimin appeared by my side to hand me the red vial. I had no time to question the series of events happening before me. I only knew that I now had hope in between the pads of my fingertips. I quickly whirled the cap off the vial and pressed the glass to Jungkook’s lips. The liquid slid down his throat, and the remainder of it drizzled down the corners of his mouth. I took an equal half of the sweet drink into my mouth. I waited a few seconds, observing him.

Nothing.

I looked back to Jimin, who’s eyes grew wide at my own. He raised his fingertip up for me to look again. As I whirled my head around, a mad fog started to swirl around the room. The fog encased Jungkook before dropping him to the ground, naked. I looked him over as the form I knew -- the form I spent so many nights with -- returned to me. His porcelain skin was smooth as I ran my hands over it.

He placed a kiss on my lips, and I combed my fingers through his lush hair -- looking at him. “I was trapped in my own body...I did hear everything.” We gasped in ecstasy before our lips met in another embrace. “Thank you.” Jungkook cried out to Jimin.

Jimin narrowed his eyes, and then crossed his arms.

“But...you see, I’m not done with either of you yet.” Jimin uttered, narrowing his eyes at the two of us. "But you promised! You promised we would be okay!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Jungkook clutched my arm in fear as he watched Jimin's eyes grow crazed. Jimin flew by my side and whispered into my ear.

"You've both been dead since the accident. The two of you have been lost...teetering between the realms of the living and the dead," He went on-- "And as a reminder...I never told you how long the bliss would last."

Jimin's lips hovered near my own before he let out a menacing giggle again, watching my eyes grow in shock.

“Since you’re twin souls, now bound by the blood of the l’espoir -- your pretty souls are both mine now.” He cooed out, and I felt my veins go cold.

Jimin lifted us both by our necks as we tried to claw at his skin. We both screamed into the night as our skin began to peel off our own bones and become affixed to his.

The missing skin on Jimin’s face started to form as he threw his head back in a devilish laugh.

notes: hope you're spooked! come back every friday for a new post! see my masterlist for a schedule of upcoming works. navigation: masterlist

[harrykilledmoi]

A Bell Through The Night

Or the one where Harry surprises you in more ways than one.

Word Count: 7.3 k Themes:  AU, fluff, angst, 70s!Harry, Fleetwood Mac Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader / Harry Styles x Stevie Nicks (circa 1975) Warnings: drug use Author’s Note: I know this is a little late, since the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame train has long left the station but I still wanted to share this! Inspired by this:   “This beautiful child should’ve been born in 1948, too, because he just fits in with all of us.”                - Stevie Nicks [on Harry Styles] 

                              masterlist      read on wattpad       edits

August 24, 1975.

It’s a phone call that has you in the Arizona desert at the tail end of the summer months. Harry had gone down days before you for a meeting. Work had been slow in coming your way for a few weeks and photographing locals for a small newspaper in the city had left you with little to be desired. So when he’d asked for you to join him on this specific day, in this specific place, you were more than excited to oblige. 

The trek from the opposite coast hadn’t been as bad as you thought it would be. You were nervous at first because, up until this point, you had never been on a plane. But there was something about the ride amongst sun kissed, gossamer clouds that made you never want to get off.

Now you were stood at the airport, wedged in a phone booth, camera strapped and hanging from your neck. Your small blue suitcase tucked in between your legs as you rest the phone between your ear and shoulder. Rooting around in your denim jacket pocket for the piece of paper containing the phone number for the motel Harry was staying in, as well as an address. You find it, then drop a dime into the coin slot. The dial tone buzzes loudly through the receiver before a pre-recorded woman’s voice prompts you to dial “the number you wish to reach.”

The shrill phone ring bleeds through the phone becoming the soundscape for your observation of your surroundings as you wait for him to answer. Two young children run around screaming and laughing, A young couple sit cuddled up together on an island bench, a TSA guard, with his too small button up shirt, stained with sweat, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee at a counter cafe. You scratch your arm, it had been weeks since you’d decided to quit smoking and it was getting harder and harder everyday to not just cave.

“Hello?”

His voice pours through the phone like honey, comb still in, static dances around the accompanying silence. You jump even though you had been expecting his voice, you hadn’t realized just how long it had been since you’d last spoken.

“Hey, Harry, Hi,” you speak, while fumbling to readjust the phone, settling on just holding it up to your ear with your hand.

“Hey love, y’here? How was the flight?”

“Good, good. I mean there was a baby crying the whole way down but I feel worse for their mom than I do myself and the attendants just seemed like they wanted to jump out of the plane, sans parachute, ya know? It was wild, so beautiful but like, we were up so high. It’s weird to think about how far technology has come. Uhm, are you picking me up still?” You ramble and Harry notices, his soft chuckle trickles through the phone, notifying you.

“You nervous or something, bunny?”

You laugh, waving your hand in the air in front of you, as if doing so would fan away the acute feelings of anxiety that followed you from your home, onto a plane, and right to Sky Harbour International airport. You hated surprises and although you had been together for nearly three years, you weren’t sure if Harry had known.

“No, no. I’m fine. Totally copasetic.”

There’s a light shuffling on the other end of the phone as well as a few soft voices but none clear enough for you to distinguish.

“Choice.  I can’t pick you up. I gotta finish up getting your surprise ready but I will meet you at the motel at six, you have the address. Y’alright with taking a cab?”

You glance around the airport. The TSA guard is now talking to a woman who is holding the hands of the two children that were rebel rousing earlier. She looks exhausted.

“Yeah, yeah. I can… I can do that.” “Alright! I’ll see you then,” the smile on his face was evident through his words, bringing the corners of your lips as well.

“See you then.”

You hang up and push yourself away from the pay phone, picking up your suitcase. You survey the wide, open space of the airport. People coming to and from, going everywhere, going nowhere. Finding their place in the world by getting lost. It was something that had always fascinated you; the idea that everyone you’re surrounded by in a public place has their own story. Sonder, a three dollar word that you’d thought Harry had made up during one of your game nights. The both of you had been so high that night - deciding that an LSD fueled scrabble game would be way more fun - that it took you nearly 45 minutes to locate it in the dictionary.

You step through the large glass doors towards the taxi nursery at the edge of the curb. The late afternoon sun washes you in a soft glow, as a snug blanket of dry heat surrounds you. You place your suitcase by your feet and pull off your jacket, tying it around your waist. The plain white tank top you have on reflects the surrounding light. You hold a hand out and a bright yellow car, top light on, pulls up in front of you. You toss in your suitcase before climbing in yourself. Dictating the address to the driver, you settle in for the ride.

Phoenix is unlike any place you’d ever been before. The city, with its towering, stalagmite-esque buildings scattered amongst vast flatlands. It carries a warm, sepia tone with an occasional burst of colour. You snap several pictures through the windows as you drive through the downtown metropolis. Attempting to catch the quick passing beauty of the city at sunset.

