#bare with me there's lots of hard words and chord progressions

[it-brought-me-to-my-knees]

DIGICORE LOVE: MY FIVE FAVOURITE SONGS (AS OF RIGHT NOW) [#1]

recovery girl - "it’s love" / "it's love redux"

A big Hyperpop Moment for me, the loser who cares deeply about echoes of the past in the art of today: “wow this has the same chord progression as “Because The Night” by Patti Smith, that’s so crazy, I love that s- wait a minute, they’re ripping off the Cascada cover!!!”. The original is so stark that it reminds me of the days when “hyperpop” was often mentioned in the same breath as “deconstructed club music”, but it’s such a perfect pop song that it doesn’t feel like it needs anything more… and yet I’m equally smitten with the “redux” version that fleshes it out from a minimal pop song into a rock song that’s almost too much, the snarling distortion that crept at the borders of the original bursting through the walls: jazzy emo noodling, a roaring half-time breakdown, and a guitar solo that swoops in for just long enough for you to think “holy shit, a guitar solo!”. 

Man, that wacky bass intro - get a load of Tony Levin over here!

webcage - "0M61LY5M"

Makes me feel old that they namedrop Danger Days as an emo classic in this one. I mean, I like it, but my wife is an I Brought You My Bullets purist so DD is borderline verboten in our household.  But we did talk about My Immortal on the night we first met, so I’m sure she’d appreciate a hook as on-point as “Ripped skinny jeans, black nails and a septum / all the preps, all the posers, just forget them!”. 

Quite interesting to see how quickly and subtly nostalgic art can warp the recent past - I certainly don’t remember the Scott Pilgrim soundtrack being an emo touchstone, but tbf, the “MySpace rawr x3” vibe that I’m so fond of was already on the way out during my Peak Emo Years (‘10-’12), so maybe I’m equally guilty of sloppy romanticisation. Life is so hard for me, the oldest zoomer (27): the kids are a mess but if I try to join the millennials they might start gushing about “LCD Soundsystem”.

Another big moshy breakdown! Someone really needs to start a clubnight for cringe shut-ins like me, I can’t jump around to this in my bedroom.

SEBii - “STFU…ur done”

If you’re a fan of rap, you’re probably familiar with a few of the many, many “worst rappers of all time”; there’s a new one every six months or so. You don’t have to actually be a bad rapper to be “the worst”, you just have to somehow represent a threat to rap’s status quo (despite rap’s status quo being… already bad? Don’t overthink it, just open your third eye) - misunderstood innovators like Lil Wayne and Young Thug, “I’m not a fan, but the kids like it” oddballs like 6ix9ine and Lil Yachty, even fairly traditional rappers who committed the mortal sin of rapping over DJ Premier beats while not being Guru, like Group Home (one for the old heads there). 

A few years ago, if pressed, I’d probably have said Travis Scott, who is somehow like a less charming Drake - no charisma, no bars, barely anything that even resembles rapping, but his executive-producer role makes his fans worship him like the all-singing all-dancing second coming of Beethoven. It’s galling enough when they treat Kanye like that, and Kanye could actually sit down with an MPC and make great beats, once upon a time.

Nowadays, though, if you shift the goalposts just right and ignore the music itself, I think that SEBii might actually be the worst rapper of all time. In all my years suffering in the rap nerd mines I never, not once, heard an MC namedropping RhymeZone. Not even a self-admitted ex-textcee like Ab-Soul, and that guy once rapped “let me put my mouth where you potty, boo”. 

It’s hard to contextualise him, really. There’s a lot of black American artists and a lot of white American artists on this corner of the Internet but very few from China (shout-out to Alice Longyu Gao!). He looks like someone got the word “nerd” during a game of Pictionary and had five seconds to draw it, but he’s not nerdcore (although he does make anime references sometimes). He once intentionally mispronounced “chuckle” as “chickle” so he could rhyme it with “abysmal”... which he then unintentionally(?) mispronounced as “adysmal”. But as Guru once said, “it’s mostly the voice that gets you up”, and what a voice Seb has - a smirking prepubescent squeak, like a mischievous animal companion in a video game. 

He’s fully confident and capable with the instrument that God has granted him, flipping dextrously between flows, and thanks to his ear for melody it really clicks with his beats. On paper they should be typical modern trap/drill-influenced material, but they make great use of negative space - the texture of a typical SEBii song is very lean and deliberate without ever feeling *too* sparse, cycling through different combinations of thumping bassline, jittery synth lines and dynamic drum pattern, all three occasionally dropping out completely to let echoes of that voice linger in the virtual air. 

There’s a playful, colourful sense of melody to some of his beats—"TiiKKA MASALA" is downright jaunty—that wouldn’t really work with a rapper who was seriously trying to project menace instead of talking about shit like, Idk, Sword Art Online. I know I was shitting on Travis Scott fans for talking like this just a few paragraphs ago but the VVYELLOW EP is quite an impressive work of A&R, if I didn’t know better I could believe that every beat was the work of a single producer. Goofy music, but sleek and charming. Okay I immediately regret picking "goofy" as the adjective here, now I'm wondering if furry R&B is hyperpop (yes, obviously).

This is what real allyship sounds like btw.

threedimensionsapart - “dropdead”

I like how thin this one is lyrically - the one verse almost immediately shifts back into a chorus that gets repeated so insistently that a line as banal as “you don’t even follow me on Twitter” almost takes on mantra-like significance. And barely audible in the background, those warbling falsetto backing vocals! A stroke of mad genius. Feels like it should be laughable but tbqh he could do pretty much anything on the mic and it’d still be carried by this fucking beautiful glowing summer sky of an instrumental, an “in a dream you saw the pearly gates swing open for just a second and the tiny fragment you gleaned of the sights and sounds of Paradise was forever tattooed on your tender mortal brain” type beat. Dunno how to make those, I’m probably just not adding enough reverb.

wubz - “mania”

(That cat is so cute lmao.)

So many hyperpop/digicore artists are defined by their high voice - whether it’s trans women voice-training and pitch-shifting for obvious reasons or young castrato-sounding mfs like SEBii and kmoe who just sound Like That, there’s an abundance of countertenors and contraltos.

wubz, in stark contrast, seems to have gone “lol fuck that, I’m going the other way [devil emoji]”. I know “Pitched-down vocals? Wow!!!” is a funny thing to say about a rapper in 2023 but wubz never really sounds chopped-and-screwed to me - the vibe is closer to “original Japanese voice actor for an anime hooligan”, just like the angry schoolboy on the cover art for “walls”.

This description might make him sound less emo than his peers, but make no mistake: he’s emotional as FUCK, just like gruff emo OGs Guy Picciotto and Blake Schwarzenbach. (Those guys hate being called “emo”, which is how you know it’s a real genre. See also: Andrew Eldritch/Robert Smith/Peter Murphy and “goth”, everyone I mention on this blog and “hyperpop”). These emo ties are further reinforced by his affection for beats with prominent guitar - “FE4R” in particular is more like a rap-influenced post-hardcore song than vice versa, with actual (like, actual-actual. Like “skramz”.) screamo screams and violent lyrics that, in this context, feel closer to the noir-tinged moodiness of Senses Fail or Alkaline Trio than… who’s rapping nowadays, who do the kids like… Kevin Gates? Actually now I think about it Gates singing pop-punk hits in his croaky baritone kinda predicted this vibe… ugh, it’s so annoying that someone as deeply boring as Machine Gun Kelly managed to make “what if a rapper… went pop-punk” into a commercial prospect. Should’ve been a Deep South rap crooner. Please Rod Wave, consider recording a Victory Records cover album.

This blog is already dangerously close to me just saying “[new thing] is like [old music-nerd thing], probably a coincidence but pretty wild huh” fifty times in a row but the melodic feedback shrieks on this really do remind me of early Animal Collective. Hurts so good.

And that's all for this week! Maybe month, I find schedules scary! Byeee!!!!

[rockingrobin69]

Everywhere

1.5k of accidental bonding for my darling @calypsotempete, who asked for prompt 18 from this list: “Will you tell me I’m pretty?” 

Well, that was new.

In the general sense, it was probably inevitable; what’s the saying? Everything that can go wrong, will? Of course this was the next natural step, the only plausible progression to Draco’s punishment. First – to be hit with the curse; then, to discover Potter was the one on the other side of the thread; then to spend months trying to break it off, together; then – well, this. To have this. Another string connecting them, far less physical, far more terrible. Draco sucked in his lower lip, averted his gaze and promptly refused to make eye contact. It was bad enough to have Potter in the back of his head. He didn’t need to see him on top of it.

Boy, you’re grumpy today.

Draco jumped at least three feet in the air, or so it felt. Fuck. Are you listening to me?

Kind of have to. Can’t really control it.

“Quit it, Potter. You can use your actual mouth to speak to me, for the love of Merlin.”

“I could, sure, yeah. But why, when I can do –” the next word wasn’t said out loud, rather breathed into the back of his mind, this?

Draco shivered, hot and uncomfortable. “No. Stop it. It’s bad enough that… As though having to be in the same room as you every three hours – as though having to physically touch you – no. Get out of my fucking head.”

That would be hard. See, I’m pretty sure I’ve been in your head ever since school.

It felt odd; wrong, Draco assured himself, but also odd. Fuzzy, somehow. Like stepping into warm water, or – or something less crazy than that. He shook his head and forced some words out without thinking. “However much of a relief it is, seeing you back to your old, insufferable self –”

What, you missed me?

“No, that’s not… it was just entirely frightening when you pretended like you cared. That whole ‘I refuse to go on if it means going without you’ bit was a little much, you know.”

That sucks. I sort of meant it.

“You – come on. Don’t make fun of me, on top of everything. Plus, use your fucking mouth.”

Of course. What on?

“Potter… quit it. This isn’t funny.”

I find it a little funny, actually. This way you have to listen to me. You’ve been trying to ignore me for too long – trying and failing, Draco. Won’t it be better to admit that this thing between us –

“Stop. Stop! I don’t… this isn’t fair.”

You’re right. It’s not. But ignoring me when we had this thing cast on us wasn’t fair either. And you lying to yourself doesn’t strike me as so fair.

“I’m not lying to myself.”

Sure you’re not.

“I’m not.”

Right. That’s why you told that reporter you have no feelings for me.

“I said it because it’s the truth.” Draco’s eyes flickered from the fire to the figure on the sofa. Potter was sitting up, rigid, his face drawn and serious. Draco regretted looking. “Besides, it’s not like you have any feelings for me.”

I don’t? That’s a relief. I thought I made that embarrassing confession last night. I thought I bared my heart to you, and you had the gall to tell me I’m imagining things. I thought I told you I loved you.

Draco’s breathing stuttered for a moment. “You said a lot of things. A lot of mad things. What next? Suddenly I’m not the boy who bullied you for years anymore? I’m not the one who willingly joined a racist cult? Will you tell me I’m a good man, now? Will you tell me I’m pretty, that I’m forgiven, that I’m –”

An idiot. Yeah, I’ll tell you all of it. Is that really why you ran away last night?

“It was…”

Because you think I haven’t forgiven you? Or that I need to? God, Draco. It’s been years. We’ve both been through so much, together and alone. You’re not that person anymore.

“Don’t tell me what I am. Don’t tell me –”

That I love you? But I do. I –

“Get OUT OF MY HEAD!”

He could feel it, Potter snapping out, like a chord being cut. He actually stood up, too, and marched all the way to Draco in the armchair. With a hand under his chin he forced Draco to look at him. “All right, all right. I’m sorry. But you can’t run on me again just because you’re scared. You’re not the coward you used to be, and I’m not… not as strong anymore. I know you have feelings for me too. I know it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was a little hard to keep his resolve, though, when Potter’s eyes were so green and so close. “I’m… you don’t know what you’re asking from me.”

“I know it’s hard.” Potter sighed, then without hesitation, dropped to his knees before Draco. “I know this is a lot. All I’m asking is that instead of running from me, running from yourself – that you face this with me. Together. You’re not alone anymore. Can’t be alone, really, with the bond and all.”

A pang of regret hit Draco’s stomach, cold and hard. “But that’s just the problem. It’s the bond. As soon as it’s lifted you’re going to… and I won’t be able… you say you’re not as strong anymore, but I was never strong. I won’t be able to stand it.”

“Of course you are. You’re so strong. And such an idiot, too. It’s not the bond.”

“It is. You’re not, can’t really be –” Draco didn’t know how to explain it to him, how to make him see, that impossible, loveable fool. That everything he was running away from wasn’t him; that there was nothing in the world Draco wanted more than a chance, a way, but it would never work. The bond forced them together, and however much Potter thinks… Draco can’t let himself fall for, believe in…

Potter’s voice was chiding, but his eyes were kind. “It’s not the bond.”

“It is.” He didn’t want to add, it has to be. But Potter must have heard it anyway.

It’s not the bond. I know what the bond feels like. You know it too; you know all the ins and outs of the science behind it, better than I do. It’s not the bond. It’s you.

Draco turned his face away, unable to keep the whimper. He did learn the theories, read every single word about the bond, but that didn’t take away the doubt, or the pain, or the fear. “Shit, I – Draco, are you crying?”

Don’t you think – don’t you think I’d been waiting to hear these words? Don’t you think I want to believe you?

I don’t know. You never tell me anything. I can’t read your mind. Well… maybe now I can.

Draco half-laughed, half-whined. How can you be sure? Was the main question, the main issue, the thing Draco couldn’t understand. How can you be sure it’s not the bond? That this is what you really want?

Because I know my heart, and it’s yours. Trust me. Please. You don’t have to love me back, just, please, believe how I feel for you is real. That it’s mine.

Draco shook his head, baffled and sad and unbearably excited. It’s too complicated between us. With the bond on top of everything else, we can’t… we can’t.

Potter’s hand came to brush his, and like always, the touch was electric. The bond did nothing to change it. We can do whatever we want. I’m a little past caring what other people think, aren’t you? The bond doesn’t matter. Only you, Draco.

Fuck. Will you stop being so… ugh. This is hard enough.

Potter swallowed. His face was torn between misery and hope. Draco could feel it all the way to his stomach. Do you think – will you do it? Give me a chance? Give us a chance?

Only if you stop looking at me like that.

Like what?

Like… I’m everything.

Potter gave out a shaky laugh. Take my hand. Take my fucking hand, Draco. See? Not so difficult. This is a new step, and I know how much you hate new, but we’ll make it work. Okay? Together.

Together. Draco sighed and squeezed Potter’s hand. His belly was a mess of what he suspected was writhing, simmering joy. All right. Together. You absolute arse.

Potter’s grin could light the whole neighbourhood. Now, was there anywhere in particular you wanted me to use my mouth on, or…?

It certainly was new, and probably inevitable, all taken into account. Not a punishment, but surely the next natural step. Draco closed his eyes; he didn’t need to see in order to know what to do. He had Potter everywhere: in his hands, in his lap, in the back of his head, and in his heart.

[honorguk]

dating➔ jeon jungkook

» navigation | REQUESTED

what it’s like to date jungkook from bts (based on my assumptions)

────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ────

─ • OVERALL:

is literally your child

makes you snort laugh whether you like it or not

definite hardcore dance offs in your living room - you’ve never seen anyone shake their ass like him oh my god why is he so eager

sharing earpods/headphones 24/7, or at least sharing a spotify

also joint netflix parties when you’re supposed to be isolating - watching the same movie whilst he’s in his room and you’re in your own, but also facetiming to see each other’s reactions

he can’t help but think of you when writing lyrics or thinking of chord progressions

his english is already pretty good, but he’ll work much more diligently to be fluent for you

and you’ll overhear him saking namjoon about how to say certain phrases, and giggle when he runs over and says them to you, pretending like you didn’t know this was going to happen

doing stupid voice impressions to cheer you up and sing offs in the shower as he’s shampooing your hair 

and a lot of tickle fights, where he mostly just pokes you until you’re annoyed

(he really loves testing your boundaries..)

cuddling (he’s usually the big spoon unless he’s had a hard day) and scrolling through instagram on one phone, or watching crime documentaries on your laptop

also playing against each other in video games and always placing bets, or making the loser do something the winner wants (whatever the winner’s wish is, it’s usually wholesome, but….)

you are the children of all of the other members, it’s no doubt

yoongi will knock on guk’s door and peek in to see you both battling each other over the last chicken wing, and he’ll sigh before closing the door

and guk, although not very good at expressing emotions, will always let you have the last chicken wing, because to him, you’re everything, and always will be <3

─ • DATES YOU GO ON:

honestly, cuddling and playing video games is definitely something you’d do most of the time

and he’d crush you in his embrace and then you’d have a playfight (obviously he wins, and he pins you down so he’s hovering on top of you. it’s the same result every time but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?)

he’ll also suddenly jump up from the bed and be like “alright, let’s go get dinner” and by that he means either getting delivery from the shop that’s literally two minutes away or going to a fancy restaurant

he’ll also wake you up early in the morning through a phone call and tells you to get dressed, and that he’ll be at your door in 5 minutes, and then you’ll both go down to a cafe and have early breakfast together

gives you his jacket, no matter the weather. He just really likes seeing you in his clothes

─ • PET NAMES:

you mostly call each other by your own names, but oftentimes “babe” or “honey” will come out and it’ll feel just a tad more special 

his ears perk up whenever he hears you call him in general, let alone by a pet name

he also blushes like super hard, still not used to the intimacy of some words and names 

and he’ll hop over to you with a cute little grin on his face and peck your cheek, asking you to call him that again

─ • WHILE ON TOUR:

as he barely gets the chance to talk to you properly, he’ll make sure to mouth your name on stage so that the camera picks up his words, and throw up a few finger hearts and whatnot to make sure you know you’re loved, and very publicly at that

he’d also thank you, alongside all the fans, for being at the concert. he definitely knows you’re watching, at least in spirit

sending you memes whenever he can, and random chaotic videos and photos from the hotel rooms and the tour bus

i can definitely see him filming as he pushes hobi and just runs off, for literally no reason, and sending it to you

you see all the photos before he posts them on twitter 😌 and he even sends a few stupid ones that will never get released 

─ • ARGUING/MAKING UP:

he’s not one to get completely angry — if anything, he despises that feeling, so he’ll just be extra annoyed most times

he’ll huff and pout and scowl but never yell or shout

it’s out of character for him, so he tries to remain calm and neutral, but really, the only way he gets out his anger and stress is either by going on a run or crying

once he cries, so do you, and you just make up naturally because it’s genuinely a really hurtful sight to see jungkook in tears 

if he does yell, his eyes would widen right away and he’d close his mouth before running up to you and apologizing

he’s stormed out of your apartment before, too, but he always came back, and usually with a delivery bag in his hands

so you’d have your favorite food and sit, watching some stupid show in silence before one of you speaks up, and you talk it out 

─ • NSFW:

he’s a complete switch: a really tough dom and a whiny, ready sub and NO ONE can tell me otherwise 😤

will also to experiment a lot - what’s the harm in trying?

he’ll choke if you ask, pull on your hair, leave bites -- but will also want the same in return

and he will easily switch from pounding into you from behind to flipping you over so you’re on top of him and giving puppy eyes, wanting you to use him

he’ll love for his hands to be pinned up, or even restrained

other than that i would say he’s pretty vanilla..

he can be ironically cheesy though, and scatter some rose petals and light a few candles to surprise you, but that’s mostly for bants

not afraid to laugh or make jokes during foreplay, but he gets serious when it comes to the act

LOVES LINGERIE AHHH

(and he also loves ripping it from you so buy you another pair, which will end up equally damaged..)

has a playlist, for sure

aftercare includes a lot of kisses and cuddles, perhaps a bath and wrapping you in oversized clothing as you fall asleep on his chest

[geisterbilder]

blutt, or...

