#being human is so delicate n so complex n confusing.

[noxtivagus]

i'm sorry

[some-dr-writings]

Nagito, Rantaro, and Gundham comfort their S/O through their migraine

Nagito Komaeda:

·       It was a day like any other. Nagito was running late to class, his bad luck deciding to show up and leave him completely covered in scratches and bruises in the process. He dashed down hall after hall, running up the stairs not wanting to be any later, but of course when he reached the top of the case his shoelaces had somehow become untied, and he stepped on one, sending him tumbling back down the stairs, rolling and crashing into a wall. Strangely as he shakily got up, he heard… whimpering? And it wasn’t from himself despite how his whole body hurt.

·       “Y/N?” You sat against a wall next to the stairs, face tucked into your knees, covering your ears with your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?” “Oh… hey Nagito.” Sitting beside you he could hear how unsteady your breathing was. You quietly, pitifully laughed before speaking. “M-migraine… been a while since I had one this bad though…” “Uh…” “Basically a real bad headache… one so bad it made sound louder, lights brighter an… shapes? I can’t see right now.” He draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling himself close, and when he spoke next he made sure keep his voice quiet. “Okay, just lean on me, alright?” He led the way to the nurse’s office, letting you burrow your face into his shoulder, shielding you from the light. Nagito decided that falling down the stairs was actually be good luck so he could be here for you.

·       You were placed in a dimly lit room after being given some pain medicine. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something better than making the trek all the way back to your dorm room to lock yourself away there for a time. “You can go… if you want to. I’ll just be laying here for a while.” “I want to be here. Want anything, just tell me and I get it for you.” You were quite for a moment, simply taking deep breaths, hoping that could ease the pain that seemed to throb behind your eyes and in your head. “… could you lay with me then?” After a moment you felt the bed lightly shift and heard the rustling of fabric. Hugging him, you burrowed your face into his chest. He held you close, hoping he could help you at all. He wasn’t entirely sure as to what he could do to help you, but he was going to do anything within his power to lessen your pain.

    Rantaro Amami:

·       “Babe! I’m back!” Silence was all he had gotten in response before shutting the door behind himself. “Y/N?” Were you out? Unlikely as it was, it was still possible. The thought of you going out for a walk or the like was a rather kind one for him. If you had gone out, you’d have left a sticky note explaining yourself somewhere he’d most certainly see but having not spotted anything of the sort he trotted through the apartment, straight for your temporary office.

·       Your door was left open. Taking a peek inside he found you sitting before that little table, the laptop illuminating your silhouette in that otherwise small, dark room.

·       “Babe…” You were snapped from your trace feeling how he had enveloped you in a hug from behind, planting a kiss on the side of your head. “I know stocks don’t wait, but you’re only human.” “I’ll take a break later.” He sighed, still hugging you he rested his chin on your head, his gaze scanning over the screen, how your mouse zipped about, flipping from page to page in the blink of the eye. “It’s been a few days now, what’s gotten you so worked up?” “A depression’s coming. I need to make the right moves so we can out last it, and still have enough to keep searching for your sisters. On top of that I also need to keep an eye out for my clients, I know for a fact some of them are going to panic and make rash decisions, I need to stop them.” You groaned, rubbing your stiff neck before yawning. Rantaro held on for an extra few moments before letting go. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” “Thanks.” When he got to the door he stopped, chuckling to himself. “You haven’t changed a bit since High School.” Oh, that clicking of the mouse pad actually stopped. “… You mean that in a good or bad way?” “Both. You still are so kind, to the point of sacrificing your own health. You can’t help others if you’re bedridden.” “Just a bit longer, I can keep going. I know my limitations… and I have you to babysit me.” “Har, har, very funny.”

·       He was not surprised going to bed alone that night. It did put a smile on his face though when not long after he got under the covers you moved yourself and your laptop to the bedroom, continuing your work atop the bed.

·       Rantaro awoke with a hum, the sun’s rays shining through the blinds landing on his face. He slowly flipped over and hugged your waist. “Morning Babe.” “… oh… m-morning…” Sitting up, he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, seeing the bags under yours. You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose before getting back to work. Giving you a peck on the cheek he slid out of bed, going straight to the restroom.

·       Still in his pajamas he set about making a light breakfast, promptly returning to you. Upon return to the bedroom, he found you burying your face into your hands. “huh?” You only seemed to notice he was there when he placed a water bottle in your lap. “o-oh, thanks.” After passing you your meal, he looked over what you had up, making sure he wouldn’t be messing up anything, as he exited out of your programs, shutting off the laptop, closing the lid before sliding it to the end of the bed. “You were right.” Rantaro didn’t say a thing in response, simply hugging you as he gave you some pain medicine, tucking you in right after.

·       A day of lazing around, at least he could make sure you were taken care of now. He also got all the cuddles he had missed out the night prior so he didn’t mind. He was rather used to this by now, though he didn’t care for how you so often pushed yourself, at least he could still help you. recalling the many times he had to play nurse for you in high school, it seemed he hadn’t change much either.

    Gundham Tanaka:

·       Even as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, he didn’t stop for a moment. Such things could not startle the Overlord of Ice. He dashed through the pouring rain, even as it pounded down, soaking through his clothes. There were several occasions where he had almost slipped on the slick puddles that covered the ground. The droplets that came cascading down blurred his vision, the torrent wind thrashed about knocking him over. He held tight to his coat, racing back to the apartment complex.

·       Upon reaching the room, he immediately shut the door before sifting through his inner coat pocket, taking out a wet paper bag. He ripped apart the soggy mass, getting to the pill bottle. Though sure he was right, still paranoid he compared it to the empty bottle he had in his pocket, finding the prescription was still exactly the same. Though ridiculous he worried somehow only once he got back to your place would he find he got the wrong one from the pharmacy.

·       With a heavy sigh he quickly dried himself off and placed on some clothing he kept at your place. Walking into the bedroom he found the blanket fort he had built around your bed was still standing. With a prideful smirk he crawled inside, you still cuddling the Devas, several pillows covering your head. When you felt the bed shift, you slowly knocked the pillows off, turning to face him, looking dreadfully exhausted. “My Emperor, I’ve received your healing salves.” You gave him a strained smile. It was strange to hear you Ice Lord use such a soft tone. He had spoken so quietly if it wasn’t for the fort dampening the thunderous noise, you likely wouldn’t have heard him. “Gundham… y-you didn’t have to get this the moment the pharmacy opened… it’s storming out, and it’s my fault for forgetting to get it last week. You didn’t even give me a chance to stop you.” He simply shook his head, passing you the bottle. “Nonsense. In your state you could not possibly make the journey unscathed, let alone in such a sleep deprived state having gotten no rest for eons now. I am at fault too. I had should have had the forethought to bring my own supplies of your care before arriving. But now that the world has flooded even I, could not fare the journey to my own domain long ago when your curse first showed signs of surfacing once more.”

·       As he had spoken you took your pills as well as water, hoping it’d at least dull the throbbing, pulsing pain that had pounded through your head, only having compounded as the world around you seemed to grow louder and louder as the storm continued to rage on. “Seems things would be easier if we just lived together.” You placed a pillow back over your head, not noticing how Gundham had frozen in place, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “… I suppose…” “Gundham, did you say something?” You were confused seeing how he stiffly laid beside you. “… Sharing a domain with one another… We already have given one another all other things, even access to obtain one another’s delicate items such as your medicine… Sharing that as well, is a thought I’m… most fond of.” You simply stared for a moment the pain making holding onto a single coherent thought for long difficult, but quickly it clicked. “Ah! Ow-” “My Emperor?” “I-I… hey, let’s talk about this when my medicine kicks in, okay. But… well… I didn’t really think about what I said but… always having you around, living together sounds nice.” With a growing wobbly smile his blush darkened. “Yes, I wish you to be of clear mind when we even consider this endeavor.”

·       As much as you hated the pain, perhaps for once some good came from it, keeping you from thinking before you speak.

[softboywriting]

Surprise | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: You’ve got some news for Nathan and now is as good a time as any. [F!ReaderxNathan] [Pregnancy] [Established Relationship] [No Use of Y/N] 

Word Count: 1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Nathan is the epitome of a man baby. A week after you arrived at the complex following your trip home for the holidays with your family, he came down with a cold. Statistically it should be impossible for him to get ill. There are no outside sources to contaminate his immune system. Except you. You and your vacation germs, and he is a major cry baby about the whole situation.

"This is your fault."

"No it's not." You lean back on the chair in the lounge while he lays under three blankets across the couch with a cold compress on his head. He barely had the sniffles and he's laid up like a man on his deathbed. "It's your fault."

"How? Do tell me how I contracted a cold from not leaving this place?"

"It's your fault because you kissed me."

Nathan scoffs.

You get up and cross the room to kneel beside him. It's time to take his temperature again. "Am I wrong?"

"No."

"You broke your own rules about staying apart for a week to prevent this because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants." You shake the thermometer and look at the little red bar inside. "Open up."

Nathan glares as he allows you to pop the cold little stick under his tongue.

"While I've got you quiet for a few minutes, I want to say that I've got some news."

He furrows his brow in confusion.

"There's no easy way to say this."

Nathan spits the thermometer out. "What's wrong?"

"You're supposed to keep that in for two minutes."

"I don't fucking care. What is wrong?"

You lay a hand on his blanket covered chest and you can see true fear in his eyes. He is expecting the absolute worst at this point. You've never come to him with such a serious approach.

"I'm pregnant."

He is silent.

"Nathan, I know we didn't discuss that possibility. I am on birth control but I think I missed a few weeks. We got so busy with building Ava and I didn't even think-"

"I fucked you so good I put a baby in you?"

"I- um, yes?"

He lets out a little smug chuckle. "I'm damn good."

"Yeah, this isn't about your bedroom skills okay?"

"You wanna keep it?"

You take a deep breath and sit back on your heels. "I don't...I don't know."

Nathan sits up and runs a hand over your hair. Fingers toying with the ends a bit. "What's your hesitation?"

"Everything." You look around the room, gesturing to the house in general. "I can't raise a child in a research facility."

"You think you'll raise it alone?"

"N-no? I mean I guess I assumed that because you're so busy and everything you wouldn't be interested in chasing a toddler around or changing diapers at all hours of the day." You laugh softly, threading a hand through your hair and tugging. "I'm not going to keep it."

"Put all of that aside. Do you want it?"

"I guess?"

"No you're not listening. Do you want the baby, yes or no?" Nathan says slowly like he does when he's trying to explain something to you for the dozenth time. "It's a simple answer."

"It is not!"

"Yes it is! Do you want the fucking baby or not!"

You tremble, hands balled into fists on your lap. "Yes! Okay! Yes I want it! But I'm scared!"

"What are you scared of?"

"You! Nathan, I'm scared of you!"

He leans back and he looks like you've just knocked the wind out of him. As if you've stolen every word from his mouth and he can no longer speak. He opens his mouth several times but nothing comes out, like a fish out of water. It's as if he never considered that he would be the reason for your hesitation.

You push up from the floor and he grabs your hand, stopping you from getting too far. "Let go Nathan."

"No." He curls his fingers around yours. "No, I won't let you go. Not ever."

"It's fine. I don't expect you to want this child. I just thought it would be fair to tell you since it's yours."

He sits up and tugs your hand. "Come here. Sit on my lap."

"I don't want to."

"Please?" He gives you the softest look you've ever seen. "Let's talk."

You step back and sit on his legs, staring down at him even as he sits up, you're higher. You don't know where to start so you just remain quiet.

"What about me makes you afraid?"

"Everything." You laugh sadly. "I have no idea how you would be with a child. You drink too much. You're lost to your work most days. You've got no patience for things that slightly inconvenience or annoy you. Not to mention how remote we are and how would the child learn, and grow and socialize?"

Nathan runs his hand over your stomach. "Give me a chance. I'll get sober and I'll work on everything else for the next nine months."

"Why? Why do you care?"

"Why do I care?" He scoffs. "It's my child. I can make a hundred robots but none of them are alive. None of them are a human being who is my flesh and blood. My legacy." He smiles and grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips. "A child of my own would be my greatest creation and something I would love unconditionally."

"You're serious?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking?"

"No. You want to do this?" You touch your stomach. "You wanna have a baby?"

"Fuck yeah." He grins and wraps his arm around you, pressing his face into your chest. "Can't wait to meet this little monster."

"Hey!"

"Lovingly of course." He stares up at you over his glasses. "But you know he's going to be a menace."

"You're so confident it's going to be a boy?"

"Absolutely. Guys with big dicks always have sons."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Science." He laughs, kissing your stomach. "Trust me. It's a boy."

You rub your hand over his head and he makes a little growly sound against your shirt. "We're doing this then?"

"One hundred percent."

End

----------

thank you so much for reading! please reblog and support content creators such as myself :) -A

Header pic by delicate-venus

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

[goldafterglow]

Headcanons on Ezra and/or Frankie not feeling good enough for their S/O and their S/O comforting them?

A/N: first of all these are definitely a choice I made and it’s okay; second of all, why did this take me all day to write haskghfdj but I did both Ezra and Frankie bc I was having a soft Frankie moment; third of all I literally did not read though this so it’s probably full of typos and redundant words but fuck me

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: angst, fluff?, soft!hours bitch everyday is soft hours on this blog, the same thing twice except it’s not the same thing at all but it is lol, some quality ass lines going to waste in a headcanon but I loved writing this so it’s okay

Ezra

he absolutely feels this way when he falls in love after losing his arm

Assuming his right hand was his dominant one, he was nearly sobbing from the emotional loss. Ezra thinks a lot, he assigns musings to inanimate objects like books and buttons and arms, because he wants the believe there is beauty in everything, that everything has meaning.

Feeling things is very important to him. The texture of a tree trunk, the cooling glitter of river water, the bumps on your skin. When he says “no love too intimidating,” he definitely means how his right arm holds his most intimate secrets.

He wants to love you to his fullest capacity, love you with his whole body and every last molecule of his tattered soul because you deserve so much more but that’s all he has to offer.

Ezra gets touchy when he’s feeling less than. It’s difficult to notice if you don’t pay careful attention; he is touchy enough on its own. But his insecurities rear its ugly head in the most timid of ways: a kiss that lingers for just a moment more, a hug that lasts a second longer, a nuzzle that travels deeper into your neck than you thought possible. Because he doesn’t know how to compensate for that arm, that missing piece of him.

Ezra is a very honest man; it’s hard for him to keep his emotions in his chest for them to rot and suppurate in the swollen heat. So he’ll probably ask you if you think he’s enough in more ways than one.

It’s confusing to you at first; Ezra has always been somewhat of an enigma, always saying so much and yet the meaning behind his words is so complex that you couldn’t begin to comprehend how the stars over his head cross each other.

“Won’t you lay here with me, my starlight?” and “Just one more kiss, butterfly,” and “Can’t an enamored man tell his muse that he is in such a state?”

And it’s hard for you to say no to him when he looks at you with his pathetic doe eyes, begging you to let him love on you.

But as his doubts grow, his questions begin to concern you.

“Dandelion, you’re happy here aren’t you? With me?”

It breaks your heart to see him so lost, feeling to destitute.

But Ezra trusts you, gives you his whole essence because he doesn’t believe you’d ever want to hurt him, so it’s just a matter of cooing “sweet boy, of course I’m happy. Ezra, you make me happy.”

Or even telling him that “pretty poet, you just being is enough” and that “your existence is a gift in its own, Ezra”

It takes time, requires cycles for him to learn that his love for you is not tied to a limb, attached to anything physical. His love is misty, a cotton candy fog that fills your atmosphere and enters your lungs, melting down to sugar so that you can hear it rattle when you breathe.

But he learns.

Frankie

our beautiful angel bottom

Frankie always feels like he’s taking from you.

You’re so good to him, so loving, and he has spent his time with you letting the little moments with you add up.

He has the ability to recognize every little second of time you spare for him: bringing him take out after he’s had a long day, letting him drive you far off to the ridged edges of the earth so he has a human cushion to hold while he star gazes, sitting in his lap in the backseat of his truck during a drive-thru movie doing anything but watching.

You’re a lot for him, you give him so much, and he doubts that he filling your cup in the same way you empty it. The way you empty yourself into him.

Frankie’s not the best at communicating his problems. He likes to hold things in, to sit and observe and hold his own thoughts until he bursts and his words sting as they leave his lips. He lets his insecurities build, develop in a static silence that he thinks he can resolve on his own because he doesn’t want to burden you more, dump even more of his baggage onto you.

When he gets like this, when he’s festering, he gets distant. It only ever aggravates the issue, rubbing sandpaper on a sunburn and rolling coins into a stab wound, but he’s afraid of offending you. He’s scared of pushing you away.

Frankie’s words do not come in a million small drops of rain, a thousand dainty freckles peppered along cheekbones. Frankie feels like he is the storm, the flood, the monsoon, and that when his feelings flow they crash onto the ground and destroy homes in his path and uproot trees buried deep in the Earth.

He doesn’t tell you until you confront him, asking him why he’s been so distant. Asking him if everything’s okay.

And he can’t lie to you like that, he can’t tell you that there isn’t anything wrong, because something is wrong and it’s with him.

He’s barely able to get out a “Baby I-” before his throat constricts, choking out the flames of his sweet voice. He always tries to be delicate with you.

You have you hold him in your arms for a little bit, give him a safe space to collect himself and pull his shit together because he can’t believe he’s putting this on you, drawing pity out of you.

You’re tender with him, not that it’s hard. Holding him is like balancing a scared puppy in your hands; how could you ever hurt it, be rough or mean towards it?

Telling him that “it’s okay, baby, I promise I can handle it.”

Once his thundering has quieted and the lightning stops striking, he musters to courage to tell you that “I know I don’t deserve you. Just - please, take me as I am.”

Your heart fills with his pain, pins pushing out the walls from the inside. You had no idea.

 But with a little “I think you deserve everything Frankie” and a little “baby, if I took all of you I think I’d drown,” and even something as simple as “Francisco Morales, you have always been enough,” he feels universes better.

It doesn’t take much for him to back to that sweet, soft man that loves you so kindly.

Your gentle giant.

Tags: @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @agentpike

i’m still figuring my tags bc I’m a mess but child anyways here’s the link for my tags bc WOW pls just take it because I added a question about fics/drabbles/headcanons which is why I’m having hot girl problems rn

[se0kie]

chapter 1: apathy

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, eventual smut, ANGST (whoo boy)

greek gods au, poseidon!taehyung, marinebiologist!reader

tags/warnings: none!

summary: it’s difficult being a god. what with all the immortality, the decades bleeding into each other and losing every human being you come to care about. and he’s lived, or whatever it is gods do, for a very, very long time. he thinks he needs help but the fates are being the mysterious, useless hags they’ve always been. they think the solution lives in jeju at the blue side marine conservation. turns out Y/N is the only mortal he’s met who’s ready to challenge him head on. of course it’s not like she knows her new intern is king of the sea, maker of horses, the earthshaker, poseidon himself after all.

next ; series masterlist

Taehyung doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He knows he’s been feeling weird and detached from the world around him for quite a while, but it’s easy to forget something’s wrong with you when you’re constantly doing... god stuff.

He has so. many. things. to. do. There’s always mortals to curse... and mortals to flirt with. There’s wars to wage and thrones to protect! There’s the occasional thunderstorm to inflict upon foolish people that disrespect him.

Busy busy, y’know?

“It’s ridiculous, it truly is,” he thinks to himself as he waits in the reception area. The walls are grey, so is the furniture, and hey! so are the three ladies beckoning him into their office!

Taehyung suppressed a shudder that threatened to run down his spine. The three ladies really creeped him out. Especially Atropos with her glassy eyes, always snipping some poor old rascal’s thread of life at the most random moments.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, never ever, but the Moirae gave him the heebie-jeebies.

He got up from his seat and smoothened out the lapels of his smart, dark blue suit jacket.

Clotho gestured at him to take a seat as he strided into their (grey!) office and plopped down into the (grey!) chair.

“So, what brings you to us, Earthshaker?” Lachesis asked, her wispy voice crackling as she measured the piece of thread her sister was spinning.

“Uh... just Taehyung or Poseidon is fine, Lachesis.” he said as he cleared his throat.

The three ladies, or whatever they were, looked on at him as if to say, “Go on now, we couldn’t care less.”

He shifted in his seat as he thought hard as to how to exactly explain what was bothering his immortal brain.

“I’ve been feeling really, uh- I don’t really know how to explain it but well... Y’know I just can’t—” Clotho cut him off before he could find the right words. “Stop acting a blithering idiot and speak up, Taehyung! You’re the god of the sea sitting before the Fates, not a pre-pubescent boy declaring his love to a maiden!”

“This is why the three of you are millenia old and still unmarried,” Taehyung muttered to himself under his breath.