The Caravan Inn is a sight in the evening. The glow of lights irradiates the building making it seem as if the sun is shining right from it. The neon illuminated sign, a cavalcade of colours topped with the silhouette of a man riding a camel. A click of your camera shutter and the taxi speeds away, leaving you standing in front of your accommodations for the next few days.

You walk to the motel office, taking in the large OASIS sign, just to the left of it, that hangs right above a pool area. You mentally curse yourself for not packing a swimsuit. A light, airy chime sounds when you enter the small office, followed by the smell of stale coffee and the faint scent of lingering body odor. A stout woman, with white blonde hair stack and pinned to the gods, assists you, handing you a key and pointing you in the direction of the room Harry had been staying in, 2A.

The sound of your shoes echoes every time they meet the teal painted concrete steps. Your quick ascent to the second level of the motel causes your camera to bounce against your chest. You swivel left then right, then left again once you reach the landing. It only takes you a moment before you realize that the door you’re looking for is right in front of you, cloaked in the same aqua hue as the steps. A rusted, brass ‘2A’ sits in the center of it.

The room itself, modest in size, looks as if it held secrets that would cause your demise if you were to learn them.  A queen sized bed, dressed in an obnoxious orange comforter sits against the wall, coming far into the middle of the room. Beside it, two bedside tables covered in a wood patterned vinyl, one with a clock, both with matching lamps. Gold bulbous bases, cylindrical off white shades throwing rays of toasty light around the room. Harry’s worn leather shoulder bag sits unzipped in the far corner, at the square, wooden base of the bed.

The soles of your shoes drag against the low, dark carpeted floor as you enter the room.  A small side skip allows you to squeeze through the tight space between the foot of the bed and a small television stand before dropping your bag next to Harry’s.

The lone analog clock ticks right as you look at it, as if speaking directly to you. The hour hand rests just past the 5 and the minute, on the 3. It’s then that you realize just how long the journey had been. You sit on the bed, your weight lightly ricochets your body up then down, a squeal from the springs echos off of the brown and cream striped wallpapered walls. You’re exhausted and after a few passing seconds, decide to prioritize a nap over a shower. You lay back on top of the blanket, your head sinks into the pillow and just like that, you’re out.

Keys in a deadbolt brings you into a stream of consciousness. You keep your eyes closed and attempt to keep your breathing even and leveled, wanting to will yourself back to sleep. A shuffling sound follows the soft click of the of the door closing. You feel the bed dip then a strong arm secure itself around your waist along with a nose nuzzling into the hair at the base of your neck.

“Bunny?”

His lips touch your neck in a barely there kiss as his breath seeps into your skin and down your spine.

“Know you’re awake.” You groan as he kisses the base of your neck before untangling himself from you.

“Scoot your tush, got your surprise f’ya.”

You open your eyes and sit up, finding him standing at the edge of the bed, hands behind his back. You turn to face him, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed, legs crossed beneath you. His face holds a smile as bright as the neon signs of the countless motels on the interstate. Dimples on full display. His eyes trace the lines of your face.

You run your hand through your hair, smoothing it down.

“What is it?”

“My god, you’re gorgeous.”

“Duuuude,” you whine, the anticipation of not knowing why he’d asked you to come to Arizona was reaching critical mass. You want to know, you need to know.

“You have t’guess.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” his tone is laced with mock seriousness, causing his face follow suit, fighting against a smile.

You crawl forward across the bed towards him and rise to your knees when you’re right in front of him, so close your chests touch. You bring a hand up to his hair, playing with the long curls before tracing your hand down his t-shirt clad chest painfully slow. You notice his adam’s apple bob as your hand rests right above the top of his jeans. You trace your fingers from hip bone to hip bone as you pepper sluggish kisses up his neck to his jaw, which clenches when you kiss the soft groove between the sharp edge and his earlobe. His lips part, his eyes close and you know this is your chance. You use your free hand to snatch “your surprise” out of his hands, snapping Harry out of his revelry.

You scoot back quickly, your back bumps up against the headboard, laughing as Harry lunges towards you. You hold the item, which you now knew is a record, in the air as he tries to take it away from you. He sighs, giving up almost immediately while settling into the space between your legs, his chin resting on your stomach.

“Fine, you win.” You flash your teeth in victory.

“Don’t I always,” you laugh through your gloat, looking down at him. His eyes, wide and bright staring back at you, the pale jade speaking to your soul in a way nothing else ever could. He kisses the small patch of skin on your torso where your shirt has ridden up in all the excitement.

“Well, check it.”

You roll your eyes then bring the record down to eye level, blocking Harry’s face completely. In your hands, Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album, which left you a bit confused. You distinctly remember going to the record store with Harry to buy it the day it had come out. In fact, you were pretty sure this was that exact copy, the coffee ring in the corner confirmed that. You tilt the record to the side to reveal Harry’s smirking face, your eyebrow raises to silently ask him what the heck was going on.

“Turn it over you mong.”

You sigh causing Harry’s head to sink with the release of air, flipping the record, turning to look at it from the side. Harry’s eyes are trained on you as you read the delicate, black scrawl that takes up the bottom right corner of the sleeve. Your eyes widen as you look back and forth between Harry and the album. His smile growing wider each time.

“How the fuck did you… oh my god!”

                                                    Hey Bunny!

                                    Thank you for loving and living.

                                             Love, Stevie Nicks x.

“I know a guy. Check inside,” Harry pushes, he rolls his lips together, eyes trained on you as you tilt the record sleeve. Two small, rectangular pieces of pink hued paper, a stiff card like stock, fall onto the bed beside you. You place the record down gently and pick them up. Reading them, Harry didn’t think you could be more visibly excited, he was wrong. The fist holding them clench as you use you free hand to pull Harry up to eye level with you.

Pressing your lips together in a kiss that screamed appreciation and adoration. You pull apart moments later to catch your breaths, resting your forehead on his, all heavy breathing and dilated pupils you manage to squeeze out an nearly inaudible, “thank you.”

Harry takes you by the hand, pulling you through the crowd of sweaty, intoxicated in some way or another, bodies closer to the front of the stage. Turning back every once in a while with a huge smile on his face, which you returned with just as much enthusiasm.

The opening band had just finished their set and the crowd is amply warmed up, ready for the magic that is Fleetwood. You had chosen to go sober, wanting to soak in every song, every moment, every emotion, to hold on to for years to come. For when your grandchildren asked you about your youth, knowing that this was a moment you would regret to forget.

Harry pulls you into him, lazily draping an arm around your shoulders, once you both find yourself in a great spot; two rows behind those pressed up to the stage. You wouldn’t have to crane your neck to see but you felt bad for the shorter folks left standing behind your beau. The boy was tall and there was no denying that.