... a digital cloud of self sleeping in a dark dreamworld, the digital blue sky, vast and open with dark clouds rolling through, not night but deader than night somehow.

patrick belaga's blutt is an anomaly. this album will make you see stars.

the cover of belaga's sophomore album is a seussian nightmare close-up of a candy-toothed cat with its fur tied off in festive bows. the name is german for "blood", perhaps a nod to the vivid red backdrop of this cat's universe, a dimension of thick, sludgy electronic cello that brings me back to nights as a kid waking up at 3am into the jelly of morning.

this freakish feline oughta have a pretty nasty purr, huh? well, blutt is belaga's attempt to capture that humming, stuttering motor. he embodies this cat in the album's 37-minute runtime; the coarseness of the fur, its vacant, angry stare, the calcium powdery touch of its bared teeth.

compared to 2017's groundswell, the foreboding is more subdued. if that album was being trapped inside a mountain vortex, this is being lost out on a snowy plain. don't get me wrong, there's still an ancient feeling here, but the watery production feels more ephemeral than primal.

imagine a snowy wasteland. there's a blinding light wherever you look, and angels are singing, but these angels aren't like the ones you know. they're a chorus of distant holograms plucking wires, playing a song with a lilt you don't recognize.

belaga wastes no time putting us at the center of this blizzard with the opener. cello is the first thing you hear on this album, and it's central to the cold you feel throughout, but what makes this album feel subzero is the sound design. under that gorgeous cello, there's an ominous twang signaling danger, trespassing, a pinprick tingle that you do not belong here.

once the angels dissolve into the sky, you wander until you find yourself shaking off the snow packed into your boots under a porch you don't remember walking to. inside, you sigh.

a lot of the melodies on this record are simple repetitions of an idea. here a piano progression is established, eaten and then spat out in variations at different stages of digestion. the filtered recording feels close - too close, confined by concrete walls or the contours of a cave. the horn screeching is an echo drawing in these disembodied hums that follow the chords for the rest of the song.

the ambient noises add motion. you feel a whirling wind listening to this, like a demented version of the dizziness from spinning too fast as a kid. but instead of the hard landing, you fall slow.

time seems different in the room. a film of green-yellow aging covers everything in sight, and you tense your jaw noticing holes in your vision. tiny ones, barely there. they flicker like tunnels. you think of where they could lead, what spiraling stairways you could climb - you picture spires. they feel endless. as you stare out at the vases and empty photo frames, words form in your mind. the tunnel is a tower.

when i watched felix colgrave's double king for the first time, i felt sucked into another dimension. this song's rhythmic synth and spacious cello recall that feeling. to me, this just sounds like night, those bright nights where the sun might still be out if it weren't asleep.

the synths feel curious. like they're playing in my long-faded memories with this fluid movement that explores their melody until it reaches a bright, mischievous end. there are two sets of strings: the swelling light ones and the grumbling dark ones underpinning the playful pattern. there's a secret hidden in these strings - a ritual, a heavy shadow.

you're in the snow again, footsteps behind you for miles. icicles are growing from the ground. hail is beginning to fall, but when you look into the white expanse, ice seems to only be falling where you're standing. an icicle in front of you splinters into flaked mirrors, reflecting a grey eye in its shards.

piano again, and this time it's soaked in reverb. whereas earlier the sound was muffled into claustrophobia, here the space is endless and the days are long. the melody is even simpler this time, a scale simple enough for me to learn by ear. it's the vocals by jazmin romero, the mournful cooing at the edge of the forest, that make this song interesting.

add bells and a plucked string for texture and you have a rainy evening or the long entryway of an ice palace. midway through belaga brings out the cello for a soaring but reserved run, and as the piano scale starts to slow, the strings start to stutter and take over, blending with romero's voice. this vacuum sucks the air out of space and replaces it with doubt.

rubbing your eyes as if fresh out of sleep, you turn an eye upwards. you freeze at the terrible vision above you. then you run, kicking up clouds with the momentum. the world is moving with you, moving too, moving faster than you - the eyes that follow, they hang still in the sky, glazed and heavy.

you're stuck in a time loop with something following in these strings. they're a24 quality suspense. belaga strands you at sea on an ice floe where the waters are brackish and grey and the sun is vacant.

what i like most is the killer ambiance of the background note suspended over the blown out screams of the cello - screams much like a wounded animal tracing its mortality in the snow.

sunlight didn't used to feel like this. how much further can you go? the grasses around your feet seem comfortable in death. the swelling of the ground makes you grimace. your dark circles ache; you know the earth is coated in rust.

belaga's at his most electronic here. revisiting and warping the tumbling rhythms of previous songs, he creates a labyrinth. have you ever looked at snow and had to look away from how bright it was? everything sounds high contrast, like a flash photo taken in low light.

the synths here are sheer, murky but glimmering. the bass cups the glimmer, adding a layer of weight to the floaty patterns. they feel like portals, warping the borders of self.

a slow-running river should be peaceful - water shouldn't sound so unsoft. but the trickle cascades and the sweet birds scream and you lay by the water. you reach out to dip a finger in the current. you feel thick ice instead.

i don't know what kind of vocal magic is going on at the beginning, but i like it. the spirits invoke a stream of water and the very faint chirp of birds layered under a rendition of the same string melody that started the album. a sliding, warbling bass makes this paradise feel like an impossible promise. and in the space between them a single string is plucked patiently, marking the hours till sleep.

it's vast, and smells like iron.

you don't know how it happened. one moment you're on the riverbank, the next you claw at the ice from below, palms pressed flat. pushing. the water is a slurry. your eyes are bloodshot. blurred visions of floating things are all you see across the sheet of ice holding you under. surrounded by water on all sides, your skin feels burned.

this used to be my least favorite song on the album - until i actually listened to it. the intro starts with moody plucked strings and a brooding string melody that feels at once passionate and apathetic.

where it really starts to get good is when the song floods. and i really mean floods; the second half submerges the strings and melts the edges into each other. they're raindrops falling upside down and landing in mildewy carpet.

slowly. you go down slowly, slower than you should with arms of lead. your body crumples, frays at the edges - in the currents, movements are infinite. your descent stutters, no end. no beginning. every time you're certain the floor will catch you, the ice is back on your palms. how much further can you go? the air has run out. you're still here.

your body is an artifact.

on the longest song on the record at almost 14 minutes, belaga meant slowly. it's a slow burn, rusted, lilting. if rust was the album at its most electronic, this is its most digital - time loops, error sounds collapsed into circular frequencies spin on their axis around a two-note piano melody. and the chaos is seductive; it lulls you into its simulation and transfixes you in it.

the cello is treated really interestingly here. some of the most unprocessed strings show up sandwiched between patches of glitching that demonstrate the central contrast to this work: cello as classic orchestral instrument and cello as experimental material. this is the metaverse embodied, the lonely, whirring fan of a supercomputer left to rot. when the connection's severed, when it's time to wake up, the dream never quite leaves you.

much like this album hasn't left me.

[2-cute-4-school]

𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮

Group : NCT

Pairing : Griffyndor! Mark Lee x gn! Reader 

Genre : hp au, rivals to lovers, light angst to absolute fluff

Word count : 4.4K words   |    M.list

Warnings : injury, swearing

Summary :  ‘He had nightmares of you slipping right past his fingers and him failing to catch you. He relives that moment.’

a/n: thank you for 1000 followers you absolute cuties!! sending lots of smooches and snuggles your way!!

“Aren’t you going to ask how the coolest champion is feeling about tomorrow’s match?”

You watched Donghyuck, your fellow housemate and best friend since you first stepped onto the Hogwarts train, expectantly. He spared you a quick glance as he plopped down beside you on the couch in your shared common room, too busy to munch on his chocolate frog to give you any further attention. 

“I’ve already asked Mark.”

You would like to be able to say you were surprised at his answer, but his teasing character has become an usual by now

It still baffled you how you managed to even tolerate each other, much less get to share a bond as deep as the one you developed along the years. You two had next to nothing in common other than your cunning wit. While Donghyuck delved deep into his love for astronomy, which you despised with a burning fervor, you dedicated your time to Quidditch entirely. 

You loved the sport dearly, it offered you that adrenaline rush you were born to chase, that quickened heartbeat as you rushed to catch the Golden Snitch. You spent every spare moment you could find in your hectic schedule on the pitch with the wind threading through strands of your hair and your hands clenched so tightly onto your broomstick your knuckles turn white. And you adored every second of that. But what you definitely didn’t adore was Mark Lee.

“And worst best friend award goes to surprise surprise Lee Donghyuck!”

He shrugged unimpressed by your weak attack and focuses back on his damned frog.

Mark Lee. Unfortunately for your sanity, you had to see him almost as often as you decided to practice on your own. If there was one thing you shared with him and you respected him for was his own commitment to Quidditch. More often that not, you’d have to share the pitch with him in your spare time, taunting each other for the entire period of time you spent practicing. He was the beloved Seeker of Gryffindor, their pride and joy and your rival ever since you were both accepted in your respective teams.

“So what’s your score against him?”

“It’s a draw.”

Yes, you were that petty. You and Mark kept the score on how many times you defeated each other in matches. It didn’t actually matter which team actually won, the only thing that mattered for your childish competition was who managed to catch the Golden Snitch.

“That’s why you’re so tense?”

“Bingo, smartpants.”

“What even is the big deal about your little game? It’s not like either of you actually gets something out of this.”

“I gain the right to stick my win in his face and vice versa.”

Teasing between you and Mark often stretched your patience to its maximum and ended up in one of you snapping like a chord under pressure. Donghyuck shivered as he remembered the final match of your fourth year when your house lost against Gryffindor due to Mark catching the Snitch before you. He could vividly remember the blood rushing through his veins in fear at the sight of you battling Mark shoulder to shoulder at a dangerous speed, arm stretched out so far he believed you’d topple over at any moment.

He doesn’t want a repeat of the miserable image of you he saw at the time, a defeated you, slumped on the bench in your changing room, head lowered in ultimate shame and disappointment as bitter tears rolled off your face, splashing against the floor as Donghyuck watched worriedly through the half opened door. Mark had really done a number on you that day.

“You have to win, Y/N.”

“Why the sudden change of heart, wasn’t our competition meaningless for your highness?”

“I don’t give a frog’s toe about your competition, but I want to spend time time with you this summer. And not just to watch you practice until you drop.”

You scoffed. You knew that he was referring to the summer after your horrifying defeat against Mark. Donghyuck could barely get a hold of you since you spent all day on your broom, tiring yourself out to your limit.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on losing.”

~

“Already wetting your pants, Y/L/N?”

You didn’t have to turn around to put a face to the taunting voice behind you.

“I don’t know, Lee, should I? You must know since you have more experience than me.”

Mark’s face scrunched up at the reminder of his first year when he lost control of his broom and he quite literally saw his life flash before his eyes. Not very Gryffindor from his part.

“Whatever, we both know how this is about to end. Save your cheap defense until after this final. My team will win this year’s tournament and I’ll beat you individually too.”

The reminder of the stakes of this match weren’t soothing your nerves at all, especially mere hours before you were facing Mark on the pitch. You curled your fists and kept a straight face, not daring to show him any weakness from your side.

“Shove that pointless confidence up your ass until you prove you’re worthy of it, Lee.”

“Oh so fourth year isn’t enough proof?”

The corner of your lips twitched and your eyes narrowed. zeroing on his tense featured in a chilling glare.

“You said matches don’t count, didn’t you? You were the one insisting that you didn’t consider anything a victory other than catching the Snitch before me. And in that aspect, last I verified, we’re equals.”

His lips moved soundlessly, trying to come up with a retort, but you didn’t spare him enough time to come up with anything, turning on your heels and marching away to meet Donghyuck.

“You’ll see, Y/L/N, you’ll never be my equal.”

His voice followed you tauntingly through the busy corridors, your rushed footsteps taking you anywhere but close to the only person who could make your blood boil.

~

It took three pep talks and four ‘friendly’ attacks of your personal space from Donghyuck to make you gather your spirits and stop the tremors shaking up your entire body. He walked you to the changing room’s door, patting you roughly on the back one last time

“Give your best, I’ll be watching from the stands. I trust that you won’t let me get bored. Also, remember that if you lose you’re sleeping on the mat in front of the entrance in our common room.”

And with that he skipped away, hurried to find a good spot in the stands that were already starting to fill up with students. You sigh, used to his weird way of encouraging you and stepped inside the room, greeting Jungwoo, your captain and your fellow teammates, starting to change into your Quidditch uniform.

As soon as you set foot on the familiar pitch, your eyes met Mark’s who stood straight and proud side by side with his own captain sporting his Gryffindor red cape and holding his broom, the newest Nimbus model.

You Keeper was talking your ear off about the ‘amazingly efficient’ polish he found, but you couldn’t seem to rip your gaze away from Mark who in turn seemed to burn through you with his gaze. He threw you a smirk as if provoking you to lose your cool. But you decided you wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction.

The stands were already roaring to life. Any match between you and Mark was very sought after by everyone in your school due to the intensity it held each time. Despite the already loudness surrounding the pitch, one high pitched screech couldn’t help but catch your attention.

“KICK SOME ASS, Y/N! Or the mat is waiting for you!”

Count on Donghyuck to be the embarrassing mom rooting for you at her child’s every sport event. You shoot him a warning look to which he only responded with an over dramatic wink and an even louder ’whoop’. You could only sigh, appreciating his support despite your lack of reaction to it.

“I’ll kick your ass, Lee Donghyuck.”

You muttered, trying to stop the smile forming on your lips. A snort came from the side, making your head snap in its direction.

“Try your best, Y/LN, too bad you’ll still disappoint lover boy over there.”

“Jealous, Lee?”

“You wish.”

Madam Hooch interrupted your banter with a shrill whistle, stepping in between the two teams while holding the Quaffle.

“Alright, boys and girls, mount your brooms.”

Within seconds all players were high in the air, adrenaline pumping through your veins, your heated gaze locked with Mark’s. It became kind of a tradition between the two of you, intense stare downs before the official start of the game. Madam Hooch’s voice which carried the same words every time sounded far away as she bent down, ready to throw the Quaffle.

“Alright, I want a clean and fair game, hear me? Good luck and may the best win.”

The long deafening whistle signified the start of the match and Chasers whizzed past you, speeding towards the Quaffle. You and Mark broke eye contact, each of you getting immersed in the game, your sole focus being on catching sight of the Golden Snitch.

The weather worsened as the game progressed, the unpredictable May weather acting up. The clouds darkened, completely shutting out any ray of sunshine trying to sneak past them, a thickening fog suffocating the school grounds. Slowly but surely, what started as a few scattered rain drops soon turned into a full blown storm, a cold shower falling atop of you, the harsh wind whipping your capes back and forth. The stands were barely visible, the cheers from below inaudible over the wind and the players’ yells.

If it wasn’t hard enough already to spot the small, golden ball, now it seemed close to impossible. You could make out Mark’s silhouette flying around, but you didn’t linger any longer on him, focused on catching sight of the Snitch. Bludgers were flying everywhere, the Beaters’ efficiency decreasing because of the lack of visibility, another worry to add to the list.

Gryffindor was in the lead with 20 points, the score remaining tight as the match dragged on and on. You had already been playing for a while, your uniforms were already soaked and your skin paling from the biting cold of the unforgiving rain, but the conditions only spurred you further. You had to catch the Snitch.

Just as your patience was running thin, you caught sight of a fast-moving golden spot, hovering on the sidelines. Without a second thought, you sped towards it, your surroundings blurring as your eyes focused solely on the already moving Snitch. Mark noticed your forceful actions immediately, whizzing past the others players and nearing you.

“And Y/L/N seems to have finally spotted the Golden Snitch! Both Seekers are bolting after it, I can barely keep track of them!”

The crowd exploded, cheering louder than ever, but you couldn’t hear anything, pushing yourself to the limit as Mark caught up to you and you battled side by side once again. The Snitch seemed to be angrier than ever, jerking furiously at every corner, but you didn’t let yourself be caught by surprise, keeping up with it.

Until it started speeding in a straight line, stopping its irregular twists and turns and you knew that was your chance. You flew at top speed, stretching your hand in front of you so much that your muscles almost protested and Mark followed suit. You were shoulder to shoulder with him, subtly knocking into each other in an attempt to make the other lose their balance.

“Move! It’s mine!”

His hoarse voice yelled right by your year, only making you grit your teeth harder.

“Fuck off, Lee!”

Your fingertips were a breath away from the Snitch, Mark’s arm pressing into yours, the cold wind biting at your cheeks. Desperately, you shifted your weight from your bottom to the hand clutching your broomstick, leaning forward on your arm and before Mark could react, you lurched forward slightly, encasing the running object in the palm of your hand, clutching it so tightly it left marks into the skin, but you didn’t care. 

You did it. You caught the Golden Snitch.

“Y/N!”

Before you could regain your stance, a Bludger knocked into your broom forcefully. With your already unsteady grip on the broomstick, you toppled over in an instant, the broom slipping from under you, but you didn’t dare unclench the fingers trapping the Snitch in your hand.

Mark’s desperate yell seemed to be the only sound echoing in your ears as you plummeted. The last thing you saw before you knocked loudly into the ground with a sickening crack were Mark’s distressed features, a hand stretched to its full extent in front of him as he rushed to get a hold of you, your own outstretched fingers slipping right past his.

~

Surprisingly, as soon as you managed to crack your eyes open you weren’t hit with a blinding light. It still seemed to take a great effort to keep them open for longer than a second, your hand twitching in an attempt to bring it to cover your sensitive eyes, but being stopped by a weight forcing it down. 

“Y/N?”

You groaned, scrunching up your face as soreness hit your body full force at your attempt to move.

“Merlin, Y/N, can you open your eyes?”

You could recognize Donghyuck’s voice anywhere, but the almost desperate tone he used was quite foreign to you.

“Come on, babe, open your eyes. Madam Pomfrey! ”

You realized the weight on your hand were actually his fingers which now squeezed yours encouragingly as his other hand came up to smooth strands of your hair away from your face. You clenched your teeth, forcing an eye open.

“Stop fucking yelling, punk.”

At your annoyed retort, he let out a relieved sigh, wrapping his arms gently around you while trying not to jostle you too much.

“Thank Merlin, you’re back.”

After Madam Pomfrey checked on you and updated you on your injuries which were a bit more serious than you expected, she left you with Donghyuck once again. He leaned back in his chair, a lot more relaxed than in the past days he’s had to spend by your bedside. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“The match. We won the match right?”

Donghyuck snorted as your first question was about Quidditch instead of your own health, but it didn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Yes, you crazy hag, you won.”

“Yes! We did it! We won!”

You’ve never felt more relieved in your entire life. You finally proved to yourself that all the time and work you’ve put into Quidditch wasn’t for nothing. And if this was the elevation you’d feel after winning cups, you were ready to spend the rest of your youth chasing the Snitch.

“You should eat some chocolate, gain your energy back.”

Now that he mentioned it, you finally focused on your nightstand that overflowed with sweets. You grabbed the closest one, a chocolate frog, not hesitating to stuff it all in your mouth and collect the card inside. Another Nicolas Flamel, you already had two of those. 

“Those are a lot.”

“Tell me about it. Don’t worry, I’ll help you finish them.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“Hyuck, tell me, did Jungwoo cry?”

“Should’ve seen him, like a baby. I’m pretty sure he filled half of that cup with snot-”

“Ewww, I didn’t need all the gross details. Ah, I’m sorry for missing that. And Lee’s face, I bet I’d sleep like a baby for the next 10 years if I had the chance to see that.“

Donghyuck’s lips were suddenly pulled into a smirk, eyes glinting with a dangerous mischief.

“You should see one of your beaters, damn nice nose Mark delivered.”

Your munching slowed down, gulping down the sweetness loudly.

“What do you mean? Did that petty git start a fight?”

“Wouldn’t say it was out of pettiness actually.”

Mark was the first to land beside your crumpled figure, dismounting his broom faster than ever and crouching hurriedly before you. His hand ghosted over your cold cheek, too scared to touch you in case he did more harm than good. His shaking pupils fixated on you, running a hundred miles per hour over your face, hoping, praying that you’d open your eyes and celebrate in his face.

“Hey, wake up, don’t play games on the pitch, you already won! Y/L/N!”

Mark knew deep inside that you had no games left to play after a fall like that, but it was his first time seeing you so small, so hurt, so defeated despite the shining Golden Snitch still clutched loosely in your limp hand. It scared him.

“Bloody hell, wake up! Madam Hooch! Help! Anyone, help!”

His head snapped around trying to catch sight of anyone coming to your aid, eyes scanning through the fog crazily. The rain seemed to fall faster and faster, the chill settling deep into your bones. Exhausted, Mark lowered his head in defeat, his forehead gently leaning on yours, his nose nudging against yours. One of his hands still touched your cheek, lightly caressing it, thumb running over the apple of your cheek as his other hand curled into a fist against the ground.

Jungwoo landed next, almost tripping over his broom as he rushed over to you and knelt next to you, opting to ignore the position Mark was in and focus on your well being. Mark’s head didn’t even turn as he spoke lowly.

“Do something for Merlin’s sake. Get Madam Hooch, or Pomfrey! Anyone dammit, just to something!”

Mark raised himself at the lack of response from Jungwoo who seemed rotten to his spot, freezing at the sight of you.

“Are you deaf?! Fucking help!”

That seemed to snap Jungwoo out of his frozen state as he jumped to his feet, sprinting towards the stand where teachers usually stayed during matches. One by one, your teams landed and gathered near you as Mark’s yells of help guided them to you.

“Merlin, that doesn’t look good.”

Mark’s burning gaze settled on your beater who stood a few meters away, leaning on his broom.

“It would have looked better if you did your part right.”

The beater rolled his eyes at Mark’s harsh remark.

“Relax, man, I just wasn’t playing attention for a moment.”

“And you think that’s a proper excuse?!”

Mark was fired up by now, lifting himself to his feet as one of your Chasers, a year younger than you crouched by your side, gripping your hand. He sauntered over, coming face to face with the beater who didn’t seem that interested.

“I’m just saying it’s not my fault their own incompetence landed themselves in the hospital wing, I’m not pulling anyone’s wight al-”

He didn’t get to finish his mocking words as Mark’s fist met his nose with a loud crunch, Mark’s powerful swing sending him to the ground as blood started dripping from his nose steadily.

“Don’t you ever talk about Y/N like that. Not ever again. If I hear one bad word about them coming out of your worthless mouth, I’ll hex you into next year. You’ll never be half of the player Y/N already is, remember your place, asshole.”

Madam Hooch was already tending to you by the time Mark turned back to you, deeming it safe enough for you to be moved to the hospital wing. Donghyuck, who sprinted out of the stand as soon as he heard your name coming out of Jungwoo’s mouth, held your head in his lap, smoothed down your hair, pushing away wet strands that covered your eyes.