“Tell us, Poseidon,” Atropos asked him with a look he hoped was meant to be calming, “What’s bothering Rhea’s second eldest?”

Taehyung let out a deep sigh and said, “I feel...apathetic. That’s the word. As if nothing is important enough or exciting enough to really bring me out of this slump.” His aura dampening with each word, he continued, “Every day is mundane, every party is the same, every mortal exactly like the one I met the night before.”

“Everything’s in a loop.”

Lachesis smiled, an unusual occurrence but appreciated nonetheless.

“You need a task, Earthshaker.” she said as she crossed her fingers on the desk before her.

His ears perked up as he heard this, quickly followed by a sharp snip courtesy of Atropos.

“What do you mean ‘task’?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, leaning forward with curiosity.

“We’ve sensed a very special soul’s presence down in South Korea.”

“The one with the dictator? Oh boy, I’m not going there, it’s no fun place for a tourist, I’ve heard.” Taehyung says with a cheeky grin.

Clotho sighs heavily at the juvenile behaviour, “No that’s North Korea you’re talking about. I spun a thread about 23 years ago for a life that demanded your presence. Since you’ve got nothing to do now we think it best you go down there and see to what’s needed of you.”

“Really? Another human? Didn’t you hear the part about the mundanity and the mortals? Why must it be me, can’t you send one of the lesser gods? Apollo loves mingling with the creatures, send him!” he whines, trying to escape his fate.

Lachesis glares at him, her eyes beady and glistening, “Poseidon, you will go to the damned place and do your damned duty or so help me Chronos I will throw you off Olympus myself.”

Taehyung gulped so hard it would’ve been almost funny.

Only that it wasn’t funny because he was very close to peeing his immortal pants. Did he mention before how much he was terrified of the Fates? Cause he was really, really terrified of the Fates.

Now he knew there was no escaping a task from the three crones, so he rolled his eyes, grabbed his staff from the floor and rose from his seat.

‘Stupid stiff leather always hurting my delicate tushy,’ he thought to himself.

He was almost out the door when he turned around to begrudgingly ask, “At least tell me where exactly in South Korea am I to go?”

Clotho smiled at him, eerily reminding him of the beastly Alecto down in the underworld, “Why, it’s the Blue Side Marine Conservation in Jeju Island.”

taglist: @btsxdoll @a-kookie-with-my-tae

a/n: hey just a friendly little reminder that all of the info about greek myth and deities may slightly differ from your versions as mythology is complex and the versions we hear and believe are different! i’m trying my best to do as much research around marine biology, greek myths and how the ocean works to create the best possible story to share with you guys but please be gentle if there are any inaccuracies!

[ohallthecrushes]

Drawing you in, part 2 // Arthur Fleck x Reader

A/N: I’ve been tempted to make it more creepier and less awkward, but as creepy as Arthur can be at times and as little as he knows about healthy boundaries, he’s a gentleman after all. He wouldn’t do much to you without your consent. @duhliriouss​ i’m sorry, it’s not that creepy, but i hope you like it anyway. ^^

Summary: Arthur loves you. He’s obsessed with you. After stalking you for some time and making a few conversations, he kidnapped you to his apartment. Into his bed to be more precisely.

Contains: struggling, awkward sexual tension, freaked out reader.

Word count: 2575

It was a slow process of waking up.

You wrinkled your nose and sighed deeply as your senses were coming back to you from a long dreaming journey. You always took your sweet time before you woke up entirely and got up from bed. Especially when you felt you had been dreaming very deeply and peacefully. And tonight was that kind of night.

You stretched your arms and licked your lips. You smelled a strange scent that you were sure smelled like cigarettes, though it couldn’t be, you didn’t smoke. You probably had left the bedroom window open, that was where the scent was coming from.

Your eyes stayed closed as your spirit settled down in your body. You felt some weight around your waist, but your still a little dizzy mind didn’t put much thought to it yet. You slowly fluttered your eyelashes as a blurry vision of floral sheets that wasn’t yours, alerted your conscious mind.

Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

Your eyes opened more widely as you realized that there was someone clung to your back, that someone was spooning you from behind. You looked above the pillow and you realized it wasn’t your bedroom at all and that person was definitely not your one-night-stand. Heck, it wasn't even a weekend, you hadn’t been drinking any alcohol that night before. You didn’t remember how could you end up in someone else’s bedroom, in fact you could barely remember what you’d been doing after you’d finished work. Maybe it was stress that was making your memory so unclear, or maybe it was something else, you couldn’t tell right now.

You gasped as you felt paralyzed with fear for a moment. The blood was rushing through your veins making a swooshing sound in your ears. You tried to stay calm, you really tried as your rational mind told you that panicking would only make the situation worse and you should first see what options did you have for escaping, but your survival instinct was giving you much more simply advice - run. Run as fast and away as possible.

You took a deep breath and gave yourself a chance to escape. You didn’t want to stay paralyzed and wait to see what would happen when that person woke up, and you weren’t up for a fight either. Your only advantage was a moment of surprise. So you told your legs to be prepared, you gripped the sheets to lift them up - no chance to get entangled with piece of fabric and fall off on the floor, and you counted to three. Your muscles tightened, but so was the grip on your waist...

You let out a scream and tried to moved up your body, but you were held down by a strong arms that wrapped tight around you the very second you tried to move. You screamed once again as your legs were kicking and your nails were scratching the skin on his forearms. But it didn’t make the grip on you any much loosened, if anything, you could feel yourself being pressed down to the bed even more. Your legs were soon caught by his to stop you from kicking and you felt his warm escalated breathing against your neck as he was keep whispering the same words that you got to understand after you stopped fighting so much, having to take a moment of break, before you would try again.

- Please, don’t leave me, please, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me...

He was breathing as fast as you and you could feel the skin on your neck becoming moistened.

Tears.

He was crying and begging you to stay. And as scary and confusing as it was, you recognized the pleading voice of his.

You could recognized it anywhere.

- A-arthur?

It was no one else than Arthur Fleck himself. Your neighbor that you made some short small talks with, a neighbor that you had a crush on. It was strange for you to admit it to yourself, but the fact it was him and not someone else, calmed you down a bit. Not that this made it any less weird or non acceptable. It just... You liked Arthur very much and you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You couldn’t be sure of course, but you knew.

You were admiring him from away from some time since you’d moved in to the same building he’d been living in. You were too shy to ask him on a date, and you weren’t even sure if he liked you the same, maybe he was too shy also or maybe you just weren’t his type. Sometimes you got this strong intimidating vibes from him when he was looking at you from the other side of a hall. He seemed to be harmless and naive at times, but his sense of humor was dark and he had his own creepy way to approach people. Like, you could swear that he’d been following you sometimes, but you’d never really caught him doing that. He was nice and polite to you, but you often felt like you’d been watched by him, like he’d been studying your every step.

This man was like enigma to you. You felt like you knew him by heart, but his mind seemed to be too complex to be completely understood.

You didn’t know why you liked him exactly, there was something off about him after all, something strange and unusual. People were telling you to stay away from him.... But maybe that was the reason you found him so interesting and endearing. He was weird, shy, funny and awkward. And there was something in his eyes that was speaking to you on a deeper level.

- Arthur? - you tried once again as he hadn’t responded, so focused he was on begging you to not go. So scared.

He was holding you tight, so tight you could barely breath. He left out a series of muffled laughs, the ones that kept people away from him. The ones that always sounded so painful to you.

You reached and carefully touched his hand, caressing the back of his palm. It seemed to calm him down a little, making his laughter more quiet, but he still hadn’t responded to you.

- It’s alright, Arthur, I’m not going anywhere... - you said trying to keep your voice steady and soothing - I’m right here.

- Y-you’re not? - his voice was so soft and innocent, you couldn’t believe he could have done something wrong. And maybe he didn’t believe it either.

That thought sent cold shivers down your spine.

- No... - you kept caressing his hand like you were petting a scared animal - As long as you tell me what’s going on. Why am i here?

He buried his face into your neck and sighed deeply mumbling something under his nose.

- I don’t understand, Arthur... Can you speak louder?

- I said... - he paused as if he couldn’t remember the answer - You... I mean... I picked you up from work and... was trying to get you to your bed, cause... - another sigh - you didn’t feel good, but I didn’t want to leave you alone in your apartment, so... I’vebroughtyouhereforanight.

You were listening to him with a skeptical look on your face. There was some flashbacks of Arthur showing up at your work after you’d ended your shift, bringing you a smoothie, and you remembered going back home with him, laughing at something, but then the memories were too blurry to make any sense of what had been happening later on.

You furrowed your eyebrows thinking about it. His answer sounded honest and it was true to some point of what you remembered that had happened. But his last words were mumbling so quickly as if he wanted to get it out of his mouth as fast as possible and it was puzzling.

- And what about - you started as another disturbing thing came to your mind - what about my pj’s? Why am I in m-

- You insisted to change before bed so I let you - he rushed with the answer - but I didn’t see you changing if that what you’ve wanted to know.

You closed your eyes in relief, he hadn’t seen you naked then, ooff.

- And why... why... - you tried to word your question about why the hell had he been spooning you, but you tried to be delicate about it. He was still clung onto your body and you still weren’t sure what to think about the whole situation and what was he going to do with you - Why are we laying like that?

There was a long pause and you thought that maybe he didn’t hear you and you should repeat your question, but as soon as you opened up your mouth, he answered with a quiet voice.

- It was cold...

You made a noise of understanding though you didn’t quite understand who did he mean that had been cold exactly. You knew for sure that you felt hot right now for... oh, so many reasons.

You felt hot because you were under the warm sheets, pressed to another human being, but you also felt hot because you could feel Arthur’s body pressed against you as he was half naked. And it did make only a slight difference that you weren’t naked wearing your pj’s. He. Was. Half. Naked. And it was as uncomfortable as arousing. You wondered if he felt the same.

Well, his cock was half hard as far as you could tell, so probably.

Damn, what was wrong with you?

You shouldn’t even feel aroused, you shouldn’t even make a conversation with him in this position right now.

But then... How many times could you find yourself in your crush’s bed out of the blue?

- Arth-

- Am I making you uncomfortable? - he asked as if he was reading your mind.

Better later than never.

- A little bit, yeah.

He sighed and shifted away from you, taking his arm off of you. You didn’t move, laying still, too embarrassed to face him, though you were sure, he was as embarrassed and red on face as you.

- Thanks... - you murmured and bit your lip. His weight on you and his warmth were keeping you grounded for a while. Now that he pulled away, not holding you down anymore, you were even more unsure of what to do.

Sure, you should just get up and leave, avoiding the eye contact and never come back, but you were still somewhat paralyzed and you still wanted to know what really had happened.

- Do you... - he started as you felt him lifting himself up - I can make you breakfast if you’re hungry. It’s still very early but maybe-

- Alright - you said as you figured that if he was in different room, that maybe you could move from bed - I could eat something, thank you.

You felt him getting up and heard moving towards the door. You turned your head to make sure he’d left and only after when you were left alone, you turned around on your back. You hid your face in your hands and sighed deeply.

- What. The .Fuck?

You wanted to go back to your apartment and take a long cold shower. Or go back to your apartment and masturbate till you released all the tension you were feeling. You weren’t sure at this point. You felt excited and freaked out. You’d never been in a situation like this before.

You got up from the bed and glanced at a window. It was dawning, the Sun had just started to rise, illuminating the room with soft pink and white lights. Arthur was right, it was still very early and you still felt sleepy somewhat. You walked around the bedroom to refresh your mind, looking at things. Old carpet, old tv, old bed... everything was old, but well kept and cleaned and everything fit to each other. The bedroom was cozy and charming in its very own unique ways and very feminine. You felt like you were visiting your mother in your old family home.

Your feet took you to the door and you opened it, walking out to the living room. You quickly looked around and you spotted Arthur standing in the kitchen, with his back turned to you. He’d worn a long blue trousers, but still no shirt. You could see his spine visible under his skin and the muscles in his arms working as he was shifting a pan. He was making you breakfast and hadn’t noticed you yet. The delicious sweet aroma of pancakes being made filled the apartment bringing a soft smile on your face.

You walked closer to the kitchen and glanced at the exit door. Sure, you could run now or maybe even sneak out without him noticing it, but you had some questions to ask and you couldn’t let them just be ignored.

- Arthur?

He startled and turned around to you with a look of surprise on his face.

- Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.

- It’s alright... - he smiled at you as he moved out of the kitchen and stood in front of you. Blocking the exit door.

You wondered if he made that on purpose.

- Pancakes will be ready in a minute - he said and you nodded.

- I’ve been wondering something and I want to ask you this - you started glancing at him - Has anything happened between us?

He parted his lips and looked at you with complex emotions in his intense yet shy gaze. He shook his head slightly and looked down at the floor.

- No, nothing has happened - he murmured as he shut down his eyes as if he was too afraid to look at you. His posture was tense, his head bent downward and he slightly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

This time you knew he wasn’t telling you the whole true.

- Arthur... I need to know. If anything has happened that you’re not tell-

This time he shook his head more vigorously and opened his eyes to look at you, but he didn’t look you in the eye.

- I was dreaming, that’s all. Nothing’s happened I swear. You were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you up.

- You were dreaming about what? - you asked more out of curiosity than anything, before you realized that his dreams could had been related to one subject only.

What could had he possibly been dreaming about while laying half naked in a bed with a girl, pressing his body to hers?

He glanced at you as he slowly straightened up, his green eyes went dark as he kept the eye contact with you this time, an unspoken dangerous promise was hidden behind them. You saw a corner of his mouth slightly going up in a mischievous smirk.

His sudden change of demeanor was disturbing and alarming, but also, and you couldn’t deny it, hella exciting.

- You - he simply said in a low voice, with a kind of confidence you hadn’t seen in him before - I was dreaming about touching you.

[justaghostingon]

Pygmalion

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962064

Once there was a man, who could not find love among the women he knew, so he decided to make his own.

“Oli, come with me. I’ve got a new project for you.” Gyrus’ smile was stilted as he beckoned Oli down the corridor. Oli followed, a bounce in his step as anticipation welled up inside him. The projects Gyrus had him help with were always interesting, even if they didn’t always work.

They entered the lab, and Oli froze. A woman hung suspended from the wires and machines. Her ethereal blue hair glowed in the dim light of the machine. It fell perfectly around her asymmetrical face, one half covered in soft skin, the other open and gapping to reveal a skull made of metal. She was barely more than a torso and upper arms, metal and wiring sticking out like some half finished machine, waiting for a mechanic to bring it back to life.

“Oli, meet Maria,” Gyrus said as Oli approached the remains of the woman. “She’s a robot from the last realm that I thought we could fix up and try and use on missions.”

He babbled on, talking about the advantages that a nie indestructible robot could have, but Oli wasn’t listening. Carefully he brought his hands up to encompass the woman’s face. Her single eyelid fluttered open, as delicate as the real one her long ago designer had tried to copy, and looked Oli in the eye.

“Hello Maria,” Oli whispered, for only a whisper seemed appropriate in this fragile moment.

“Hello.” She smiled, and Oli felt the whirl of machinery beneath his fingers humming like a pulse. The left side of her face was soft and warm against his skin, the right cool and smooth as steel, but Oli knew as he cradled her in that moment that all of her was undeniably human.

Many days and many nights did he labor over her, sculpting the perfect woman out of stone. And when he finished, he named her Galatea, for the white of her marble skin.

Fixing Maria was the hardest thing Oli had ever done. Her body was more complex than any project he’d ever worked on, and Oli found a new respect for the physicians who tended to the human body, their task was truly daunting if it was anything like the one of metal he and Gyrus labored over.

Every twist of wires, every slight calibration, every metal frame, all required the most delicate touch, lest they damage her beyond repair. She was magnificent though, a true masterpiece. As they inched their way along her body, rebuilding her from the ground up, Oli couldn’t help but wonder if the gods knew him in such intimate detail or if they did not care for the long labor his mother had needed to bring him to life.

Through it all Maria kept up her spirits, laughing and joking about the fine mess she had been reduced to. Oli admired her bravery, because even though she tried to grit her teeth, he knew their every motion caused her pain. She couldn’t hide it from him, even if she wanted to. Oli could see inside her every corner, and he knew when she bit her lip like that the reconnected wire beneath his fingers had burned her.

Gyrus seemed to notice too, and it made him sad, shoulders hanging with the weight of the world. But Maria did not like to see him so morose, and so would laugh or joke to try and lift his spirits.

“How’s your boyfriend?” she asked after a particularly hard operation. Oli blinked, confused. As far as he knew, Gyrus had no interest in anyone, to the great disappointment of many. But to his shock, Gyrus didn’t laugh it off like he usually did. Instead a cherry red blush crept across his face, until even his ears burned a brilliant red.

Oli started, but Maria laughed, throwing her head back in an echoing howl. Gyrus’ ears turned, if it were possible, even redder. “He is not my boyfriend,” he hissed, shooting Oli an alarmed look. Maria laughed again.

“Right, right,” she said, amusement obvious in her voice. “You just hold hands, have sleepovers, spend every waking moment you can together, and talk constantly about him when you can’t. Completely platonic, my bad.”

Up until today Oli hadn’t been certain Gyrus could have those types of feelings, but when Maria put it like that it seemed obvious. There was only one person who Gyrus spent so much time with, one name he slipped into nearly every conversation.

“Are you, talking about Kodya?” he asked, feeling slightly light headed. Gyrus’ eyes widened in alarm.

“There is n-nothing between me and Kodya!” Gyrus shook his head, waving his hands in the air in denial. But Oli noticed the red did not fade.

“Uh, yeah,” Maria rolled her eyes, “because someone’s to cowardly to confess.”   Gyrus hid his face in his hands. Oli felt a bit bad for him.

“I’m sure Kodya wouldn’t say no,” he offered, because everyone knew Kodya was in love with Gyrus, and because Oli knew all too well the way insecurity could whisper and ruin someone’s will to ask.

“Really?” Gyrus peaked between his fingers at Oli who tried to smile encouragingly. Maria tried to help, but her clear amusement had the opposite effect. “Gahhh,” Gyrus buried his head back in his hands as he stood up. “I’m going to get more metal!” He squeaked, running from the door before Oli could remind him that he could create anything and they had plenty of ingredients.

“Looks like it's just you and me now,” Maria chuckled, and as Oli turned to her, he realized that they had never been alone before.

The man would talk to his Galatea as if she were a real person.

The silence stretched out far too long as Oli struggled to come up with a topic of conversation. Maria raised an eyebrow, and Oli felt his stomach drop. “Come on, I don’t bite,” she said, and Oli looked down.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered but Maria shook her head, loose hair flopping against skin and metal alike.

“No, no! Don’t apologize! Ask me something! Go ahead, I know you want to!” She smiled at him, and for the first time, Oli wondered if she paid as much attention to them as they did to her. The revelation was disconcerting, but there was something he had been dying to ask.

He cleared his throat nervously and went for it. “What’s it like being a robot?” he said and then flinched at his own daring.

“Yeah I figured that would be the first thing you’d ask.” Maria’s voice caused him to look up. “First thing everyone does,” she added, sounding rueful. Oli clenched the front of his robe, feeling horrible.

“If I had to put it into words, I’d say it's a lot like being human most of the time,” Maria tried to shrug, but the wires holding her steady didn’t let her. She gave a half wince, and Oli stepped forward, hand instinctively raised to stop her.

Maria smiled, a small, sad smile that didn’t fit her usual chipper personality. “There is one difference though. I can survive with a whole lot less than a human can.” Oli’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. Was she talking about food?

Maria saw his confusion and elaborated. “Like blood,” she said. “You need blood to survive. But I don’t. It keeps me warm, but if I were to lose it, I’d still function.”

“That’s horrible,” Oli murmured, trying to imagine living life devoid of warmth, and feeling nothing but cold and hollow.

“Yeah it kind of is,” Maria replied, and Oli snapped his hands over his mouth, realizing how insensitive his words had been. Maria’s gaze softened. “Thanks,” she said. Oli lowered his hands, confused. “Not a lot of people notice that. But hey,-” she shot him a wide smile, more in line with her usual personality, “if I were half as squishy as you, I wouldn’t be here now would I?”

That was true, Oli felt a bit of guilt leave his shoulders. But still. “Maria?” he asked, and the woman turned her blue eyes on him. “What’s your favorite food?”

Maria blinked at him, and Oli felt his lips twitch into a smile.

He would make meals and present a portion to her cold body.

Oli hurried to the lab, a small bag in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. Gyrus wouldn’t be there right now. Oli had asked Kodya to ensure that he stayed that way, citing his worry over Gyrus overworking to ensure Kodya would not let him within ten feet of it. Oli felt a little guilty about using Kodya against Gyrus like that but he shrugged it off. He was going to do this, and he didn’t want Gyrus to stop him.