The house lights come down resulting in a boisterous roar from the crowd, mirroring the rumbling anticipation and excitement in your gut. You’d been listening to the band for as long as you could remember, from before Stevie had become a part of the magic, but it really was her addition that had made you fall in love all over again.

One by one Mick, Lindsey, Christine, and John take their places, instruments on their person. Safe for Mick’s drum set, which he quickly shuffles behind. Stevie is last on but most definitely not least. She floats onto the stage with a grace unparalleled to any earthly creature, dressed in a white, lace, tie up, cropped blouse, a sheer white shawl around her shoulders and light denim bell bottoms. She takes her place behind the microphone at center stage, tambourine in hand. The stage lights create an angelic halo around her as it shines through her flowing, blonde hair. You’re mesmerized, so much so that you hadn’t noticed Harry’s arm drop from around your shoulder.

It’s Christine who speaks first, addressing the crowd, welcoming you all to the show, thanking you for wanting to be a part of this experience with them, introducing the first song.

“‘Bout to do a song from the Kiln House album for you. This one’s called Station Man.”

Her accent catches you by surprise, breaking you out of your trance with a smile. You nudge Harry softly in the ribs, looking up at him. He looks down at you, a knowing smirk etched on his face.

You’re having the time of your life, dancing and singing along. Both to songs you hadn’t heard before and songs your soul could recognize in the afterlife. Jumping and spinning circles around Harry as he sways along to the music. Watching you enjoy yourself is one of his favourite things about spending time with you. A close second to your ability to challenge his mind with just the words that came out of your mouth.

“This is a song from our latest album that came out a few months ago. It’s a song from Stevie Nicks called Rhiannon,” Christine’s voice echoes throughout the theater.

Whistles and hoots drift from the back of the room to the front, cloaking you in a feeling of belonging. The opening chord of the song drip from Lindsey’s guitar, in a new yet familiar way, as Stevie steps up to the mic. You bring your camera up and snap a quick photo before settling. Preparing yourself for your favourite song off of the album you’d been listening to on repeat since you’d first had it in your possession.

“This is a song about an old Welsh witch.”

It’s then that she makes eye contact with you, smiling, and for a split second your heart stops. You can’t help but allow the grin on your face to grow exponentially. Her eyes leave yours and land beside you, on Harry, and she sends a short, familiar wave in his direction, to which Harry returns before she launches into the song.

Her voice guttural and raw, full of unspoken feelings and unknown history. She’s petite but so incredibly chasmal. You elbow him in his side, harder this time, fueled completely by awe.

“Heeeeey. What was that for?”

“Stevie just fucking waved at you!”

He smiles, lifting and dropping his shoulders at your verbal observation. He stays silent, swaying to the music as you stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. You take a minute, glancing at Stevie and then back at Harry. Finally connecting her acknowledgement of his presence and his casual indifference.

“You know Stevie Nicks…” He turns his head to acknowledge your realization, but keeps his eyes glued to the stage.

“You know Stevie Nicks? How do you know Stevie Nicks?”

He stays silent, his lower lip now wedged under this teeth. Gnawing ever so slightly.

You had now lost complete interest in the events happening on stage, shifting your focus, trying to understand how your boyfriend knew your idol.

You try again, slower this time, louder.

“Harry. How do you know Stevie Nicks?”

He releases his lip, only to replace his teeth with his thumb and forefinger. Pulling at it pensively, his eyes still trained on the stage.

“We used to date.”  

His words are so nonchalant that you’re thoroughly convinced you’ve misheard him. Your eyes widen. You look back and forth between Harry and Stevie. A lump forms in your throat as you watch the golden haired goddess twirl and glide around the stage. Her voice echoing throughout the theater.

Your mind drifts as you attempt to enjoy the show. You want to enjoy this moment, to relish in it but you continuously find your train of thought crashing into an pit of ugly envy, a flaming, fiery mess with no survivors. Jealousy had never been your MO but you’d always been distressingly aware of how absurdly incomparable Harry is. The passing eyes of both women and men alike was a constant reminder of that fact. It wasn’t only the fact that he was painfully handsome either - although denying that it is a colossal factor would be naive and foolish - but the genuine and intoxicating aura that surrounds him. Pulling people in, making them want him and want to know him. It had been the very reason you’d approached him in that dark, dingy dive years prior, and now it’s the reason you feel as small as you do. Incredibly inadequate standing next to him, in the pit of a show led by a woman whose aura and beauty matched his, whom of which he had been involved with. How could you compare? How could you ever live up to that? A lyrical angel, a literal rockstar. You’re tired of the sour feeling pinching your stomach but you can’t help but compare yourself to the ethereal enigma that is Stevie. Who could? You didn’t say anything to Harry through the rest of the show nor him to you. You’re so consumed with the rush of feelings that’ve come over you that you hadn’t noticed the show had ended. It wasn’t until you felt the movement of the crowd heading towards the back of the theater, like a high tide being pulled by the moon, that you re-join reality. Your nerves are fried and you’re not quite sure if they could be repaired.

Harry turns to you, smiling. His hands on your face, cradled beneath your ears as his thumbs stroke your cheeks.

“How’d you like the show?”

His voice is soft and expecting. You look up at him, pushing a brief small smile up from the reservoir of adrenaline you hadn’t known you had left over.

“Got one more surprise f’you.”

He sounds so excited that you didn’t have the the heart to tell him, point blank, that you’d had enough and just wanted to go home. Not back to the motel, home.

He pulls you gently to a door on the side of the theater that reads “CREW MEMBERS ONLY” in big, red block letters, leading you through a long hallway filled with gear cases and crew members, giving a swift nod to every other passerby. Your confusion only grows when he stops in front of a door labelled in fancy, slick cursive as the green room. A mixture of laughter, conversation, and music seep through, muffled by the barrier in front of you. He stops and turns to you, dropping your hand before relocating them to your shoulders. You look anywhere but him, the ground having more interest than yours to be transparent about how you’re feeling in this moment. He went through all of this trouble, although now you question how much trouble it truly was, for you. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful because you were far from it. You just didn’t want to spoil his mood with yours that had curdled within the last hour.

You feel a hand lift off of one shoulder. A light finger placement under your chin brings your eyes into contact with the saturated everglade within his. He’d always been really good at reading you. Knowing when something was off, when you felt off. You weren’t sure if it was the post-concert fumes or the joint he’d smoked in the parking lot before the show, but he hadn’t shown you any hints of knowing. You found yourself silently praising every deity you knew by name.

“‘lright, m’gonna need to stay calm. Okay?” A soft laugh peeks through his words.

You remain silent, nodding in complacent understanding. He turns, lightly rapping on the door. His ring - the rose one you’d given him on his birthday last year - sounds a vague metallic clang on the antiqued wood.