Mark strode over to you, taking off his cap and laying it over your body as he slotted an arm under your legs, his other coming around your back. He lifted your body, cradling you against his chest as Donghyuck also stood up to fix your position in Mark’s arms into a more comfortable one.

“Off to the hospital wing,now. Quick, quick, quick!”

Mark didn’t waste another moment before he hurried inside the castle with you in his hold and Donghyuck quick on his heels.

“Mark Lee stood up for me? The same Mark Lee who hates my guts since we first got in our Quidditch teams?”

“Do you know another Mark Lee? Maybe he didn’t hate you that much after all, or…not at all. After all, all these chocolate frogs are from him, said something about seeing you exchange some cards with his Griffyndor friend in class or something.”

“He visited?”

“We wouldn’t be able to get rid of him sometimes. He opened up to me once when we met outside the door trying to sneak in one night.”

“Why were you even sneaking in?”

“I was bored, okay? I had no one to tire me out during the day.”

“Hey!”

“Anyway, he said he had nightmares of you slipping right past his fingers and him failing to catch you. He relives that moment.”

“Did it really affect him that much? Accidents happen all the time.”

“Not to you, Y/N.”

“Maybe, but I’m just another player from the opposite team., right? …Do you think he…?”

Donghyuck brought a hand up to his head, massaging his temples as he sighed with annoyance.

“You’re too dense.”

“How could I have known? ”

“Look, just talk to him as soon as you can. That boy needs to finally sleep properly, even my grandma’s bag has a lighter color than his eye bags.”

You just nodded, a bit skeptic.

You were discharged on that same day. Jungwoo almost cried again when you met in the common room, hugging you tightly, praising and scolding you at the same time with a brotherly smile.

You first saw Mark Lee in the halfway, after your Potions class. He was sitting on the ledge of a large window, staring seemingly into space. Donghyuck’s words echo in your mind as you decide to approach him and hop onto the space beside him, settling comfortable against the window behind you.

“Woah, Lee, Donghyuck was right, you could really use some concealer.”

Mark jostled as if he only noticed you now. His wide doe eyes racked over your smiling face and he seemed to panic internally.

“Whe-When did you get here? Why are you out of bed?”

“Because I was discharged?”

“What? Since when?”

“Earlier today.”

“Oh…”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes running wild everywhere but in your direction. You chuckled.

“It’s okay, I already know how much the almighty Mark Lee worried over poor little me.”

Mark scoffed, his embarrassed behavior vanishing. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I see that hit to your head didn’t help with your sharp tongue, disappointingly.”

He swiftly moved away, starting to walk away from you until your hand clasped around his wrist, stopping him mid step.

“Wait, I just… I wanted to thank you.”

Mark seemed confused now, turning back to you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Thank me? What for?”

“Standing up for me and uh, you know, taking care of me.”

Mark’s face darkened at the memory of your beater.

“That git was just asking for it and I barely did anything.”

“Then at least let me repay you for the chocolate frogs you brought me.”

Now he seemed to choke on a confused ‘huh?’ with a bewildered expression that just melted your otherwise cocky demeanor.

“W-what? How-”

Mark’s words died in his throat as you slotted your lips against his in a teasing kiss, your hand holding the nape of his next affectionately and pulling him closer you. Mark took a few moments to realize it was actually happening in reality, not just an illusion from the lack of sleep. His hands came up to your waist, wrapping you in his embrace and pulling you against him impossibly closer. Years of pushed down passion and longing were exchanged in that moment, dizzying both of you.

As you pulled away from each other for air, Mark could taste the faint sweetness of chocolate on his lips. He smiled and his whole rival image turned into a lovesick teenage boy with a smile brighter than the sun. He laughed quietly, thumbs caressing your sides gently.

“I see you enjoyed your chocolate.”

You leaned more into him, pulling his face so close to yours that your noses brushed against each other’s, your ravished breath fanning across his lips as you whispered.

“I did. I’m glad I’m so interesting to you that you observe me in class enough to know that I collect chocolate frogs cards.”

You expected a blush to paint his cheeks red, an elbow in your side or at least an annoyed huff but you got none of that. Instead, one of Mark’s hands came up to cradle your cheek as he stared deep into your eyes with an unreadable look.

“Excuse me but it’s hard not to look when I have the prettiest person I’ve ever seen who also happens to be my crush since 3rd year.”

Your eyes widened, searching his for any hint that he may be just lying or teasing you. But all you could find was pure, unadulterated fondness, a withheld fire burning low in his eyes. He leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear and sending goosebumps across the expanse of your skin.

“It’s been so hard not to just pull you aside and snog you senseless, especially in your Quidditch uniform.”

You decided to play along. You brought your fingers to his heated neck, running them faintly over his skin and you smirked seeing him shiver at your touch.

“Having a kink for uniforms, Lee?”

Mark screeched lowly, pulling away from you as if burned. He smoothed down his robes, fixating you with a glare that made you laugh.

“Y/N, I’m serious, though. I like you, I really really lo-….like you.”

You noticed his stutter, but it only made your smile widen as you stretched out a hand to intertwine his fingers with yours and pull him along down the corridor.

“Hm, I’ll need some more proof of that.”

Mark squeezed your hand in response, chuckling at you sweetly. He leaned over, pressing a feather like kiss to your temple.

“Don’t worry, you’re nowhere done with your payment back to me. And I only accept it in the form of kisses and cuddles.”

You smiled at each other, your hearts finally settling satisfied in your chests after years of internal turmoil that finally burned out.

“That can be arranged easily.”

[casuallyimagining]

You and Me

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi has something he needs to ask you before the Grammys. Genre: slight angst, kind of fluffy at the end? Word Count: 1,865 Rating: T (there’s some swearing) Notes: Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

As he was leaving to go out to lunch with Namjoon and Jin, Yoongi told you that he had news he wanted to tell you when he got home. Which, of course, is possibly the worst thing to leave a person with.

What could he want to talk to you about?

You had a feeling you knew. Physical therapy had been progressing well for Yoongi, and while he still had a lot of healing to do, he was to the point where he could do almost all normal, daily tasks without help. He still had to wear his sling when he went out, and he was still in quite a bit of pain, but it was to the point where he would probably start back to work soon. And, of course, he would probably be moving back to the dorms again, and you would return to your lives pre-November.

Which meant you would go from seeing him literally all the time to only seeing him a few times a week--a return to taking him meals in your spare time, to sitting in the studio watching him work, to short dates to go grab coffee or a milkshake on his rare breaks. Thankfully, you had written the code for the Genius Lab down in your notes app, because after almost two and a half months of not using it, you weren’t confident that you remembered it.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you could go back to sustaining yourself on text messages, and video calls, and brief, 15-minute meetings. Adjusting to him being there constantly--underfoot when you least expected him to be, but always there to lend an ear or a hand or just generally be there for you--had taken some time. Your routines had melded together so quickly, that having him wandering around your apartment at two in the afternoon was no more uncommon than you not being able to find a series to watch on Netflix. You knew it was coming eventually, but you weren’t sure you could stand the separation.

You would, though, for his sake. You would walk through fire for him.

And it would only be for a short time, right? He had promised you on Christmas. As soon as he was able, he was going to start moving out of the dorms and into his own apartment. He wanted you to join him, wanted you to move in with him. But you weren’t sure when that would be. He had never given you a timetable for when he expected to start moving. Which was fine, you supposed. He could take his time.

But the whole thing made you anxious, even though you knew it shouldn’t. What if he got too busy once he got back to normal life and forgot? What if he decided he wanted to stay at the dorms indefinitely? Worse, what if he changed his mind and he decided he did want to move, just not with you?

Your mind raced as you sat in your office at your piano, trying to lose yourself in the music. You wanted to believe that you had nothing to worry about, that even though things would change, you would continue to be a priority in Yoongi’s life, that you wouldn’t be taking a huge step backwards in your relationship. Somehow, you managed to distract yourself enough that you barely noticed you were playing “Spring Day” until you were almost done with the song.

You continued to play through some of the other songs you had memorized. Most of them, you noticed, were BTS--a strange side-effect of who you spent your time with and your students, the most prominent of which was, of course, Jimin.

As you played the final chord of “Black Swan,” the sound of gentle clapping made you jump, causing you to hit your knee on the bottom of your piano.

“Fuck,” you hissed, rubbing where the corner of the wood caught your leg. Now that you weren’t so surprised, you could see Yoongi standing in the doorway of your shared office, a look of concern barely masking his earlier amusement.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in,” he said softly. “I put some leftovers in the fridge, and Namjoon made us stop for hotteok on the way back, so that’s in there, too. Are you okay?” He crouched down beside you, his hand falling to your knee.

“Unsurprisingly, that is not the first time I’ve done that,” you said with a laugh. “I’m honestly kind of shocked there’s not some sort of dent in the wood.”

Yoongi offered you an amused smile. “Well I’m glad there’s no damage. To you or the piano.” He leaned in to kiss you as he stood, the action quick and easy--like he had done it a thousand times before--but contained no less love. “You’ve been holding out on me.” You could hear the mirth in his voice as he moved one of his paintings to pull the office chair closer to the piano.

You waved off his comment, shutting the lid on the keys of the piano. “I don’t take credit for the things Park Jimin forces me to memorize.”

“Maybe you should start.” He shrugged, and the two of you fell silent. After a moment, he wiped his hands on his thighs and looked at you, though dropped his gaze to his lap the second you made eye contact. “So, I was talking with Si-Hyuk-hyung, and he had some… news he wanted me to pass on.” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Was this what he was talking about before he left?

“News?” you question, trying to play it off like you hadn’t spent the past few hours in a downward spiral of anxiety. “About…?”

“He and I were talking about us.” Yoongi gestured to himself and then to you. “He asked me if we wanted to go public any time soon.”

Your eyes went wide. “I… what? Why?”

“He apparently talked to Jin, Namjoon, and Jungkook about it, too.” He shrugged. “Si-Hyuk-hyung didn’t say why, but we think it’s because of the Grammys.” When you continued to look confused, he elaborated. “I mean, that’s kind of the thing, right? If you win an award, you turn and hug the person you love and then you go to receive it?”

“Oh, so you’re expecting to win?” you teased, trying to pretend like your cheeks weren’t a little flushed.

“Well, I think…” he stammered. “I think we should be prepared. Just in case.”

“So what did you tell PD-nim?”

“I told him I would talk to you about it.” You hummed. “He said he’d leave it up to us, but he’d like at least three days’ notice so they can prepare a statement.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Of course you had thought about it, about what going public would do to your relationship. You had considered the potential hate from the fans you would receive, and the fact that your private life, no matter how hard you tried, would never be fully private after. You knew about the strain it could put on your relationship with Yoongi, about how the saesangs and the paparazzi drove a wedge between many idols--particularly male idols--and their significant others.

But at the same time, you wanted to be able to go out with Yoongi without having to constantly look over your shoulder, without having to worry about someone from Dispatch seeing, or a well-meaning fan posting on social media. You wanted to be able to go with Yoongi to events, to publicly support him at concerts.

You sighed and reached for his hand. “What do you think?”

“It’s what you want, jagi. My life won’t really change much,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“Yoongi, please.” You didn’t like how exasperated your voice sounded, but you could feel your anxiety starting to spike again. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“Honestly?” You nodded. “I don’t know. It actually kind of terrifies me.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve seen idols’ careers die when dating scandals come out. But at the same time, I want us to have a normal life.” You snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s very sudden,” you said softly, gripping his hand with both of yours. “The Grammys are in a few weeks. We’d have to do something in the next few days.”

“I’ll tell him we’d like to wait, then.”

You hummed, tracing his hand with your index finger. “We’d be able to do it how we want?”

“That’s what Si-Hyuk-hyung said. I imagine there’s a limit, but I don’t think he’d lie about that.”

“How much of an advanced warning did he say he wanted?”

“Three days.”

Would it really be that bad? You weren’t a stranger to hate comments and wildly unfounded criticism, although not quite to the scale it might get to. Yoongi rarely looked at social media, unless he was posting a selca to Twitter. And what? You might have to private your Instagram? Delete your Twitter? Honestly, it might do you some good to get away from social media. You trusted Yoongi to not drop you the second things got tough, and there were six other members of BTS there to help lessen any damage his career might take. As long as the two of you could weather it together, you were confident that you could come out on the other side relatively unscathed.

“Fuck it.”

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes were wide.

“Fuck it. Let’s do it.” You squeezed his hand, a small smile starting to form.

Yoongi’s eyes locked on yours. He was smiling, but you could see him hesitate. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Ask PD-nim if we can do something right before they send out their release. I think it’ll go over better coming from you.”

“You’re already planning this?” It wasn’t a question. He laughed, a sweet, gummy smile spreading across his face. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this. I’ll text Si-Hyuk-hyung and let him know.”

You watched him slide his phone out of his pocket and unlock it. “Hey Yoon?” He hummed, continuing to type for a moment before looking up at you. “We’re gonna be okay no matter what, right? Still us?”

Yoongi pulled you to him as he stood up, his arms immediately wrapping around your back to hold you close. “Don’t be silly. Of course we will be.” You felt him sigh as he tucked his chin onto your shoulder. “I can’t promise that things won’t change, but we’ll be okay.”

You hugged him, your arms around his shoulders, careful not to press too tightly on his bad one. This certainly hadn’t been where you were expecting the conversation to go when he walked out the door that morning, but you hoped he was right. Telling the fans was an important step to take--and an inevitable one, if you wanted your relationship to last. “You and me?” You pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes.

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. “‘Till the end.”

Read more of the series here

[reveriequill-rai]

Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe. 

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults 

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

----------

The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-


I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.  

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

[jessbakescakes]

J/D: things you said with too many miles between us

15) Things you said with too many miles between us from this post!

A present-day Josh/Donna fic for you!

July 2021

Josh stirs when his phone vibrates, and he orients himself to his surroundings. He’d fallen asleep on the couch at some point during the post-debate coverage after ensuring that the girls went to bed, and he was waiting on Donna’s phone call to debrief. Josh attempts to reach into his pack pocket to retrieve the vibrating phone. He manages to do so without stirring the dog, whose head is resting on Josh’s chest as she sleeps, letting out barely audible barks and huffs as an ndication that she’s dreaming.

“Hi,” Josh answers, his free hand moving to gently stroke the fur on top of Sadie’s head.

“Hi,” Donna parrots back.

The sound of her voice still makes him feel butterflies, even after twenty-three years of knowing her and almost fourteen years of marriage. He smiles to himself at the thought, taking another moment to realize exactly how lucky he is. “It’s quiet,” Josh notes. “Thought you’d all be celebrating.”

“We are. I just wanted to call you first so you could get to bed.”

“All the post-debate coverage is calling it a standout performance from Senator Sam Seaborn,” Josh notes. “I’m not surprised, but they sounded a little stunned, although I’m not sure why.”

Donna lets out a quiet laugh, and he has a clear vision in his mind of her leaning against a wall, smiling and looking down at the floor as she grins. “Sam did an incredible job. He was probably the most prepared out of all of them when it came to healthcare and social security. Foreign policy needed a little bit of work, but…”

“But he ran away with it,” Josh finishes. “Donna, you don’t have to be modest. I know what a big part you played in this.”

“Sam worked hard,” Donna insists.

“Of course he did,” Josh agrees, “but you worked just as hard, if not harder.”

“You’re right. I did. I think this is a turning point. It's still early, and we're narrowing down the Democratic playing field but... you know.”

Josh does know. He doesn't say anything further, so as not to tempt fate, as Toby would put it, but he absolutely understands what Donna's hinting at. Josh stretches and yawns, trying not to let on that he’s as tired as he is. “I let the girls stay up for the debate, but they’ve been in bed for the last hour or so.”

“I was going to ask you how they were, considering the only updates I’ve received in the last twenty-four hours were dog photos. I was beginning to wonder if you remembered we had daughters,” Donna teases.

“Well, our eldest is going through a Taylor Swift phase,” Josh starts.

“She knew the words to what was likely Taylor Swift’s entire discography before kindergarten, and you’re just now realizing this?”

“Songwriting,” Josh clarifies.

Donna lets out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Is it the kid from marching band again? Or… still? I don’t know which is the most accurate way to finish that sentence.”

“I think it would be 'again', but nope. Apparently, this is just your run-of-the-mill preteen self-expression stuff.” Josh shifts slightly as Sadie lets out a low growl in her sleep, kicking her front and back paws as though she’s dreaming of chasing something. “I think I heard the same chord progression on the guitar for about six hours straight today.”

“Excellent, looking forward to it,” Donna says.

“Nora spent her morning drafting a plan to convince me to get another dog,” Josh starts.

“Absolutely not,” Donna interjects before Josh can finish the sentence.

“I told her no!” Josh laughs in disbelief. “I do have some willpower, you know. Then she decided she wanted to start a dog walking business, because if she earned the money for the dog maybe it would sway me.”

“I’ve only been gone twenty-four hours, please tell me Leah hasn’t asked for a piercing or declared a college major,” Donna jokes.

Josh scratches Sadie behind the ear. “She asked me to take her to that little used bookstore so she could spend her birthday money.”

“How’d she fare?”

“She currently has two stacks of books in the corner of her room as she debates whether she wants to spend the rest of her money on another shelf or trade in some other books to make room,” Josh explains. “She also considered using the money for a custom Mets jersey with her name on it, but decided against it.”

“Too expensive?”

“No special characters,” Josh says. “She didn’t like the way Moss-Lyman looked without the hyphen.”

“I’d ask how Sadie is, but I think I know exactly how her day went thanks to your efforts,” Donna says.

“I’m but a humble servant of man’s best friend,” Josh jokes. He’s noticed something in Donna’s tone as the conversation has unfolded, the hesitant ‘we need to talk’ undercurrent of everything she says, so he decides to be the first to dive in. “What’s on your mind, Donna?”

Donna sighs. “So I was approached by Bryce Palmer from the DNC today. Apparently, there’s something brewing with Congressman Hanover and some allegations of impropriety.”

“Hanover? Like the Wisconsin fifth, Hanover?”

“The very same,” Donna confirms. “Problem is, they don’t have a viable Democrat for a special election should he resign. So they came to me to take my temperature on the whole thing.”

Josh can’t help but let the wheels in his brain start turning. The idea of Donna flipping a typically Republican district in Wisconsin sounds incredible. If anyone’s capable of it, it’s Donna. But he’s learned over the years to let Donna process before giving an opinion, so instead of rattling off all the possibilities, he simply listens.

“I told them I’m running Sam’s campaign right now,” Donna explains. “But they really want me to consider a run in the fifth next go-around. Or… you know, should there be a special election sometime between the general and the midterms.”

“You thinking about it?” Josh asks.

He hears Donna take a deep breath, then let out a long exhale. “A little? I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. Don’t start your ‘Donna, I’ve been setting this up for you for years’ speech,” she warns.

“Wasn’t gonna. Just listening.”

“I know you’d be at your laptop searching for properties in the Wisconsin fifth right now if Sadie weren’t asleep on you,” Donna says. “I can tell if you put me on speakerphone, you know.”

Josh sheepishly taps the speakerphone button, putting a temporary pause on his search that he had already started, just as Donna had predicted. “You’re not on speakerphone.”

There’s a pause for a moment, and Josh can sense her hesitation. “Flipping a district is a lot of work.”

“It is,” Josh agrees.

“I also don’t know if I’m ready to jump right into another campaign after this,” Donna continues. “It’s been a lot of time away from all of you. If I stay away too much longer, Caroline’s going to become a YouTube sensation whose material is almost entirely inspired by the absence of her mother. Nora’s going to be running an animal shelter out of the garage, and Leah will have either a Beauty and the Beast sized library or a podcast with her Grandpa Jed, it’s a toss-up.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Josh asks, holding back laughter.

“I’ve been away a lot,” Donna insists. “Things change while I'm away. I miss all of you.”

Josh smiles. “We miss you, too.” He has the instinct to tell her not to dismiss the idea out of hand, to give it some thought before she gives her answer. But despite her hesitation, Josh knows there’s a small part of Donna that’s considering it, and that’s enough for him. “Get back to the party. We’ll talk about it when you get home.”

They say their goodbyes and I love yous after confirming Donna’s flight details. Josh wakes the dog and heads up the stairs toward the bedroom, already plotting out the strategy for winning in the Wisconsin fifth.

Hypothetically, of course.

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

For the 911 ask game

4, 10, 18 & 23?

Thank you for asking!! (I put the original questions into () so that all my other lovely followers tuning in can enjoy too :))

4. (If you could rewrite one episode which one would it be and why?)

Season 4, episode 5, Buck Begins. I don't like the way they handled that episode at all. I see what they were going for, but the way they went about achieving it was so incredibly surface level, it was frustrating.

First things first, this episode as it is should be called Buck & Maddie Begin. The focus is distributed between the two of them--and don't get me wrong, I actually ADORED the relationship background and development we got, tbh those were some of my favorite moments from the episode. It just means that it REALLY doesn't fit in well with previous Begins episodes, where the focus is intensely on a single character.