“Maria!” he called as he pushed his way into the lab. “I brought the food!” He held the little bundle aloft.

“Oh yeah! Bring in the goods!” Maria yelled, face split into a wide grin as her eyes never left the bundle in Oli’s hands. She sucked in a deep breath through her half finished nose as Oli came closer and licked her lips. “Oh man I can smell it, my mouth is watering already.”

“Just a minute,” Oli cautioned as he opened the bundle to reveal the strange wrapped bread and meat sandwich and the slices of deep fried potatoes Maria had painstakingly instructed him how to make. Maria gave a little whimper, and Oli smiled.

Oli took the sandwich first, lifting it with one hand to her face, while the other held the cup up to the bottom of her torso, to the little tube that led directly to her throat. Maria bit into the sandwich eagerly, sharp teeth nearly missing Oli’s fingers. He yelped a bit, but Maria didn’t seem to notice, to wrapped up in chewing to pay attention to Oli.

“Oh man,” she swallowed, and Oli held the cup close to the tube as the mashed up food slipped out. “It has been so long since I ate a burger.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Oli smiled. “I hope it tasted like it's supposed to.”

“Like it's supposed to?” Maria echoed, shooting him an incredulous stare. “It tasted fantastic! Oli you’ve got to be the best chef in the world!” She beamed at him, bits of sauce still stuck to her cheeks, and Oli felt like he was on top of the world.

“Now a fry,” Maria demanded, and Oli obligingly brought one up for her to bite. She took from his fingers, holding it in her mouth by the end, before gulping it down. “Mmmmm,” she groaned as she swallowed, licking the edges of her mouth. “That’s good.”

Oli blushed from the compliment as the remains of the fry slipped into the cup. “If you like it so much, I could always bring you more.”

“It would have to be soon,” Maria frowned. “You and Gyrus are gonna hook up my esophagus soon, and then the only way out will be through my stomach and the intestines.”

“Then I’ll just have to get a bigger cup,” Oli shrugged. He was a mechanic, he could figure something out. But Maria had looked so happy, and he wasn’t going to deny her something that made her feel more human.

“Alright!” Maria cheered, “Now I’ll take another bite of that burger baby! I’m feeling hungry tonight!”

And he would dress her in the finest clothes he could buy.

From then on, Oli would visit Maria whenever he could get away, bringing her food or just keeping her company. He found she was a wonderful companion, whose brash personality and boundless optimism always managed to put life in perspective. Oli couldn’t wait until the project was completed, so he could introduce her to everyone else. He was certain a warm personality like hers would get along with everyone.

He wouldn’t have to wait for much longer though, as he and Gyrus were almost finished. There were just a few final touch ups, and they would be able to take her to meet everyone. Every day Oli was able to remove one of the wires tying her to the machine, and everyday she looked more and more human.

Oli was just unwiring one of the no longer necessary wires, Gyrus left after being radioed by Don for some sort of emergency meeting, when he noticed a shiver run across Maria’s skin.

“You’re cold!” he said, hand hovering over the spot, unsure what to do. Maria gave him a slight smile.

“Yeah well. After you guys added my blood I’ve been able to notice how breezy it can get in here.” She gave a half shrug. “But it's fine. I can handle it.”

“No, no.” Oli shook his head, looking around the room. His eyes landed on a sheet in the corner where it still covered some old inventions in an attempt protect them from dust. He grabbed it and brought it back to Maria. “If you’re cold, we can fix that.”

Maria stared at the sheet with slight apprehension. “I don’t know if that’s going to work, since my arms are all spread out thanks to these wires. the air will just get underneath, not to mention my legs.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Oli smiled, and began to twist the fabric in his hands. Every child in all of Hellas knew how to make a tunic. He carefully wrapped it around her body, mindful of the parts still attached to the wires, and fastened them at her shoulders with rubber bands. For the final touch, he took off his own belt, and slipped it around her waist, tying it so that it would hang down in the fashion his mother had so enjoyed.

“There,” he said, stepping back to admire his handy work, “now you look like a proper Hellenes lady.”

“Wow!” Maria looked down at herself, twisting a leg to brush against the white fabric, causing it to ripple. “I’m not normally a girl that looks good in white, but this is something else Oli!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Oli smiled. “When your final repairs are done, we can get you proper clothes, a whole wardrobe if you want it!”

Maria bit her lip, her exuberant excitement dimming as she was reminded of her immediate future. “When the repairs are done, yeah.”

“Hey,” Oli placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. “Everyone’s going to love you ok? You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Maria smiled at him, warm and kind as the sun. “Yeah,” she said, but Oli got the feeling she didn’t quite agree. No matter. Come tomorrow, she would see it for herself. “Oli?” she added, and for the first time Oli heard a bit of hesitance in her voice.

“Yes?” he smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, blue eyes boring into his. “For everything.”

“Of course,” Oli said. Feeling like something important was being said, but not quite sure what. “What are friends for?”

But no matter what he did, she did not move, speak, or eat. She had no consciousness of what he had done for her. She could not love him, and so he despaired.

Oli knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the lab. The room was darker because the dim light of the machine had been fully switched off. To the side Gyrus sat, shoulders slumped, when he should have been excited at the project’s near completion. Worst of all, Maria was missing from the center of the room, and in her place was a blackened husk of metal and junk.

Oli felt his heart stop. He took one shaking step towards the pile in the center of the room before collapsing on his knees in front of it. Gyrus started talking in that gentle way of his, about how there had been an accident, an electrical surge that had accidentally fried Maria, and how he was shutting down the project. But Oli wasn’t listening.

He brushed a trembling hand against the dark metal. A part of him expected to feel the electric hum beneath his fingertips. But there was nothing but cold, empty steel. A drop of water landed beside his hand, then another, and Oli gave into his tears as great, ugly sobs racked his body.

Gyrus came to sit beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Oli allowed him to lead him to the bench and rub soothing circles in his back. “There was nothing you could have done Oli,” he said softly.

His words only served to heighten Oli’s despair. “Poor Maria,” he sobbed into his hands as his mind began to torture him with possibilities, “Maybe it was a flaw in my design!”

“Of course not,” Gyrus moved to grip his shoulder. “If you need to blame someone, blame me. But don’t blame yourself. You did everything you could for Maria.”

Oli wished with all his heart he could believe him.

One day the man brought his pleas to the gods, begging them to bring the woman he loved to life. Aphrodite heard him, and moved by his tale, she waved a hand and brought the statue to life.

Oli hurried down the corridor, head spinning. Nephthys was missing, Don was too, and his wheelchair was alone in the infirmary under a pile of rubble. The others were saying Gyrus was to blame, but Oli wasn’t so certain.

He remembered the last thing Nephthys had told him, about how the seven boss swords had been replaced, and how she needed to check on Kodya before getting to the bottom of it all. Now she was gone, and the last place she had been clearly contained signs of a struggle. Awfully convenient that the last person who had known something was amiss happened to die at the hands of madman, even when said madman was monitored so constantly there was no way he could access to the swords to make the switch.

No, something else was going on here, and he was the only one who knew. Which also meant he would be the attacker’s next target. He gulped, and prayed to every god he could think of that his friend would return.

The least he could do he supposed, was fix the infirmary wall. Maybe if he preserved the evidence he could look through for clues. Or at least have somewhere to hide. He stopped in front of it.

The act itself was easy enough, there were plenty of parts lying around in the rubble. In all honesty it took him maybe a minute. There. He turned to walk away, only to hear a vaguely familiar voice coming from behind him.

“... Who could have fixed it already?” the voice cried, sounding frustrated.

“I-I did!” Oli stuttered as he turned, afraid of the danger this strangely familiar voice could offer.

“Huh?” the voice said, and Oli flinched, but raised his eyes to meet the strangers. Her blue hair was swept up in a messy ponytail, her clothes were red and black in a foreign style Oli had never seen before, and she had a white stick of something in her mouth that reminded Oli vaguely of a fry. But there was no mistaking her face, the face Oli had labored painstakingly to fix.

“Maria?!” He exclaimed, hardly believing his own eyes.

“Oli!” she cried, expression brightening with a painfully familiar smile.

A sound came from behind her and her eyes widened, a note of fear in them as her companions glanced backwards. Oli wasted no time. He thrust a hand on the wall and forced the solid rock to give way, allowing her and her companions to flee inside. Then he stepped in himself, closing the wall behind him.

He knew he should turn the intruders over, but he didn’t care. Something was horribly wrong in the Room of Swords, enough so that he would take his chances.

Besides, he thought as he could hear the sounds of confusion coming from the other side. He had lost Maria once. He would not lose her again.

Gatalea threw her arms around the man and embraced him for the first time, and the man, Pgymalion, finally found joy.

[justimajin]

Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues ⌠Part 12⌡

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (5.3k) Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU

⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye…

⇢ Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, graphical descriptions of surgery, severe emotional distress

⇢  Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

⇢ Next Update: Friday, May 31

Walking outside of the sterilizing room, the blue clothing sticks to your skin as a shaky exhale is released from your lips. Through the windows of the hospital, the sky is painted in the colour of ink and silence echoes within the hallways when the sole sound being emitted is from your thudding heartbeat. You anxiously race your compelling feet as you draw closer and closer to the operating room.

The whole ordeal was not looking to be so terrible in the hindsight. Injuries that could quickly be patched up and taken care of within the amount of time you had on your hands. However, the situation grows deeply complex when the realization had dropped on you that you weren’t going to be performing the surgical procedure you had on expectation.

Instead, you were going to through what is definitely one of the hardest yet natural processes of life. And its entire method is known not to leave its workers with an ounce of rest.

Your mind flashes back to when it had sparked the connection. When your head was spinning at the implication Dr. Kim had given.

“It appears as if we will need to induce labour.”

“L-labour?” You stammered out; the words awfully laced with pending tension. From your own physical observation, you could already tell the woman was pregnant, but that does not justify having to go through the lengthy procedure.

“She was involved in a collision.” Dr. Kim explains, despite being usually calm you notice that he appears to be just as shaken up as you were, “Meaning the baby could have potentially been harmed and if that’s the case-“

“The mother will die if she doesn’t go through labour.” You finish, already comprehending what he was trying to get across. But it deters from why declaring that it was the best option to use in this particular case.

“Look over here.” He points to the woman’s hip bone, which was situated higher up then usual.

It’s then when it finally snaps you back into what he was trying to get you to understand – the woman’s hip bone was crucial for labour as it was the bone structure that assisted in pushing the baby out. The joined hip bone’s need to be teared apart for the baby to safely arrive.

But the necessary detail here is that if her hipbone was damaged in any way, it could be fatal to the baby, whose crown was resting right beside it and whose life depended on staying within the amniotic sac inside.

The very thought shakes you inside out, “We need to do an X-ray.” You pause, “Is that safe?”

He nods, “Should be. We can also figure out how many months she’s been in.”

You and Dr. Kim work swiftly together, a circumstance you both had not been expecting. It dawns on you that it was likely because both of you had never had a pregnant patient.

Did you study about pregnancy? Of course. Do you understand the step by step procedure? Definitely. Were you trained what to do in the situation? Many times.

Had you ever been faced with a pregnant mother involved in a car crash and hanging on a mere thread with the arriving threat of a miscarriage?

You wish Namjoon was here, knowing the man’s knowledge was incredible about such matter but you can’t afford to wait when there are two lives at stake in the moment.

A part of you is even glad that Dr. Kim is working well with you, for you would have to relay on each other immensely in the next couple of hours.

The X-ray comes through and your heart sinks when in fact, Dr. Kim was correct about his keen observation.

Entering the operating room, you are surprised to see the woman had regained consciousness and was attempting to speak through the pain of her wounds. Her eyes land on you when you stand by the door, but Dr. Kim continues to talk to her.

“We need to prepare you for surgery. It’s crucial to do your labour now.” Dr. Kim states, sounding like he was repeating his words.

“B-but I-I’m only eight months p-pregnant.” The woman says and you trail closer when you discover that she appears to dangling in a frenzy stage from the shock the accident washed over her and occasionally wincing at the immense pain radiating in her abdomen. 

“You are but we can’t keep you like this. Your child’s life is in danger.” Her eyes waver when he brings up the life she was currently carrying and with a shaky exhale, she nods for you to inject her with anesthesia so she can be unconscious and numbed for the duration of the surgery. 

Once she’s been injected, you patiently wait and turn to Dr. Kim who was occupied in hurriedly organizing the surgical equipment. “How are we going to do this? Going through normal labour might be too much of a strain on her considering her injuries.”

“I assume you know how to do a C-section.” You widen your eyes and he looks up to stare at you. A C-section was an alternative method used in situations when the mother was not in the best shape to do the required muscle work in labour, but it involves making multiple incisions and demanded that you be extremely cautious so no damage is done to other functioning systems within her body.

You move closer to her, taking short breaths to prepare yourself for the incoming whirlwind you need to face. Dr. Kim joins you eventually and reaches over to pluck a single scalpel to begin.

It’s incredibly quiet in the room, only two surgeons and a patient present in the entire vicinity. It shouldn’t be difficult, for you and Dr. Kim are both capable individuals.

But even that mere reassurance isn’t enough, especially when your thoughts keep sitting down on the fact that once you start the surgery, the responsibility of two patients will be delicately placed in your hand.

You can’t turn away from this, you remind yourself. 

However, the clock is still ticking threateningly at you and Dr. Kim carefully pushes down the sharp tip, bleeding it down into a hollow line.

You grab a second scalpel and start to assist him, ensuring that the incisions were properly made in the abdomen. A C-section requires you to create enough room to pull the child out but the potential threat that lingers on doing so is to not deeply penetrate into the mother’s skin, for this could cause scaring in the long run and make having another child exceedingly hard.

Keeping this solid warning in mind, you continue to trace around her skin and your eyes are boring lasers, glued to every piece of skin you carefully open and navigating yourself to the best of your own ability.

Aside from the occasional monitor beeping and the sound of you shuffling, a shaky exhale pierces through and you furrow your brows, glancing in front of you.

The amount of incisions you have finished are massive in comparison to the doctor who was still working on one of them. He appears as he usually does and how you were currently feeling, focused and unmoving, but you watch him even closer when he seems too focused.

It’s then you catch the faint tremble of his hands, so well hidden away from your sight that you realize what was actually going on.

Your hand staggers for a moment and you bite your lip, recoiling it. But then you re-consider and slide it over, briefly applying pressure just how he had once done for you.

His reaction is instant, head jerking and shoulders flinching when your hand makes contact, however you welcome his confused gaze when you hold it with your eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you retract back into your operative work and the doctor beside you does as well, this time coming back better than before.

A clink of two scalpels hitting against the metal tray resonates through the room and its now the easiest part of the surgery is done. The amniotic sac – the fluid the baby is protected in – is thankfully still in a reasonable shape but your eyes stagger over to the adjacent hip bone that appears to be completely destroyed with the clearer view.

“The amniotic sac hasn’t been entirely ruptured.” You whisper.

“The head was protected during the collision then.” Dr. Kim says with a sigh of relief, “Hopefully the child is okay as well.” 

You draw yourself closer to her pelvic area, needing to burst the protective membrane and quickly get the baby out in time. Afterwards, the umbilical cord will need to be cut and the placenta has to be removed, but for now you needed to get the child out at any costs.

“Ready?” Dr. Kim asks and you nod. He carefully maneuvers over to where your hands are situated and after a brief second passes, large amount of liquid gushes out. It continues to spill out and you reach inside, grasping carefully onto the head of the child before gently pulling as the liquid piles up.

You’re breathing extremely hard, choked and ragged sounds escaping out from you when Dr. Kim quickly secures the remaining liquid and brings his attention over to the small human resting in your arms. He reaches over to severe the cord attaching the child to their mother and you drape a towel among the bloody residue sticking to your skin.

Dr. Kim occupies himself with ensuring that the placenta drains out but your eyes are glued to the innocent pink face in your arms.

“Dr. L/N?” He questions, wondering why you’ve gone silent when the surgery was clearly a success.

“S-She’s not crying.” You stare at him with frightened eyes, specks of water threatening to flow out. Dr. Kim’s expression also drowns when the mutual fear you two had shared was coming true.

“Are there any injuries?” He hurriedly inquires and you respond by quietly shaking your head, water now escaping.

A bitter silence is created in the operation room when all your efforts leak down into the drain. You still keep your eyes trained on the small newborn, eyes flickering around for anything – a subtle movement, a gesture of life, even crying – but the baby is completely unresponsive.

While you stand with your arms caressed around it in defeat, Dr. Kim isn’t giving up.

He takes the child from you and quickly wipes her down clean. Hurriedly, he starts examining for anything that could have been of harm and you slowly trail over to him, watching him gently rub the child’s back and then taking suctional equipment to remove any liquid that could have possibly entered into the lungs.

His actions are moving, but it’s difficult to watch him continuously try and fall into defeat and you begin to wonder if you should simply tell him to stop.

Just as you’re lifting your hand, he presses his lips against the small mouth for air to enter the lungs and then eagerly watches – but no response greets him in return.

You finally speak up, “Dr. Kim, there’s no point…” Your voice comes out coarse and empty.

He pauses for a moment, eyes still on the child when a deep sigh overcomes him. You flinch when the loud thud hits the table, shoulders slumping down in loss when he places the base of his hand against his forehead. Squeezing your eyes shut, you silently trail over to you when you can recognize that both of you were feeling in that exact same thing in that one split second – failure.

“Dr. Kim?” You ask, trying to get any glimpse of him when he remains slotted down in the same position. He pauses before he raises his head to look at you and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so many twisted emotions in his eyes, ranging from pure grief to an ultimate downfall.

You give him a tight smile, clueless even to how to comfort him but trying as it’s too hard to see him like this when the man is usually so composed and calm.

You move forward a place a hand on his shoulder, attempting to slowly get him away from the counter so you can resume the surgery and after another deep exhale, he obeys.

A small hiccup resonates into the silent room.

Both of you don’t move even the slightest, staring at each other with wide eyes and wondering on the inside if you were possibly hallucinating from the accumulated stress you had experienced. But the hiccup resonates again, morphing in a small cry and suddenly a mix of everything releases – the relief, the tears and the stretched smiles.

“We did it…” You whisper and your hands hover slightly over your mouth, staring down at the bundle of joy pooling out cries when it can finally breathe into the new environment after being trapped inside her mother during the crash for so long. You continue to gaze at the child but then to your own surprise, you’re being tugged into a hug by a fellow shaken doctor.

“D-Dr. Kim?” You stutter when he keeps a firm lock on you. Yet your confused expression dissolves without delay when you notice his trembling shoulders, dampness beginning to pool at your shoulder.

You’re completely thrown off by the display, but with a sincere smile you actually move to reciprocate the hug with water escaping your own eyes. Both of you are a horrible dirty mess; blood, sweat and tears clinging to you uncomfortably but all of that just disappears when the small life you were desperately trying to save is now taking her very first breaths.

After awkwardly breaking apart from each other, Dr. Kim turns away to the side from you and you decide its best to give him a moment from all the overwhelming emotions flooding into the room. You make sure the child is still okay after they hiccup a couple more times and you register that there definitely was blockage happening in her air pipe if she continuing like this. Quickly coaxing her to sleep, you turn your attention back onto the mother completely and Dr. Kim soon joins you, making you repress the soft smile at the man’s pink eyes.

The final part simply involved stitching up the incisions you had made and ensuring that no damage had been done to the mother in the process. The stitches are to stay in place until the incision areas finally heal and the mother is in optimal health to get them removed, which usually occurs once she leaves the hospital.

Once the operation is entirely completed, both of you work diligently to patch up the mother’s remaining injuries. After that is done, its finally time for you to leave for home when you exit the operation room.

The hospital is dead silent when you peek your head outside, glancing at the red letters being displayed on the clock overhead declaring that it was four in the morning. With a sigh, you know exactly what you want to do in that single moment, looking down to see the wonderful array of different fluids covering your blue scrubs.

Changing out of them quickly, you decide it would be best to go home and shower as much as you can before getting some rest. It dawns on you a bit that coming into work the next day might be too exhaustive on your body, but you shrug it off.

If the hospital needed you, it needed you. Simple as that.

Walking alongside the hallway, you walk by the room the mother and child were currently situated in, eager to get a second glance before leaving.

But someone else beats you to that equation, especially when he fondly gazes down at the resting child. He’s also had the same intention as you, cleaning up and making sure they were alright before calling it a night.

“Dr. Kim?” He snaps out of it, slightly jolting when you stroll behind him and smile at the soft lidded eyes now resting after the chaos going on in the operative room.

“Are you going home now?” He whispers in a low voice, watching you with intent but being careful not to wake the child.

You nod, “I think we both could use some rest.” A small laugh escapes you and to your surprise, his own laughter joins in as well.

“Do you want me to drop you off? It’s late outside.” He gestures towards the window outside and the darkness is a bit daunting, so you shake your head in agreement.