The noise of the room, once muddled, hits you like a speeding freight when the door swings open. A sing-song chorus of Harry’s name plays through the space. You shuffle in behind him, keeping your head down. You aren’t generally a quiet person but moments like this are far and few between for you.

Harry working the room is nothing short of magical. Greeting anyone and everyone as you tail him, a firm grip on the bottom of his worn Rolling Stones tour tee. Hugs, fist bumps and light conversation all around. It isn’t until he introduces you loudly to the room that you realize you’re standing in the center of it. Harry no longer in front of you, but at your side, nudging you gently forward.

You look up, raising your hand in a demure greeting, as names you won’t have the chance to remember are hurdled towards you. Then, out of a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner of the room, steps the woman of the hour. She fiddles with the tie on her shirt as she enters deeper into the room.

“What’s with all the commotion out here?”

She sounds just like she sings, real and raw, and you’re enthralled all over again. She scans the room, biting back a smile. It grows only when she spots Harry and speeds to his person, arms out and welcoming.

“Harry! You came. I’m so glad!” He laughs into the hug and tsunami of invidiousness you’d been riding crashes at your feet with full force. You feel smaller than a head on a pin.

You watch as they step out of their embrace, but continue to hold each other at arm's length. Stevie’s on his biceps, Harry’s on her forearms.

“Wow, this is so good. This is great.” Her words are like sunshine and although she’s not speaking to you, you can’t help but to be filled with an indiscriminate warmth. You cross your arms over your chest. You feel intrusive on this reunion but just when you’re about to make a mad dash for the door she turns and looks at you.

“Is this Bunny?” She looks back at Harry. A rush of confidence propels you forward, hand out, you introduce yourself.

Stevie smiles, releasing Harry and takes your hand, pulling you into a hug. The scent of patchouli and lavender radiates from her, sending your head in a spiral. You look up at Harry, eyes wide. His elbow rests on his other arm that’s strung across his chest. His hand covering the large grin that has surfaced on his face. She pulls away from you, holding you in the same way she had Harry.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. He talks about you nonstop. So nice to finally put a face to a name.”

You look back and forth between Stevie and Harry, who was now stood behind her.

“Uh… yeah. Big… uh, I’m a big fan of the band,” you stumble, “...and of yours. Huge fan of yours. Massive,” and blaze through the end of your truth.

She laughs gently, sweetly then she’s gone, beckoned from across the room, whisking over to whomever required her attention.

You’re in shock, hands still out in front of you. Harry steps forward, a light snicker escapes him as he takes your hands. You stare up at him but you’re not really looking at him.

“You okay?”

You nod slowly, your jaw slack, leaving an open space between your lips. Harry kisses the side of your mouth before letting go of your hands. He tells you to grab a seat, that he’ll grab you a drink, before jetting off to the refreshment table where Stevie and Mick are having, what seems like, a deep conversation.

You find a spot on a small, gray couch in the corner of the room. Watching people get drunker and more rowdy as the time goes by. They start to blur together into one massive streak of colour and sound. It isn’t until you spot the time on a clock located just above the bathroom door that you realize Harry had been gone for nearly an hour. The air grows suffocating as you stand, searching over heads of fluffed and curled hair for refuge. You spot Harry moments later. His arm slung around Stevie’s shoulder as they talk animatedly with Christine. You want to walk over and pull him away, plead with him to take you back to the motel, but the barbed wire twisting around your stomach made you hesitant. You watch him place an exaggerated kiss on Stevie’s head and that’s what sends you off the deep end. The feeling as frigid and sharp as an ice bath.

You scramble towards the door you’d entered through just a few short hours ago. Knocking shoulders and bumping drinks until you finally reach the handle. You tug it so violently that you could’ve sworn you’d ripped the door off its hinges.

Almost blindly, you stagger forwards into the hallway, sucking in a deep breath. You can hear your heart in your ears, feel your pulse in your throat, as you push yourself further down the hall. Stopping when you reach a pile of equipment cases piled just high enough for you to get your feet off the ground had you chosen to climb them; and you did. Propping yourself on the edge of a peripheral case and sitting on top of the large amp casing.

You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you know you shouldn’t but your head and heart weren’t cooperating. The futility of trying to get them to comply and coexist to give you some semblance of  sanity is incredibly high. So in turn you decide to become just that, incredibly high. You shimmy backwards, resting your head and back against the wall, before pulling a joint out of your pocket. Rainy day insurance is what Harry had called it when he found out it was a permanent fixture to your person.

“...in case of emergencies.” “Good to know you’re so prepared, love. If I’m ever in need of some immediate enlightenment, I’ll know who to ring.”

You light it with a match from a matchbook you’d taken from the motel. You inhale deeply, letting the small, packaged green sit tightly between your lips. You hold it in, one, two, three seconds before releasing a cloud of smoke with a big audible sigh. Your eyes sliding shut as you wait for your erratic heartbeat to level out.

When Stevie’s head peeks out of the green room door a few moments later, you’re too floaty to realize. She spots you, however, looking as serene as they come. The joint, now a roach, pinched between your fingers. She glides over to you, her movements so fluid, you’d swear she were swimming through the air.

“There you are,” you open your eyes at the sound of her voice to find her smiling at you. A lazy smile graces your features.

“Hey there.”

“I wondered where you’d run off too. Harry was talking my ear off all weekend about how I just had to meet his Bunny and I barely got to chat with you tonight.”

Your smile and relaxed demeanor fall as you take in her words. The filter you once had has burned down to non-existent. Your immediate thoughts began to flow sluggishly from your lips and you were sure you shouldn’t have let it but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Harry was with you all weekend?”

“Yeah, we had a few days off. We were trying to work out some logistics for the third leg of the tour, one of our openers dropped out and I remembered that Harry had been trying to do the music thing for so long, figured we’d give him a shot. Y’know?”

“Tour?” you sit up, leaning forward, pulling your legs into a criss cross position.

Harry saunters out of the green room, spotting you and Stevie, he approaches the two of you but you’re too distracted to notice. Not sure if it’s because of the haze from the smoke or the news you’d just heard. “Yeah, he’s gonna be great.”

“What am I gonna be great at?” He questions, entering the conversation.

You look at him, all droopy eyelids and knitted brows. You’re positive that if you weren’t as high as you are now, you’d be shaking.

“Opening for Fleetwood on tour.”

You speak so curtly and clearly that you scare yourself. It feels as if your soul is trying to disconnect itself from its earthbound prison, but you’re holding on for dear life.

Harry turns to Stevie so quickly you can see his movements blur, following him in delayed time as if it were on another plane of existence.

“You told her?”

“You didn’t?” Stevie’s eyebrows are raised.