The overall tone of the episode was really clunky and almost awkward. It felt like fanfiction that had been written by a hardcore Buck fan--and I want to clarify, there's nothing wrong with being a hardcore Buck fan, but you know when you're reading fics on AO3 and you can tell who the writer's fav is? That vibe. A lot of LOVE moments that aren't earned on the page, because they've already been earned in the writer's heart? And it made the tone of the episode feel a bit... off.

They had so many different ways and opportunities to show where Buck shines as a character, and they went with such a surface level thing--Buck The Daredevil. Why the focus on that of all things?

Another of my fav moments is the story of how he chose to be a firefighter, they chose not to overcomplicate that and that feels right, so I'd leave that part alone. I guess my main issue with it is the whole sequence with the five alarm fire.

The dialogue at the end with the firefam was heartwarming, but felt oddly unearned? I dunno, one half of me was like "awwwwwwww, this is so sweet" while the other half of me was knocking on the door of my common sense, saying "but was any of this dialogue earned? If this was any other episode, literally any, they wouldn't be filled with kind words, they'd be like WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING and rightfully so. Buck was beyond reckless and in the process, yeah he may have saved the worker's life... after almost getting him killed. Like even in later episodes, Buck chooses to be reckless and they're all eye rolls, Buck's gonna Buck and Bobby is all what the fresh hell, son?!?!... That's exactly what they should have been doing here, and there's no real rhyme or reason why they aren't except that this is the Buck Feel Good Episode. *shrugs* Because it wasn't earned by the episode's narrative it rings really empty in rewatches, which makes me sad.

Though straight up I could watch that moment where all the firefighters help him with the rope over and over and over, that moment was right. It’s the dialogue afterward that felt really OOC for everyone. 

10. (A character you used to like but no longer do?) I answered this here! :)

18. (Favorite quote?) "I really thought this year was gonna be different." KIDDING!!! Sorry, I had to do that after they dropped it in the season 5 trailers like 20 million times!! *ducks a flying chair*

Okay, my real favorite quote... GAH it's so hard, there's a lot of goodies. I'd have to say though it's at the end of the tsunami arc: "Sometimes a few choice words can be the life raft that gets you home. To be seen. To be found. Isn't that what we're all searching for?" It's something that strikes a chord for me personally, and was so beautifully put into words. It makes me feel so much love for the people like this in my life all over again when I hear this quote (and I hear it quite often, the tsunami arc is one of my favorites to rewatch!)

23. (Something you would like to see in the future episodes?) Prepare yourselves for a tacky answer here, sorry. But shamelessly, the thing I want to see is buddie coming together (I know, *sigh* so basic) but that really is my wish. But I want it to happen in a very specific way. I want it to be a progression, and more than ANYTHING I WANT IT TO BE EARNED! Tarlos was not earned, it's one of my BIGGEST griefs with LS, they just kinda jumped into bed together and then just kinda jumped into committed relationship mode with very little justification or progression. The current pace they have now with buddie is phenomenal, that progression that builds and builds and BUILDS until you can barely breathe even thinking about it, and then BOOM.

Speaking of boom, it’s equally as important that after a good build-up, they stick the landing. It’s all just gotta work. Like, have you read fanfictions before where the build was GORGEOUS and then the crescendo was just meh? 

Feel free to send me more of these 9-1-1 questions, guys, I could talk about this show for DAYYYYYYSSSS!!

[nervousmendes]

Attention | shawn mendes (blurb)

Blurb: Shawn is too caught up in work and you want to spend time with him so you do what needs to be done to get his attention.

Warnings: nsfw, lots of making out, implied sex

Word count: 900 words

“Baaaabe” you whined for the hundredth time in the last two hours, shaking Shawn’s shoulders desperately trying to get him to tear his eyes away from his little home studio set up. Today was your day off from work and you woke up expecting to relax with Shawn all day but here he was, stuck on a random chord progression he came up with this morning. Shawn has been obsessed with experimenting on production lately and it’s been fun to listen to all these cool sounds he creates with his equipment but now you’re tired of it and you just want him to forget about it for a while and kiss you instead. “Give me a minute.." he mumbles, clearly still not paying any attention to you. 

Your hands on his shoulder move to his biceps and give it a light squeeze. You drag your fingers along his arms back up to straighten out his shoulder blades and you knead his muscles there to smoothen out the knots formed from him hunching down into his computer all day, working with the buttons you never seem to understand how works.

You hear him sigh heavily as you apply pressure to the right place and smile to yourself knowing it’s helping. After a few more presses to his shoulder your hand grazes his nape, fingers tangling into the soft curls dawning his head. He closes his eyes in the sensation of relief and you now bring your lips to the spot under his ear. The softest of a moan leaves his lips at the unexpected contact and he tilts his neck sideways, exposing more skin, a signal for you to give him more. You’re now kissing, nipping and licking at his skin and his hands grip the table desperately because he couldn’t reach for you when you were behind him. You break away for a quick second, and he turns his chair around without warning, hands immediately pulling your waist towards him. You take the queue, and bring yourself onto his lap, straddling him in the little place you have on his chair. His hands are warm when they go under your t-shirt as his lips connect with yours. His kiss is hungry, begging for more of your mouth as his tongue dances in sync with yours. You lick the roof of his mouth causing him to capture your lower lip in his, sucking at it and letting it go with a light bite. You smile as you pull away for a quick breath, and once again lean in, covering his mouth with yours. After a few more wet kisses, he retreats to attach his lips to your collarbone. You throw your head back, fingernails digging into his arm as he licks and sucks at the sweet skin you’re showing off to him. He goes onto kiss the side of your neck making sure to pay enough attention to all the spots he knows that drive you crazy. You feel his hair tickle your chin but it’s barely there compared to the electricity he’s shooting into you with that pretty mouth biting into your neck. His hands grip the hem of your loose tshirt and he pulls it off over your head. You lift your hands up to help him undress you, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Without wasting a second, his mouth goes straight to your chest, kissing and licking the mounds of your breast, as his fingers work their way with the clasp of your bra to take it off.

"So beautiful.” He whispers against your boobs, taking your right nipple into his mouth. You’ve both barely started and you’re already a painting mess in his arms, hair everywhere and panties soaked. His free hand that isn’t holding you kneads your left boob, his mouth still not detaching from the right. Your hands, tired of holding onto his arms now unbutton his shirt, one button after the other and finally splay across his toned abs after pushing the shirt off of his shoulders. Shawn moves his legs closer, giving more space for yours and your core is now dangerously close to his clothed crotch, your knees digging into the armrest of the chair. He lifts his head again to kiss your lips and you’re now unconsciously bucking your hips up to meet each other’s for some kind of friction as you deepen the kiss. “Bedroom.” Shawn hisses before standing up, lifting you with him and your legs go around his body to give him more support. You shriek when he throws you onto the soft mattress, his body towering over yours, carefully putting his weight on one knee to make sure he doesn’t squish you. His lips once again crash into yours and you use this position to palm his hardness hiding (not so well) in the fabric of his sweatpants. Before you knew it, both of your hands and mouths are everywhere and soon enough there’s a piece of torn foil and the remainder of your clothing on the floor while Shawn crashes in and out of you, making you scream his name in his hold until you’re seeing stars and you both reach the release you were building up inside of each other.

You’re still recovering from your high when Shawn discards the use condom and cleans you up with a washcloth. He finally comes back to lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your frame and legs tangling into yours. With a wet kiss to your cheek he promises to take a break from work and spend time with you for the rest of the day (and night) instead. So that’s exactly what you both do, and needless to say there was a round two and a round three involved.

———————————-

technically this is my first time writing smut and I think I did an okay-ish job but I know it’s still not that great. i’ve received a bunch of requests and i really did not expect even getting like two so thank you so much for that!! i’m working on them whenever i have the time and i hope they’ll be done soon. if you liked this one please like/reblog, and give me feedback, it’d mean the world to me!

Masterlist | Ask me anything

Prompt list to request blurbs.

Taglist: @theregoesmyherojd @shawnmendez @mendesficsxbombay @madatmendes @samaratheweirdo @mendesassemble @vinylmendes @ghostofjuls @shawnsreputation

dm/reply if you want to be added or taken off.

[hihellogoodbyebruh]

So Anxious

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Reader

Summary: Angel stopped by your dance studio to surprise you but got a surpise of his own.

Warning(s): Sexual tension, teasing, a partial lap dance

Word count: 1,177

Author’s Note: I binged Mayans and became obsessed with the men on this show. Angel is just...everything. This is a fun quick drabble that I got inspo for after watching a dance video by the talented Aliyah Janell. Questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome. My inbox is open. Enjoy!

Angel was making his way to your dance studio to pick you up so you two could have dinner together. He’d spent a lot of time in Mexico these last two weeks and he was happy to finally be able to spend some time with his girl. He wanted to surprise you at the studio because other than your home, it was your favorite place in the world to be. He knew you loved working with the kids especially, but also the adults who just wanted to have some fun. You taught a range of classes from ballet to hip hop to tap and anything in between. He was so proud of all that you’d accomplished making the studio what it was.

He entered the dance room and saw that you were in the middle of your adult class. He didn’t frequent your classes much, but he never missed one of your dance performances. His eyes immediately took in your form and he felt his pants start to tighten. You were wearing a casual black dress with slits on both sides that showed your ass enclosed in some tight black booty shorts. The outfit was complete with peep toe heels. He knew sometimes you taught routines that required heels, but damn he hadn’t been able to just take a good minute to stare at you in days. He was a blessed man.

You smiled brightly as you noticed your man in the room. You were surprised but very happy to see him. You waved at him and let your students break off into their own conversations as you strutted over to him. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes...I thought you had more Mexico business to handle?”

Angel shook his head as he smiled at you. “Everything that needs to be done is done. I thought I’d take mi novia for a much needed night out, but now that I see you…” He trailed off as he stepped closer to you, barely any space between you. “I think a night in sounds even better. What kind of dance were you teaching in that?”

You smirked at his words. You knew you looked sexy, but that’s what this particular class was about. It was created so grown and sexy people could make themselves feel good and maybe drive someone a little crazy. You definitely had someone you wanted to tease, “You want me to show you?” 

Angel felt his eyebrow rise at your words. “Right now?” 

“Right now.” You confirmed. “This is my class, right? I can do what I want. Take a seat, Mr. Reyes.” You smirked, gesturing to the chair right in front of the wall of mirrors. 

“My lovelies,” She loudly proclaimed, clapping your hands together to gain back the attention of the class. “It seems we have a special guest tonight. This is my other half, Angel.” You nodded your head towards the man who had already gotten very comfortable in his seat. His legs were spread and he slouched down, clearly relaxed.

“‘Sup.” He greeted the class with that cocky grin on his face and everyone either waved or said ‘hello’ back. You fought not to roll your eyes. He had their attention immediately. He didn’t know how much of a magnet he truly was.

“We’ve been practicing this routine all week. I will demonstrate the dance for a final time before you all let me see your progress. I think Angel is the perfect person for me to dance for, don’t you agree?” Your students cheered and some ‘ooh’d’ as they made space for you on the floor. They all stood against the walls, fascinated to see what was about to happen.

Angel was feeling curious to see what your routine would look like. He was more than ready to just get you outta there and take you back home, but he decided he’d try to be patient. As the chords of an old 90s r&b song began to play, he watched you take your position laying on the floor. Your eyes were locked on him the entire time. He watched as the coy look on your face transformed into the sexy siren he knew you to be.

As you went into the routine, you maintained eye contact with him, smirked, and seductively licked your lips as your ass began jiggling on the floor. The sounds of your class became background noise as you felt like you two were the only people in the room. You wanted to remind him of what he had been missing while he was gone.

Nine o' clock, home alone, paging you Wishing you'd come over, my place, after while, let me know We can just keep talking 'bout the last time, you were here What we did (no sleep till morning) Only bubble baths and back rubs

Angel was thoroughly entranced by your dance. Your ass in those shorts was spilling out and he enjoyed every minute of it. He loved every move, thinking of how you felt on top of him. He about lost his mind when you hit the splits and he sat up straighter in his seat. His tongue was licking his lips as he thought back to how good you tasted.

The set routine was over, but you decided to continue and freestyle some. You crawled to him and placed your hands on his knees as you slowly pulled yourself up to stand. You leaned your face in to kiss him and he leaned to meet you, but you pulled back only to strut around his chair. You kept one arm over his shoulder the whole way.

Once you made it back to the front of the chair, you kicked your leg up and perched on his knee and his hand landed on the small of your back. You swung your hair around before body rolling and popping your ass as he watched you. You kicked your other leg out and dropped directly into his lap. Both his hands held you as you bent backwards and winked at your captivated audience who all broke out into even greater cheers.

Angel pulled you back up and you wrapped your arms around his neck in a hug. He stood up with you in his arms, your legs automatically holding him close, and you giggled as he gave your ass a quick squeeze before you dropped back down. You playfully wagged a finger at him and mouthed, “Later,” before turning your attention back to your class and telling them it was their turn.

All he watched you direct the rest of your class, all Angel could do was try and get his hard on to chill out. His mind couldn’t help running through all the many positions he was going to put you in tonight. He hoped you didn’t have any classes for the next few days because he was about to wear that ass out. And if you did, well....you had a bunch of saved sick days to use anyway.

[pastelsandpining]

Spring of Wisdom

Summary: Zelda has a realization on Mount Lanayru. Everything she’s ever known is falling apart. Based on a concept @embyrinitalics wrote into their Whumptober works about the gods of Hyrule being kind of dead.

Words: 1681

Warnings: a lot of angst, honestly it’s just Zelda realizing they’re a little doomed. If there’s something I need to tag let me know, but proceed with caution anyway!

Masterlist

______

Her hands hit the solid concrete that laid under the water, but her knees were what landed a hard hit against the edge of the block. The icy water, whose burn she had at last gotten used to, began a new assault on the torn skin, sending a stinging sensation all throughout her legs. She hissed when her hands joined in—she must’ve scraped them as well.

The parts of her body that hadn’t yet met the water before this felt frozen solid. The water did nothing to warm them. The mountain, decorated by icy crystals that glittered in the sun but never shed so much as a drop, would take her too. She was sure of it. She didn’t have the strength to stand again. But just for a moment, she thought that this would be a far better end than what was coming. If she froze to death right here, became just another part of the mountain’s cold surface, while praying and begging for her people to be saved—they could not say that she hadn’t tried. 

Yet her wish—had she been wishing for that, truly?—would not come true. Not today. Gentle hands, warm hands pulled her gingerly back to her feet. His fingertips felt like ice, numb against her bare arms. But if he felt like ice, then to him, she must have felt frozen solid. She nearly lost her footing again, tripping over her own weakness, and she slowly curled her fingers deep into his tunic. They hurt to move, stiff and frozen, and burned against the warmth his body emitted, but she held on tighter.

She’d become accustomed to the cold of the water. When her hips and legs left their sanctuary, the winds sunk their teeth into her flesh and sent a shiver so violent that she nearly fell for a third time.

Had it not been for his arms holding her, guiding her, she would’ve. And if she did, she didn’t know if she would ever get up again.

A strangled, pathetic sound, somewhere between a whine and a sob, left her lips when he let go of her. Why did he let go? He was so, so warm. 

And then he was draping her coat, heavy with Rito feathers and silky soft to the touch, around her shoulders. The heat of a fire licked at her calves, trying to heal the bites of the cold. She didn’t know how long it’d taken him to do any of it. Time was not of her concern right now, because they were already out of it. 

Her cheeks, rosy and pale and like blocks of ice, stung so much at the sudden warmth that she flinched away. But her eyes finally drifted from the point of nothingness and found her knight, who slowly pressed his hands against her cheeks again.

“Zelda..?” he asked, his voice so soft it was carried away on the winds. Had he been speaking the whole time?

She just shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and burying into the warmth he was trying to bring back to her body. 

She didn’t say anything for a very long time. She just sat, curled up against the only comfort she had, staring past the fire. The sky was starting to change color, fading from the bright blue to a hazy orange. The sun was setting on her seventeenth birthday, and what a birthday it’d been, nearly freezing to death.

“We should go,” Link said, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “It’ll just get colder at night.”

Zelda nodded, but she didn’t move more than that. She didn’t want to go down and face her kingdom, her friends, with the knowledge that she’d come to realize. 

“Do you believe in Hylia?” she asked at last, her voice scratchy and quiet. It hurt to speak, like the wind had frozen her chords and the water iced her very core. 

“Do we have a choice?” he answered, running his thumb over her hands. Her eyes drifted over to the sword laying besides them, the one that signified being chosen by Hylia herself, and she knew that no, they didn’t.

“The legend says that she shed her divinity so she could walk the earth besides her hero and protect the Triforce.” The words made her dizzy. She buried her face further into Link’s shoulder and took a breath. “She became mortal and died. That’s what we do. We die. There is no goddess to pray to—no god that will help us.”

Her voice trembled and cracked. Her world, everything she’d known her entire life, was crumbling right in front of her. She held the blood of the goddess in her veins, only because she was not a deity anymore. The statues were silent because she wasn’t there. Prayer would awaken nothing, yet she’d spent years upon years of precious time in springs that drained her of every drop of happiness and patience—only for, what, nothing? Nothing but the realization at too late a time? 

And if the goddess somehow did still exist, she would not reside in a statue.

The answer was quite simple, really. The goddess was silent because she did not know the answer either. The goddess wore the face and dress of a princess who knew next to nothing about who she was, or how to unlock the powers. The goddess hardly knew if those powers actually existed, and whether they were in her at all. And a goddess who prays to herself can accomplish nothing.

A sob wrenched from her chest. What more could she do? Praying wouldn’t work, and she could no longer contribute in the only way she knew how. The Calamity was coming, and their princess, their goddess, was nothing more than a crying child with the weight of the world crushing her shoulders. 

The tears were hot on her cheeks. It was another burn to add to the pile. 

Link’s fingers loosened from her hands and found her hair instead. The comfort he provided was immense, but it didn’t calm her racing heart. 

“H-how can I go down there and- and tell them-“ she hiccupped, lifting her head to bury her face in her hands. 

“Zelda..”

“I can’t.” 

His fingers tried to detangle the clumps of damp hair. In any other circumstance, it might’ve been enjoyable. But all she could do was tremble and try to brave through the oncoming wave of panic. 

“I can’t do it,” she said again, lifting her head to look at Link. His eyes, so sad for her but so full of admiration, made her heart break further. 

“Maybe sometimes,” Link began, brushing at her tears with a feather soft touch, “the heroes just don’t win.”

“But my kingdom— goddesses, we can’t just leave them all to die!” she cried, grabbing at his coat with still frozen fingers. “I can’t— what do I do?”

“The Calamity might not wake for another month, or year,” he tried. “And until it does, we keep doing everything we can. The only reason we’ve gotten as far as we have is because of you. You’re brilliant, Zelda. And if prayer can’t awaken the power, then we can always try something else.”

He looked so sincere that it hurt. 

“I wish I could stay here,” she whispered, ducking her head. “With you. No Calamity, no goddess, no sword..”

“We would freeze to death, or die of starvation,” Link replied, leaning his head against hers. 

“Better than dying to the Calamity,” she muttered. As optimistic as Link had tried to be, she knew better. She had no choice but to come to terms with the idea that maybe the heroes wouldn’t win this one. There would be no legend to tell about the princess and the Hero—not this time. She would have to meet with the Sheikah soon and ask their progress on the medicinal shrine, because it was starting to look like they were going to need it.

“You’re not going to die, Princess,” Link said. Zelda had half a mind to laugh. “I was told to protect you with my life, and I will.”

“Do not let your loyalty to your duty blind you, Link.”

“It’s not out of duty, Zelda.”

She lifted her gaze to his eyes at last, but all she found was sincerity and something else that brought the warmth back into her body in full. All she could do was look at him for a moment, because he made her feel like everything was miles and miles away. And up here, far above any watchful eyes, she wanted to leave all sense of duty behind and just exist with him.

But the statue of Hylia, cold with a taunting smile, watched her from its perch. The warmth was fading. Zelda bit her lip. The space between them was very small, so she leaned her head back and took a deep breath, moving to stand. Her legs cried out and shook beneath her weight and Link had to catch her, but she tugged the jacket tighter and pushed onwards.

“We need to go,” she said, stepping over a rock. “I need to get to my father. We have to prepare for the worst—start evacuations. Get our people out. Revali and Mipha can take their people, they have the easiest escape routes available. Perhaps Daruk and the Gorons will be safe on Death Mountain. I can’t imagine even a demon could withstand the heat. You and Urbosa will work with the soldiers to round up the remaining populations—get them as far from Hyrule as possible.”

“What will you do?” Link asked. She felt his hand wrap around her own, pulling her back down to the ground. 

“Whatever I can. I’ll talk with my father. We’ll come up with a plan.”

“And what happens after we get everyone out?” 

Zelda turned her head to look at him. The sense of dread that she’d woken up with that morning was rapidly flooding back in tenfold. But she straightened her shoulders and gripped his hand tighter.

“We fight,” she said.

[btsslowburnfic]

Sonata Third Movement

z

The dear @omgalyssag17​ asked: hi i saw you have your requests open and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a story where Yoongi moves into a haunted apartment/house (human!yoongi x ghost!reader pairing). i like giving authors lots of room for creativity so let your imagination flow. 