You spend a couple of minutes still there until you mutually agree that collectively everyone in that room needed some form of sleep soon. Turning off the lights, you follow behind the man when he directs himself towards the parking lot and you almost want to let an astonished smile decorate your lips after witnessing a whole other side to him tonight.

Usually your morning routine consisted of the following things – wake up and eat some breakfast, get ready for work and make sure your apartment is locked before leaving.

This routine as shown, is fairly simple and almost automatic to you. A large amount of thought isn’t needed in regard to doing this because you have become so accustomed to it over time that the actions come off entirely naturally. It’s familiar to the point that you always do it.

Translating this over to your interactions is something that also comes natural since relationships have been established since day one. You naturally know how to talk each person in the specific way you identify with them and there isn’t much precious thought given to this either.

But this morning, some of those mundane routines get disrupted. You wake up this morning completely exhausted, every single bone in your body aching and demanding for you to keep lying down as you try fight it off. There’s barely any energy to eat breakfast and getting ready is also a mess, with you miserably dragging your arms around along the way.

The process of coming to work is also flipped around, minimal interaction happening because you acknowledge how physically tired you were from getting only a couple of hours of sleep after the long operation.

But your eyes are on alert for one thing, or rather one certain individual. He doesn’t seem to have entered the hospital yet and you don’t think you could have possibly missed him as your eager vision was constantly scanning the hallways.

“Dr. L/N?” Jin asks in a confused tone when you occasionally leave the office and look around despite having a stack of work to do.

“What?” You retort, coming back into the office at a dissatisfied sigh.

“Are you feeling okay? Was the surgery that tough?” Your intern grows concerned when he sees you like this, as for him watching you quietly working for hours was his type of a normal interaction.

“I’m feeling fine…” You set your lips in a firm line, sitting down in your chair, “If you see Dr. Kim around, just let me know.”

If Jin was confused before, he’s drowning in bafflement now. He was thinking that maybe you were waiting for Dr. Park or Dr. Min to show up, not Dr. Kim.

Right then the familiar taps of shoes against the surface increases its intensity when it comes closer to your office and then drifts off, causing you to quickly glance outside your office door. You can only catch a glimpse of his back, but you’re a hundred percent certain that it is indeed Dr. Kim.

“I’ll be back Jin!” You say behind you, trailing after him.

The man appears to be in a rush; taking longer strides and glancing ever so occasionally into the doors leading to rooms. You raise an eyebrow when he sweeps by his office and continues walking, not even giving a gesture out in turning.

“Y/N?” A voice suddenly questions in a confused tone, but you gesture to Yoongi that you’ll come back to talk to him.

Once you turn around, you lose complete sight of him again and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Where were you going in such a hurry?” Yoongi inquires, striding closer to you.

“I was trying to follow Dr. Kim.” You sigh, the man vanishing into thin air.

“Follow Dr. Kim?” Yoongi exclaims, “Isn’t it usually trying to stay away from him?”

“I needed to talk to him about something…” You start to fumble with your hands, down-casting your head and Yoongi can’t help but let the small soft smile resurface on him.

“What did you need to tell him?”

As the question leaves him, you instantly freeze and turn into a stuttering mess.

“I-I just need to go talk to him!” You huff out, throwing your hands in the air as you go back to looking for the specific doctor. Yoongi merely chuckles at the interaction, shaking his head.

After a considerable amount of time going through multiple hallways to locate him, you finally find Dr. Kim. However, nothing could have even prepared you for the sight that you were going to witness.

His clipboard is set to the side on top of a counter, various swirls of ink already lining the sheet. His white coat is folded and resting right beside it, the rough material tossed away instantly. The drapes are pushed back and a warm glow forecasts itself onto him when the small bundle is secured in his arms.

He smiles, fondly gazes when the child is awake and the mother is lying down, sharing the same smile he has.

It takes every single piece of strength in you not to melt into a complete puddle onto the floor from watching the entire scene. It’s incredibly heart-warming and you find yourself planted right at the door, a sweet smile tugging at your lips.

Carefully placing the child from his own arms into the mother’s, he turns towards the counter to grab his coat and the observations he had written down. It’s then that his gaze catches onto you and he blinks in surprise.

“Dr. L/N?” He walks towards you with his coat in hand.

“Are they doing alright?” You whisper in order to not bother them.

He hums, “Her injuries are healing and the child is in good shape.” You can see that he’s resisting the urge to smile at that and it makes you want to laugh at the notion.

Dr. Kim trying his hardest not to smile. Now that was truly a sight to witness.

“Did you need something?” He brings up, noticing how you were currently situated at the door. The reminder causes your words to distort and jumble with no sense of confidence leaking into them.

“U-Uh…I-I…” You mentally want to kick yourself when he keeps expectantly lowering his head at the words not coming out from your mouth.

“Oh you’re the second doctor!” The lady exclaims from across the room, now in a sitting position. Dr. Kim turns around so she can get a full view of you and you sheepishly smile. She gestures for you to come over and you slowly walk over.

“Do you want to hold her?” She looks towards her child and you widen your eyes, eagerly reaching out.

Being a medical professional for a large chuck of your life, you can hands-down always say that newborn babies were the cutest little things you will ever come across. Their skin is a light pink, softness adorning majority of their form and their eyes are always gently shut like they were within an eternal slumber. The small hands and feet curl around when she’s placed in your arms and you know this fond feeling is mixed in with a dear sense of relief on your part, eyes trained on how her chest slowly rises and fall.

You are so close to combusting – the sheer cuteness of the child is incredibly obvious but the great deal of pride emerging from you is immense being that this could only be seen thanks to the actions of you and Dr. Kim.

You raise your head and almost stagger when you see him leaning against the window on the other side of the room with his eyes only on you. However, this time you return the gesture with a smile instead of merely brushing it off.

You return her back to her mother after a couple of moments; the hazard of a morning you went through early on in the day makes every second worth it when you see your work paying off in the best way possible.

“You and Dr. Kim helped a woman through labour?”

You nod and Jimin’s mouth fall into agape, staring at you with wide eyes. “How did you guys even manage to do that?!”

“She was involved in a car accident and she couldn’t possibly go through labour at that stage, so the child was born prematurely.” After explaining, Jimin pauses to consider your words. He tosses it away however, more interested in another aspect of the surgery.

“So you and Dr. Kim were alone during the night?” You blink at his suggestive tone, fully aware that he was twisting the situation up.

“It was for a surgery, Dr. Park.” You grit out.

He’s about to retort, to which you eye roll at because Jimin never has limitations, but a quiet voice of an intern interjects.

“Congratulations on your surgery Dr. L/N.” A humongous smile graces on your lips when Chaeyoung walks closer to you.

“Thank you.” You take the opportunity to slip out of the situation so Jimin doesn’t do his own interrogation on you further but the act leaves the two individuals alone.

Jimin’s lips downturn when you quickly made an exit and as he’s about to leave with the assumption of questioning you later, a low sigh slips out beside him.

“Chaeyoung?” The girl perks up immediately at the sound of her name, realizing she had voiced some inner dislike by accident. “Are you okay?”

Her lips set into a firm line as her mind is causing to halt with the uncertainty of preaching any information to the specific man beside her. But her thoughts are plagued by something deeper and constantly roaming around to observe probably won’t help her in the long run. “Dr. L/N and Dr. Kim are excellent doctors.”

There’s no level of question in her voice, stating a mere fact. Jimin nods but is bewildered with the statement, “They are…” He trails off in hopes that she would continue.

“They handled the patient professionally even though the surgery was during the night. It probably takes a lot of resilience to do something like that.”

Jimin frowns, although he was usually considered to be the one that usually goes out of his way to do whatever he wanted, being a doctor always gave him a knack for understanding others well. “Are you jealous?”

The very notion of the question leaves the girl flustered, abruptly shaking her head back and forth. “N-No, o-of course not!”

“You know, Dr. L/N and Dr. Kim are pretty amazing, but don’t compare yourself to them.” Her eyes widen, uncertainty flooding into them at the belief that she was a lot more easier to understand than she had expected. She bits her lower lip, giving in when she knows it inevitable to hide.

“But can I do that? Can I throw away sleep for an emergency and still do something as complicated as a labour?” Insecurity is surrounding the girl, slowly consuming her because of her environment.

“Well…” He pauses for a moment. The feeling in itself is something he knows all too well, the feeling of being inadequate because everyone around you seems to always be better at the things that don’t come naturally to yourself. “Take me for example.”

“What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see me?” He gestures to himself and Chaeyoung shuts her mouth, not wanting to vocalize anything wrong.

But Jimin continues, “I’m loud, I cause trouble, I don’t listen to anyone. Hearing this probably doesn’t make me the ideal candidate to be a doctor.” Chaeyoung tries to stifle back a chuckle, being aware herself that it makes her wonder at times why she was even hired to be an intern, “But I wanted to be a doctor so I could help people somehow and that’s why I was picked.”  

She continues to stare at him,slowly grasping what he was trying to get across, “It doesn’t matter what type of traits you have, if you want to be a doctor then just go for it.”

It’s almost like a light flickers, some hope filling her, “If you look around closely,” He twirls around his finger through the hallway, “Everyone here have their own reasons.”

She hums, finally understanding, “Thank you Dr. Park...” If she was being truthful with herself, she would have never expected herself getting advice from Dr. Park, for the man always seemed too carefree and without a care in the world. But he has his own layers to him and it appears as if deep down, Dr. Park is considerate about what goes on around him.

“Dr. Park!” An annoyed voice speaks out, doe eyes searching around for the man and he smiles.

“Looks like I’ve been discovered for being gone too long.” His eyes crinkle at the edges, lids almost shut tight when he quickly rushes over and Chaeyoung laughs, feeling some of her own worries dissipate.

Evening is drawing close and you are getting more and more anxious as the hand on the clock drifts to the next minute. Understanding that sitting in your office and continuing to glare at the time will probably do you no good, the sudden scratching of your chair against the floor distorts the silence in the room.

Your intern was luckily occupied in assisting Dr. Park with some work, but that still leaves the goosebumps all over your skin when it means that they are close by. Poking your head outside, you see a clear hallway with no barriers, so you attempt to promptly get to your final destination.

The coast does remain clear for the majority of the part but your breath hitches when the familiar laughter of said doctor is mixed with your intern, volume increasing. You morph into a corner, hiding behind the shadows when your nerves are bouncing around at this point.

The door finally land in your field of vision and with a large rush of hesitance, you carefully knock against it.

“Dr. L/N?” The man situated at his desk looks up from his work, not quite expecting you to show up.

Ask him Y/N, now’s your chance!

You’re constantly having to reassure yourself, a grimace surfacing when you realize you’re still standing there without having spoken much.

“Dr. Kim…” You trail off, trying to sneak in a deep breath when the doctor stands up and is intrigued at you not mustering up any words.

Ask. Him. Y/N.

“Would you…like to go out for coffee sometime?”

[twohearts-hs]

‘She’s Deadly’ - Shawn Mendes Gang AU

Words: 7.4k

Pairing: Gang Leader!Shawn Mendes & Assassin!(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Warnings: Swearing and Smut

|| Masterlist in bio ||

There was a heavy vent. The blowing of air was all she could hear over her thoughts of what would happen. Y/N reckoned she wasn’t afraid, honestly, she didn’t know what would happen. All she knew was that the FBI had caught her and she had one thing in mind; she was probably gonna go to jail.

After all, she was well known under a specific name as an assassin. She killed people, that was easy to say. She had killed people and she didn’t regret any of it. The reason for that - and it was quite simple, really - was the girl had no emotions.

“Fucking finally. Thought you wanted me to rot,” she smiled wickedly to the man in uniform coming in. She looked down to her hands that were cuffed to the table and she raised her eyebrows, “Fucking gonna let me go, ain’t guilty for anything, just a simple crystal shop owner.” The bald man kept a poker face and pulled papers out of a folder.

“Ms Y/L/N-”

“I want my fucking lawyer,” he huffed.

“You’re not being accused of anything, Ms Y/L/N,” the man said towards her, “we know about you, Eve.” There it was. She stared at him, humour all gone at the moment; this was business now.

“What do you want?” she leaned over, looking the scared man right in his eyes.

“We want to hire you, Eve,” she nodded, instantly recognising her street name, seeing the paper that was slid in front of her.

“Why would the government want me to kill someone for them?” she asked as the bald man leaned over uncuffing her.

“The guy we have been tracking is nowhere to be found. You seem like the gal to know where these type of people live,” she raised her eyebrow.

“I’m the type of gal? What the fuck does that mean?”

“If you don’t want the job, we can arrest you right away,” she was done for, the choice was that either she could do what she loved or she went straight to the death serum.

“I’ll do the bloody job. Who do you want me to kill?” she leaned back against her chair and crossed her arms.

“A global crime syndicate leader,” he turned a file over to her, which she grabbed.

“Shawn Mendes,” Y/N readout and automatically flinched as the memories flooded in.

-

“Smile!” she covered her eyes as her lover straddled her, the Polaroid camera in her face.

Y/N let out a giggle as Shawn leaned over her, taking a picture of her, the flash crossing pass both of their eyes.

“See? You’re so beautiful,” he rolled over back on the grass in the park, and looked at the picture, “nothing to be ashamed of my lovely.” Shawn looked over to the girl, hair braided into a bun and subtle smile.

“You’re funny,” she leaned over bopping his nose, yet he caught her off guard with grabbing her by the hips and pulling her in for a kiss.

“I love you Y/N Y/L/N, never forget that,” he pulled away staring at her as she sneakily pulled out the camera and taking a picture with him; kissing him hard on the lips.

It was cute. It was two teenagers at the age of sixteen in love and expressing it in the purest way ever; stolen kisses and pretty lullabies.

-

She ignored everything the man was saying. Shawn, her Shawn, could it really be him that he talking about? But, this is a job. It must be a common name because her Shawn would have never done that. He was too good, or at least to her.

-

“I want more in life,” she told him, huffing the smoke from the cigarette and stared out the window in Paris.

“Meaning?” he was confused, standing behind her, afraid of what his love has said.

“I want to do more,” she turned around trying to figure out her words, “I bought this apartment.”

Shawn gave her a puzzled look, “What?”

“I think it’s best we break up, Shawn, I’m living in Paris now.”

-

Shawn. It ended badly. But, it was the best for her. She hit her first victim that night; dressed in leather and an everlasting need for more blood. Y/N believed that after that, he would’ve never have loved her. She was a monster.

“I’ll accept it,” she smirked, snatching the folder for herself and reading it. “But I want twenty million,” the bald man was speechless.

“Two,” she laughed, he clearly didn’t know the business.

“For drug dealers, it’s eight, for normal people, it’s five, for FBI it's twenty.”

“That’s not entirely legal…”

“My job isn’t entirely legal, sir,” she murmured, beginning to pack up and heading towards the door. “Do we have a done deal?”

“Yes.”

-

Y/N walked into her new apartment in Toronto. Her finger slid across the walls of the modern flat and she winced, definitely not her taste.

This city brought too many memories. Her emotions that she was long forgotten have begun clouding her. This was the city where she was an actual human, not a cold-blooded murderer. It may have been good to some, but for her, she wanted to bury all emotion that defines her as human; just a murder robot.

She sat down on the couch, the fabric and cushioning not so comforting, but it’ll make dues. But, whenever Y/N goes to a new country, her first step was to find the nearest liquor depot. So, she placed herself down with Shawn’s folder and a giant gin and tonic. It was a treat to herself.

Shawn Mendes. Where does she begin with the boy? For one, he was always the sweetest person, but now he must’ve changed.

Shawn Mendes owns a global drug and weapon trade. It was simple, yet this Shawn Mendes that she prays isn’t who she thinks it is, fills all of her past lover’s details.

Y/N has come to the conclusion that her Shawn is the Shawn she has to kill.

- She had the brains, it is what helps her in the job; beauty and brains. It was simple, the complex brain of her’s; nobody knew her job. Eve, that was what people called her when they called her up; the plan of being arrested wasn’t in her mind.

Y/N has been doing this job for as long as she could remember. If you look in her diary, the name of every man or woman she killed was written there. Yet, she was feared on the streets. When hired, she’d do as much research as she possibly can, hoping that that person who called her wanted her to kill a bad person, not a good person. Therefore, every name in that roughed up leather journal was a bad person; they’re better off dead.

The lounge was dark. It wasn’t her thing, but she needed to spot her Shawn. Subtle chatter was heard over the quiet music, as she made her way through. This was awful, the plan. She has come to the conclusion of what is going to happen for her to murder him. But, Y/N was a heartless creature.

So, she sat down on the stool, looking over the expensive lounge. Her eyes staring at every dirty lawyer, every drug dealer and perverts trying to pick up girls. If the metal machine on her hip wasn’t so heavy at the moment, she would’ve ignored it, but every person in this room deserves to die.

“Can I have a—” she tried to order but was stopped by an all too familiar voice.

“A dirty martini with two extra ounces of gin, and salt on the rim,” she shyly smiled, turning her seat around and having an eyeful of eye candy.

“Shawn Mendes,” she drew his name out, as he smiled, arms crossed over the all too expensive suit. That moment Y/N felt like the fifteen-year-old she once was around him; shy and cheeky.

“Why the fuck are you in Toronto, Y/N? Thought you’re owning some crystal shop in London, living the life and drinking your way to the top, as well as smoking,” she turned around, grabbing the martini and bringing it to her red lips.

“I moved here,” Shawn bit his lip, eyes slowly undressing her at the moment. She surely has matured into a beautiful woman.

“Why?” he sat down, ordering a whiskey.

“You know me, can’t commit,” he nodded, having one plan that night, “what are you doing now, Mr Mendes.” This has escalated quickly, her manicured hand on his thigh, as she leant in and whispered in his ear. Definitely, the plan will go through tonight. The thought of her sprawled out on his bed with her moaning his name just had him going.

“I own a business,” he mumbled, as Y/N placed a delicate kiss under his ear and leaning back in the stool. She smiled, biting her lip. But, Shawn knew this wasn’t the Y/N he fell in love with back in his teen years. She was more risky, kinky, sexy, dominant even. She was one hell of a tease.

“I noticed, Givenchy?” she pointed to his suit and he nodded. He sipped the whiskey and tried to guess her outfit, but couldn’t come up with it.

“Chanel,” the lie rolled off her lips, the black dress actually handcrafted for weapons to hide. He nodded, ashamed that he didn’t know that; she knew him so well still.

“How are you?” and that is all it took for the conversation over whiskey and rum to escalate to her waking up totally hungover in his bed. But, the conversation was good, no remorse still for the actions that should be released in a few months to a year. But, he was her same old Shawn.

-

A headache was what woke her up. A groan left her lips as her hand went to her forehead. Her eyes slowly began opening as she took in her surrounds, definitely not her little flat.

“Fuck,” she rolled over, looking for her phone, but found nothing.

Shawn leant against the doorframe, watching as Y/N began waking up to her hangover. She was different, completely different from the last time they saw each other five years ago. He coddled the mug of coffee as he stood with joggers and no t-shirt.

Y/N pulled open the sheets revealing her in new clothes. An instant worry fled through her.

“Looking for this?” she looked up, seeing Shawn toying with her gun. Y/N kept a poker face and tried to cover everything. She has truly fucked up.

“Did we do anything?” he chuckled, placing the gun on the drawers and walking towards her.

“No, you got drunk. I don’t know where you live so I took you to my place, you vomited all over yourself, so I had to take off your clothes, shower you and put you to bed.”

Now that was embarrassing. Y/N pursed her lips together and stared at the male beauty in front of her. Shawn brought the coffee cup to his lips as he stared back at her.

“I-I am sorry?” he chuckled, her apology sounding like a question.

“Advil is next to you. Your purse is in the kitchen,” he got up and left the room, picking up the gun on the way out.

“You know this is illegal in Canada. Carrying one without a good reason,” he turned around and gave her a cheeky smile.

“You know me, Mendes, always breaking the rules.”

Her finger dragged against the wall as she exited to the bedroom, looking down the hallway in the big flat. She heard the mutter of a voice but had no rush to go towards it; gently taking her time. The black and white flat was definitely screaming ‘bachelor’, but Shawn was probably too addicted to his job to settle down.

“It is not nice to snoop,” she smiled at Shawn as he came around the kitchen counter to her. Y/N saw her gun behind him.

“I just took my time,” she muttered, placing her arms around his neck and gave him a gentle smile. He just stared at her.

Shawn was so organic. So raw and full of emotion while she was the opposite. He reckoned something happened in the last five years to make her so two-faced. Yet, she wasn’t the hippie he fell in love with when he was fifteen. Y/N was something else now. She was broken.

“Do you work with the police?” he asked, eyes staring at hers and Y/N choked.