“I need a drink,” your words muffled by starch, the interior of your mouth feeling as if you’d just played an insanely long round of chubby bunny. You try to jump off of the case but your clouded mind executes the action before your body could follow, causing you to stumble once your feet hit the ground. Harry’s arms are out in an instant, catching you. You land face first into his strong, broad chest. His scent hits you in a billowing poof of air. It’s woodsy and citrusy and salty and sweet. It’s too much.

You push yourself away from him, out of his arms. He calls after you but you’re already sliding back into the green room. At the refreshment table a wide spread of liquors is presented to you. You reach for the vodka but make a split last second decision and reach for the tequila instead, knocking over a bottle that was in the way. You hold the bottle of tequila above your head but it’s snatched from your fingers right as you’re about pour a shot into your mouth.

Harry stands in front of you, tequila in hand. He looks like someone has kicked his puppy and you find yourself vexed because he had no reason to be upset. He was the one leaving you.

He leans in, mouth so close to your ear that you can smell the faint trace of alcohol on his breath.

“Can we please talk about this outside?”

You scoff, a light snorting noise punctuated with an eye roll. Oh, noooow he wants to talk.

“Please?”

“Fine,” you humour him, your concession tangled in a heavy sigh.

He places the bottle back on the table before spinning you around. Placing his hands on your waist, he guides you gently out of the green room.

You don’t stop moving until you’re outside, in a loading area, buses and trucks lined up uniformly. The late night air is a lot staler than it had been when you first arrived. An oven with the door open, no wind, just warmth all around. It sobers you up almost instantly. Harry stops nudging when the two of you are settled in between two, large packing trucks parked closely together, leaving only a few inches between your bodies. You lean lazily against the truck, allowing your eyes to close and your head to lul to the the side, awaiting his reasoning, his explanation, as if there was one good enough to justify him keeping this from you.

When he speaks your name it’s soft, reminding you of the clouds you’d flown over less than twelve hours ago. What you wouldn’t give to have that peace of mind back in this moment.

“Listen, I didn’t know if it was actually going to happen. Been talking to Christine and just recently caught up with Stevie and she’d mentioned it. I didn’t want to tell you unless it was a sure thing.” You open your eyes, raising them to the sky. The height of the trucks tunnel your vision, redirecting your focus to the twinkling clusters of stars stitched to the deep, dark velvet of the two am sky. He keeps his eyes trained on you.

“And is it?”

“S’what?”

You finally look at him, immediately meeting his gaze, throwing you off for half a beat. You shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“Is it a sure thing?”

He remains silent, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes and releases. You can see the gears in his head turning, the possible negative outcomes of answering your question, playing in his eyes. Like a silent stop motion film. All in black and white. All unhappy endings.

He does, however, answer you with a slow nod. Keeping his eyes on you, studying you as if he had a major exam coming up that could make or break his school year, watching for any signs that may point to you telling him that you were done with him.

“And when were you going to tell me? If you even were going to tell me,” you mutter the latter under your breath but he still catches it. His posture straightens.

“I was going to tell you Bunny! I swear. Was gonna be tonight too, like when we got back to the motel. After I loved on you cause god, I’ve fuckin’ missed you and it’s only been a few days…” he pauses, stepping towards you but you’re quicker, side stepping so you were no longer flush the truck. Square with the opening between them, creating much needed space between you and Harry. A pained expression plateaus his features but he continues, turning his body to face your new position.

“I just… I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted you to have an unforgettable one. Wanted to make up for what happened on your birthday last year.”  

You cross your arms over your chest, relinquishing a sigh. You remember it vividly, although you wish you could forget it.

It had been a while since you had celebrated your earthstrong day but Harry insisted that you must do something for it. 25 was a big deal, it was important. Harry had made a big deal of planning a dinner for you and your family to celebrate. What he hadn’t told you was that the dessert he’d prepared, your favourite after meal pastry, had a little something extra in it that he hadn’t warned you about. Long story short, you spent the rest of your night talking your parents down from a very bad high, and Harry - the cause of all of your grief that night - slept through it all. You’d put him in the dog house for months after that and he’d never stopped apologizing.

“You have to admit though. Now when y’look back at it, s’kind of funny. I mean your mum really dug that shag rug,” he chuckles.

“It’s not funny.”

He tries to subdue his giggles resulting in a wide grin instead. You struggle to remain stoic, still fuming, but you could feel the edges of your icy-ness began to melt away. There’s just something about this boy that always gets to you in the best way possible. Which is why finding out that he may be away for months at a time tasted so incredibly bitter.

You let out a puff of air.

He gives himself a light tap on the cheek. His mouth pursed in a small frown as he tries to focus on remaining serious.

“Oh come on Bunny, I’m sorry okay. I swear I was gonna tell you.”

He nudges you softly, hoping the contact would soften your hard demeanor and lighten up the weight of the situation. He’d really been hoping to have this talk to you when you were in a better mood but he now knew he had to tread lightly.

He takes a tentative step towards you. Your arms, still tightly crossed against your chest, begin to loosen. Slowly, as if counting the seconds and steps in his head, he reaches for your arm. When you don’t resist, he pulls you in close to him in a warm embrace. Whispers of apologies and pleasantries leave his lips in short bursts, threading through your hair and landing on your shoulders. He’s being incredibly gentle with you, and although you’re sure he wishes it had the opposite effect, every touch breeds heartache. The dam is cracking and your hand is hovering above the manual release button for the floodgates.

You release the hold that you have on your own arms when he starts petting your hair. Long, molassing strokes that fall in time with both of your breathing. Naturally synced. Your face pressed against his chest, fitting like your favourite pair of jeans: snug, comfortable, perfect.

“Didn’t even know you wanted to pursue music,” your words are muffled by the cotton of his shirt but his sigh lets you know that he’s heard you. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“Wasn’t something I thought I’d get the chance to do, y’know? Was a hobby for so long, always just mucked about with it. Used it as an outlet. Gave it up before I met you”

Your arms wrap themselves around your stomach loosely, as if they were keeping you from falling apart.

“How come?” You were curious. You couldn’t help help but think that it was because he’d met you that he given up his dream. Freelance photography didn’t pay greatly but it was your passion and Harry had always pushed you to do what made you happy. So he’d taken a job managing a bakery down the street from the apartment you shared to support the both of you.

“It was a different time in my life, back when I was living in California. Didn’t really have much that I had to care about. I was living with a bunch of people who were trying to make a living that way so I fell into it.” He’d stopped his work on your hair, bringing his arm around you shoulder to bring you in closer.

“Is that how you met Stevie?”

He chuckles, it’s airy but full of reminiscent energy.

“Yeah, that’s how I met Stevie.”

You shuffle, moving your head to look up at him. His eyes full of memories. You urge him to continue.