Summary: Yoongi is vacationing at a haunted lake house. [Y/N] has been masquerading as her “sister.” Our [Y/N] will be discovered to be a ghost. 7k words. Fluffy and Angst. 

 AN: Thanks for everyone’s patience with this piece. I really like the way it turned out <3 

First Movement 

Second Movement

------------------- ”Please Yoongi the dock,” You said, feeling like parts of you were slowly being taken off. It was like you were a fish having their scales removed.

Yoongi barely had words for what he was seeing. Where Elise had been sitting, it looked as though someone had taken a transparency and placed it in the middle of the boat. Where her face had been, it looked like a painting that someone had walked up and smeared. What the hell was going on? He could hear a voice coming from the other side of the boat, and it sounded like Elise’s but covered in static. He shook his head, as though this was a dream or a vision he could simply end. “Please, dock, Yoongi.” he could make out. Ok. Stay calm, he thought. He was in the lake. He needed to get to the dock. Maybe he was having a stroke or something. Stay calm. 

He took his shaky hands and grabbed the oars, slowly rowing the boat back to the dock. He steadied his breathing and looked away from the unsettling sight across from him. As he got closer, he could hear you again more clearly.

“That hurts so bad, please Yoongi.”

His heart clenched at the amount of pain it sounded like you were in. “We’re almost back to the dock,” He forced himself to say calmly.

He looked back over. You looked normal once again. He slowly reached down for his phone which was still in picture taking mode. He held it up and looked at you through the screen. Nothing was there. He moved his phone aside and saw you. He repeated this a few times, his eyes growing wider each time.

You were starting to feel better physically. You looked over at Yoongi and saw what he was doing. Shit. Shit. He looked terrified. You felt your eyes start to tear up once again. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, mostly to himself. He shook his head and pushed more buttons on his phone.

“It’s not your phone, Yoongi. It’s me.” You cried. 

Yoongi sat there with his mouth open, staring. He felt bad that you were crying but he was also very confused. 

“I’m a ghost. I’m [Y/N].” You sobbed. 

The boat arrived at the dock. You quickly got out of the boat, not caring about how, and you flung off your life jacket, running toward the house.

Yoongi sat there for a long time, processing what had just happened. A ghost? 

You ran into the house crying and went into the guest bedroom. Stupid stupid ghost. Stupid cancer. This wasn’t fair. You were so angry and upset. All you wanted to do was spend one nice day with the first person who had been nice to you in a decade. You had been a good person, what had you done to deserve this?

Yoongi slowly tied up the boat and placed the lifejackets back where they belonged. He walked up and sat on the back deck, thinking about what to do next. He puffed out his cheeks. Were you actually a ghost? Was he having a medical emergency? He felt fine, other than the fact that he had seen some weird shit a few minutes ago.  He looked back through the pictures on his phone. There were pictures of the lake, dock, and house that he had taken for Jin. And then there was the photo of the empty rowboat. But you were real to him. You had played the piano. Worn a lifejacket. Talked to him. Shared food with him. You had even put a blanket on him when he was sleeping. There was no one else out here that could have done that.

He shook his hair out of his face and opened the sliding glass door. “[Y/N]?” he called out tentatively into the house. He moved closer to the guest bedroom and heard you softly crying. He knocked on the door. “[Y/N]?”

You froze, was Yoongi actually talking to you? You got up and walked over to the door. You opened it up ever so slightly.

“How can you be a ghost when I can see you?” He asked. Like this was normal.

You laughed, a sad snotty sound. “I don’t know. I don’t know how ghost rules work. You couldn’t see me the first day.”

Yoongi thought back. “You moved my bag outside.” 

“Sorry.” You looked down at your feet.

“But you also made me coffee?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Being a ghost is confusing. I thought you would be another rude person, but you turned out to be nice.” You replied.

Yoongi laughed, slightly incredulously. “So I couldn’t see you at first. But now I can. Can most people see you?”

He was interested and not scared? This was strange, you thought. “No. You’re the first person in ten years who I’ve been able to talk to or see.”

“And you can’t leave here?” He rubbed his chin with his hand. 

“No. If I could I would. I don’t know where I’d go. I guess I’d travel as a ghost, or go to heaven or hell or whatever is supposed to be next. I’ve wondered a few times if this is hell. But it doesn’t feel bad enough to be hell. Maybe it’s just heck. I’m stuck in heck for some reason.”

“You seem like a very sweet person. I doubt you’d go to hell or even heck if those places exist.” Yoongi leaned against the doorway. You couldn’t believe you two were having this conversation.

“Well, I’m stuck here and have been for ten years. Watching my dog die, my parents sob uncontrollably, and people come and desecrate my beautiful home and piano, so this isn’t exactly what I would consider a nice existence.” 

Yoongi moved his lips to the side, pursed in thought. “Yeah. That does sound pretty awful. Maybe you have unfinished business? You know in ghost movies there’s always something like that.”

“I never really watched ghost movies,” you responded.

“Me neither, too scary. But I’ve read a few webtoons. Let’s see. You weren’t murdered. Do you have a crazy ex-boyfriend? Unrequited love?”

“No. No. None of those things. Is that really a thing?”

“I don’t know, up until about 20 minutes ago I didn’t think ghosts were real, so what do I know? I’m just trying to come up with ideas.” He said, fluffing his black hair.

At the same time the two of you reached the same conclusion. “The music.” 

“Alright. So we can finish the composition and then maybe you can get out of Lakehouse heck.” Yoongi theorized. “And if you can’t, I’m buying the Lakehouse anyway so at least maybe it would be light heck.”

You started to smile. “Really?”

“Yep. It’s the perfect place for a getaway. Jin and I can come fishing. My friend Namjoon could go hiking. It’s great.”

“That’s so amazing. I don’t even know what to say. To know that people’s kids won’t be putting their nasty sticky hands all over my things….Thank you so much Yoongi, I really appreciate it.” You gave him a shy smile. You couldn’t believe he was still talking to you even though he knew you were a ghost. 

“You’re welcome. Now let’s go work on that music.” He turned back down the hallway and into the living room humming to himself.

The rest of the afternoon wore on easily, with you each trying different chords and progressions to see what would fit. Unfortunately it still didn’t sound right, but you did enjoy spending time with Yoongi especially now that you didn’t feel like a liar.

It was starting to get dark out. Yoongi stood up and stretched his arms overhead.

“Don’t you need to eat, alive person?” You asked, turning around on the bench to face him.

“I guess I should. Wait a minute. You’ve been eating and stuff as well. How does that work? Do you normally eat?” He got a very confused look on his face (y’all know the one I’m talking about).

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t understand ghost science. I haven’t been eating or drinking the last 10 years. You have magic ghost powers or something. I still don’t feel hungry or thirsty...or need to use the bathroom. But I can interact with food.”

“Huh. Weird. Alright Ghosty, just in case these are your last few days eating food before you pass on from Lake House heck, what do you want to eat?”

You laughed, he had given you a nickname, so cute. STOP IT, you admonished yourself. “Hmm...Kimchi fried rice?” You asked.

“You got it,” He walked over to the kitchen and started taking groceries out. You turned back to the piano and looked back over the music once again. The piece was very sad and slow tempoed. It sounded great, but then at what would be the halfway point it got lost. You played the last few bars again and again. 

“Walk away for a while,” You heard Yoongi yell from the kitchen. 

“It’s so frustrating.” You replied as you followed his advice and got up, joining him at the kitchen island. You took some scissors and began cutting the kimchi.

“I know. I hate it when I get stuck on something. I have music living on my computer for years. Sometimes we end up using it. It didn’t sound right at the time, but after a while it does.” He said as he put rice into the pan.

“Well it’s been ten years and It’s still just sitting there,” you pouted.

“Yeah but if you’re not having new experiences it’s also hard to write. Being in here and doing the same thing can’t be good for our creative process.”

“That’s true. Well. Thank goodness these few days have been different, maybe they’ll jumpstart my creativity.” You smiled while moving the cutting board next to the pan for him.

“So, I know you are not your own sister. Was everything else true?” He asked, tentatively. He didn’t want to upset you but he was curious.

“Yep. Piano composer. Cancer. Dead dog. Sad parents. Ghost. That’s me.” You sighed and got some plates out.

“I’m sure there’s more to you than that. What did you do when you were alive and felt well?” He asked.

You thought about it for a minute. You could hardly remember. You hadn’t thought about that part of being alive in a long time.

“Are you ok? If it’s a problem don’t worry about answering.” Yoongi said as he stirred the food.

“No, sorry. I just. I haven’t thought about it in so long I’m having trouble remembering. I think I liked reading. I still do actually. But I’ve read every book in here 50 times and people rarely ever forget their books.”

“We need to get you an e-reader.”

“What’s that?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“Do you know what tablets are?”

“Like big phones?”

“Yes. So you can get books on your tablet and then you can just swap them out or whatever.”

“With what, my ghost money?” You teased. You knew he was trying to be nice.

“Well the next time I come back up here I can bring you some books, Ghosty. No worries.”

Your tiny ghost heart was pounding inside your chest. Maybe being stuck here wasn’t so bad.

 Yoongi finished cooking and the two of you ate in relative silence as you enjoyed the food. You noticed him yawning several times throughout the meal.

“Go sleep, I’ll clean up.” You encouraged as he got up to wash his plate.

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“You made a ghost dinner. The least I can do is clean the dishes.” You joined him by the sink. 

He involuntarily yawned again. “Yeah, ok. I should probably sleep before I get awake again. Thanks.”

You finished up the dishes and looked over at the keyboard. Nah. It wasn’t going to happen tonight.

Day 5

You woke up to the smell of coffee and walked out into the main area. Yoongi was sitting at his computer with headphones on so you headed over to pour yourself some coffee.

You let the hot liquid fill your body, enjoying the way it tasted. The first cup always hit the best. 

Yoongi was in the zone so you quietly let yourself out onto the back porch. Another foggy day. Oh well. You knew better than to try going out to the lake again, you shuddered, remembering the sensation of slowly having your body peeled apart. You tried to once again remember what you enjoyed doing when you were alive. You remembered books, coffee, and your dog. And the piano. Were there other things and you forgot them? Did you have friends? You probably did, right? Thinking about it hurt your head. 

You heard the door open. “Hey, I didn’t hear you get up.” Yoongi said, plopping down on the bench across from you.

“You were in the zone so I just snuck out. Thanks for the coffee.” You took a sip from the mug.

“No problem,” he swiped his tongue across his lips. “So you’re still a ghost right? That wasn’t some weird fever dream from yesterday. Right? 

You laughed. “Still a ghost.”

“What do you want to do today?” He asked.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you here to work?”

“I did some work, but now I want to help you get out of heck. You need to do some stuff other than re-read the same books.”

“Like what? I can’t leave here. And the reception sucks so there’s not even anything on tv.” You shrugged.

“Come on, I downloaded some shows onto my laptop. We can watch something.”

“Ok.” You said surprised, you hadn’t planned on really spending the day with Yoongi. You followed him into the house and watched him grab his laptop and sit it on the coffee table. He walked over and took your mug, taking it into the kitchen for a refill.

He returned to the couch, sitting your coffee on a coaster next to the laptop. “You coming Ghosty?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” You snapped back into it. You had been so taken back by him being so nice to you. 

The two of you settled in watching some show about basketball. It wasn’t the most interesting thing to you but it was a nice change of pace and it was a good opportunity for you to get some creepy stares int. 

“I used to play basketball,” Yoongi said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Oh? Cool. I don’t think I played any sports. Piano recitals and rehearsal were all I had time for.” You responded while still watching the movie.

Yoongi was half watching the movie. He had seen it so many times before, he didn’t really need to pay attention. He had spent a lot of time last night thinking about how weird this whole thing was but he had decided to just go with it. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe you were a ghost. Either way, he was going to stay the rest of the week here and try to make them the best days you had had for a while. He didn’t know why it was so important to him. He could have packed up and left yesterday after the boat incident, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wanted to fix the music. He wanted to fix you if he could.

He looked over at you. What had happened wasn’t fair. He found himself getting irritated at the unfairness of life again. You seemed so nice so why had this happened to you? He looked back at the screen. And why was he relating so much to a ghost? He had asked himself all of these questions last night and still hadn’t settled on an answer. The show ended. Yoongi leaned forward and closed the laptop.

“Hey. Could you play some of your other music for me?” He asked, turning to face you. 

You were surprised. It had been a while, but surely you could remember some of it. You stood up, stretching after you had been sitting for so long.

“Sure. Happy or sad?” You asked, sitting down at the piano. 

“Sad first, then happy.” Yoongi replied from the couch.

“Ok.” You stretched your fingers along the keyboard, warming them up a bit at first. You played one of your early compositions. It was low and slow and sad. A feeling of emptiness and cold was captured in the movements.

“That was really good.” Yoongi said, standing up and moving over to the computer chair next to the bench. “Now, something happy.”

You moved your hands much quicker this time, playing a lively number inspired by Carnivale. If this song was a color it would be pink, yellow, red, and orange. You finished to Yoongi’s polite applause. “Thank you, thank you,” you smiled and gave a fake bow. “Alright. Your turn.”

“Me?” He gestured to himself.

“Yep. You said you play as well. I’ve heard you play my piece, now play one of yours.” 

“Alright,” he got up and sat down next to you before you had a chance to get up. You tried to not focus on how your thighs were pressed together or how he leaned across your body when he played the lower notes. It's a good thing you didn’t need to breathe to stay alive because you wouldn’t have been able to. He was very good and played his work with so much passion.

He played the final chord and looked over to see you staring at him in awe.  “Sorry, you’re just really good.”

He looked away, touching his ear and becoming shy. “Thanks. You should try to play it.”

“I haven’t played new music in forever. And that is sooo not my style.” You laughed.

“It’s good to try different styles of music. Come on, I’ll teach you.” He picked up your hand and placed it on the keyboard. Well, you couldn’t say ‘no’ to that. 

The two of you slowly worked through the song.  Yoongi thought it was cute to watch you try to learn. You stuck out your tongue slightly when you were concentrating. “Ughh I keep messing this part up.” You took your hands off the keys and shook them out.

His deep voice reverberated in a laugh next to you. “You’re doing great. Start this part over.” He played it once more.

You sighed, annoyed with yourself. “I haven’t learned new music in ten years, I forgot how hard it was.” You start to copy his finger movements, this time getting it right. 

“There you go. Now you’ll have a new song for your performance repertoire.” Yoongi smiled, looking over at you. 

You turned and looked at him as well. “Yeah I guess. I do like the song but I’d rather listen to you play it.” The sky had grown darker throughout the day. You looked away from Yoongi and out the back windows. “I wonder if it will storm again today.”

“Why? Are you going to lock me out in the rain again?” he teased. You spun back around.

“That was an accident.” 

He laughed, “No, I think it was a plan to get me to enter a wet t-shirt contest.”

You would have blushed if you could. “Hey, don’t flatter yourself mister. You shouldn’t mess with a thirsty ghost.”

He chuckled, “Please the first thing you said to me was that I looked good soaking wet.”

“Stooooopppp you weren’t supposed to be able to see me!” You pouted. “I was a good ghost. I didn’t stare at you sleeping or watch you in the shower or anything creepy like that.”

Yoongi thought this was hilarious. “You thought about it though, right?”

“Ahhh I need to go.” You started to scoot over. You were shocked when he grabbed your hand gently.

“I’m just teasing you. If it’s actually making you uncomfortable I’ll stop.”

“You’re making me feel like a pervert. And I am trying really hard not to be because you are very very hot.” You let it fall out of your mouth.

“Oh?” Yoongi asked, half-feigning surprise. He knew you thought he looked good, he was just trying to get a rise out of you.

You scowled. “You know that. Don’t even.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, batting his eyelashes. 

“You’re flirting with me!” You scoffed. “Flirting with a ghost.”

It was Yoongi’s turn to act bothered. “What? No. I am joking around with my incorporeal friend.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Huh.”

He shook his hair out of his face. “I’m going to go make food.”

“He can dish it out, but he can’t take it.” You teased as he got up and headed to the kitchen. You had noticed his blushing.

“Quiet ghost woman. I’m off to the kitchen. It’s ramyeon tonight.”

You laughed and turned back around to the piano, playing a few notes. That sounded pretty good, you thought. You added them on to the composition and they blended so well.

“Hey, that sounded great,” Yoongi encouraged from the kitchen. You smiled having finally made some real progress.

“Thanks!” You played it through again. It blended together really well. Satisfied you walked away and joined Yoongi in the kitchen. “That smells so good.”

“Thanks.” He stirred the noodles in more thoroughly. “It’s almost ready.”

You took down some bowls and laid out the utensils. Yoongi served the food. The kitchen was quiet save for the sounds of slurping for several minutes,

“This is so good. Thank you for making it.” You said as you were finishing up.

“No problem. I’m glad you like it.” Yoongi smiled his adorable gummy smile at you, causing your ghost heart to skip a beat. 

You got up and gathered the dishes. When you were finished, you saw Yoongi standing in the middle of the living room messing with the tv. 

He looked up at you, “Alright. You mentioned Karaoke the other day. Let’s do it.” Yoongi smiled.

You were intrigued but confused. “How? We don’t have any equipment.”

“I have an app downloaded on my phone. My friends love to sing and they make us do karaoke for work sometimes so I have a ton of songs downloaded. Here….” He got his phone out. “The lyrics should show up on the screen, you sing into the speaker and then it will score you. But...I am not a good singer so don’t expect anything.”

You laughed, “Oh wow. I can’t remember the last time I went out for karaoke. Ok. I am also not a good singer. But let’s try it. Wait. I won’t know any songs though!” You whined. You were excited though.

“I have a ton of classics downloaded, I’m sure you will know some of these songs.” Yoongi handed you his phone. “Here, find something. I’ll be right back.”

You scrolled through his phone and he was right, he did have a lot of songs that you did know. You picked one and it started to play. “I’m only doing this because I can’t die of embarrassment, given the situation,” You joked.

He returned with two glasses of red wine. He handed you a glass as the music started. “Thanks. Cheers. I dedicate this song to………..” you paused for effect,” Yoongi! Please don’t let the score reflect my levels of gratitude.” You joked. You took a gulp of wine. Oops. And started to sing. It wasn’t good, but you had fun. Yoongi drank wine and opened some of the back windows, allowing the air from the lake to blow in through the living room. 

You finished. “Your score is….68 points.” The computer voice read off. 

You cackled. “I told you! Ok. Please. Please. Do better than that.” You handed Yoongi the phone and went to sit on the couch. You sipped the wine. 

“No promises.” He said as he scrolled through some songs. Deciding on his song, he began to sing. It started out really good, but soon the notes became too high and it turned into shrieking.  You covered your ears jokingly. He finished the song.

“Your score is...58 points.” The system stated. 

“See? I told you,” He was laughing, his gummy smile gleaming in the dimly lit living room.

“Wow. So we are both terrible? Great. Ok.Let’s really make it mad. Pick a duet.” You suggested, standing up to join him in the middle of the room.

“Ok, so our score should be around 61.” He laughed.

“Averaging out how terrible we are?” You asked as he scrolled through his phone.

“Absolutely. Ok, do you know this one?” He asked, showing you the song title.

“Of course I do.” You took another sip of the wine and sat it down on the coffee table.

The music started with the female part first, you sang near the phone that was in Yoongi’s hand. It was so not good and he was trying not to laugh at you. His part came up and it was also a train wreck. He blushed at how terrible he sounded and then grabbed your hand, sitting the phone down on the coffee table. You looked confused.

“We’re going to score like 30.” He put his hand on your waist and started swaying to the beat starting to dance. It was a medium tempo song that the two of you rocked and forth to.

“You’re right. This is a much better use of the song.” You laughed as he spun you around ever so slightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you had this much fun.

The song ended much too quickly. Yoongi tried to make sure it wasn’t awkward by asking if you wanted to sing some more or dance. 

“I’m terrible at both, but I’d rather dance.” You said, blushing slightly.

“Alright then.” Yoongi queued up a playlist and sat his phone down. 

He offered you his hand once more and the two of you gently swayed to the song. “You do have a lot of older music.” 

“Yeah. I like to sample all sorts of genres and decades for when I create music. I feel like it helps my work have a more organic feel to it.” 

“That makes sense.” The two of you danced for a few more songs, gently swaying in the dimly lit living room. The lake breeze blowing through your hair added an extra element to the scene of the two of you dancing. It felt like you were at a prom or wedding, but it was actually somewhere you wanted to be. You gently sighed into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“You ok?” He asked.

“Just happy.” You responded without a lot of thought.

“Good.” 

The playlist ended. You pulled away smiling. “Thanks. That was fun.” 

“My pleasure. I’ve never danced with a ghost before.” Yoongi smiled at you shyly.

“That you know of.” You teased.

“Oh. A good point.” He laughed as he sat back down on the couch, drinking some more of the wine. “Come here.” 

You walked over and sat next to him. He picked up his phone. “Will you take a picture with me?”

You smirked. “Are you drunk? Remember? I don’t show up in pictures.”

He looked at you suddenly very seriously and said softly, “No. But I’ll know you were there.”

  You felt your face warm up and you scooted over as he held up the phone and took a selfie. Just as predicted, it looked like Yoongi was sitting with a person-sized space next to him. “Perfect. You look great.”