“Fuck no,” she dropped her arms and went towards her purse to grab a cigarette. Shawn watched her, as she lit the stick.

“What happened to you?” she smiled, taking a puff in his house, which Shawn wasn’t appreciating.

“I grew up. I saw things I shouldn’t see. I have done things that are wrong. I am tough now, I guess,” Shawn crossed his arms and stared at her.

“I still love you,” he said Y/N’s eyes widened.

“Good on ya, then!” she winked, walking up to him and grabbed the gun and placing it back in her purse.

“That is not just any gun, Y/N, who are you and who are you working for?” she rolled her eyes at her past lover.

“I work for myself. I am a female, I can’t walk the streets without being attacked,” Shawn was beginning to get angry with her. This was not the attitude he wants. This is not the answers he wants right now. “How’s the business?” she was trying to change the conversation, “It’s not any business, eh? I see the roles of cash under the sink, I saw the gun rack that you hidden. I ain’t stupid.” She brought the cigarette to her lips and blew smoke.

“What are you?” she shook her head.

“I asked you first.”

“I own a global crime syndicate,” he told her, Y/N looked unaffected. “You’ve done worse?” she smiled, rubbing the cigarette on the granite.

“I ain’t your hippie gal anymore from high school; flower crowns, indie music, tattoos and long road trips. I am an assassin,” Shawn was emotionless.

“Then why are you here?” she shrugged.

“New client, wanted to say hi to you,” he stood, so done with all of this bullshit. She got up, walking towards the coffee machine and pouring herself a cup. “Well, thank you for the stay,” Y/N went to the bedroom with the mug and picked up the neatly folded clothes that belonged to her and went back to the living room.

“You’re just gonna leave?” she nodded, grabbing her handbag and shoving the dress in, while still holding the mug.

“Here is my business card, mister. I would love to do business with you. Also, you probably want your mug back so my number is there,” and she left with no turning back. Shawn was speechless. She was so odd nowadays; so mysterious.

-

Two days is all it took for him to call her. Her presence left a mark on him, and he couldn’t deal with the lack of Y/N in his life anymore. So, he gave her a date and time to meet up and he patiently waited to see that beauty again.

This was getting too much for her. She realised that she couldn’t keep up with what she is supposed to do. Shawn is the same. Y/N isn’t who she use to be, but Shawn is still the man she fell in love with all those years ago. But, being her stubborn self, she didn’t even accept the smallest feeling of all this.

“Nice office,” she said walking in. Shawn stood, normal clothes on; black skinny jeans and a grey t-shirt.

“Thanks,” Y/N walked around, looking at all the trinkets in the dark room.

“Do you still eat meat?” she nodded, sitting down and grabbing his sandwich and taking a bite into it, “I was gonna ask you for dinner, but that works too,” he mumbled as she smiled so innocently.

“I prefer drinks,” he nodded, watching how such an angel turned into such a demon.

“So, Eve, is it?” she glared and stopped chewing her food. Shawn smirked. This was a game between them.

“The funny thing, Y/N, is that I was looking for an assassin for this one guy and I found this gal Eve, I looked into her and boom she is sitting right in front of me,” he was leading her into something.

“Who do you want me to kill?”

-

Y/N sat on the roof of some apartment building that night, leather suit, a couple of guns, a shitty magazine and her inner demons; sounds like a perfect night.

Shawn hired her, giving her the file at that meeting and she went her merry way to kill this drug addict. It was fun. She sat on the rooftop, waiting for the junkie to fumble his way out of the club and the job is done.

This part of the job was the worst, the waiting. Y/N was victim to her own thoughts so, of course, thoughts of Shawn flooded in, but this was a job. Her life was a job.

-

“So, let me get this clear,” Geoff said, sitting at Shawn’s counter and took the beer from him, ”your first love is now an assassin and you think you’re still in love with her?” Shawn groaned, chugging his beer and helping himself with the next one.

“I am still in love with her. My ex-girlfriend is now some cold-hearted, murderous, no-emotion assassin and is somehow back in my life with no explanation. She broke up with me in Paris in an apartment that I thought we rented but turned out she bought it…besides the point. Y/N was this hippie who saw the good in everyone and danced in the meadow type of gal. Now, she is in some designer black dress with guns and heavy makeup and cares about getting drunk and killing people. I love her still, yes, always will, but I am worried,” Geoff nodded, watching his mate and partner in crime talk.

“People change,” Shawn shrugged.

“She’s out there right now, killing that white kid with the sword tattoo-”

“Ah, Sam. Yup, how much does he owe?” shawn glared, not appreciating his friend’s teasing.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Geoff laughed.

“The thing, dude, is that you’ve also changed. You run a crime gang and you kill people too. You two are not angels,” Shawn nodded.

“I know, but she isn’t my girl anymore, it’s just-”

“Weird, I know,” Shawn nodded. “Do you think she still loves you?” Shawn shrugged his shoulders.

“She is not easy to understand, that is one thing that is the same. But I love her still.”

“Then tell her, dude.”

He can’t tell her. She is on and off at times. One minute she is cheeky and in love and the next she doesn’t want anything to do with you. She was the most confusing creature he has definitely come across within his life. Eventually, he was interrupted by a doorbell.

“That would be her,” Shawn quickly headed to the door, and opened it, seeing her.

“I thought you’d give me something juicy, but you just gave me a deadbeat junkie who doesn’t know the difference between his roots and tips of his hair when he gets it dyed. The dude needed a serious makeup over,” Y/N just invited herself in and went straight to the kitchen counter. “What you have?”

Geoff looked at Shawn and mouthed, ‘that’s not normal’. Shawn nodded. Heading to grab her a beer.

“Y/N,” She nodded to the man next to her, and which Geoff replied with his name. She began busying herself with Geoff, talking about his job in the gang and all.

Overall, Geoff really liked her. She was funny, charismatic, good with her words, and let alone drop dead gorgeous. Shawn just watched from afar, busying himself with incoming emails and texts from the boys about the gang. She was letting loose a bit and he was enjoying watching from afar.

Shawn had to interrupt eventually, as Y/N began blessing Geoff with some high key embarrassing stories about Shawn. But, overall Y/N was beginning to adopt her original self.

“Nice meeting you, Geoff,” she said, giving him a hug as he grabbed his jacket and went out the door.

“You’re being friendly tonight,” Shawn smirked, walking towards her which she scoffed.

“I am always friendly,” Shawn raised an eyebrow.

“Three hours ago, you killed a guy,” Y/N stood, hands on her hips and had an open mouth.

“Let’s separate business with pleasure,” Shawn just stared at her with such sparkle in his eyes.

“So, we are now pleasure,” he grabbed her hips and looked at her, as a gentle smiled replaced her shock features and he bit his lip.

“I can be anything you want me to be, Mendes,” Y/N placed her hands into his hair and massaged his scalp lightly.

He smiled down at her, starting to massage her side of her hip and just stared at her, “Can I kiss you?” “You don’t need to ask.”

He leant in catching their lips and connecting them as one. She let go, the mission not even in her mind as her hands wandered his body. Up and down, her hands covered his back as his were in her hair. It was supposed to be an innocent kiss which led to much more.

She began walking, making Shawn walked backwards towards his bedroom. Y/N pulled them apart, letting her take a look at his lust filled eyes. Smirking she removed her shirt that she changed into before heading to Shawn’s flat. He just was gobsmacked, her body more mature than he has ever seen before. Round breasts are much more fuller now, complimenting her hips and feminine body. She was perfect.

“Take a picture, Mendes, it lasts longer,” he had no facial expression just staring at her with so much love. Y/N bit her lip and walked to him, slipping his shirt off and throwing it across the apartment.

“Bedroom?” he smiled, grabbing her cheeks and smashing his lips into a kiss, and placing his hands on her bum, a signal to jump.

Y/N’s legs wrapped around his hips as Shawn began walking to the bedroom, making out aggressively with this woman. They forgot how well their lips fit so perfectly, it is like they are somehow made for each other. It was awe striking. The exchange between them, aggressive yet so purely love of making out and manoeuvring around the big apartment.

Down the hallway they went, Y/N knocking a few paintings and a vase being broken which created both parties to laugh it off.

Eventually, she was thrown on the bed as Shawn crawled towards her, hands and knees on the mattress. She just stared, the exchange so hot between them; chemistry and hormones, a perfect mixture of.

Y/N kept a gentle stare, as she slowly removed her bra, making Shawn feel the obvious tent in his pants.

“You’re a rascal,” she laughed, grabbing his cheeks as he straddled her and bit her lip.

“I’m your rascal, mister,” the kiss began again, as her red-manicured fingers moved to his joggers, pushing them down and palming his boner.

Moans began to come out of his lips as their lips moved together, and her hand played with him.

“Y/N-” He was so easy to please, he was so soft for her and so easy. He was hard as hell, but he was a giant softie.

Y/N stopped as her hands moved to his back and gripping it. He was left there, completely naked, yet she wasn’t.

Shawn realised this and began pulling her leggings down as she flipped them; hands in his hair now.

It was heavy, sweaty and fast. They moved in motion and it was pure love now. He was all she was thinking about and likewise. It was perfect, two naked bodies intertwined.

“Condom,” she mumbled against his ear as she began to kiss his neck.

“Draw..” moan after moan, “on your left,” she nodded, disconnecting them as she rummaged his draw.

She ripped the packaging and rolled it down him, a hiss crowding the room. He was so hard, and it was all for her.

Shawn moved to be on top of her, Y/N’s back against the mattress as he positioned himself right in front of her entrance.

“It’s ok, hun,” she mumbled into his ear, placing a kiss on his cheek.

It surprised him. Shawn wasn’t going to complain about all this, but she was flirty and dominate when they saw each other a few days ago, but now she was her self from when they were together all those years ago. It was amazing. He was happy.

Shawn pushed himself in, the silent room now filled with silent moans, mumbles and hisses. He was big, but she got used to it quickly, as it was neither’s first time.

“Move,” she mumbled, connecting their lips, as her hand went down to his bum and gripped it, as he began to pump in and out of her petite body compared to his.

The room was filled with moans of each other’s names and swears exchanged between them as the pleasure was so needed.

“Fuck, faster, Shawn,” quickly, the lovemaking escalated to a full blown fuck fest.  Skin slapping began to occur as his balls hit her, he was so deep and the pleasure was beginning to override each other’s system.

Her hands were in his hair now and Shawn’s were on her hips, gripping hard as he pounded into her as hard as he could.

Sweated covered them as they yelled each other’s name. It was full-blown sex now. It wasn’t pure nor innocent, it was filthy and dirty sex.

Y/N began gripping the bedsheets, making Shawn notice it. She was close, as he. But, he kept having to go. Simple kisses were given to one another once and a while, but both were too focus on fucking the living daylight out of one another. She truly was a devil in the sheets.

Y/N got the force and flipped them, and began riding him even though she was close. She grabbed his cheeks and rolled her hips on him.

“Fucking hell, babe,” he mumbled, as she grabbed to grip his hair, as his hands went to her bump, gripping it with all his might as she moved so fast.

“I’m close, honey,” he mumbled, trying his best to form words at that moment.

All Y/N could do was nod and keep moving, she began moving her hands down to his neck and rolled faster and faster. She was truly a master at all this. It even hurt his mind to think who else she has done this too. Y/N was his and he was gonna make sure that was enforced.

They rode out their highs with one another, panting and a little chuckle came from both of them after Shawn squirted his seed into her. Y/N fell against the mattress and stared at the white ceiling, trying to catch her breath.

Both stayed like that for a moment, and Y/N did something she forgot she had the ability to do. She accepted emotions.

“I can’t kill you,” Shawn turned his head to Y/N, looking at her, yet her attention was focused on the ceiling.

“What?” she couldn’t do it.

“I can’t kill you,” Shawn was puzzled. He moved his body to be on his side and to place his hand in his lover’s hair.

“I don’t understand,” a tear fell from her eye. She hasn’t done this in years. Y/N was finally breaking.

“You stole my journal,” Y/N can’t look at him. Shawn sighed.

“I can explain,” she shook her head and sat up, pulling the duvet to cover herself. Shawn followed, grabbing her hands.

“My journal has lists upon lists about things,” he hasn’t looked at it, but he stole it, thinking it was a key to figure who she was. It was in her purse that night she stayed over, he couldn’t help it. “It has names upon names of people I have either had sex with or have killed,” he was gobsmacked.

“Do you love me?” tears were flooding down her eyes as she stared at the man who only had access to her heart. Shawn grabbed her cheeks and wiped her tears.

“I’ll always love you, honey,” she was crying now, Shawn grabbed her, shushing in her ear and repeating the same words over and over again, “I love you, so, so, so much.”

Y/N pulled away and looked at him. She was so broken.

“You’ll never forgive me, Shawnie,” he shook his head, mumbling a no, “I’m not in Toronto for no reason. I am here for a client, but I am with the police,” he was gobsmacked. She was the police, “I am not the police, but I have to work them or else I am put in either jail or put on death row.” Shawn doesn’t know how to absorb this. “I am here because the FBI found out about you, Shawn. I am here to kill you,” Shawn’s face stopped and he didn’t know how to feel.

“Y/N-” he began to get up, trying his best to form the right words. Y/N instantly got up, grabbing the blanket as he put his joggers on and walked to the living room.

“I can’t kill you, Shawn,” she yelled, following him.

“You need to leave, Y/N,” she shook her head, grabbing his arm and he had the most hatred in his eyes she has ever seen.

“You said, you said you love me,” he bit his lip and pulled his arm from her. Y/N was in tears.

“I can’t love you when you lied to me about everything. Was this,” he pointed between each other, “all an act? Get me to a point of vulnerability and then kill me in my sleep,” she shook her head, trying to get him to look at her.

“I love you, Shawnie—”

“Don’t say my name like that, you have the audacity to do that. You fucking bitch,” he shook his head, and begin picking up her clothes and throwing them at her.

“You fucking need to get out of my fucking house, you whore,” she stood still, grabbing her clothes and quickly put them on.

“If I leave, I’ll probably be dead by the morning.” “The world would be a better place, Y/N.”

-

She was gone by the morning, catching the earliest plane to the smallest Italian town she could find, which happened to be her father’s. Shawn was on her mind the whole time. He loves her, but of course, she had to ruin it all and for what? She was a mess and he was too, little did she know.

Y/N went to a little town outside of Lucca where her father lived. Shawn knew her since middle school, but her father is also in the Mafia business. Antonio was welcoming to his daughter with open arms and a kiss to a cheek. She needed a break with being ‘Eve’, flirtatious, alcoholic Eve.

She spent her first few days getting to know the locals, taking walks with her father and filling her nights with festivals in the town. She was happy. But, she became happier when a little stick told her a dream she never thought of.

Y/N was pregnant and even though they were careful, things happen. She was pregnant with Shawn’s baby and she was ok with that. Shawn wanted nothing to do with her, therefore she had no intention to tell him. It was her past and she was willing to let it go in favour to learn to love with this fetus. Nothing could stop her glow.

Italians are very sexy she learnt off the bat. They were extremely flirty, not like Brits at pubs in London, but even buying her bread from the bakery, the boy around nineteen gave her wink and a smile, while Y/N just shook her head and mumbled, ‘you wish’. Her life was perfect, with no killing and no murder.

Well, that is mostly an entire lie. Her father was still in the business therefore once and a while (roughly once a week - she didn’t mind), she’d hear a gunshot and someone hitting the ground. What she meant was, no one got killed by her. In her eyes, she was a changed woman.

Her fear of the FBI finding her was there, but her father was watching her every movement after he found out that she was growing his grandbaby. Antonio made sure no one touched his little girl since day one, but with the FBI on her track, he was extra protective.

She enjoyed her days. Y/N took up painting and drawing again. Her room was filled with landscapes of her life in pictures, besides the fact she is a murder. Her father’s mansion began being filled up with her art, but it wasn’t just landscapes about places in Amsterdam (where Shawn proposed to her and she said no) and Paris. In her closet, in a box was drawing after drawing of different mediums of one particular boy - Shawn.

His picture was embedded in her mind. When her pencil or charcoal hit the canvas, her hands automatically drew him. He was so easy to just draw.

Her pregnancy was a bliss. She learnt she was having a baby boy and her father was fulfilled with the thought of a little boy carrying the family’s name. Yet, Y/N wasn’t so happy with her father’s reaction. Her baby wasn’t going to have any business with their family’s past. No crime, no murder, no drugs or weapons. Look how she turned out. He was gonna be normal.

Matteo Otis Mendes was born that October. It wasn’t an awful birth, long labour, but it was all worth it. Y/N cried, holding onto the nurse’s hand as she pushed as hard as she could to deliver her little baby boy.

When his cries erupted into the room, her heart shattered. This love she has for this being was so different than any love she has never felt before. This love was unstoppable and indescribable. She loves that baby with every fibre with her being.

-

Shawn. Shawn regretted everything the moment he woke up the following morning to an empty bed.

It was all real. The fight, the truth, Y/N. He woke up and prayed it was a dream, but yet his pride took over him and he had to fuck up his potential relationship with the love of his life.

The dictionary didn’t have enough words to describe what a being Y/N was in his eyes. She was all that and bag of chips, as she’d say. But, she was it for him and the little truth that rolled out of the tongue, he had to make it ten times how it should’ve gone.

What the most difficult thing Shawn experienced months after her walking out the door, was that she was untrackable. At first, he checked every newscaster, praying that she wasn’t put on death row or jail. But, the girl is herself, and she can hide within a small village of five hundred and not be found.

Shawn had to go on with his life whether he liked it or not. But, his broken soul couldn’t deal with the lack of her presence again; the first time was hard enough. Therefore Geoff took over the business for a few months as he filled his nights with strangers and hard liquor.

That is what Y/N would do if she was in this position, but she wasn’t. In fact, he didn’t know how happy she was at the moment, holding her baby and watching him grow.

Eventually, Shawn got his shit together and went back to work. Yet, the journal of everything Y/N has ever done from it being a diary, her art and her kills, just had to be a reminder. But, he kept it, he loved her. He kept it in order to keep her memory alive.

Shawn knew he could never replace such a kindred spirit. She makes up more than just an average human being. She was it, but God had to be hateful and rip her away. He forgave her the second she walked out, yet it was too long before he could chase her down like Cinderella at midnight. All good things have to come to end eventually, they say.

So he moved on. He met a girl, they broke up, he met another one, they broke up. He lost hope for love but filled his days with overworking himself and praying for her to end up at his doorstep one day, yet that day never occurred.

Two years later, he and Geoff decided to have a deal with this man in Italy. He had good weapons and a good plan to bring them to Canada without being caught. So, he packed his best Armani suit and boarded on a plane.

The little flame of Y/N was still a tattoo in his brain, but she was like a death to him. There isn’t a day where he doesn't think of her. He carried that horrid journal everywhere, that and the engagement ring he proposed her with at the age of nineteen.

The little town, Romeo was the town Antonio resided in. He created this little town to branch his companies to cover his actual work. A working genius, Shawn would tell you. It was small, cute and screamed Y/N, which didn’t help him one bit.

He was welcomed by a few men in black suits, but he kept his facade on, big scary crime guy from Canada. He was tough, no facial expression and went with Geoff to meet this Italian man. He didn’t expect to see her.

Y/N sat on the doorstep, playing with blocks with Matteo in the sun. She was in a dress with a sun hat, and just stared at what a creation she created. Shawn stopped in his steps and just stared at this picture in front of him.

Y/N was with a little kid, playing with blocks and such a giant smile on her face. She was happy, while Shawn was miserable.

“Mistress Y/L/N,” the man nodded to her, she looked up and met with one of the men that worked with her father.

“Morning, Alexander,” she smiled, and looked behind him, “business appointment with my father?” they nodded and Y/N saw him. The smile on her face faded and bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say.

“Hello to you,” Shawn said, beginning walking to her but was stopped by an arm from Antonio’s man.

“Let him through, Alexander,” Y/N got up and walked towards the stranger yet friend.

“I tried to find you,” she smiled and looked down.

“I have to hide,” Shawn nodded, but she turned away.

“I’m sorry for my reaction,” Y/N smiled, picking up her baby and opening the door to her home.

“My father is waiting for you in his office,” she told him and went to the kitchen.

-

The meeting went fine and Antonio knew already who he was and the fact that he was the father to his grandson, but he held no grudges. He did know the full story about her job and her mission with him, and he completely understood Shawn’s feelings but his reaction was horrible. He hurt his baby girl but also blessed them with such an amazing child.

“You never told me your father is part of the Mafia,” Shawn walked into the kitchen seeing her with the child again, sitting, having a cup of tea as the little one was playing.

“It never came up,” Shawn rolled his eyes and sat next to her at the kitchen table.

“I knew you since we were like thirteen. I dated you and I met your father and all this time he has been in the criminal career,” Y/N watched her baby waddle to her, bringing her a block. “What’s his name?”