“I was crashing on a friend’s couch in this artist commune. They had a party one night and she was there. We talked and just, I don’t know. Ran with it. We don’t have to talk about this, it’s weird innit? Me talking about my ex.” You lean back to look up at him eyebrow raised.

“You really think this is the weirdest thing to happen tonight?”

He laughs.

“You’re right.”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a split second. You move back to your former position, pressed up against his chest. You close your eyes, indulging in the rhythmic beat of his heart.

“So what happened?”

“It was a lot. There was a lot going on and I couldn’t handle it.”

You hum, nodding ever so slightly.

“Plus she met Lindsey…” He pauses, untangling his arms from you taking a small step back. He lifts his hand and runs the pad of his thumb lightly across your cheekbone. You eyes flick up to his, looking down at you. He sighs, the corner of his mouth lifts, “...and I met you.

The flutter you feel in your stomach is strong but short lived when you remember why you were both standing in the loading area of a theater instead of hanging out with your favourite band just a mere feet away. You’ve been trying to avoid asking your next question. Trying to push it to the back of your mind, attempting to distract yourself from it because you already knew what the answer would be but it stayed stewing, and now it was bubbling over. Before you could stop it, it flew out of your mouth and into the space around you.

“Are you going to accept the offer?”

Harry stays too quiet for too long. With each passing moment, you can feel the ends of your already frayed nerves fizzle and burn out. He looks at you, really looks at you. Your eyes, your lips, you, as a whole. When he finally does speak, his voice is steady and his words, soft. He leans down, cheek touching cheek. And although it’s whispered, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, his words speak unreachable volumes.

“Only if you come with me.”

[early-sxnsets]

Proximity

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343617/chapters/41048414

Chapter 4/11 of Of Wealth and Leisure

Word Count: 2080

Summary: A brief conversation leads to a long walk and leaves Sir Snow wanting more.

It takes me until the tail ends of August to finally take myself out on a walk around the gardens.

As tempting as they’ve been, observing them through my guest room windows felt fulfilling enough until now. As the summer slowly sinks into a muckier, more green season, I find myself growing disappointed that I didn’t take the effort to seek out the flowers. Therefore, I’m finding my way around the sprawling, well-kept garden of the Grimm-Pitch estate.

As I walk, I delve deeper into the mild insanity that's been creeping up upon me over the past few weeks. Every action of Mr. Pitch feels quite peculiar. Antagonistic, while also somewhat ones of attention seeking and perhaps partially of hopeful bickering. Part of me wonders where our rivalry is headed, as he does not seem overly invested in my destruction, but rather interested in how my downfall would lay out.

What that means, I’m not sure. I simply know that our destinies are intertwined somehow, but the way is uncertain.

I wish I could figure it out. If there were a way--a secret key or a hidden door--that could reveal answers to everything, then I’d give up my knight’s honor for that valuable knowledge. Mr. Pitch would mock me for that, telling me I made such a stupid decision for information that I don’t require. Nevertheless, I crave it. Isn’t that a requirement enough?

Stopping by a fountain, I rest to ponder and look out among the greenery.

All I can think of is Mr. Pitch.

Oh how unfair; a haunting of my mind in the worst possible way. Is it intentional on his part? Is he somehow responsible for my endless thoughts and dreams of him, some of which including compromising situations? Surely, those are based in deep hatred manifesting into peculiar nightmares.

Surely.

As I gaze out, I spot someone far off by the edge of the woodland. The person simply stands, leaning against a walking stick and staring out wistfully. Purely out of curiosity, I stand and brush off my jacket as I slowly begin to stroll over.

The figure grows in familiarity over the closing of the space; dark slicked hair and well tailored suit. He’s smoking a pipe, staring out into the trees wordlessly as smoke slowly rises from the front of him. It’s devilishly handsome, and overwhelmingly mysterious. It’s as if he were looking for trouble..

“I suppose those vampire myths aren’t quite myths at all,” I joke, walking up behind him with my hands tucked into the pockets of my trousers. He whips around, narrowing his eyes at me for a lingering second before his body rotates back towards the trees.

“I didn’t quite think you occupied yourself with such invasive nonsense, Sir Snow,” he says back. While he barks it in a typical, condescending tone, there’s the slightest hint of sadness in his voice.

My foot lands down, snapping a twig. He flinches, but doesn’t turn.

Frozen in time and staying behind him, I watch the smoke trickle up into the air as he peers out into the slowly swaying leaves handing to unsteady branches. “They’re all an unfair commentary. My injury shouldn’t be mocked as so.”

My heart picks up guiltily, mouth hanging open as he bares himself and his expressions to me. As if time were slowing, his body rotates back to half-facing me as he stares. If he were staring at my chest, it’d explode.

“I-I didn’t realize,” I blubber, hand flying up to run across my jaw and chin as I rub. “I’d assumed they were only jokes…”

“Jokes can be harmful.” He shifts his weight between feet, eyes locking back forward.

Hesitantly, I step closer and wait for him to respond with a biting remark, but he simply stays silent. Fearfully, I continue onwards until I’m standing beside him and overlooking his profile. He doesn’t dare move his gaze, steadily observing the land in front of him.

“The injury was unfortunate enough to be so close to my neck; I should have bled out, if it weren’t for quick attention. I’m aware of my scars, but they only serve as reminders to be careful with others.”

My eyes follow the rise and fall of his pipe, breath struggling to come out normally. A swirling anxiety settles in my throat, lodging it and making me nauseous over my accusations. “I’m not entirely sure the rumors are based on your injury, Mr. Pitch. Rather, I think they’re based on your appearance.”

Moments pass before his lip curls up and eyes fall shut. “What do you mean by that, Sir Snow?”

“I mean,” I quickly try to cover, “your… appearance. It follows that of classic bloodsucker’s tales. Not that you look like you drink blood, but rather your…” Will I get murdered if I continue? “Stature and air that you hold yourself in.”

“Stature?”

“I--your-”

His laugh cuts me short. “Stop wasting air, Snow, or else there won’t be some left for the rest of us.” He offers his pipe, and I politely decline. “You can stop your entire explanation. I understood your intent long ago, I just enjoy watching you struggle.”

His confession hurts in an odd way, as if I wished he enjoyed something else about me.

We stand in silence, heads turned away from each other as I gather the courage to break our invisible walls. They’re much more reinforced than I’d imagined; anything to get through to him would take an axe, a flame, and patience.

I’m terrible with patience.

“I… never quite got a full tour of the grounds,” I start, eyes dragging down to my feet as my boot digs into the mildly muddy ground in front of us. “For months I’ve been wishing to see the farmland, but instead I’ve been left to watch from afar. It’s quite a pity.”

He dares a glance at me as I urge him, face open and welcoming to his attention.

“Perhaps I could spare a small amount of time showing you the land.” He sounds reluctant, but not protesting.