You laugh. “Thanks. Thanks for today.” You folded your legs underneath you. 

Yoongi sat the phone down on the table and then leaned back on the couch. He stretched his arms up overhead and then gently placed one around your shoulders. He tentatively asked, “Is this ok?”

You were in complete shock so it took you a minute to gather the words. “...yes. Yes.” You leaned into it.

Yoongi gently ran his fingers through your hair. You sat there in utter disbelief that any of this was happening. You were a combination of elated but sad. You were so happy it was happening, but so sad you couldn’t have met him when you were alive.

“Yoongi.” You turned to look at him. “This is probably a bad idea.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Sorry. Do you want me to stop?” He asked, lifting his hand away from you.

“No. I don’t. I’m really happy. I just. I’m a ghost. This whole whatever….won’t end well.”

Yoongi looked down at first and then at you. “I thought about this last night. If you’re trying to protect my feelings, don’t worry about it. I like you. I get that you’re a ghost. I get that a relationship isn’t feasible. But I also like you and I would like for you to be happy.”

“Oh. Ok.” You turned back and looked into the middle of the room, Yoongi resumed running his fingers through your hair. Before long, you felt his hands slow down and tiny snores coming out of his lips. You smiled and gently pulled away. You grabbed a blanket and covered him before you returned to your room for the evening. You felt the happiest you had ever felt in your whole life.

Day 6

You woke up to a gentle knocking on your door. Seeing as you didn’t actually need sleep, it was easy enough for you to wake up and reply, “Yes?”

“Can I come in?” You heard Yoongi ask.

“Of course.” You sat up all the way.

Yoongi opened the door, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. “Good morning. “

“Hey,” you smiled.  He walked over and handed you the cup. “For me?”

Yoongi nodded and sat on the side of the bed. “Alright. So. If you could redo your last day. Knowing it was your last. What would you do?”

“Oh wow. Well...I haven’t thought about it before. But this,” you gestured to the coffee in your hands, “is a great start.”

“Well, that’s what I want to do today. Whatever you want.”

You take a minute to process this. You had never asked yourself this question before.

“Ok. I want to go out on the Lake, but not too far. I want to drink lots of coffee. I want to read part of a new book. I want to play a board game. And I want to finish the song.” You said, satisfied with your list. 

“Alright. Well, that sounds like a full day, so get up.” Yoongi hit the bed with his hand. “I’ll get the boat ready.”

You drank the rest of the coffee and looked out the windows. You saw Yoongi down at the dock getting the life jackets out. He was really such a great guy. You felt your heart simultaneously flutter and ache. You walked over to the piano and started to play. It sounded good. Happy and sad. You added it to the score. You chugged one more cup of coffee, grateful for your ghost bladder and headed out to join Yoongi.

Yoongi left the boat gently tethered to the dock this time, allowing you to enjoy the views without fear of drifting off. He shared some really funny stories about his 6 friends. You probably could have stayed out there all day listening to him, if not for his growling stomach.

“I guess that’s our cue.” You said. You looked over and saw that Yoongi had taken a picture of you. “More pretend photos?” You teased.

“Nope. Pictures of you.” He said, putting his phone back in his pocket and pulling the boat back to the dock.

When you got back up Yoongi handed you his phone. “Here, this is the kindle app. You can get samples of different books. Pick one.” He headed into the kitchen to cook. You scanned a few titles and downloaded one of them.

You started reading, opting to skip food so you could continue through the chapters. When Yoongi was done, he joined you on the couch. “Find a good one?”

“Yep. It’s a mystery.” You handed him his phone back. “Thanks. You’ll have to let me know how it ends.” You smiled and stretched, walking over to the piano. “I added some more ot it. Would you like to hear?”

“Of course.” He replied.

You sat down and played the entire piece. “Doesn’t that sound good?” You asked him, proud of the progress you had made.

“It really does.” He smiled and got up, taking a seat next to you. “How about this for the next chord transition?” He played and it worked beautifully. 

“Ahhh that sounds so good,” You picked up the pen and added it to the arrangement. “Perfect.” 

“Where are the board games?” He asked, standing up.

“Hall closet. I won’t play risk or monopoly, but any of the others are fine.”

“I have PTSD from Uno so that one is also out.” He yelled from the hallway. “Life seems too ironic.”

You laughed. You looked over at the desk and grabbed a blank sheet of paper. “Just pick whatever, I don’t care.”

He came back with a few options. You ended up playing aggravation. Which lived up to its name. You had expected him to go easy on a poor dead girl, but he kept sending your ass back home at every chance he could. “You’re competitive!” You whined, trying desperately to roll a 1 or a 6.

“I have one real brother and 6 almost brothers, what do you expect?” He laughed. No surprise, Yoongi won. 

You rolled your eyes. “Booo!!!”

“We can play again or play something else if you want?” He asked, putting the pieces away.

“No, that’s ok. I need to do something and then we can just watch a show or something.” 

“Ok,” Yoongi stretched. “I’ll grab a shower. I smell like sunshine”

“What does that even mean?” You laughed.

“You know, when your skin starts to tan it gets that weird smell like it’s burning but not?”

“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You responded, getting up off the floor and walking over to the desk. “But whatever. You know I won’t complain about you walking around here wet.”

You heard him laughing down the hallway and you smiled. You took out a pen and started to write. You looked over your letter; a sad smile occupying your face. You gently tucked it in with the music and you sat down to play what you knew would be the final bars of the music. Satisfied,you added the notes to the composition. “There. It’s done.” You didn’t dare to play it all the way through though. You got up and stood over by the window. The sun was setting. 

Yoongi came out a few minutes later, his hair still wet. “That sounded good.” He must have heard some of the music in the shower. 

“Thanks,” you turned around. “Pick a show.”

“You don’t care?” He asked, walking over to the couch.

“Nope. I haven’t seen nearly as much stuff as you I'm sure.”

“Ok.” He scrolled through some titles as you went over and joined him. The two of you resumed your position from the previous night. You happily tucked into Yoongi’s side with his arm around your shoulder. He picked a long-ass Avengers movie and you had to try really hard to keep track of the characters. 

“Sorry. I guess if you haven’t seen any of them, it would be hard to keep track.”

“No, it’s fine. I liked it.” You said. It had been confusing, but overall it was a good movie. You got up and stretched, with Yoongi following suit.

“The day’s almost over.” You commented sadly as you looked out at the moon hanging over the lake.

“It is.” Yoongi walked up behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. “What else is on the list?”

You looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“Hey,” he turned you around so the two of you were facing each other. “It’s not dumb. What is it?”

“Could we...sleep together? Not in like a sex way. Just like. Together. Next to each other in bed.” You looked everywhere except for Yoongi’s face, embarrassed by your request.

Yoongi wrapped his arms around you for a hug. “Yes. We can do that.” 

You smiled and took a deep breath of his scent, trying to hold on to the memory.

He pulled back, “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed him down the hallway to the master bedroom. You both had only worn pajamas all day anyway so you didn’t need to change or anything.

The two of you laid down in bed. You felt Yoongi reach for your hand and you scooted closer. He rolled over so the two of you were facing each other. The moonlight provided enough light for you to be able to see the tiny freckles on his face, and the sadness hidden in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, gently moving your hand to cup his face.

“Nothing.” He replied, leaning into your touch. “Other than the fact that you know...ghost.”

You laughed. “Yeah. It’s weird.”

A small smile played across his lips. “I like weird.” He looked at you for several seconds, studying your face. “Can I kiss you?”

It took everything for you to not sound overly-excited. You tried to play it cool, “Yes.” You moved your face closer to his and he ever-so-gently placed a kiss upon your lips. If you could die again, you would have. The first kiss was short, the second kiss was firmer and much more needy, and the rest of them were delightfully passionate. The two of you continued to make out for several minutes before pulling away.

“Wow.” You said.

“Good wow? I’m guessing.” Yoongi said, smiling at you.

You laughed, “Yeah. You know how to make a girl feel alive.” It was meant to be a joke, but it left you feeling sad. Yoongi must have noticed because he pulled you closer, up against his chest.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I know. Thank you.” You murmured into his chest. You felt him kiss the top of your head. Neither of you dared to move it seemed. Before you knew it, your eyes were getting heavy. You were so happy. When you woke up, it was bright and warm. 

Yoongi woke up, stretching his whole body. The sky was grey and he heard rain beating against the windows. His hands reached over to the other side of the bed, but there was nothing there. “[Y/N?]” He asked quietly? Getting no response, he slowly got up and wandered out to the living room. “[Y/N]?” He asked again. He continued this around the house for several minutes becoming louder and more frantic.

Frustrated, he sat down at the piano and noticed the score sitting out. It was complete. Yoongi felt his throat burning slightly and held back his tears as he put his hands on the keys. He played the song. It was beautiful. The melody told a story of sadness, tentative hope, and finally, happiness. When he finished playing, he was crying. He gently moved the sheet music over to the desk and noticed another piece of paper was stuck to the back of the sheet music.

Yoongi,

I think your plan might work. And in case it does, I want you to know that this week was the best week of my life. You are so kind and thoughtful. Thank you for helping me. Helping me finish the song and have fun. Do what you want with this song. It’s yours; I couldn’t have written it without you.  If I do end up out of heck, I hope I end up going somewhere where I will see you again someday. Keep living a wonderful life for me, ok? 

Love always,

[Y/N]

And that broke him. Yoongi sobbed into his hands and walked back into the bedroom. He curled up, hugging the pillow. Your warmth was long gone from the bed, but he just wanted to stay there the rest of the day. As his crying slowly subsided, he reminded himself that he knew this could happen. When he laid in bed the first night he discovered you were a ghost, he knew this might happen. And he still let himself fall. He knew he should be happy for you. And eventually, he would be.  

Epilogue

Yoongi double checked the address once more. It would be super awkward if he walked up to the wrong house. He had closed on the Lakehouse the week before and had put together a small box of items that he thought your parents might want to have. He walked up the path, stopping at a small stone memorial: “Our beloved [Y/N], gone but not forgotten.” Next to it was a cement stone with paw prints in it and the name “Barley.” Yep. This was definitely the right place. Yoongi almost started to cry right there but he knew he had to keep it together for your parents. He knocked on the door. 

An older woman answered, clearly your mom judging by the same eyes and face shape. “Yes, can I help you young man?” She eyed the box suspiciously. “There's no solicitation allowed in this neighborhood.” 

Yoongi smiled, “Of course not ma’am. I’m Min Yoongi. I bought your daughter’s Lakehouse and I have some of her stuff. I thought it was only right to return them to you.”

Your mom’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh of course. Of course. Please come in.” She  led the way to the living room and yelled for her husband to join them. “This is the man who bought the house. He brought us some of [Y/N]s things.” She explained as your dad walked into the living room. 

“Thank you. It was too painful for us to go back.” Your mom said quietly.

Yoongi nodded, slowly starting to look around the house. It was covered in pictures of you at various ages and piano competition ribbons and trophies.

Yoongi touched the back of his neck lightly and cleared his throat. "I'm also a composer and music producer. I found some music [Y/N] was working on shortly before she passed. I went ahead and completed it and recorded it. Would you like to listen?”

Your parents sat there for a moment taking it all in. They exchanged a look with one another as though having a silent conversation with each other.

“I understand if you don’t want a stranger intruding on this. Here is the flashdrive with the song on it.” He took it out of his pocket and sat it down on the coffee table. Yoongi suddenly felt as though he was violating a very intimate moment and turned to leave.

“Could you play it for us?” Your mom asked.

Yoongi’s breath felt trapped in his throat. Could he play through it without being a crying wreck? He didn’t know. He cried while recording it. And listening to it. But it didn’t seem right to cry in front of your parents, they had lost their daughter. He had only known you for a few days. And yet, how could he refuse them? He turned back around. “Of course.”

Your mom squeezed your dad’s hand tightly. “This way,” she led Yoongi through a set of double doors and into a room with a baby grand piano sitting in the middle. “We still have it tuned. I don’t know why. Neither of us play.” She said, pushing her glasses back up.

“It’s like we think she’ll show back up one day and we want to be ready for her.” Your dad added, putting his arm around his wife and squeezing.

Yoongi walked over to the piano bench and sat down. He could do this.  He pressed his hands to the keys and began to play. Slowly at first, through the morose beginning of the song. As he entered the middle it gradually became warmer and moderately paced, and finally by the end it was an eerie blend of the two. Bittersweet and full of hope and regret at the same time. By the time Yoongi played the last note he could feel the tears streaming down his face. He didn’t want to turn and look to face your parents, he didn’t feel like he could take it. He heard soft claps behind him and turned. Your parents were both applauding while crying.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Your mom said, taking a tissue from a box on the table, then offering one to Yoongi. He gently dabbed at his face. 

He stayed for a while longer, allowing them to talk a bit more about your life and show him pictures and talk about your many achievements.

“Thank you so much for stopping by. You are a lovely young man. I only wish [Y/N] could have known you when she was alive.” Your mom said as they escorted him to the front door.

Yoongi smiled wistfully, “I feel like I did get to know her through her music. Thank you. She was very talented. Do you mind if I add this song to my next mixtape? You don’t have to answer now, and she will be credited on the song. Just let me know.” He handed them his business card before leaving to head back to Seoul. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

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

Your parents had given their blessing to having your song included on the next album. This mixtape in general had a softer feel to it than his previous albums, but people gushed the most about the softness and vulnerability of the last track: a piano composition he had dedicated to [Y/N]. “May you live on forever through your music.  I'll see you again someday.”

Yoongi was both happy and sad that he never saw you in the lake house again; hoping that wherever you were now, it was peaceful. Over the years Yoongi and the other members created many memories at the Lakehouse, fishing and playing games. Some of them eventually even brought their families along. They were all welcome as long as they followed Uncle Yoongi’s rules: no messing around with the piano. 

[feminaexlux]

Next To You

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers fic challenge that I totally didn't FUBAR this time!

∴

Luka had been laying back on the lounge on the upper deck of the Liberty. He had started strumming and sang along a few bars, not knowing he had an audience that had just been coming on board.

"I'd like an ocean view somewhere. As long as I'm next to you, I don't care," he sang.

Marinette stood still a few meters away, listening to the barely audible lyrics of an unfamiliar song. Did Luka make this one himself too? He'd been way more creative recently. Maybe he'd always been creative and had high output, and it had more to do with the fact that Marinette was around to notice it this time?

Juleka barely talked about her brother much, and when Marinette tried to figure out why it turned out that Luka had always just wanted people to judge him for themselves.

Did she know him long enough to be able to get a good picture of who Luka Couffaine really was?

"We need to get outta this town," he continued singing. Marinette felt a tiny stab of pain. She wouldn't blame him for feeling like he needed to leave Paris. With Hawkmoth and the consistently weird crap going on, maybe it would be safer elsewhere.

But maybe a part of her didn't want him to go anywhere…

She should probably let him know she was here. It might be a bit rude to stand around and eavesdrop… "H-Hey Luka?" she called out, stumbling.

The strumming continued but he turned his head and smiled. "Hey there," he greeted back. "Sorry, didn't hear you come onboard."

"No problem--It's not a problem I-I was being quiet is all," she laughed nervously. "I'd never heard you sing before! You're really good!"

He chuckled. "Thanks. I like to leave the singing to Rose, though. She's much better than I am." He stopped strumming and sat up, patting the seat next to him. Marinette sat down where he indicated. "I'm also thinking you're secretly a great singer yourself."

"Wh-What no, I'm terrible," Marinette stuttered. "Like you said, leave the singing to Rose!"

He laughed. "You don't give yourself enough credit. Your voice is pretty… distinct. A really unique quality, you know?"

She blinked back. "Thanks? I think?"

"Anyway. It's good to see you. What's up?"

"I needed to return something to Juleka and I got… um, I just noticed you singing and got distracted, I guess?" Luka just smiled again and leaned back, going back to strumming his guitar. "Did you make that song?"

"Mmm, no, not this one. It's a song I overheard recently, but it's catchy and I wanted to play it."

"What's it called?"

"This Town," he said. "It's got a good feel to it, even if it's sad."

"Can you play it for me?"

He nodded, a slight smirk on his face. "I'll play you anything you like," he said easily. He started playing something that was reminding her of… distance and disappointment. He sang about leaving home and not living life in circles. It'd been something that plagued Marinette's mind at times, that she'd been in an endless loop of Ladybug and Chat Noir fighting Hawkmoth's akumas and never really progressing anywhere.

Well, there'd been some progressing. More like Hawkmoth had gotten an ally and Marinette lost all of hers, save Chat Noir.

She really missed having more team members to support her. And maybe she needed to think about who else to give out Miraculous to. No one struck her as wise or calm or rational enough, save one. But he'd been outed as Viperion.

Then maybe he'd have to take on another role.

"Marinette?" Luka said gently, bringing her out of her contemplation.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I liked it, I liked the song…" Marinette laughed nervously.

"You seem to have a lot of things on your mind," Luka said, half a smile on his face. "Did you want to talk about it?"

She furrowed her eyebrows. "No, I think I… I can't, not right now. But thank you for offering," she followed up quickly.

"There seems to be a lot on your shoulders," Luka mentioned casually, looking off to her side and over the river. She wasn't sure if he found something interesting to look at or not, or if he just wanted to turn his usually intense stare away from her. She'd noticed that if he didn't think about it he kept his eyes trained on a person when he was very interested in the things they wanted to say, but it usually scared the other person. "I know I'm not one of your closest friends but I'll listen to anything you want to tell me."

"I know," Marinette sighed. "And… thank you for that but… I just can't right now. It's not that I don't want to tell you… I just can't."

"Alright, that's okay." He made a sweeping gesture over his guitar. "You can play it out if you want to. It helps me sometimes. Words can be pretty hard to get out, but music isn't."

Marinette blinked. It'd been a few lessons here and there with Luka, and he'd been a kind and patient teacher. She did understand a little bit about playing the guitar, but… it didn't come naturally to her like it did for him. Still, that was an interesting exercise. Maybe she'd give it a go. "Okay," she agreed. "It'll probably sound terrible though, just saying!"

He smiled in reply. "Play whatever comes through your heart," he said. "It'll be amazing, I know it."

He was always quick to compliment her and it made her blush. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you," she laughed. She took the guitar he proffered her and stretched out her fingers. She pressed her fingertips against a chord she… felt was right. He handed over a pick from his pocket, warm with his body heat. He usually just played with his fingers but she was more comfortable with a pick, and he had remembered that.

She strummed a few simple notes first, trying to remember the hand placements. It ended up being a little off, so she readjusted and played a few more notes. She nodded to herself, strumming a melody she made up on the spot, closing her eyes and feeling the rhythm of her impromptu jam.

It felt like a few seconds later when she opened her eyes, the song having finished. "What did that sound like to you?" Marinette asked. "I don't even remember what I played," she chuckled.

He looked over at her hand placements and thought about it for a few seconds. "Sounds… tense. Like there's too much going on in there," he said with a smile, tapping her forehead with an index finger. "You know, looking back on it, I guess I'm pushing too hard to try to get you to tell me something. Sorry about that."

"No, no, it's alright. I'm glad you're trying to get me to… um, unload, I guess? I do have a lot of stuff on my mind and… the guitar helped a little bit. I'm glad you offered. Actually, can I keep playing? It felt kind of good."

"Of course. Take however long you want."

She kept strumming and it was a couple more minutes until she felt her fingers start to cramp up. Her playing slowed down and she noticed that her fingertips were throbbing. "Oh, I think I have to stop," she sighed.

He took her hands and massaged them, focusing on being gentle with her fingertips. "You do a lot with these hands."

"Yep. I stabbed myself with my needle only 4 times today," Marinette rolled her eyes. "It's a new record."

"Thanks for playing along. I usually have to say things through my guitar, so it was one way I knew to let you talk without having to say anything, you know? Sometimes people don't understand me, but that's alright. It's more about the practice of letting my feelings be heard more than be understood."

"Yeah, I get it," Marinette agreed. "It was a great idea. I'd like to do it again, but apparently I need to start building up some tolerance first."

"I took up a lot of your time. Did you need to talk with Juleka?"

"Oh! Oh shoot, yeah, I just wanted to drop something off. I got distracted… but…" Marinette looked around. "You know, that song I heard you playing when I came on board?" Luka nodded. "I hope you don't mind me saying please don't leave 'this town' any time soon…"

"I wasn't planning on it. Even still a little bit of time before university." He had a small half-smile on his face. "Did you think I'd leave without telling you?"

"Ah, um, just… well, I'm glad I got to know you as a f-friend, and it'd suck if we didn't get to talk anymore," Marinette said, drawing her foot back and tapping her toe point against the wooden slats as a nervous tick. She had wanted to say more about missing him if he did go but that seemed a little self-indulgent. "Anyway, th-thanks for the um. Break?" She laughed nervously.

"I'll still be here if you want to hang out some more," he said over his shoulder, leaning back into his chair when Marinette started moving away. "If not, see you later."

Marinette ran down to the main cabin and dropped off the new lace gloves for Juleka, who had Rose over as well. The other girls both cooed over it (well, it'd been mostly Rose cooing) and thanked Marinette for her hard work. Marinette was heading back out when she saw the blue tips of Luka's hair peeking out past the canvas backing of the lounge chair he was in.