“Matteo,” she beamed. Shawn admired her with this child and just smiled. He’s glad she’s happy, she deserves it.

“Your husband must be happy that he is the spitting image of him,” Y/N opened her mouth and looked to Shawn and frowned.

“No husband. He was,” she tried to form the words, but Shawn bet her.

“I get it, I did it too. Slept with a bunch of people after you left,” she shook her head and looked at the man she is still in love with.

“He’s yours, Shawn,” she told him and Shawn just froze. Y/N couldn’t look at him, shame running her system never like before. “You said you wanted nothing to do with me. The FBI is on me and so I had to come here and hide.”

“How old is he?” she watched her baby.

“Fifteen months,” he looked at her and just watched her.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” Y/N looked up to the man that sat across her.

“I really wanted too. He is just perfect and I just wanted to tell you how perfect we made this baby,” her smile was so wide speaking about this young soul. Shawn smiled.

“Are you still in the business?” her head showed no and Shawn nodded.

“Wanted to raise him to be normal,” his love muttered.

Matteo walked up to them and Y/N scooped him up. A smile plastered on her face as she whispered words his ear and played with him. Shawn noticed Antonio in the doorway and all of a sudden he got the nerves he had when he was teen with her. Y/N just held her baby and Shawn smiled to her, grabbing his little hand.

“I want to try us again,” this sparked her interest and she looked at him. “I don’t hate you, I still love you, Y/N. I don’t care about the mission, I don’t care about your past. I love you and I want to be with you. I want to be there for Matteo. I want to be yours,” a little tear fell from her eyes as she looked at the man in front of her. She nodded, looking at him and gently moving the curls out of his eyes.

“I’d like that, Mendes.”

-

Tag list - comment, dm or inbox to be added:

@mendesnecessary @i-am-bisexual-and-a-girl @notunlimited @purple-cream-cheese @iimagineloves @ashwarren32 @claredolphinbear24

[changbeanie]

from grace ➳ bang chan

➳ genre: demon au, fluff, angst

➳ pairings: reader x chan

➳ word count: 7.1k

➳ description: He was a fallen, a follower of Lucifer, a creature of deception. All that aside, what if the darkness was not as one-dimensional as you perceived it to be?

⇒ a/n: #happychanday — may you transform stray kids’ vision into reality ☆   

“What are you doing here?” You spat before you could stop yourself, and you almost felt bad for perceiving obvious traces of disgust laced in your voice — almost, if he weren’t a fallen.

“I see you’re getting the hang of it, love,” he replied, amusement palpable in his silk-like voice. A week ago, his sudden appearances had startled you, but now, you were able to sense his ominous presence instantly. 

You leveled your emotions and tried to keep the irritation at bay, formulating your response. “I thought I made myself clear. You need to stay out of my dreams, which you're doing a pretty good job at. Now just get out of my life, and everything will be perfect once again.”

“What’s the fun in that?” He inquired, dropping a low chuckle, clearly delighted by your frustration. Chan found your angry presence simply pleasant as he took the spot beside you on the balcony of your apartment complex. “Do tell me. What are you doing at home on a night like this?”

His aura was like a black hole, sucking any source of remaining energy around you like a vacuum, and it left you feeling nothing but emptiness, like a wet blanket draped over your body. His hair, silver like the luminescence of the first snowfall, provided a frighteningly beautiful contrast against his bright, porcelain skin. His clothes, dark as midnight like the orbs that bore into yours, were almost antique like that of a porcelain doll’s — not outdated — but antique in a way which encapsulated many stories.

You pondered for a while, debating whether or not his inquiry would be worth answering; it was pointless to meddle with a creature like him, but nonetheless, something in you prompted you to give him an answer. 

“Thinking,” was what you told him, short and brusque.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes following your each and every move. Chan’s lips curled into a charming smile — he must have read your thoughts. “Nice to know that you’re not heartless,” he commented.

You scoffed at his response. He was a creature of Hell, and damn right you knew that demons were practically the most deceitful and cruel creatures to ever graze the surface of the Earth. It only took one sin to fall from Heaven, so whatever Chan did, it must have been pretty terrible.

“Stop reading my thoughts. It’s none of your business.” Your reply was abrasive, one that usually ended conversations with people. But of course, Chan was no civil human being.

“You’re homesick,” the man promptly pointed out as he waited for your reaction. When you gave a short sigh in response, a smile lifted from his perfectly sculpted lips, a slight smirk lacing his delicate features. “Well, what do you miss about home, love?”

You were confused to as why he decided to start a conversation with you out of all people. What made you so special in comparison to other humans? Why did he pick you when he had a whole seven billion to choose from? It was flattering yet unnerving at the same time. 

“Everything,” you responded. You could have easily walked away and left him hanging, or he could have read your thoughts either way. However, something told you to give him a concrete response. Chan was the first person — being — to ask how you were; his sincerity, or mock sincerity, stirred something in you. “I just wish I would have never taken this job.”

“Why did you take it then? I mean, look at you, You’re miserable when you should be out with your colleagues and having a great time,” he noted, voice tender and softer than his previous responses. A light breeze blew against his face, disheveling his silver hair.

You didn’t think Chan’s presence could be this comforting — he was a demon. Shouldn’t they be menacing and grotesque in the worst ways possible? 

“Having a great time? They’re prudish professors, dull as a blank piece of paper. I don’t want to be at work when I’m outside of work,” you replied stiffly, unsure of whether or not to continue the conversation. “I took the job because I wanted to know how it was going to be like... I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

Chan stayed quiet this time, no timely remark or smart comment, just pure silence. On his lips, a small, nostalgic smile lingered. “I was once similar to you, a mere angel who questioned his whereabouts in Heaven. I wanted to know how non-divinity felt like. And in the end, I did. It’s quite sad, actually,” he answered monotonously.

“I know,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “You were sent down. But why?” It was never wise to meddle with a demon, but you had the urge to ask him. The words spilled from your lips before you even knew it.

“Why?” He reiterated, tilting his head slightly to the side as he flashed that devilishly attractive smile at you. From the corner of your eyes, you could almost see the glint of satisfaction in his orbs as he geared his full attention to you. Don’t give him attention Y/N. He feeds off attention.

Chan merely chuckled and leaned his head back as if he were laughing at some corny joke you made. This made you fear what he was going to say next, unprepared for what you were about to hear. What did he do that was so terrible for the Heavens to cast him down? 

His features were graced with such serenity and poise, and his eyes mirrored those of the innocent, devoid of darkness and corruption. His laughter, hearty and harmonic, was a spitting replica of that of an angel. Nonetheless, he radiated a sort of hollow darkness that compelled remaining sources of happiness away from you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he smiled, his features softening at your look of pure confusion. “I wasn’t cast down from Heaven. I chose to fall.”

Chan chose to fall? 

You went through many possibilities in your mind — murder, disobeying his superiors, carnal desires, going against God — but not once did you think about-

“-no one chooses to fall, right?” He finished your thoughts.

“That’s impossible. No angel would choose to fall. It must have been a mistake,” you blurted. A few weeks ago, you didn’t even know about the existence of angels or demons; your preliminary knowledge was that angels were light and demons were dark, a simple black and white understanding. Even then, you knew that angelic creatures were only cast down during special circumstances, sinning for example, and that was highly unlikely. But for Chan to choose to be cast down? Complete nonsense. 

How could an angel, the epitome of goodness and benevolence, contain a spirit so tainted by evil? 

“I questioned my place in Heaven. It’s not as ravishing as it seems. You see love, even something as fragile and boring as humans have more freedom than angels do. As angels, we serve the Lord as spectators of the human world. All we do is watch. Even when crime happens, we watch unless instructed to intervene. We can’t do anything without orders from our superiors,” he elucidated and continued on.

“We lack what you humans value most. Free will.”

Although his explanation made perfect sense, you could not forget that he was a fallen angel. They were known for manipulating little humans like yourself, powerless against such creatures of darkness. 

But, even so, you couldn’t help but fill the void of questions swimming in your mind.

“I didn’t know... did it hurt?” You asked, swallowing nervously as you anticipated his answer.

“What do you expect, Y/N? For it to be a little misstep and a bruised knee?” He responded, disbelief clear in his voice. For a second, however, he almost sounded human, as if your understanding mattered greatly to him. “I woke up on cold concrete, right in front of the same building I used to spectate over. There were two holes on my back where my wings used to be. They burned so badly that I forced myself to rethink my decision. However, I knew it was already too late. Angels didn’t bleed, and yet my hands were stained red.”

Chan’s gaze gradually moved downward as he stared down the balcony. The sun was slowly setting and the sky was getting dark; you locked eyes with him and thought that maybe if you looked hard enough, you’d see some sort of emotion in his otherwise phlegmatic eyes. 

False hope.

You felt idiotic at that piece of hope you still held tightly onto. In other words, Chan never sinned, so you believed that there was still some good left in him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t be, love. I don’t want your pity or compassion. I made this choice on my own, and I stand by it.”

“Then what do you want from me? Why are you here? Why did you choose me out of everyone else?” You asked him endlessly, feeling the need to find answers to this enigma.

Chan smiled amiably, narrowing the gap between the two of you as he slid across the metal rail. You jumped away from him immediately, distancing yourself from the demon. “Simply because I’m bored, and you’re bored. Thought you might like some company,” he answered your questions vaguely.

You rolled your eyes at the diabolical creature. “Get out of my head, Chan. You’re impossible,” you said halfheartedly. Despite your words, you thought maybe having him around wasn’t so bad. As long as you didn’t engage in anything else other than conversations, it should be alright. You chose to start a new chapter in your life by taking on this profession, a demon into the equation shouldn’t hurt. Right?

“So... friends?” he pressed further, extending a hand towards you as he awaited your response.

Chan met silence but he already knew your answer as you reached out to touch his hand.

»»————————««

“Although Neanderthals coexisted with humans, their DNA proves that they are significantly different. Even physically. They had thicker bones, shorter limps, an asymmetrical humerus, and thicker metacarpals,” you explained and referenced a bullet point on the power-point ahead. “Refer to the diagram in your textbooks for the assignment.”

From the corner of your vision, you spotted a figure wrapped in ebony. Chan’s apparel was the same as yesterday’s — except his silk black dress shirt and slacks were replaced with something more college-like, a hoodie and ripped black jeans. What was he doing in your lecture hall?

Chan had his legs crossed on top of each other, finding rapture at the surprised expression on your face. A smirk spread across his face as he soon realized that you were mildly distracted by his presence.

You glanced absentmindedly over at the clock. Thankfully, there were only two minutes before the lecture ended; you knew students loved to be dismissed early, so this shouldn’t even faze them. They were oblivious to the fact that there was actually a demon sitting among them.

“Alright, class. Next lecture we’re going to be focusing on Neanderthals and their limited genetic diversity. Think about how this may have led to their mass extinction. See you on Wednesday!” You announced, unhooking the projector from your laptop as your students scurried towards the front door.

When a good amount of them had left, you mustered your best “angry” face and turned towards Chan, scowling at his untimely appearance. “Seriously? During my job? What’s so important that you couldn’t wait till after work to tell me? You already pop into my apartment unannounced,” you vocalized a little louder than normal, just so he would be the slightest bit startled.

To your dismay, Chan stood up from his seat and walked towards the podium in a calm manner.

“Nothing. I just like to look at you when you’re focused. Your eyes have that sparkly effect when you really like and understand what you’re lecturing about. Most professors have a dull face on, and it shows how much they don’t want to be there. You’re different,” he justified, giving you an in-depth analysis of his observations.

Your eyes sparkled? That was odd terminology for a demon like Chan, who exerted darkness and malice.

“Why are you with me in public? Don’t you usually appear when no one’s present?” you questioned, packing the rest of your folders into your briefcase. 

“You agreed to be friends last night, so I thought I’d make my appearance public,” he said simply as he leaned closer. “If anyone asks, you can say I’m your boyfriend, so the smoke addict right there will get the hint,” Chan added, eyeing the man in the corner of the lecture hall.

A frown was cast upon your soft features as you glanced at your dreaded admirer across the rows of chairs. “What? How did you know he was-”

Chan interrupted by pointing to his head, and you immediately took the hint. He must have read his mind right when he entered your hall. Slight panic spread through your chest as you debated on your response to your colleague; he had asked you on several dates previously, only to have you decline kindly. Obviously, some people just couldn’t take the hint. 

Your racing thoughts were new to Chan, for he was able to read your mind. He could have easily compelled the man away, but he found amusement in your nervousness, hands fumbling around with your papers as the man approached your podium. He knew you wanted the man to go away, but Chan wasn’t going to give into your thoughts. 

He wanted to hear them.

“That’s basically lying. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re a... demon.” You whispered the last part quietly. “I hate this so much. He asked me to dinner three times already, and I already rain-checked him on all of them. I’m out of excuses.”

“Would you like me to do something?”

“No! You can’t kill him, you idiot.”

Chan spoke calmly and patiently; he knew what he was doing. “That’s too... morbid. I can always make him, you know, walk away and never approach you again. Isn’t that much nicer than death?” he proposed.

You bit the inside of your cheek lightly and pondered his offer. You were asking something of him, and this always came with consequences. 

“What do you want from me in return?”

“You’re smart, Y/N. I ask for a date. Nothing more.”

“You have a deal,” you laughed, internally amused by your immediate response whereas you rejected the other man several times. Demon or no demon, Chan made you feel a hundred times more comfortable than the other guy did.

Chan turned his figure around so that his back faced you, staring down at the other man as you felt his aura enhance greatly. Although you were a solid foot behind him, you felt your entire body shiver for a split second before returning back to normal.

The demon turned to face you again with that devilishly handsome smirk on his face, and the opposing man turned away and walked robotically towards the front doors.

“So, what would you like for dinner tonight?” Chan inquired, playing with the strings of his hoodie as if nothing happened.

»»————————««

Staring at your closet, you narrowed your eyes on several items of clothing. Did you want to dress simple and casual or elegant and classy? Wait, why were you putting so much thought into a simple date? This was merely a deal, so there weren’t any intentions behind it. You reached into your closet and pulled out a black jumpsuit.

Changing quickly, you tossed a denim jacket over it in case the weather decided to take a turn. You took one last look in the mirror before slipping on your comfortable boots. 

Past the large Victorian windows in your bedroom, the soft glow of the autumn leaves adorned the oak trees, adding a nice color to your otherwise colorless room. You spotted the apartment keys and card wallet tossed messily in the heap of blankets piled on your bed and reached over for it. 

Right before you exited your cozy apartment, you scanned it quickly to see if you had forgotten anything. Chan asked to meet in front of your apartment around five in the evening — which in your opinion was much more civil than popping up unannounced in your kitchen or something. Funny, in the past couple of weeks, Chan had been the only source of company you were actually fond of. It was like you’ve grown accustomed to Chan, in the most peculiar of ways.

You’ve always wanted a date in autumn. This was definitely not what you had imagined, but it’ll have to do.

All thoughts aside, you walked out of the apartment and locked the door behind you, making a sharp turn for the stairs. Your excited footsteps thudded on the cobblestone steps eagerly, and when you reached the front of your apartment, you spotted Chan.

He was in a large black coat with a neatly buttoned, white collared shirt beneath it; he was wearing his signature black slacks with a pair of polished black shoes. His silver hair was still styled effortlessly in a tousled manner as if an artist airbrushed it with the softest of pixels. You could almost see the remnants of his celestial side — the juxtaposition of seraphic beauty glowing from a damned being. 

Chan stood in front of the entrance, kicking a pebble to the sidewalk; every so often, he would check his phone but resumed kicking rock fragments as soon as he grew bored. You examined him and a smile appeared on your lips unknowingly. He looked so human at that moment.

“There you are. You look quite dressed for the occasion. So tell me, have you decided what you would like for dinner?” He asked in that honey-dripped voice of his, gaze fluttering over towards your figure.

“Um, what do want to eat?” You asked Chan with slight curiosity. What did demons feed off besides souls and manipulation? Do they even eat human food? 

Chan widened his eyes at your question and read your follow-up thoughts. He nearly chuckled at your clueless expression. “I’ve been on this Earth centuries before you, Y/N. I’ve tried all the cuisines humans have to offer. It’s completely up to you to decide, and yes, demons do eat human food for pleasure,” he spoke slowly.

“For pleasure?” you echoed. 

The man scoffed and eyed you weirdly. “Do you not enjoy food, love? What kind of human being are you?” he immediately countered.

You ignored the astringent comment he threw your way. “Let’s get steak,” you paused, your orbs meeting his bravely. “Only if you want to, of course. I do owe you one after you compelled the man away.”

“That sounds great,” Chan reassured you, completely content with your choice of dinner. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten dinner with a human; in fact, he’d been on so many dates over the centuries that he’d lost count. You, however, made the strongest impression on him. You were able to resist his charms. “Are you going to take my hand or should I take yours?”

“W-What?” you answered a little too quickly. This was a date after all, but you weren’t expecting Chan to be straightforward like that. You thought by the end of the night, you’d maybe intertwine fingers with him, but never so soon. You weren’t even prepared for this. How could you give into him like this? It only made you a more vulnerable target for his demonic desires.

Chan let out a low, hearty chuckle as he saw past your facade. “It’s a date, Y/N. Loosen up a little,” he noted, reaching forward to grab your hand. His hands were warm from being in his coat pocket for so long and soft just like you had imagined. And suddenly, you felt yourself caving into his touch.

Taken back by his actions, you stiffened at his sudden proximity. The moment his hand met yours, you no longer felt his omnipotent aura; it had melted away, and you sensed something a lot more raw as if his powers had been stripped from him. He possessed the tenderness and warmth of any other human being.

“I haven’t been on a date in... let’s see, like a year? I’ve just been so caught up with work and life. Not everyone has free time like you do.” You found yourself relaxing under his touch, and you wrapped your fingers around his hand naturally.

“I guess I better make this date memorable then,” Chan responded as he tightened his grip assuredly.

You found yourself speechless as those words departed from his mouth. It was honestly too good to be true. A demon like him showing signs of affection towards a meager human like you? 

In fictional books only.

»»————————««

“You’ve seen where I live, multiple times actually. Completely unfair because I know nothing about you,” you mentioned, taking a long sip of your iced water.

“What would you like to know?” Chan asked, slicing his steak neatly before popping a piece into his mouth. Honestly, no one would have figured out that he was actually a creature of Hell.

You took a deep breath, debating on your question before you asked, “Where do you live?”

“Where do you think?” he countered, raising a brow over at you.

“Picture this. Hell, but instead of fiery pits of lava, you’re in some old Victorian mansion with burgundy velvet curtains and ebony floors. The wallpaper is a rustic beige and gold with timeless designs of the fleur-de-lis or something close to it. The one cool thing is that there are multiple fireplaces in the mansion, and even though they look harmless, they’re actually shafts to Hell. If you walk close enough, you’ll hear the suppressed souls crying out in anger.” You paused to take a breather, only to continue your description. “You like reclining in a large leather chair, or maybe silk even. Actually, silk sounds so much better. It’s right in front of the fireplace, and you patiently rest your hands on the arms of the chair, planning world domination or your next victim. Something along the lines of that.”

Chan nodded slowly in acknowledgment and smiled fondly. “Are you sure you haven’t been in Hell before? Because that is scarily accurate. Minus the fireplaces being pits of Hell. They’re just normal fireplaces because it’s... cozy,” he said, clearly impressed by your vivid description. “And world domination is tedious. I much rather read a book or something.”

“Trust me. I won’t be visiting Hell anytime soon,” you commented instantly, shoving a french fry in your mouth.

“Such a pity, love.” He smiled sadly. “The entire place would be much livelier with you there.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment; you’d be the only thing alive in Hell. “Why do you choose to abide by humans when you have all of Hell to yourself?” you inquired out of pure curiosity.

The man in front of you patted the corner of his lips with a napkin, and you utilized the time to notice how his hair glowed underneath the dim lights of the restaurant — making him look almost ethereal. “Humans are much more intriguing than demons. Back when I was an angel, life was boring because we merely watched humans interact without the permission of interference unless the Creator or other superior archangels said so. As a demon, many of us exert malevolence so liberally to the point where it gets overused and boring. Darkness isn’t about using your superiority and powers to scare or harm others. You have to take timing into consideration as well. Otherwise, it just ruins the fun of it,” he explained thoroughly.  

You frowned and responded within a heartbeat, “It’s never fun to hurt people, Chan. Not intentionally, not accidentally.”

“You see, my dear Y/N. Souls that drop to Hell after they die have done horrible things in their past lives. They’re merely suffering there because they deserve it. It’s kind of like that one idiom, a taste of their own medicine,” Chan advised, a mysterious glint to his eye.

“Even then... it’s not right.”