That’s all I need.

He taps his walking cane to the ground, offering an extended elbow as his classic brow raise greets me. I take it without pause, hands resting against the stiff fabric of his suit jacket.

Slowly, we make our way around the garden. For once, Mr. Pitch takes an opportunity to speak without directing it in hatred towards me. He rather steers his words in the direction of praise and sharing of fondness in his memories, rambling on about the sprawling lavender he used to pick and dry with his mother at a young age. While it causes his smile to falter, he continues on, going on a winded rant about the prickles of roses and the unfairness of their romantic association.

At last, we take the path down to the fields, yet he insists we take the walk slowly while he speaks on. Childhood stories, historical facts, and family tradition, all rolled up into his continuous stream of consciousness. By the time we reach the end, I believe I could write a very short book on the recounts of his family’s involvement with local produce in the past century.

As we walk through, he stops briefly by the apple orchard and picks off a single apple, dusting it on his jacket before handing it to me without a pause to allow me to thank him. Thus, we continue while I eat, taking a path towards their vineyard. He speaks highly of it all, mentioning that he would run down to the farming fields as a child with his nanny and try to help the harvest, but would be stopped quickly in his tracks. By the expression set on his face, I believe he always quite wished he could join them.

Upon our return to the garden, he releases my arm and clearly avoids any sort of eye contact as he tips his head in a nod and strolls wordlessly back into the manor. Thus, I’m left with with the feeling of sinking in my legs and heart, watching him walk away after he’d been so unmistakably close. Briefly, I consider what possible mistakes I could have done, but a quick peering at my pocketwatch snaps me back towards reality.

Of course. It’s nearly dinner.

As in, he and I sit silently at as much of a distance that a dinner table will provide, eating in a stilled atmosphere. It's such a stark contrast to what we had before.

I retreat to my room, I look over my figure in the mirror and nervously thread my fingers through my curls, breath trickling out in a nervous exhale. I can’t manage to bring myself to a plausible explanation to my anxieties around him beyond it being my fear that he’ll attack me. Except that’s no longer quite at the front of my mind. Instead, now I think of how he looks in the very slowly sinking daylight, or how my palms grow moist when he dares a glance towards me.

Peculiar.

The dinner bell chimes, yet I take my time to join. Once I do, I take notice that Mr. Pitch’s head raises as I enter the room, following me to my seat directly across from him. He doesn’t smile, but then again, why would he?

We don’t speak, nor do we truly meet each other’s stolen looks, unless it's to challenge them. We remain distant, yet vaguely longing (for, what I suspect, are answers).

I can’t take this unspoken back and forth. I refuse to leave the distance unaddressed, especially after the events of today.

There we stood, in the center of his family’s private vineyard with no workers in sight for the last 10 minutes that we’d been strolling. He could have easily taken his brief moment of the unexpected upper hand to end me right there, amongst a claim to his family’s power, but he didn’t. Instead, he ran a hand along the plump fruit hanging among the vines and said to me (and me only) that he’d run barefoot along the rows of wine grapes. His privacy, while not as intimate as any admission of feelings would ever be, felt as close as skin contact.

As we routinely dismiss ourselves from dinner, I catch the soft hem of his sleeve when he reaches the grand staircase. I feel him tense, breath audibly catching in the air as he startles and turns. As if a trigger was pulled, he snaps back to his tight-lipped sneer.

“Do you mind, Snow?” He’s a snapping turtle again; defensive and hard shelled.

I stand my ground, jaw setting as I lock my eyes onto his stormy glare. “I haven’t quite explored the local trails.”

He snorts at that, loosening up as his chin tilts up, quite literally looking down upon me. “I don’t see how that information is necessary for me in any capacity.”

My wrist snaps down as I let go in frustration. I’ll admit, my anger flairs enough to startle Mr. Pitch once again. At least he doesn’t run now. “I wish to have someone experienced show me the way. Someone who won’t treat me as a higher up, even if they should be leading me around.”

Scoffing my way seems to be one of his favorite things to do. “Are you asking if I wish to accompany you on a horseback journey through the countryside? Do you wish me to request that Cook Pritchard throws together a picnic lunch to bring as well?”

We stare at each other in tense silence for moments, simply breathing until I shrug.

“Yes. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I wish for you to lead me.” My voice drops, wavering in the slightest in fear that someone nearby may hear me. I’m not fully sure of what I’m scared of--rivals can interact--yet the mild recurring case of my shortness of breath remains.

He doesn’t flinch, analyzing me in his brief once over as I stand pitifully one step below him. He could easily shove me down.

He doesn’t.

“There’s a storm rolling in,” he states, pulling back from the space we’d been set in as he rolls his shoulders. “Once it passes in its entirety, then we may go. Is that fair to you?”

My lips curve up, stretching out my cheeks in perhaps the most genuine smile I’ve had since my arrival at the residency. “More than so.”

[writer-of-the-revolution]

Icarus Ch3 - Discovery

Hospitals suck. The first few weeks were all right, you know, being in pain in all, but at this point I think anyone would be stir crazy. The nightly trips to the gym and intermittent visits from Alex and co. became too little, far too soon for my liking. To make matters worse, I’m fine. Despite being given a near clean bill of health I’m still stuck here. The unwelcome truth is, the agency doesn’t know what to do with something like me. Can’t let the Angel of Death loose on the town.

My latest visit was one of the most surprising. I looked up from my daily staring into space i saw none other than the Mighty Captain Warshow. How sweet. Here I was thinking I was his least favorite agent.

“Boss!” I exclaim, oozing with excitement, “How’s it goin’?” He looks mildly uncomfortable under my cheerful smile,wringing his hands as he shuffles into the room. I continue, “So, when can I get out of this hell-hole? Nurses cleared me days ago! Even Alex says I’ve made a miraculous recovery, and she’s a mother hen.” He glances at the wings with thinly veiled disgust. How dare he.. “Don’t like what your assignment did to me?” He looks away.

“Agent Valerius, that's why I’m here. HQ has decided to board you in the compound until further arrangements are made. They will be prepared for your arrival by the end of the week.” Of course. Always and easy way out. Keep me on base and keep me secure, out of the public's vengeful eye. Those snakes.

After fulfilling the purpose of his visit, the burly man turns to leave and I let him reach the door before I call out, “When will I be cleared for duty?” He frowns and leaves without another word.

Alex was ecstatic when I told her the following afternoon. Being my primary visiter for duration of my stay in this hell-hole, she had heard enough of my frustrated ramblings to last a lifetime.

“You know what this means right?” She looked practically giddy with excitement. Her trademark tabled gripped tightly in her hands. “You can finally stop bothering me!”

“I take offence to that! I don't ‘bother’ you.” She looked at me disbelievingly before laughing. “Besides,” I roll my eyes, “I’m literally moving two building over.”