She didn't want to live her life in circles, and she'd be circling if she just went home right now. She decided to sit back down next to Luka. "Hey," she said lightly, her heart beating fast. "I wanted to hang out next to you for a while."

[nosferatyou]

If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 1 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: Rosalie and her band “By Elliston” move from Nashville to Detroit to continue their music careers and move away from their demons. Rosalie notices an unhappy face in the crowd of their first show, and is instantly drawn to him. While she doesn't mind that hes easy on the eyes she does mind his less than stellar attitude about their music. 

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Drug use, language, and mentions of abuse.

Notes: Well this has been brewing for A WHILE. I’ve been everywhere deciding on a plot, but after tedious planning this is finally a reality. I hope the 5 Jack White fans on here enjoy this. This will be a series so strap in folks. We got young jack. we got old jack. we got everything in between. (also series names are hard) Enjoy! Appreciate all the research i did!

Chapter Two

“Do you want another?” 

He holds his hand above me, his dark eyes burning holes into me, he pulls back more as if ready to strike again. As if on command, I recoil from the movement, feeling smaller than I ever had.

My head shoots up, suddenly back in Zoot’s coffee house. I blink a couple of times, trying to wake myself up. I couldn’t remember what she asked.

“What?” I asked her, phasing back into reality again, and not what was a horrific nightmare.

Sat next to me was my best friend and singer in our band was Harry, or Harriet if you want to be technical. Her head was held high, and she was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement, she seemed more than ready for our first show in a new town.

 She moved one of her two shots in front of me and asked again. 

“Are you deaf, Lee? I asked if you wanted another shot before we go on.” 

I quickly sat up and grabbed it off the makeshift bar, anything to shake off what I was feeling. 

We clinked our drinks together, and she yelled out a toast over the crowd of people behind us. 

“To fresh starts and new stomping grounds!” 

We clinked our drinks and quickly downed them, both of us coughing from our burning throats, but as soon as we saw our red faces, we burst out into laughter. 

“We are horrible at shots, aren’t we?” I said in between wheezes of laughter.

“We truly are.” She paused and grabbed the bottle. “One more for good luck!.”

It seems like this is the night, if any, to drink. 

We’d just gotten to Detroit. Like just got here a week ago and are already booking shows. We all decided to move her for reasons I won’t mention, but I’ll just say that we needed to switch up our scene a bit. 

Our band “By Elliston” had grown pretty big in the Nashville scene, we played pretty frequently at the Exit/In. Which is not the biggest venue in the world, but it means something for the Nashville scene. I mean, we technically shared a stage with Muddy Waters and BB King, so that’s at least something to brag about.

 We were known in the Nashville punk scene and had made some significant headway, but thanks to shitty people and our big egos, we decided to move to Detroit. Known for its great music and cars.

 And here we are at Zoot’s Coffee shop, which is arguably a coffee shop honestly. Off a dark street, that no person with money would venture down, and the outside seems like nothing is out of the ordinary, it’s just a house on a street. But the inside. Its a home, its a coffee shop, and venue for anyone who has an instrument. 

Its packed wall to wall with people, barely any standing room, especially near the stage, which is just a raised corner of the living room. Its the perfect venue for any rock band. Small and loud.

We (being the band and me) all lived for music, and it is our life’s blood.

 I grew up in a very southern home and was always surrounded by music, thanks to my dad. Id never met a man who loves Johnny Cash more than him or country music for that matter. Cash would always play through the house, or Hank Williams, Waylon Jennings. That kind of thing. However, I can’t stand to listen to any of them now. Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always said.

 That did spark something in me. I started playing guitar, thanks to my dad… and then I picked up the bass and then drums. And so on and so on. The moral is that If you hand me any stringed instrument ill know how to play it.

The other girls. Jo, Harriet, and Ezra. All got into good music when they were in high school, which also when we all met. Thanks to the high school band or orchestra. I played violin, as did Jo and Harriet, Ezra played the stand-up bass and continues with the bass to this day.

 Now we’ve all moved on the from hot cross buns and into a world of rock and roll. We used to be terrible, covering a lot of Alice in Chains and Nirvana. 

Graduating class of ‘93 for all of us, and we lived in a world of grunge. Five years later and we’ve since moved on from our teenage ways. We’ve embraced the blues and everything around it. However, we get a bit heavier than our inspirations, with my heavy fuzz and Harriet’s raspy yelps. With the look of punk dads (a lot of fun button-ups, dark makeup, and Dr. Martens boot) and the sounds of 4 angry ladies, we tore up Nashville.

We played a lot of house shows, met many a band, lost many a group, met a dumb boy who won’t be named (its John), and had a lot of fun tearing up the Nashville scene. 

As we grew, we played bigger venues, the show of ‘96 at The End being the staple of our career. We’d never played as good as we did then, and none of us are convinced we’ll play as well as we did that night.

 Either way, we were thrust forward, and our movement grew, we were making money from our shows, plus we played bigger venues. The Exit/In and The East Room, to name a couple. Last month we felt we needed a change of scenery to grow. As incredible, the Nashville scene is, its also quite small. Few venues and fewer people. That’s the other girl’s excuse, at least. 

We scrounged up what we could, found an apartment here, and moved as soon as we could. Unlike the others, I had to burn some bridges to get here, but more will be made here. We scooped out the scene the moment we arrived and set up a show here, and we are all buzzing to perform again. 

“So, who are we opening for again?” I asked as we headed to our van to start and unload our gear. 

“The White somethings.” Jo absentmindedly answered, wrapping her jacket around herself for warmth.

Harriet quickly cut in, “The White Stripes, you mean.” Correcting her.

We all arrived at our shared van and started grabbing our mess of cables and cases.

Harriet continued, “I’ve been asking around all night about them, you know. To learn about the enemy and such.” 

Jo popped her head up from the front seat and asked, “When have you had the time to ask around? I was with you literally all night.” 

Harriet picked up her small load for the night and parked a seat on the car next to ours, lighting a cig while she sat.

“I have my ways.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows before taking a long drag.

“Anyways, here’s what I’ve learned. They’ve been around a year, the drummer learned when they got together, and guitarist leads the show.” She spoke with her ever-present dramatics, waving the cig around after every word. 

“They can’t be that good if the drummers new, and they’ve only been playing a year.” Said Ezra, who was effortlessly carrying what seemed to be the world’s most massive bass amp. 

“I don’t know, Z. It seems agreed that they know how to rock a room.” Harriet pipped up.

“What does it mean for us then?” Asked Jo who’s joint was lit and already in her mouth, and arms were full with various drums. Explains why she was digging around the front seat.

I quickly cut in, not about to let them get nervous over a baby band. “Absolutely nothing. We’ve got six years on them. These Detroit kids won’t know what hit them, we’re from music city for god’s sake.” 

“That’s the spirit, Lee!  Now get your asses inside so we can set up.” Harriet popped off the car and started walking towards the door, beckoning us towards her.

“Feel like helping us speed up the process, Harry?” Joked Jo.

“You’re big girls. I’m gonna go try and spot the enemy.” She yelled back to us.

“Oh, have fun, we will just be here carrying your band!” I yelled out.

“I knew I could count on you, darling!” She called out, throwing a wink and cigarette butt our way. 

When we had finally reached the stage, the already crowded room had doubled in bodies. While most bands would be shaking in their boots, it only spurred us on more. While we all have our fair share of disagreements, we have one thing in common. Our shared headspaces before a show. All ready to take on anything, and our confidence is unwavering. The bigger, the better. It’s honestly what’s kept us together this whole time. 

Now all eyes were on us, and it was a tough crowd, it was dead silent. The girls and I all exchanged a look and nodded. I always started us off. We had a set opener, it never changed and worked every time, but after that was a free for all. I usually took charge and just chose whatever I was feeling, but if not me, then Harriet. The other two just flowed with whatever we threw their way.

I always started first with the heavy riff, joined in by Ezra, then Jo, and finally Harriet. 

The riff is what pulled them in, and it was always quite the sight. I got fully into it every time. It was dark, straightforward, and full of fuzz and feedback. 

By the time Harriet joins in its mayhem, I speed up and play power chords. It’s not slow, but it’s not so fast that it’ll make your head spin. 

As the short show progressed, we felt like how we used to feel every night. Pure joy, which is what we all fucking needed. 

We improvised. I mashed up whatever songs I even threw in a little Stooges to thank the locals for letting us play. Though I did notice the gaze of one oddball in the back, who was just… watching.

 While that doesn’t sound weird, it was sure out of the ordinary. He sat in the back, arms crossed leaned against the wall. The whole mysterious boy schtick was down pact. He wasn’t scowling, but he didn’t seem happy. It was off-putting and kept my focus over towards that corner of the room, but didn’t hinder the performance. Maybe it fueled it. 

The show couldn’t have gone better, though. The crowd did not hide their whoops and hollers when we finished our last song of the set. I was already riding that performance high and will be for the rest of the night. 

“Thanks for a great first night, Detroit! We’re “By Elliston,” and we hope to see you next time!”

Screamed out Harriet for a final goodbye as we headed off the stage, their applause carrying us off the small stage. 

The moment we put down our instruments, we about took each other out, tacking one another to the ground.

 As tradition carries, after every show, we used to just aggressively group hug, but over time we’ve grown more and more… excited. At one of our last shows at The Exit/In, I accidentally knocked out Jo by slamming into her too hard. If that gives any frame of reference to what our dog piles look like now.

“Ladies. If every show goes somewhat like that here, I think we will rule this scene.” Ezra said from the bottom of the pile, her words garbled from the mass of bodies. 

“Alright, Lee, get your ass off the top, you’re gonna snuff me out down here.” 

Without much warning, she slid out from underneath us, and the rest of us went down to the ground, causing all of us to erupt in laughter. 

Once we all straightened ourselves out, we went to the van and had a celebratory cig, the first of many “celebratory” cigs of the night, 

To my right was Harriet leaning against the tail light, and Jo and Ezra were sitting in the van next to me. Harriet broke the silence.

“You know I missed this, Lee. I’m glad you’re back.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Har-” While talking I’d noticed three figures a few cars over walking to their own. My eyes widened in surprise. I grabbed Harriet’s arm suddenly and dragged her in with the rest of us.

“Shut up. It’s him.”

“What I wasn’t even talking-” she stopped and sat up to face, she wasn’t upset, but she sure looked confused. “Wait, who is “Him?” 

I looked around to check to see if he could hear. 

“I saw him when we were playing. He kept just… staring at me. It was weeeird.”

“Why’d you pull me in the car then??” 

“I panicked! It was just weird!” 

Ezra peaked her head out of the car in curiosity and asked. “Which one is it, the young blondie or the black-haired beauty?”

“Gah Jesus, not the child, Ezra! It’s the hot one.”

Harriet whipped her head out of the car to look at them, speaking a bit too loudly.

“Lee, you need to start off saying it was a HOT stranger! You have my interest now.”

“I’m going to kill both you. Get your dumbasses back in the car.”

We huddled back up, Harriet has a look in her eye that I don’t like.

“So, what’s the plan of action here, Lee?” Asked Harriet.

“Nothing. He’s a scowler. Sure a hot one at that, but if he can’t enjoy what we make, then what’s the point? When we played that stooges song, he looked like he was going to blow his top.”

“I think you’ve missed the point here, Lee. Point one,  You’re fresh out of a toxic sludge of a relationship. Point two, hot stranger. And finally. Point three, he’s a hot stranger in a band. I’m not passing up this opportunity.”

She gave us a wink, took a final drag of her cig, and hopped out of the car. She was going over to them.

“Harriet, you fucker don’t you dare,” I said with gritted teeth. “I’ve tackled you once today, and  I’ll do it again.”

She chuckled. “You’re all talk, kid. I’m off to make friends!”

“Bastard!” I yelled, leaping out of the car and towards her. I was too late, she just about ran over to them, and I was quickly in tow behind her. 

“Well, look at that, Lee! New people. Hi there, I'm Harriet, but you can call me Harry. and this is Rosalie.” She extended her hand towards the three strangers.

“Its Lee actually, she’s just an asshole.” 

All of them looked slightly taken aback. They were sure as hell wasn’t expecting her hand in their face, or two random ladies in their space. The newly named “hot stranger” was the first to speak up. He seemed rightly hesitant.

“I’m Jack, and this is my sister, Meg. This over here is my nephew, Ben. He’s our pinball wizard. Or Roadie in technical terms.” 

“Well, good to meet Y’all!” Once she shook ben’s hand, he spoke up. Man he was young. Was he maybe 16? Not over 18 is the point.

“You guys played a hell of a show. The Stooges? Blues? You’re going to give these two a run for their money.”

Jack shifted on his heels when ben mentioned this. Same face as before, and little less friendly than introductions.

“Well, its all that Tennessee blood in us. Now we arent from Memphis, but Nashville’s close enough, right?” Harriet winked at the kid. His cheeks flushed a deep red. 

Jack shifted his eyes back to me, but they wander somewhere else. 

I clear my throat, he snaps his head up and makes eye contact with me, a small smirk falls on his face. 

“Well, you all seem busy, so Harriet and I are going to go back over there. Have a good show.”

I grab her arm and try to drag her away casually.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She whisper yells to me. We find ourselves on the other side of our van, out of their sight.

“Lee, You have never been one to shy away from new people. Especially men. Remember us, fresh out of high school? You practically had a different man in your bed every night. That whole nervous persona is new. Go seduce a hot stranger!”

“Jesus, Harriet! Lower your goddamn voice! First off its Jack, And yes I know. Different times though. I’m not going to go over there in front of his sister and prepubescent nephew to try and get in his pants.”

“Aw, come on, Lee! It’d be fun! Plus, you need a fucking rebound, girl.”

“Okay, well, talk me into this when its not a family reunion.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Rosalie.”

We started to make our way back to the other girls.

“Alright, ladies, let’s go catch our headliner,” I said, opening the van doors. A plume of smoke rolled out of it the moment the doors opened. I grabbed the joint from Ezra, taking a hit before going inside. I handed it back to the faded bass player and headed back inside.

[the-wintershade]

— just like oil on my hands 

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes summary: you and sam having a myriad of bonding moments and the thought of falling for him becomes nearly unbearable, but, just when things get serious, there’s always something in the way. wc: 6.5k+  genre: flirting, good banter, heat, awkwardness and tension

Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 04

Sam makes sure to bring you to everything now. It’s as him disclosing his place of complete secrecy has opened up another side of him that you’ve never seen before. Dancing is more exciting, you laugh consistently when you’re together, and you meet up when class isn’t in session.

It’s as if the almost kiss was erased wholly from your memory. 

You find out about his obsession with Marvin Gaye and the Trouble Man soundtrack. He’s got the whole album and listens to it almost everyday, but it took you a little bit to pry that slightly embarrassing detail from him. 

“Oh, you must really like him.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good.” He laughs into his coffee as you sit at the table you’ve officially decided to co-parent.

“To have over 300 listens to the same songs is pretty impressive considering that you only recently bought the whole album.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he tries his best to keep a straight face, sputtering into his drink. You grin at his momentary lapse in restraint.

“Well, like I said, Marvin Gaye is the best.” He watches you with a mirthful gaze and you squint your eyes at him, knowing there’s a part he’s not telling you.

“Well, Rachel knows that that’s only partially true.” You lean your head down and pretend that she’s agreeing with you, nodding your head enthusiastically. “That’s exactly right Rachel, he’s hiding something from us. He doesn’t love you like I do, Rachel.”

“Rachel, don’t listen to that. You know that I’ve been coming here consistently these past few weeks and we’ve been listening to the soundtrack together.” He folds his arms and leans back as if he’s won this battle. Ha.

“Everytime, huh?” You nonchalantly take a sip.

“Yep.” He purses his lips in triumph.

“Sounds like this is an everyday occurrence.”

“‘Cause it is.” He retorts and you point directly at him. He sputters through his drink, realizing he’s been caught, trying to scramble for a response.

“Ah—the truth finally comes out. He is legally insane.” You spread your arms in victory, sweet sweet victory. “He’s completely addicted to the soundtrack and cannot go a day without listening to it. Your honor, this case is officially closed; you have all of the evidence  you need to convict this man.”

“You can’t prove that.” He chuckles, snatching his phone back to put it safely back in his pocket.

“If you were in love with Marvin Gaye, Sam, all you had to do was say the word.” You take a sip while grinning and he fakes annoyance and rolls his eyes before breaking down in laughter. You follow closely behind him.

…

He also takes you rollerskating. He tries to talk you through it and reassures you that it’s pretty easy. He just wasn’t aware that you used to hit the rink every Friday as a kid and although it’s been a while since you’ve gotten back on the rink, you used to be a pro.

This was going to be easy, but it wouldn’t be that hard to play a little prank on him.

He’d helped you lace your skates up tight enough that your ankles wouldn’t roll and you let him, pretending to be all dainty and unaware of the roller skating experience. You did enjoy taking his hands again as he hoisted you to your feet and held most of your weight, making sure you kept your balance.

He was extremely careful, walking you through the steps as you wobbled and shook heavily on phoney weak and unpracticed legs. His hands were strong and steady, a calming pulse about as soothing as his warm voice guiding you how to weave one foot in and out to create some speed. 

“There you go, you got it.” His encouraging voice made you smile, a genuine display of teeth. Of course, it wasn’t because you were making small, fake steps of progress, but because he was willing to be patient with you as you moved through the steps. It made your heart soften and a warmth of pure adoration erupt in your core.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Your legs shook violently and you pretended to stumble. He caught you, his hands gripping your forearms determinedly, not allowing you to even think of falling, drawing you into his strong chest. 

He breathed a little slower, looking down at you with concern and laughter. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You breathed shakily, laying your performance thick. “Let me try again.”

You stood up straight again and gently tugged against his hands. “I want to see if I can do it without you.”

“Okay, just be careful.” He didn’t look convinced that you could do it, but he slowly let go of you, keeping his hands out just in case you needed the security of them again. He made sure to stay close and you allowed yourself a small smirk at his protectiveness and concern.

You winked at him and spun around, taking off around the circle of the rink, sure that your legs and previous experience would be more than capable of supporting your own weight. You even ignored the stopper on the front and slowed your speed by dragging the side of your wheel. 

His mouth hung open as you drifted right next to him, turning around to skate backwards. Then he let out a huff in disbelief. “You lied to me.”

“I thought it’d be a great opportunity to find out how good of a teacher you were.” You shrugged in false innocence and made sure to stay slightly out of his reach, even when he started to drift closer.

“And after I laced up your shoes, after I took all this time to walk you through all of the steps.”

“It was a nice added benefit.” You laughed.

“Oh, okay. I see how you wanna play this.” His eyes turned to something darker, losing the bright light they held and morphing into a deeper expression of humor and resolve.

You wasted no time in turning around and taking off, squealing as he rode fast on your heels. Giggles escaped you as his fingertips brushed against your clothing now and again. He eventually gained enough speed to pull you right next to him, forcing you to slow down and face him. 

The vestiges of your laughter died down while you looked at him. He wasn’t mad at all. His chest heaved up and down, his teeth spread into a huge grin. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

The ensuing roller skating dance battle was epic.

…

“Keep up, Coffee girl. I saw the way you moved on those skates!” He called over his shoulder as he lapped you, the tall tower near the Lincoln Memorial loomed in the distance as you tried to catch up to him near the reflecting pool. 

You huffed, your lungs squeezing with flame, and you struggled to take in air, your mouth crumbly and dry. You’d sweated through your exercise shirt and were about three seconds from passing out. 

You should have expected this. Sam was in the military after all and it made sense that the regimen never really goes away that easily, but you hadn’t expected to get ran into the next century. Sure, you could move your way around roller skates, but the wheels did a lot more for you than you actually did for the skates. The running shoes you wore right now weren’t going to assist in keeping your pace. This was all manual labor.

And you hadn’t tried to run in years. Middle school P.E. was likely the last time you ever tried to pace yourself through a measly mile.

You saw him make his way around the halfway point and came to a stop, placing your hands tightly on your knees and taking in as much air as you possibly could in the moment. You closed your eyes, feeling the sweat creating small rivets down your neck and back, clinging to your hair and your clothes. You felt dirty, in deep need of a hot shower and three healthy gallons of water.

“On your left.” Sam huffed past you, but you kept your eyes closed and took in more air until you could feel like you would be able to form a response.

When you opened them, Sam was watching you with that mixture of mirth and worry. “You alright there?”

“Yeah,” You could barely speak the words, the syllables filled with air instead of the ringing of your vocal chords. “I’m okay. Just need a minute.” You closed your eyes again and took deep breaths until you could get your breathing under control. 

You heard Sam tread over to you and crouch down in front of you. “Hey.” Your eyes peeled open slowly, and he was right there with a soft smile on his face. “Let’s take it slow.”

You nodded and stood up straight, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through your side. Sam took his place beside you and started on what was undoubtedly a slow jog for him, but was a manageable pace for you. You ignored the pain, fighting to stay moving. 

Sam didn’t treat you with pity or that you would crumble. He stayed right next to you, bringing up topics that you could bicker over or discuss to a deep enough degree to keep your mind off your jog. He was kind and supportive. He took breaks with you when you needed to stop and would slow your pace if you were beginning to struggle again.