“It’s the way of the Universe, love. As associates of Heaven and Hell, we don’t a get a say in what is right or wrong. Heaven is where good souls reside for eternity, and Hell is where the damned souls suffer.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, not seeing the apparent connection to Chan’s case. “If you were given a place in Heaven, then why did you choose to go to fall? You were a good soul. I don’t know what germinated the purity in you,” you murmured as you leaned across the table.

“Heaven doesn’t necessarily pertain to all good and righteousness. Holy figures have flaws too, my love. Take Adam and Eve for example. They were creations of God, and yet they fell from grace because of disobedience. To compensate for sinning, women now bear the pains of childbirth, and men are required to do labor for crops and harvests. Even the most divine of figures possess flaws and weaknesses. I was flawed to begin with,” he instigated your reply. 

You stayed quiet as you tried to counter with a compelling argument, but your mind was completely blank. Maybe because he was right about being flawed. You didn’t think anything was free from flaws in the entire Universe. Even the Bible might have hinted that the Creator was somehow flawed with the multiple petty plagues cursed upon pagan Egypt.

“Cat got your tongue, angel? Or am I correct?” Chan inquired with a grin, his hand touching your arm slowly.

“D-Don’t be so full of yourself. You may be right, but I still don’t fully accept your practices,” you replied timidly to his wise interpretation. As a professor yourself, you knew it was wrong to be biased. His words were equally as valid whether he was a demon or an angel.

“Baby steps, right?” He glanced at your features, his midnight orbs latching onto your attention as if you were in a trance. Chan’s hand moved down your arm to your hand, gently lifting it off the table to feather a small kiss on the back. His lips were soft like rose petals and even such diminutive contact left you wanting more.

“Right,” you finally answered, unable to focus on anything but him.

»»————————««

The date was a perfect opportunity for you to get to know Chan better, not as a creature defined by the negative connotations of Hell, but as a friend. The thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind were long gone: you believed that associating with him was a mistake, a snare that once you entered, you’d be trapped under his spell, giving into his wicked desires. Perhaps, there was still some good in him.

You fumbled for your apartment keys as Chan stood behind you. “Um, I’ll see you some other day?” you said, but for some reason, your statement came out as a question.

“Not going to invite me in for some tea, love? That’s hardly a way to end a night out,” Chan remarked, watching you closely as you inserted the key into your doorknob.

“Not like you need an invitation. You already ‘poof’ in whenever you feel like it,” you retaliated at once. The first time Chan appeared in wisps of black smoke, your initial thought was that he was a ghost. You threw a book at him only to have it hit something solid, emitting a grunt from the demon.  A very eventful encounter.

“What am I supposed to do? Knock on the door like a normal person? That’s so much work. If I have the ability to fade into a room, I’m going to utilize that skill,” Chan smiled at your comment.

You opened the door and gestured with your arm, welcoming him into your apartment. The faint aroma of your pumpkin scented candles lingered, for you had been burning them as you were getting ready for the date. Chan took the time to really take in his surroundings. His sharp eyes turned towards your living quarters which gave off a cozy yet minimal aesthetic; then they darted to the marble countertops of your quaint kitchen and finally to your open bedroom where he first emerged in. He could almost picture himself living with you in this little apartment of yours. Quite frankly, he wouldn’t mind it at all.

Walking into your kitchen, you opened your cupboard and pulled out several varieties of teas. “Valerian, chai, or passionflower? Which one would you like today?” you asked, laying your teas out on the counter for him.

“Which one are you having?” he questioned, running his fingers over your hanging teacups as if he were checking for dust. 

“Probably chai. I’m craving something sweet,” you answered as you started to prepare the spices and a small saucepan.

Chan was by your side, peering over your shoulder as you stayed silent, carefully calibrating the ratio of herbs to milk to water. “I’ve already told you a lot about myself, so tell me, Y/N. What’s your story?” he inquired, his voice like music to your ears.

“Can’t you just read my mind or something? You’d probably know my entire life story in an instant.”

He pursed his lips in a thin line and murmured right my your ear. “I’d much rather hear it from you,” he said, traces of curiosity and admiration present in his voice. 

“It’s quite boring, really,” you admitted, turning your head to meet his light orbs under the kitchen lamp. “My parents live a few hours from here, and I basically grew up and attended college in my hometown. Moved here for the job and hated it at first. Now, I’m slowly getting the hang of it, I guess.”

“Why is that?”

“I think as you live alone, you learn to really cherish the little things around you. There’s less outside noise, so you learn to appreciate different aspects of life and those in it. I used to despise the sun shining through my curtains because my mom would wake me up as soon as breakfast was ready, but now that I’m alone, the sun’s my cue to get out of bed and make breakfast,” you verbalized, the light fragrance of the spices engulfing your little apartment.

A small silence followed your words as you stirred the tea in the saucepan. Chan reached towards your cupboards and handed you two brown mugs. “I think I know what you mean. I’ve been alone for centuries, and I’ve grown accustomed to finding enjoyment even in the most minuscule things life has to offer. Is there something else you’re not telling me, love? Something you’ve been meaning to ask me?” he inquired, and you quickly realized that his face was only mere inches away from yours, so close that you could feel his strong aura emanating from his figure.

“Have you ever thought about becoming human?” You managed to ask him timidly. “In the span of centuries, has that thought ever grazed your mind? Maybe you can forget all of the angel and demon bull-crap and just become human. You’d be able to live a life in modesty.”

His gaze was different this time, mysterious with a hint of sorrow. His answer, however, shocked you. “Of course not. Why would I want to be a measly mortal when I could be some immortal being who possesses the powers of Hell?” he reasoned instantaneously, giving you a brief laugh.

“Because measly mortals learn to cherish life with their allotted time. You don’t have a concept of time. It’s endless for you. In a hundred years, everything you know of right now will be gone, and it won’t ever be the same,” you defended in a hushed tone, staring right into his dark eyes.

Chan was taken back by the tides of your surprise; he was baffled by your answer, and it almost touched his heart. Nonetheless, he composed himself and brushed your response aside. “Tea’s done, I assume,” he interrupted the serious atmosphere from before.

“Right,” you trailed off, shifting your attention back to the heated saucepan before grabbing a ladle and scooping the contents into two mugs. You placed the ladle in the sink and carried the two mugs to the coffee table in front of the couch. “Try it.” You motioned him to sit down and take a mug. “You probably won’t taste anything like it ever again,” you said curtly.

“Unless you pass it down to your children, and your children could pass it down to your grandchildren,” he mused, taking a cautious sip of the aromatic liquid, allowing the contents to warm his throat. “It tastes nice. Very warming.”

You chuckled before blowing softly on your own cup of tea, emitting a pale puff of smoke into the air. “Who said I was ever going to have children? I can’t even seem to find myself a date, who’s not a demon, of course,” you added for emphasis.

“I don’t see how. You’re interesting, you know how to make conversations flow naturally, and you make a mad delicious chai tea,” he stated, lowering his eyes to his own mug.

“I guess I’m just picky.”

“You sure are, love. Rejecting a fellow distinguished professor for a demon,” he noted softly, placing his own mug down on the coffee table. His midnight orbs bore into your own as he began lessening the distance between the two of you; you felt his cinnamon breath caress the apples of your cheeks. 

As he inched closer, you felt your eyelids closing as if you were anticipating something. His nose brushed yours lightly, and you found yourself powerless against him. You felt his hands snake up the sides of your arms, holding you into place, and before you knew it, you were surrendering to his charms.

His lips brushed ever so lightly against yours, but before he could seal the gap, he whispered one last thing.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?”

Your answer left your throat immediately, even before you had the time to process his words. You knew you weren’t under any type of spell or trance, and plus, you were entirely sober. Yet you didn’t even have the audacity to ponder your response.

“Yes,” you agreed.

Chan crashed his lips against yours with a fiery passion, causing you to nearly gasp in shock. Your fingers lifted from your sides and tangled themselves in his silver locks. You were kissing the Devil, but you felt as if you were ascending to Heaven, butterflies dancing in your stomach. This definitely wrong, but for some reason, it felt so right. You craved his touch — the flames that surrounded his powerful aura, the venom that lurked behind that angelic voice, and the sin that ran through every single vein in his body. You wanted him to be yours.

He was the climax of this new chapter in your life.

»»————————««

[one week later]

Falling leaves were the first indicators of the heart of autumn.

As always, Chan would beat you to the cafe, sitting calmly outside the shop with two drinks in front of him — one for you and one for him. But this time, there weren’t any drinks laid out in the open; you figured he was trying to surprise you or something.

You approached him slowly and hugged your coat tighter around your body; everything felt as cold as ice.

“Chan!” you called out, immediately garnering his attention. He wore a black coat, the same one he wore on the date a week ago, and it felt nostalgic to the point where a small smile crept its way to your cheeks.

Gradually, his gaze shifted over towards you. Instead of asking you to sit in front of him like he usually did, he stood up from his seat and made his way towards you, meeting you halfway. Squinting slightly, you examined the way his emotionless eyes met yours, and your smile dropped. Is something wrong?

“What’s wrong?” You asked, throat feeling dry as you sensed uncertainty. You couldn’t comprehend what was wrong — everything had been fine only yesterday.

“I’m leaving, Y/N. My time’s up here,” he spoke slowly and clearly. 

“Okay? When are you-”

“-I’m leaving for good.” He interrupted.

You forced your gaze to meet his, thinking that you heard wrong. “What do you mean for good? Don’t you just always pop up everywhere or something? What happened to being friends?” you asked in disbelief, slightly heartbroken at his response. Were your hopes for him too high?

Chan’s gaze shifted downwards as he put on another phlegmatic front, utterly apathetic. “Why would I stay, love? Did you think that I would stay for you? Did you think that I would actually have a soft spot for you? A little human being?” he asked you, tilting his head, burning flames almost evident in his phlegmatic eyes.

You mentally cried for putting your trust in such a deceitful monster. Your hope in him was pathetic; because you had longed for someone to understand your problems, you were desperate enough to place your trust in — out of all things good and holy — a damned demon. Your head throbbed with all the thoughts racing in your mind, and your voice came out small, “Why did you lie to me?”

“I spoke nothing but the truth. You needed company, and so did I. I even told you before that I find humans intriguing. They get attached so quickly, and when you leave, they become such emotional little creatures. It’s quite amusing, actually,” he deplored.

You swallowed dry before continuing, “You’re a liar, Chan.”

He brought one of his hands up to your chin; his touch, once warm and tender, now disgusted you. Caressing your cheek, he smiled, “You couldn’t possibly have thought that there was something going on between us, did you? I’m immortal, and you’re... perishable. How naive can you be, love?”

You were a fool, entranced by his charm and honey-dripped voice. That puerile hope you had in him — that there was still some good left in him — vanished. 

“I can’t believe I brought myself to believe in something as pathetic as you. You were a complete waste of my time,” you spat, clenching your fits in anger. You could feel your fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. There you were, a naive human being, actually believing that there was still some good left in a creature from Hell. His comforting words, his wise advice, his promises to you —  were they all white lies? Did they mean nothing to him? Nothing at all?

“Regardless, it was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N. I hope to see you in Hell,” Chan stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat. He sounded bored as if his life had no more enjoyment now that he was done using you, no more enjoyment until he finds his next victim to manipulate. 

“You manipulated me! You controlled me with your powers!” You spoke out, trying to reason with yourself.

Chan’s eyes flickered red, his shifting orbs staring right into your glossy eyes. “You’re the one who made a deal with the demon. There are no excuses. I didn’t even have to compel you to go on a date with me. You made that choice on your own,” he argued composedly. 

You shut your eyes, not wanting to believe the countless lies that spilled out of his mouth. A shame to say, he was right. You were truly pathetic.

“Goodbye, love,” Chan concluded, his eyelids fluttering closed.

With that, he vanished in a heap of smoke, leaving you alone on an otherwise picture-perfect autumn day. 

The warm vanilla and chai tea memories faded into dust, and love disintegrated into confusion, regret, and hatred. You despised him for earning your trust. You despised him for teaching you how to love. But most of all, you despised yourself for having hope in a demon. This new chapter of your life had ended in vain, tossed into a heap of hellish flames.

Across the street from your broken silhouette, the very demon you detested stared longingly at your quivering profile.

“Have you ever thought about becoming human?” You managed to ask him timidly. “In the span of centuries, has that thought ever grazed your mind? Maybe you can forget all of the angel and demon bull-crap and just become human. You’d be able to live a life in modesty.”

His gaze was different this time, mysterious with a hint of sorrow. His answer, however, shocked you. “Of course not. Why would I want to be a measly mortal when I could be some immortal being who possesses the powers of Hell?” he reasoned instantaneously, giving you a brief laugh.

Chan was a liar. 

He yearned to be mortal. He wanted to stay by your side so badly, to spend time with you, to grow old with you. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be with you because demons attract other creatures of Hell, which meant your life would have been in constant danger. He couldn’t be with you because demons were immortal, so Chan would have to bear the constant anguish of watching you age, grow old, and die.

Lastly, Chan couldn’t be with you because he wasn’t just a mere demon from the pits of Hell; he was an angel fallen from grace. As retribution, he would have to spend all of eternity repaying his sins.

And God forbid that he drag you into this mess. 

He would never do that to someone he loved.

[wonderlandmind4]

The Winter Soldier: A Ghost Story- Prelude

Summary: Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s a ghost story. So why does he keep coming back?

Pairing: Winter Soldier x OFC

Warnings: For this chapter. Mild violence, mild blood, mild torture due to a wiping machine.

Prelude:

March 10th, 2012:

Bloodcurdling screams echo throughout the cold, dark room. The raw sound a mixture of terror and agony, drowns out the noise of electricity through the air.

Shocked, horror filled eyes stare at the source in the middle of the room. Fingernails dig into the soft flesh of palms, drawing blood from broken skin. A deep sickening curl of nausea and devastating guilt crash through the core, through the heart. The screams reverberate throughout the bones of a wide-eyed Agent, rooting him to the spot. He swallows thickly, attempting to keep the stinging bile down as he continues to observe the mind wiping process of the Asset. The Soldier, they called him.

The paddles of the machine causing this gut-wrenching sound are pressed tightly over the Soldier’s head, covering half his face. The Soldier is strapped down to the chair, tensing and arching his back. Vaguely, the Agent wonders why the Soldier doesn’t break his metal arm free of the restraints and tear off the paddles. Then, the Agent realizes with another sickening wave, that the people in charge of this process, Hydra, shattered this man into submission.

And that’s what the Soldier is, down to his core. The Soldier is a human being. How can they treat someone this inhumane? This horrible, as if he is nothing but a puppet on strings; meant to experiment on over and over. To break this man apart piece by piece.

Behind the Agent, just five feet from the chair, computers beep and whirl. Screens display numbers, frequency’s, a thermal image of the man, and monitoring vitals. Next to the computers is a large keyboard of different buttons and dials. The Agent’s fingers twitch for one dial in particular; he wants to help the Soldier.

“Won’t the high frequency of the electric-shocks damage his brain?” The Agent foolishly decides to voice.

It’s a mistake. The handle of a gun thrusts across his cheek. The Agent quickly covers his face with his hand, the feel of warm blood trickling down his cheek.

“There is no place for your concern here, Agent,” The muscular man standing next to him in a dark tee-shirt and army pants, snaps. “You are here to do one job. You know the consequences, if you should fail.”

He doesn’t elaborate. The Agent just nods in understanding, remaining silent as the screams finally stop. In the chair, the Soldier ceases screaming as the paddles release, moving away. The agent can see him twitch another man standing in front of the Soldier, a Handler the Agent has learned, recites words in Russian from a red journal. He continues to watch the process, noticing how the Soldier tries to steady himself with deep, short puffs of breath. The last word is spoken, only to be accompanied by another phrase. A greeting.

“Доброе утро, Солдат,” The Handler states.

 The Soldier gives a response, the first time he speaks since he was roughly dragged from his chamber.

“готовы соблюдать.”

His voice is calm, laced with the graveled tone from disuse. The Agent notices his head tilt down, a sign he takes as clear submission. The agent doesn’t see what happens after that, for he’s roughly forced back to the computer that controls the Memory Suppressing Machine.

“Full and total mind wipes, each and every time,” The pistol-whip happy man behind him instructs. “There is no room for error. If the Asset isn’t completely wiped, it starts to recall past experiences that cause it to lash out anyone within reach is either injured or killed. We do this to keep the Asset stable, for the safety of us and the focus of the Asset. If the Asset is not focused, the mission cannot be completed to its full extent. Then we can’t help the world with what it needs. Understood, Agent Bernstein?”

Agent Bernstein grits his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“There have been a few past incidents when the Asset is confused. It has been known wonder away. Escape in a sense. At times the Asset might become self-aware. In those rare cases, the highest setting on the machine will suffice, and wiping will be repeated twice in row. More if necessary. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

With a final, stratified nod, the man holds his hand out in an unusual gesture of friendliness. 

“Welcome aboard. Hail Hydra!”

Agent Bernstein reluctantly shakes the calloused hand as he repeats the praise back. It burns bitterly on his tongue. He is lead from the computers and out of the room, but not before he gazes over to the Soldier. Icy dark eyes meet his, observing him; like a predator stalking its prey. Bernstein’s heart drops to his feet, the vacant yet calculated stare of the Winter Soldier haunting him for the rest of the night.

***************************************************

Chapter 1

(A/N: So. This is a prelude, which I deemed very important to set this story up. Thank you for everyone already interested in this story. I am so excited about it now! As for the Russian translations, I try hard not to use translates but sometimes I do. The translations for “Ready to Comply” tends to be different. I got my translation straight from the source, my friend/coworker who is Russian and helped me with it. But if I happen to translate something wrong through this story, please feel free to let me know. I will warn you, this fic, is not like my others. It’s not as fluffy. Delicate Stages had it’s moments, but this one is so far away from what I have written beforehand. This is a lot darker. This is my first time fully writing the Winter Soldier, and what a terrifyingly beautiful, complex character he is. I do not have a set schedule for posting yet, and hopefully I will soon. Thank you again <3 )

Tags: (apparently they didn’t work before) @justreadingfics @kat-lives @towrite-or-nottowrite @stressedasalways @sexylibrarian1 @chocolateturtlepeanutopera @moonbeambucky @barnesb1tch @denimandcabernet @keldachick @lovinglokiforever @violetrose90201 @sonarsyndor @swagfancroissantpizza @funnymilkshakes @no-champagne-socialist @ryanemac @dc2791-blog @stringgeek13 @nova-stars @bubblegum-cotton-candy-romance @ruinerofcheese @cuckoobirdy @glitchydruid @darkunderworldqueen @ultramagicaltacofandom @marvel-fan23 @bennettk13 @cmorgana @thatcatoveryonder

(asked to be removed if you don’t want to be tagged)

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 11 - Under Your Spell

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 3180

Summary: The final ingredient needed for Rowena’s location spell leads to an angelically intimate reveal. Warning for a swear word and non-explicit sexually suggestive situation.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Retracing his footsteps from the task of securing the door following a soggy return to the bunker and your subsequent sprint to your bedroom in search of a dry clothes, Castiel’s rain sodden boot leaves the last metal stair and lands on the floor with a slosh at almost the same instant Dean materializes in the hall door traveling the well-worn route from kitchen to library.

The hunter carries two condensation glazed amber bottles of beer, neither of which is intended for the angel.

Cas’ fingers pause in their anemic struggle to loosen the slippery blue knot of his silken tie. He eyes the alcohol; the thought passes fleeting that he could use a beer, or thousand. From the wind-mussed mat of dark brown locks slicked to his forehead down to the pruned-skin toes shoved into squishy socks, his demeanor drips defeat over the washed-out chance to kiss you and the continued existential battle waging within between his sentimental heart and reason-ruled mind regarding as to where, should your relationship develop further despite his ineptitude in processing and directing his developing emotion toward you, this newfound and deepening desire fits into his angelic existence and your otherworldly one.

Staring at his friend in the saturation of silence as though he’s also been caught in some seraphim subterfuge for having gone against Dean’s strongly worded decree that you not be allowed outside the controlled confines of bunker-dom, he thinks perhaps Dean should have warned, too, that you not be permitted to breach the boundaries of his heart; it’s precisely the sort of distraction none of them need right now – not that the angel necessarily abides by anything Dean dictates.

“Dean, you’re back.” Defaulting to the observable in the absence of anything more concrete to say about the maelstrom of confusion vexing his mind, the gravelly greyness of his tone emulates the storm roiling outside.

“How was your wa-” Dean’s gaze pops upward, widening upon perceiving the soaked state of the seraph. “-what the hell happened?”