“It’s the thought that counts. Your own space and all.”

“Space regulated by B.O.A.”

“Well what do you want them to do? They can’t exactly send you off like you are. And I’m sure you’ll be out in the field before you know it!” Ouch.

I look away. The genius seemed to hit every nerve in one fell swoop. Managing to cover both my inability to ever live a normal life again, and my careers destined closure. My position had always seemed like the one thing I had. As a kid in a military family, always moving across the country, and never fitting in. Learning to blend in and evaluate people, a skill that later made him an asset in intel gathering. So much in fact, that even the higher ups were willing to deal with my recalcitrance. Kind of hard to fade into the crowd if the crown is running away screaming.

Alex, as painfully oblivious as she is realized her mistake swiftly. Torn between reaching out as comfort and not, her hand hovered between us unsure. With both of us reticent tension filled the atmosphere as thick as maple syrup. We looked away, each not meeting the others eyes.

The genius stood sharply and headed to the door. In her final glance back I caught her gaze. Pity. The quiet monster that seemed to follow my every step. A predator tracking its prey. Antagonising me. Look what you are. You will never be like us. You poor, poor thing. Eating me alive.

As Dr. Gray’s figure left the door, disappearing into shadowy confines of my thinly veiled prison cell. What she left unsaid lingered in the still air.

The next day crept by at an agonizingly slow pace like molasses flooding the streets. With no visitors to distract me time seemed to stand still. The need to escape crawled across my skin like a swarm of fire ants. In a last effort to ease the feeling I checked the bindings on the wings, swept on a large coat (okay, a trench coat), and made my way through the hallway to the gym.

The large room was fortunately near empty, it’s only inhabitant a 40ish agent asleep on the bench. I removed my coat and made my way to the punching bag to vent my frustrations. One hit turned to two, then twenty. It seemed so much easier to lose myself in a haze of adrenaline than it was to think. Sweat poured down my back soaking uncomfortably into feathers of the wings. My movement tearing the bandages loose, letting the limbs loose. Despite that I felt more alive since I woke up in a hospital room.

“Kai!?” Standing on the other side of the room was none other than Alex Gray.

The man slumbering in the corner woke at Alex’s yell. Panic fluttered in my chest. The agent’s eyes opened and he seemed to panic at the sight of me. I realized with a cold feeling of dread that my gut. I grabbed my coat and ran, not stopping till I reached my desolate room. Alex was right behind me.

“Kai I’m so sorry!” My response was vitriolic.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Alex!” A heavy weight settled on my chest, forcing he breath out of my lungs and leaving me gasping. My hands shook as I held them against my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Chills rushed down my spine.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone! I just needed to get out of here.” Alex’s hand rested on my shoulder but panic still flooded my senses.

“Kai, it’s gonna be alright.”

“No it’s not. I know i’m an abomination. Do you have any idea what it feels like to know that no matter what you do you can never get better. I’m going to spend the rest of my life either a lab rat or glorified prisoner being transferred from one facility to the next.” I fell to the floor and something warm wrapped around me.

“K-Kai!” Alex watched me, her eyes flooded with astonishment, “Your wings!”

That’s when I noticed. The feathered limbs that always dragged so uselessly behind me were not so now. Dull, dark feathers blocked my vision as the wings held themselves in front of me, almost as if to protect me.

Then, spasms of pain shot down my spine, burning like a wildfire. Black spots cloud my vision as my nerves scream in agony. Through my blurry vision I see Alex rush over to me. Tears streamed down my face as my body fell limp and I finally lost consciousness.

Waking up in a hospital bed in varying amounts of pain, with a certain genius perched at the foot, seems to be becoming a very unwelcome habit. Alex looked up from the device in her hand and smiled as she saw my bleary gaze.

“Valerius, you’re up! You have no idea how big this is!” The brunettes incessant energy was back in full swing. Completely disregarding my empty stare, she continued, “I've never seen anything like it. The sensory output from your wings has increased exponentially! The nerve endings knit together almost over night and your brain has managed to add another set of limbs to its control system. If we can replicate it, the applications to paralytics and amputees would be unparalleled.” Finally, she paused to take a breath. “You must be able to feel the difference?”

She was right, as always. I could feel the feathers bend awkwardly under my weight, and the way their barbs are rubbed the wrong way by the material. It was horrible. Feeling the wings so intimately just serve as another reminder that I’m just someone else’s experiment.

“Yeah it’s great… Who knows, maybe one day i'll fly like some kind of angel man!” Alex smiled and the lie felt worthwhile if it fueled her enthusiasm. It seemed as if my years of fake faces and fronts finally did some good. So, I let Alex babble on with a smile on my face.

The next day my move went on as planned despite the wing incident. I stood in my room taking one last look around the place that has been my home for the last 5 months. The plain space was especially empty with my few belonging laying in a duffel at my feet. I caught a glimpse of myself and I couldn’t look away. A gaunt face with prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes stared back at me, a reflection of my months of disappearance and recovery. I could almost see why people looked at me like i’m glass about to shatter.

I hear an eager knock at the door, quickly followed by Alex barging into my room. Back to her energetic self, she was practically vibrating with anticipation.

“It’s moving day!” she said in a sing-songy voice, grabbing my bag and pulling me away from the mirror. The wings were bound again but I almost regretted it. Aside from yesterday, the wings were still unable to hold themselves. Unfortunately, with the enhanced feeling, the setup was hot, restricting, and uncomfortable, leaving me unable to really focus on anything in particular. I followed the genius like a lost puppy.

As Alex and I walked out of the Med Wing, I couldn’t help but feel a hint of melancholy. I’m leaving behind the place where I healed, and all hopes of being fixed, resigning myself to a life of isolation.

My new building is the sumptuous housing for the higher ups, equipped with apartments more similar to those outside the compound than the cramped rooms we stayed in as trainees and agents. Most of the rooms contained kitchens and lounges, luxuries i've been without for far too long.

The moment we entered the building I could tell it was reserved for those of importance. Although not overly decorated, the plush carpet and gleaming chandeliers were impressive. Alex talked my ear off the duration of our ride in the elevator. Obviously I would be staying on the top floor, like a princess trapped in a tower.

“Agent, are you even listening?” Alex’s irritated voice broke me out of my thoughts. I smirked.

“Why would I need to listen to you?” We reached the door and she mock frowned as she opened the door with her set of keys. I walked in and turned of the lights before stumbling back.

“Surprise!” Inside were various friends and acquaintances I had come to know in my years in the agency. Various greetings were thrown my way and Alex watched my reaction with a smug grin.

“Welcome to the real world!”

“Good to have you back”

Then, someone had to say the word that started it all.

“Everyone give it up for Icarus.”

The world fell into madness.