He showed you time and time again that he was everything Bucky was not. He was giving you so many reasons why he was better. Why you should choose him. 

And everytime, you thought you didn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve someone caught up in a relationship with someone else. The longer you dwelled on these thoughts, the sadder you became. A hole opened up, eating through your thoughts of him.

Because you wanted to be that supporting shoulder that he was for you, but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. By the time you got out, it might be too late for Sam. Besides, you had to prove that you weren’t boring, that you could be exciting too. That you could keep a man interested. 

Sam picked up on your change in mood and slowed your pace even more. “What’s going on? Thinking about him, again?”

“No.” You shook your head and gave a sad smile. “Something else that’s more important.”

He nodded and smiled. “Well get your head out of the clouds, Coffee Girl. We got three more laps to do.”

You huffed in frustration and gave a sad attempt at a laugh. “People must really call you Falcon for good reason. You just fly around those corners don’t you?”

“You have no idea.” 

...

Another day, another dance class. Sam spins you around as usual and dips you down, supporting you as you grab onto his arms. He whips you up and around with a flourish before pulling you back in, the both of you back to swaying to the beat. You let off a giggle as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You’ve all been learning choreography for the main dance that will take place pretty soon after the first dances. It’s been fun so far and everyone is picking everything up fast. It’s nice to feel like you’re part of something important. 

It will all suck when he finally gets a replacement and he’ll get to dance with some other, more impressive girl. You just try to enjoy it all while you’re still here with him and he’s still willing to entertain your mess of a social life.

You and Natasha spin around each other, changing partners. Clint keeps you at a respectable distance while making sure you get your timing and steps right. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He grins as he spins you.

“Not at all.” You huff, twirling back to him as you glide around the dance floor. “I trust you and Natasha are having a good time?”

“As always.” He smirks and you dance in a good silence before it’s time to change partners again. “Have fun.” He wishes you with a subcurrent of intentional enthusiasm. You just laugh as he passes you back, Natasha’s red hair becoming a blur. You catch her eyes mid-turn and she winks at you. You grin back.

Sam catches you easily and pulls you back in, making sure you're comfortable before moving. You didn’t notice how close you normally stand while dancing, but the apparent gap between you and Clint made it that more clear. You’re nearly touching his chest and your toes are just a breath apart. 

But it wasn’t unusual to you before. It’s comfortable, easy. You don’t bother to change it now, because you like it this way.

You shouldn’t. 

But you do.

The instructor moves closer to you. “Great form. You make excellent partners.” She claps in excitement and you both grin abashedly at the direct attention. “I’ll bet you’ll be the next ones to get married.”

Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen involuntarily. The statement carries more weight than she probably intended, but the fact that you’re technically still bound to Bucky brings the world back into focus. Until you can get the current boyfriend situation figured out, there couldn’t be a you and Sam. Not permanently.

No matter what your heart wanted.

No matter how much that statement, as much as it took you off guard, excited you.

Sam sobered as much as you did and stopped moving entirely. He looked to you to gauge your reaction and when he saw your face open in shock, his own frowned, his light dying slightly. Then he steeled himself. “Depends on who catches the bouquet.”

She laughed and gestured for you to continue. You took a deep breath and looked up to him. You both didn’t say anything to each other, but you shared a look of deep understanding of how serious a statement like that was.

…

You step out at a beautiful building with glass doors and racks on racks of differing pants and shirts, ties and cuffs. It’s even more impressive inside. Sam waits for you in a chair outside of the dressing room. 

“Hey.” You breathe watching him get to his feet and walk over to you. 

“Thanks for coming.” He nods and glances over your outfit. It’s a casual glance, but it sparks a hum of electricity down your spine.

“Yeah, well, the bridesmaid’s were having a fitting and I’m not technically invited so it’s probably a good thing I’m here.” You shrugged, flipping your hair over your shoulder and he laughed richly, rolling his eyes at your show.

Sam shows you to your seat just inside the dressing room, leading you to a place with a good deal of mirrors and a pedestal for the model to stand on. You take a seat on the plush chair and scroll through some ambient notifications, catching up on social media, and sending a few text messages. 

Sam asked you a few days ago if you’d come be “quality control” over his choice for a suit. The only stipulation that Steve put on his groomsmen is that the suit needs to be white. It seemed oddly out of character for a man that appeared traditional and old fashioned, but you welcomed the change. You’d heard the bridesmaid dresses were going to be red instead of the pale pink that was usually encouraged. But then again, Peggy did rock a red lip better than anyone else you knew; you had no doubt that her lip color of choice influenced her decision.

Why Sam really needed your help, eluded you. He was a perfectly capable man that was more than equipped to make his own choices and could definitely shop for himself, but you weren’t complaining. He was getting you out of a ridiculous dinner date with Bucky and whatever other work friend he was so hellbent on impressing. Not being there gave you all the energy you needed to focus.

When Sam steps out, your breath catches in your throat. He waves his arms out, letting you see the white suit in action as he spins around. He adjusts his red tie in the mirror before looking back at you. “What do you think?”

You can’t form words. Your brain is having a hard time catching up to what’s going through your mind. How handsome he looks, how the suit is fitted perfectly, how he looks outstanding and beautiful. It’s like you’re back at the boardwalk again. 

The white stands out starkly against his chocolate skin and makes it even more heavenly. It’s like white was his color. The only one he should wear for the rest of his life.

“It looks fantastic on you…” Your mouth still hangs open as you speak and it takes effort to control your eyes, keeping them at a normal wideness. You know your tone is dreamy and slightly slurred, but you can’t help it. “You-You look amazing.”

Sam just stares. 

“You like?” The tailor flutters around him, adjusting his suit jacket and his pants. It wouldn’t matter if the suit was ill-fitted. He’d still look fantastic and your breath would still have suddenly disappeared from your body.

You nodded absentmindedly, drifting closer to get a good inspection of him. Your fingers reached for his tie, fiddling with it in your grasp and feeling the soft, silken texture. He froze completely now, just watching you adjust his slightly crooked tie. You straightened it.

“Well, good thing quality control was here to fix it for you.” You breathed out, softly chuckling at the end. It helped cover up some of your nerves. Your fingers shook as you kept your hands closed.

His smile was delayed by a good few seconds, but it was followed by a timid laugh, shallow and not a deep as you were used to. He must have felt the same jittery anxiety that you were. 

You knew the reasons that you felt this way, but his were even more muddy and less clear.

“You know how these things work, Coffee Girl?” His voice was low, but took on a light and joking tone as he gestured to the tie.

You shook your head with a smirk. “Yes, bell bottoms, I know how to tie a tie properly.”

His following laugh was covered in nerves. He then lowered his eyes so that they were almost leveled with yours, all dark and warming. A fire ignited someone near your core at his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about my tie so much.”

You cleared your throat and turned him around, letting him get a good observation of himself in the mirror. You let your hands linger on his shoulders for a second longer than necessary, feeling the strength of his arms underneath his suit.

The tailor hums in approval. “Yes. Very good. Doesn’t he look good to you?”

The question was a bit more direct than you were prepared for and you sputtered for a second, Sam’s eyes catching yours in the mirror and sending another wave of fresh nervousness pulsing through your system. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” You want to slam your head into the nearest wall. What was that response?

You scratch the back of your head and step out of the way of his continuing adjustments. “No need for bashfulness. I can see the way you look at him.” He flashes a dazzling smile your way as you pointedly duck Sam’s inquiring eyes.

There’s not a response in the world that would be able to fix the conversation or steer it onto a path that would allow you to be honest while ignoring the feelings inside of your chest. You’re really in it now. 

You just settle for an, “oh”, as you turn and resume your place on the chair, far out of the reach of touching Sam and away from the tailor’s focused stare. 

It’s not the answer that the tailor was expecting and he must have picked up on the growing tension and awkwardness in the room. He weaves around the lapse in conversation like it’s nothing, quickly asking another slightly personal question that’s only that much harder to answer with certainty.

“You two are going to the wedding together, right?” Sam catches your eyes in the mirror and the pressure of a response once again falls on you. You have no idea how to answer this question correctly. It doesn’t seem like Sam has anyone else in mind, but your spot hasn’t been solidified for sure.

Plus, Sam’s looking like he wants you to say yes. Like he knows that there’s no one else, but he wants you to agree, to confirm that you’d be willing to go with him.

You try somewhere in the middle, hoping to not to give anything away.

“We’re dance partners right now, at least until his date can step in.” Sam’s face falls half an inch and he looks away. The tailor doesn’t notice, nor does he catch how instantly you deflate.

He just hums and pauses, watching Sam for a reaction. 

Sam shrugs, turning his focus all on the business of tailoring his suit. “More or less.” He concedes. 

“The woman that comes to see the tuxedo is always the one that goes to the wedding.” The tailor winks and returns to adding pins where the suit needs material eliminated. Your face still feels heavy and you feel guilty, like you gave a wrong answer on a test.

You stand then, determined to find something else to do to take your mind off of overanalyzing the situation at hand. “I’ll be over here.” You point at the racks near the back of the store full of dress shirts. 

You meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror and see all traces of hurt or disappointment are gone. He just smirks at you and nods. You return it the best you can, going over to see what shirts would look good on Bucky, but your heart isn’t in it. It probably wasn’t in it for some time now.

But if you could just prove to Buckty that you could be interesting, then maybe you’d finally be interesting enough for someone else. Maybe you would be good enough for Sam.

You shook your head sadly to yourself. 

You could live millions of lifetimes and still never deserve him. He needed someone that wasn’t caught up with someone else or preoccupied with improving herself. He needed someone that knew who she was. You weren’t there yet.

…

“Thank you.” He brushes against your shoulder as he says it. It could be written off as accidental, you do have to be close together on the sidewalk to avoid getting pushed over, but it’s a bit too firm for that to really be the case. His tone is low and courteous. “I’m sorry the tailor was so curious. He likes to keep the conversation going so that it doesn’t become awkward. He has a habit of asking personal questions.”

You smile to yourself and try to ignore how easy it would be to reach out and take his hand. These thoughts are fickle and dangerous. It’s becoming harder and harder not to do the thing you shouldn’t be doing. “It’s not a big deal, Sam, really.”

He cocks his head to the side at your use of Sam. He doesn’t comment on it though and you walk side by side through the streets. At times, he gets a little ahead of you to warn off some of the people that are beginning to get too close for his liking. It’s like he’s creating a path for you.

Then his walk changes; it carries an agitation that it didn’t before. Something’s weighing on his mind. “What’s wrong?” You ask nonchalantly, but know that he’ll recognize you picked up on his subtle changes in body language.

He looks down as you come to a pause at a red light. He searches around the street before he looks at you, taking a deep breath. Your anxiety raises at his hesitation. “I have a preposition for you, Coffee Girl.”

He looks straight at you now and that responding jolt spreads through you again, like it always does now. You try to ignore it as you look right back at him. “Shoot.” You step near him and narrow your eyes, like he’s a criminal spilling his master plan.

He laughs and you breathe a bit better. It’s not too bad if he’s willing to crack a smile at your approach. “What if...I never got a date to replace you? What if you went with me?”

His eyes look so pure and pleading now, it’s hard to look away. But you take a few steps back because you shouldn’t be so excited at the notion of going with him at all. This electricity is wrong, but it’s still happening, regardless of what’s going on in your life right now.

Sam sees the war happening all on your face and tries to backpedal. “Sorry if that was abrupt. If you’re uncomfortable, I can find someone else...”

“No, I want to go.” You fire back the response fast and his shoulders stop climbing, like a weight has been lifted off of them. “I just think I should talk to Bucky first.” And you should, he doesn’t know that he didn’t get another partner and Bucky is your significant other. If you’re going to a wedding with another man, it would be right to let him know about it.

“Okay, so,” He leans in a bit further than necessary, but you let him. You like being in his space. You like being close to him. “If that conversation goes well, you’ll come with me?” His eyes twinkle with hope and you blush at how open it all is. He’s letting you see that, whether he wanted you to or not.

You pretend to think about it, raising your hand dramatically to your chin and stroking it with finesse and refinement. You tilt your nose to sky to emphasize the deepness and complexity of thought that should be going through your mind right now. The pro and cons, the good parts and bad parts of the conversation that you’re going to have to have with Bucky, but it’s all absent. You already know your answer. You knew when he asked.

“Yes, bell bottoms, I’ll go with you.”

…

A day later, you’re knocking on Sam’s door, standing outside pacing to yourself after getting a cryptic text message about getting some extra practice before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. You don’t really know what’s going through his head, your moves are fine and you’ve both got the steps down to a science, extra practice shouldn’t really be a problem.

But you knew what jitters felt like and you could understand wanting to do it one more time to calm your nerves. Your heart rate flew and a tingling sensation lingered in your fingers and your stomach. 

Sam swings the door open, a pleasant smile on his face and a glimmer wafting behind his chocolate eyes.“Come on in.” 

His living room is illuminated by soft candle light and the golden glow from a floor lamp. Another Marvin Gaye song echoes gently around the space, its place of origin a boombox on his countertop. You wonder if this is a passtime or if this was something more special. You hope it’s more special.

“Woah, you didn’t tell me you were an interior decorator, bell bottoms.” You’re so in awe of your surroundings, you missed that he’s standing right next to you.

“Are you ever going to let the teasing over the Trouble Man album go?” You smirk at him as you turn, eyes squinted and goading.

“Where do you think the bell bottoms nick-name came from?” You bump his shoulder with yours, but he doesn’t move away or create space when you do; he makes sure to stay just close enough to keep your arms in contact. 

“Uh huh.” He hums deep from the core. It sends a buzz through you and you fight down a blush. Then he moves, spreading his arms and taking a few steps back. “Shall we or is this too old-fashioned for your liking?”

You roll your eyes and place your hand firmly in his, putting your trust in him once again, knowing that he won’t let you down. He draws you in, your breath thinning out at the proximity. It’s becoming more tolerable now and doesn’t throw you off as much as it used to, losing your breathing rhythm around him. It calms you down, helps you focus.

He’s eyes are dark and alluring as he watches you, adjusting his positioning until he’s satisfied that you’re comfortable. “Are we going to be letting Mr. Gaye sing us through this one?” You inquire in faux innocence and watch as his face twists into a humorous disdain. 

“You, Ms. (last name), need exposure to real music.” He takes a step which you take with him, already knowing where he’s going from here as you begin the spins at a slightly faster pace than you’re used to in order to keep up with the beat. 

“Real music, huh?” He spins you outward before drawing you back close in again, another jolt shooting through your blood.

“Yes.” He says it with a seriousness that silences you, but then he’s all smiles and smirks again and you wonder what you were expecting from a man with the nickname of Falcon. “Now just listen.”

“I’ll try.” You sway together, waiting for your cue before the next performance of turns and spins occur. You like this. You like his warm hands and eyes and glowing personality. How you can relax around him and not feel like you have to watch everything you say. How you fit together, like two halves of a charm that only fit around each other.

You close your eyes and listen, catching a few lines before you’re twirling away from him in a mix of gold and brown. 

Yeah, darling you're not wasting my time What I see baby is so hard to find

…

A lightheadedness from all the dancing put a pause on your swaying session and giggle marathon. There were numerous times that you had to completely redo moves from laughing so hard. You almost fell over each other at times.

A funny spasm moved through your chest as you leaned your neck against the back of his sofa, trying to cool off while Sam brought water over. He placed the glass in your hand, a stark contrast from the warmth that he always pulsed into your skin.

You thanked him before drinking a bit, nodding along to another soft Marvin Gaye song in the background. You felt him watching you as he sat next to you, downing half of his glass. “Never met someone who likes Marvin Gaye so much for a person who claims they don’t like old music.” He smirked knowing over at you.

You shooed him with your hand. “I never said I didn’t like old music; I just mention and frequently tease you about your addiction to the music from the 70s. That’s got nothing to do with the quality of the music.”

Sam grins widely as he goes to get another sip of water before setting the glass down and smiling. You cup your drink in your hand, letting the coolness of the glass keep your body temperature lowered. 

He leans back, sighing with happiness and you can’t help the small smile of happiness that spreads across your cheeks at his contentment. He’s infectious. “You know, I haven’t had this much fun in a while, thank you for coming.”

You let your head roll back as you look over to him. “Me neither. Thanks for being such a gracious host.” 

His grins at your goofy head angle and weirdly moving eyebrows. Then he looks down and sobers up, his face losing some of the glow it already had. You sit up. Something’s coming, you can feel it.

You set your glass down and lean forward. “Did you ask him yet?” He doesn’t look at you, even when you stare at him for a minute before responding. You wish he would. You just need him to look so you can know what he’s feeling.

You hate putting him here. You hate that Bucky’s such a problem between you two.

You sigh and run your fingers through your hair, angling your body away from him. You don’t want him to feel like you’re pressuring him to accept the response you’re going to give him. “No. He’s out of town right now. He has been for a day or two.”

Sam narrows his eyes and fixes you with a hard stare, his tone ice compared to his smooth and gentle character. “He’s gone a lot for someone who loves to watch your every move.”

“Oh, he’s cheating. But then again it was never really official to begin with.” Sam’s eyes bug out of his head, but you know better than to take that at face value. He already knew. He’s just trying to act shocked for your sake. 

“He what?” His voice sounds dumbstruck, but it’s still not enough to fool you.

“You don’t have to pretend to be surprised. I know you know.” You reached down to take another sip of your drink and let the liquid cool you down, slow down your brain so you could give clear answers that weren’t riddled with anger.

Sam sits for a moment watching you. He sighs, looks away, and then turns towards you. His jaw works and no words come out so you fill the silence.

“I’m just waiting. I think this will go away at some point. I’m just trying to be more interesting and exciting. I think that’s why I lost him the last time.” You fiddle with your pants to keep from facing Sam’s pointed stare.

“So dancing with me is just to be more interesting?” He sounds hurt and starts to turn away, but you catch him. 

“No.” You make sure that’s firm and look directly at him as you say the word. He freezes in place and has to look away. “I’m dancing with you because that was genuinely something I was interested in doing. That had nothing with trying to make him jealous or trying to get him back, that was completely my own choosing.”

He had to understand, this whole thing had nothing to do with Bucky. It had everything to do with your choice and what you wanted to do. It wasn’t something you felt like you had to do to win Bucky back. You wanted this. 

Sam doesn’t seem completely convinced. You scoot closer and place a delicate hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to get him to look at you. His eyes cut, but you’re determined to make him understand. To make him believe you. “Do you think I would still be here if I didn’t choose this. If this was my strategy, obviously it’s doing nothing to get him back and it would be in my best interest to leave, right? Why am I still going to classes and hanging with you if I didn’t want to be here?”

He nods and you breathe out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. You start to let your hand fall from his shoulder, but he catches it, pulling it closer to his chest and drawing your eyes to his sad and pleading gaze. “You deserve better.” He utters it softly and an emotional wall breaks at his words.

You feel tears start to form near your eyes. It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone tell you that you’re worth more than what you’re in. You have to look away, too caught in his eyes and the way that walls are starting to come down.

You take a breath and when you’re sure that there are no traces of sadness or pain, you gently draw your hand and it hurts. You don’t want to pull back, but you have to do the right thing. You have to do what’s right, even when it’s the most painful thing you could do.

“I think I should go,” You stand and Sam jumps up inhumanly fast before you, slightly blocking a straight shot to the door. You don’t feel trapped, more like he doesn’t want you to leave. “I don’t want you to feel any worse about the situation.”

“Wait.” He says in a soft whisper. He takes your hand again, slowly, curling your fingers together delicately. “Just one more dance.”

Sam doesn’t let your hand go as he clicks to another song, a sweet and simple guitar and vocal combination filling the room. He rests his hand on your hip, his warmth bleeding through the fabric of your shirt, tucks you close to him, and sets you to a sway. 

You don’t perform any of the moves you’ve learned in class, no waltzes or spins, just you and him and a beat.

Eventually, from enough courage and fatigue catching up with you, you lean your head against his chest, wrapping your free arm around his torso and listening to his fast but steady heartbeat. You feel his head dip down to lean where your head lays, a hand splaying on your back to curl you into him. The tears almost well up again, but you just close your eyes and feel him, concentrating on his closeness and the caring way he responds to you.

Just like a song in my heart

A hand on your cheek pulls you back and your gaze flashes up to his, a deep fire simmering in your chest reflected in his eyes. You can feel the kiss coming this time and you know you’re not strong enough to resist it. You close your eyes and tense, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

But they never do. 

Instead, a soft kiss presses against your temple and lingers.

When you open your eyes, your heart almost breaks from his open eyes and the adoration and sorrow in them. You hope he can see how sorry you are. Maybe in another place in a different time. It’s the only thing you can trust to do, silent communication. Anything else, and you’ll completely crumble.

Sam presses an invitation into your hand. Come, his eyes say and you smile and tuck it into your pocket for safekeeping.

The song ends bittersweetly and Sam walks you to the door, still holding your hand tightly in his. You stand on your tippy toes, the kiss still warm and pulsing from your forehead. He begins to lean down, knowing what’s coming and eager to make it easier for you. Just when you’re about to give him another kiss on the cheek, you get a text.

Bucky: It’s done. I broke up with her. You’re the one for me

Just like oil on my hands.