Suit stuck to his skin, pallor oddly pale, a puddle gathers around Cas’ ankles as he tries to decide if and how to articulate to Dean the tale of a perfect afternoon punctuated by a near kiss preempted by an inner tempest of hesitation deluged by a literal tempest with an ending ultimately steeped in regret and the never-ending cycle of life’s uncertainty. It’s the sort of benign blow so consistent throughout the angel’s undertakings that it could be considered his trademark. Preferring to nurse his woes in private, dreading Dean will add insult to injury, he says nothing.

Waiting for an answer, and unlike the droplets of water sliding off the glass bottles to splash the concrete at his feet a darker shade of grey, the Winchester’s patience runs dry. “Cas, why are you wet?” he reiterates his question with specificity.

“It’s raining.” Cas shrugs his slouched trench coat-less shoulders as he mutters the specific, albeit overall vague in actual terms of why, reason for his dampness. He avoids looking directly at Dean.

“Ya think?” Dean gestures the neck of one of the bottles at the atypically disrobed angel. Astute to angelic body language, he doesn’t miss the glancing guilt. “Not to state the obvious, but isn’t this the exact scenario trench coats are made for? Where’s yours?”

Cas misreads the waved refreshment as an offer to take it. Slogging nearer, he reaches out to pluck the drink from Dean’s grip; twisting off the top, he downs the contents in a single long glug. Wiping wetted lips with a wetter sleeve, he professes, “I gave it to Y/N to dry off after she went swimming.” As the bunker houses no pool, which implies your swim occurred significantly out of bounds of Dean’s directive, his eyes dart sidelong to assess his friend’s reaction to the revelation of defiance.

There’s a rise of anger in the guise of vocal gruffness, but not toward the anticipated detail of your outing. Running his free hand through his hair in irritation, he huffs, “Don’t tell me she took a bath in my fishing hole.”

“Dude,” Sam interrupts. His cross-armed figure leans against the library threshold – parched, impatient, inquisitive, or all of the above. A smirk stretches his cheeks. “Why do you insist on calling it a fishing hole when you’ve never caught a single fish?” The arch of his brow wordlessly inquires as to the location of the beer his brother promised.

Grateful for an intermediary and the redirection, Cas contributes, “It would be a miracle if you did catch a fish considering there aren’t any inhabiting your so-called fishing hole.”

Surrounded and outnumbered, Dean’s lip curls in defense. Unapologetic for the angelically absconded beer, opening up the one remaining in his possession and laying claim to the rim with spit, he grumbles around a swig, “The art of fishing has nothing to do with whether you catch anything. I wouldn’t expect either of you to understand the complex nature of-”

“Here we go again.” Sighing, Sam uncrosses his arms and turns to wander into the library. “Heard it before, still not interested.”

Dean and Cas trail after him – the human casts the angel an appalled glare as his soles gurgle and squelch with every step.

Cas senses Dean’s aghast glower. Endeavoring to keep the conversation from detouring to you, he engages in the act of small talk. “Did you retrieve the rest of the ingredients?”

“Yeah, everything except an angel feather. Turns out they’re in scarce supply these days, but I figured you could-” He clasps Cas’ shoulder roughly and apes tugging a feather. “-you know.”

“Of course.” Cas suppresses the wince that threatens to contort his features with a mask of impassiveness. Yanking the rare intact plume from the scarred span of his wings is a bit like pulling a fingernail out by the cuticle; and yet, it’s nothing he doesn’t believe he deserves for his multitude of transgressions. In his heart, he judges this small sacrifice to be the least he can do for what he’s done. “Anything to help,” he adds, mostly to convince himself.

Dean’s grin is as genuine as Cas’ passivity is disingenuous. “Great, Rowena’s waiting-”

“On the wings, so to speak.” Rowena winks, simpers, and rises with a slow stretch from the leather lounge in the alcove. Yawning, she snaps shut a book she wasn’t actually reading and balances the slim volume on the arm of the chair. “Hello again, tweetie pie.”

Cas bobs his chin politely in acknowledgement. He notes mutely that the red-haired witch’s compulsive proclivity for using nicknames must be hereditary based on her son’s penchant for doing the same.

Her pout over the lack of a more rousing response to her flirtatious greeting morphs into one of contrived concern. Heavily mascaraed lashes fluttering, somehow intuiting the precise topic Cas wants to avoid, she extends her delicate dancer’s frame to full height on her heels to peer over their shoulders. “And where’s that poor disturbed child scuttled off to?”

All eyes alight on the angel for the answer.

Cas’ mouth presses into a pallid line under the burden of expectation for an explanation. “After we returned from the walk, she, uh, she wanted to warm up in the shower.”

“Oh?” Rowena’s crimson mouth quirks in avidity of amusement. Her gold-dusted eyes dart to Sam and Dean to ensure she holds their attention. “Because it looked to me like things were heating up nicely until someone stumbled over their cold feet.”

“Wait, what?” Dean sputters and chokes on a poorly timed sip of beer.

Sam smiles – the insinuation of budding romance explaining an abstract aloofness verging on daydreaming afflicting the seraph of late.

“You,” Dean states in disbelief, “and Y/N? Since when?”

“We’re not-” Sidestepping further elaboration, the self-inflicted torture of feather removal being preferable to Dean’s teasing, he veers for his quarters, muttering, “I’ll return with the feather.”

Target out of sight, Dean directs his interrogation at the witch. “Were you spying on them?”

She narrows her gaze. “It’s called scrying, and there’s little else to do for diversion in this dank dungeon of yours.”

“What else are you sticking your nose into?” Dean scoffs.

A soft smile of satisfaction slithers across her aspect. “Let’s just say the seraph���s not the only one with a stimulating secret or two around here. Do our dear young Samuel and haloed hero know about that nondescript box you keep hidden in your closet vent?” Pirouetting, she sinks again into the chair and recommences her non-perusal of the book.

Forehead furrowed mid-brow, Sam’s mouth shapes to utter an astonished ‘What box?’

Before he can speak, Dean holds up a palm. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing indeed,” Rowena titters, licks a finger, and flips the page.

Suit coat draped over his arm, tie slung undone around his neck, white dress shirt flapping agape as he pulls the ends of the damp garment from the tuck of his pants, Castiel peers up from unbuckling his belt as he enters his bedroom surprised to see you seated at the desk.

Freshly showered, snug in cozy pajamas, smelling sweetly of lavender soap, you sit with your eyes fixed not on the computer perched in your lap, but upon the strip of tanned and toned torso visible to you. The intricately beautiful black lettering of a tattoo peeks from beneath the fabric covering the left side of his stomach.

The angel halts in the doorway, spine stiffened under your scrutiny, belt half unlooped from his trousers and hanging in his hand as if he doesn’t know whether to come or go.

Realizing the impudence of your sustained stare, cheeks hot, you gawk with sudden interest at the laptop and punch at a few random keys. “Hey, uh, I was looking for you,” you murmur. “Thought I’d give this Netflix thing another go, but I can’t seem to find the second season of Firefly.”

“The space western?” Relaxing, letting the leather slip forgotten from his fingertips, Cas steps into the room. He slings his coat and tie across the corner of the dresser to dry and moves nearer your side to squint at the screen.

His increased proximity and decreased dress does very little to diminish the hotness flushing your skin. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Frowning at being the bearer of bad news, he reclines against the edge of the desk and shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that series was cancelled before the second season. I don’t suggest bringing the topic up with Dean, it’s an extremely touchy subject.”

“You’re kidding!” Sulking, you shut the screen, spin in the seat, and slide the computer back on the surface of the desk. You can’t help but steal another glimpse of the tattoo inked across his abs; this close, you recognize the strange symbols as Enochian warding – he’s an angel warded against other angels.

His blues narrow askance. “Why would I joke about that?”

“I guess you wouldn’t, I just thought-” Stumbling over your words, the significance of his tattoo – the possibilities of what occasioned the necessity of it – enthralls you. “Things really are different here, aren’t they? I may come from a world wrecked by an apocalypse, but at least we had six glorious seasons of Firefly.”

“I suppose, apocalypse aside, things have the potential to be quite different here. Hopefully some, too, for the better.”

Glancing upward, you meet his steady gaze. You perceive in the softened sapphire sheen of his eyes a glint of hope that he may be one of those positive differences.

“So-” You shift, nervously looking away to chew your lip; remembering your misreading of the kiss that wasn’t by the pond, you think perhaps your interpretation of this hope is only a mirror of yours and not a reflection of his own sentiment. “Dean’s back?”

“Yes.” He sighs subtly having lost your gentle regard and denies the desire to hook your chin with a finger to again lift up your disarming eyes to him.

You imagine – a pout creeping to downturn the creases of your mouth – you’ll be left alone in the bunker, again. The temper tamed until now climbs your throat. “Then I suppose you’ll be leaving soon to go searching for Gabriel?” Your tone scrapes the air and his ears more abrasively than intended.

He straightens at your harshness, hesitates, then moves toward the dresser. “We need one more ingredient to complete the spell. But then-”

“What is it?” You rise to your feet to follow him, trying not to appear too eager or desperate not to be abandoned. “Can I help?”

He rests his palms on the dresser and peers at you through the hazed glass of the rimless utilitarian rectangular looking glass mounted above it. “It’s not something you-”

“I can help, Cas.” You touch a hand lightly to his shoulder. “I feel so useless locked up in here. Please, let me help you with this.”

The flesh of his vessel prickles pleasantly under the thrum of your fingertips. He wanted to say in the sordid scope of history encompassing the collusions between heaven and humanity, he cannot recall a single soul granted permission to harvest a plume from an angel’s wings, let alone see their corporeal shape beyond shadow. It’s a side of him he reasons you don’t need to be subjected to – a glimpse of his tarnished true form. Proof of his failures. He blinks heavily, focus falling to the sanded twist of a knot darkening the smooth finish of the dresser’s woodgrain – an imperfection, but a flaw that makes the piece of furniture all the more beautiful. Proof of survival. Perhaps, he thinks, there’s a chance you might view him this way. “It’s a feather we need.” The low bass whisper raises the hair on the back of your neck. “One of mine.”

You squeeze your fingers firmer into the muscular arch of his shoulder. “Seems simple enough.”

“Simple, yes, but I’ve never-” He shakes his head. “No mortal has seen any more than a shadow of my wings. Revealing them, it’s an . . . a very intimate act.”

“So, kind of like you seeing me naked.”

“Yes, kind of like that,” he agrees, adding, without processing the intimation of attraction to you in what he says, “only you’re lovely, and they’re . . . not what they used to be.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Flipping your hand, you brush the backs of your knuckles down the length of his arm to weave your fingers through the spaces between his where they splay on the dresser; constricting your grip, you urge him into the light with sincere reassurance like he urged you to step into the sun today after so long in the dark. You coil your fingers until no gaps remain and his eyes lock on yours in the mirror.

“Close your eyes,” he rasps the breathy command.

“Cas-”

He covers your interlaced hands with his unconstrained palm and, sliding them from the dresser, spins to face you. “Unless you wish to be permanently blinded when the dimension where they’re cloistered phases into this one, I suggest you shut your eyes now.”

Your eyelids squeeze tight. You inhale and hold a lungful of the charged air building between you. A blaze of light burns bright against your shuttered lashes. A rush of soothing warmth washes sun-like over your skin. The atmosphere quivers to life with the sound of feverish rustling. His fingers fidget – fitful – in your grasp, then break limply loose.

“We need an unspoiled feather to give the spell the best chance of success.” He utters coolly – his voice seems somehow distant to you. No, detached – surely a measure of protection against the judgement he awaits when your eyes open.

Your eyes remain clamped. You worry you were too bold asking this of him; or, too manipulative in likening the revelation of an angel’s wings to the exposure of your body – an unremarkable human form at that, with a structure battered and stitched together by scars, inside and out, he chivalrously called lovely. Lovely. Your heart flutters – the compliment races in a flurry from right atrium to ventricle, circulating hot to sear the held breath in your lungs, then speeding with renewed fervor left atrium to ventricle to oxygenate your limbs in a weakening tizzy of excitement.

“Y/N, it will be easier for both of us if you open your eyes now.”

Lashes lifting, looking upward, you exhale an enraptured gasp and stumble backward; he catches you by the waist.

Imposing jet black wings branch above you; their span curves, cramped, into the corners of the room. In sections, the feathers erupt sparse from scar-coarsened sinew, in others, the quills are frayed and blunted almost to bone, and yet the overall effect astonishes. “Unspoiled, right.” Reduced by awe to echoing, you repeat his instruction.

He dips his head once, chin to chest, and sinks to one knee.

Your attention roves the broad span and finds a prospective plume jutting out near the juncture of his shoulder blades. “And when I find one, how do I remove it?”

His fingers stay at your waist, twisting at the hem of the fabric there as if bracing himself. “You pull. Hard.”

“Won’t that hurt?” You isolate and clutch the bony base of the intact quill in your fist and flatten your palm to his bowed shoulders for leverage.

“Yes,” he hisses between his teeth at your tentative tug.

“Sorry. Sorry! Are you okay?” You flinch at the raw power behind the curtailed flap tensing the insulted appendage.

“You have to pull harder,” he growls. Burrowing his forehead into your stomach, he clutches at your sides to bolster his support.

Readjusting the angle of your grip, you waver. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“I’ll be fi-”

You wrench at the feather as hard as you’re able.

“Fuck.” The respired humid heat of his agonized expletive and succession of pained pants as he struggles not to completely collapse at your feet steams through the cotton barrier of your shirt to moisten the hollow of your navel housed beneath – the graze of his fingers sinking into soft flesh will surely leave bruises.

The angelically absurd exclamation of obscenity and the carnally redolent contact aches as a surge of ardor flourishing at the apex of your thighs. Catching his breath, he leans backward to gaze up at you with watery blues. The spellbinding scent of your unmistakable arousal floods his senses.

The hard-wrung feather floats from your fingers to the floor, fingers favoring instead to card through the angel’s still damp halo of chestnut locks. He doesn’t appear so formidable with his scaffold of scarred wings sprawled behind the shrunken figure of his vessel – doesn’t seem so unattainable sat suppliant on his knees before you, pinpoints of lamplight sparkling in the black pools of dilating pupils. Cupping his cheek in your palm, daubing at a stray tear tenderly with the pad of your thumb, you bend to ghost the gentlest of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

Next: Ch. 12 - A Funny Thing Happened on the Road to Amarillo

[mi-nyu-dreams]

My Vampire Knight Ch. 8

My Vampire Knight

Chapter 8

It’s okay....

A/N:

Hi guys! New readers and old readers please read! So, for my older readers, I’m so sorry for leaving you all! TTOTT I intended to update a longggggg time ago. But, things happened and I ended up with writers-block. I couldn’t muster up the energy to write a new chapter for this. But I didn’t want to abandon it. So I took a break. A hiatus I guess. I wanted to rest and get my life together. And I tried to write new things and drabbles to re-energize my creative senses. That’s why I wrote new stuff. But now, I’m sorta back. I kinda injured myself and made a new long series that will take up more of my time and I have college, but I won’t abandon this fic. I’ll just not be updating as much and chapters may be shorter. But I’ll write the best of my ability and keep this up for all of you guys! Thank you for reading and being patient. And to my new readers, welcome and I hope you can be patient with my updates! Thank you so much!

“And so, Changkyunie really really likes music. He and Jooheonie are always rapping and recording stuff.” Minhyuk explains as the three of you sat in the back of the cafeteria.

Minhyuk had been dragging you and Changkyun around all day. After every class, he would bust down the hallways toward you with Changkyun in hand and drag you somewhere. He labeled this as “getting to know each other time”. It was weird, to be honest. You barely just met them, but already, within almost four hours of the day, you had already found out about so many things about Changkyun and Minhyuk. As though, you three had known each other for like ever.

“Hyung. Can’t you just shut up for like... five seconds?” Changkyun complained as he rubs his temple in annoyance. “Aish! That’s not how you speak to your elders!” Minhyuk snarked back. You smiled and giggle as you watch the two of them converse. They were so cute. “Oh?! Y/N is laughing!” Minhyuk beams. You immediately stop and place a serious face. “N-no!” You playfully object. Minhyuk smiles slyly and pinches your cheeks. “Yes you did!!” He laughs. “Ahhhh! That hurts!” You whine as you try to pull away from him. Suddenly, Changkyun pulls Minhyuk away and frowns.

“You’re hurting her, Hyung.” He nagged. Minhyuk pouts and crosses his arms. “At least I’m interacting with her!” He states with a pout. Changkyun frowned and sighed. “You’re so weird.” He comments. “Weird?!” Minhyuk gasps, offended by his friends comment. “You’re the weird one, not conversing and being nice.” Minhyuk frowns. “I’m weird?!” Changkyun retorts. “So being respectful and spacious is ‘weird’?” He looks away in disbelief. “Wow...”

Minhyuk puffs his cheeks and looks over to you. “Y/N! Who is weirder?!” He pouts. You stare at the two is shock and confusion. They were being children, fighting about such a minor thing. You didn’t understand, but just laughed and sighed. “You’re both weird.” You cross your arms and look at the two handsome men in amusement. “Two grown guys fighting over a minor subject. That’s weird.” You say as you smile. The two stared in shock. “Uh...”

“It’s cute though, both of you. Your friendship is cute.” You truthfully tell. And in that moment they both blushed and looked away. “Oh...” Minhyuk clears his throat and smiles. You look over at Changkyun who was bright red and trying very hard to avoid eye-contact. You giggle at his adorable attempt and smile. “Y/N, you’re cute too.” Minhyuk compliments. You smile and bowed to him. “Thanks.”

It was a nice time together. You got to know the two way better than you had thought and they both are so sweet. You smiled at the thought and look at the two as they bicker once more. What genuine and beautiful friendship. So.... human....

Suddenly, the bell rings and it was time to go back to class.

***

“Y/N-ah!” Ma-ri calls out to you as she runs up to you. You were standing at the front of the school waiting for Ma-ri to come. “Y/N-ah! Guess what?!” She asks as she flings herself onto you. You chuckle and try to keep balance as she throws herself onto you. “What?” You ask. She pulls away and smiles brightly. “I have a date today!” She blurts out proudly. You look at her in shock. “Date?” You ask. She nods vigorously and beams. “Yep! I forgot to tell you a few days ago cuz I was so excited about your kiss!” She chimed. You immediately hit her and hush her. “MA-RI?!” You scold. She laughs and squeezes your cheeks. “I’m sorry!!”

You pull her hands away in annoyance and sigh. “So we’re not hanging out today?” You ask with a slight pout. Ma-ri pouts sadly and nods. “Sowwy...” She cutely apologizes. You stare at her a little mad, but sigh and smile as you pat her head. “It’s okay. You go enjoy your date.” You tell her with a smile. She immediately brightens up and squeals. “Y/N-ah! I love you!” She hops up and down. You laugh and try to calm her down. “Okay okay! I’ll just take the bus home then.” You tell her as you take her hand and smile. “Enjoy your date!”

Ma-ri nods and clasps her hands with yours. “Mm!” She smiles. “Make sure to take the safe route and if anything happens, call me or Junsu-oppa! Okay?” She tells you with a stern voice. You nod and roll your eyes. “Yes yes.” You smile and she begin to walk away. “Text me later how it goes.” You tell her as she backs away. She nods and gives you an okay sign, to then immediately turn away and rush over to a guy in the parking lot. You sigh and chuckle. “I hope things go well.”

You then begin to turn away and find the bus stop, but you hear a voice behind you. “Y/N?”

You immediately turn around and find Changkyun. “Oh? Changkyun-ssi.” You bow and smile. “You’re not riding with your friend?” He asks. You shake your head and grin. “She has other plans, so I’m heading home alone.” You explain. Changkyun nods and looks around for a bit. He then huffs and walks up closer to you. “I can take you home.” He suggests. You looked at him curious and a little taken aback. “Oh?” You question. He nods and points back to the parking lot. “I don’t have anything to do. I can take you home.” He suggests once more. You think it over and ponder.

It would be better. He pretty much knew where you lived now, and he’s a good person. You nod and look at him. “Sure.” You agreed. A small smile appeared on Changkyun’s face and he nods. “Okay.” He motions you to follow him and the both of you head to his car.

As you two walk on, you watched him from behind. You didn’t notice until now, but he was pretty thin yet tall. He seemed like regular height for a male and his frame was pretty normal. His blonde-brown hair short and delicate, and his gait was sorta swagger yet formal. He was a peculiar guy, you thought. Peculiar, but handsome. And... a vampire.

The both of you reached the car and you let yourself in. It was the same black car he had last time, so you were familiar. As you sat in, the male quickly comforted himself inside and let you comfort yourself. “Same place, right?” He asks as he buckled himself. You nod. “Yeah.” You then buckle yourself, but as you did, you remembered back to when you two first met. When he buckled the seatbelt for you. You remember feeling flustered but also annoyed at his cheeky expression at that time.

You then take a glance at him and see him start the car. “Thank you for the ride, Changkyun-ssi.” You say. He nods and smiles. “You’re welcome. Also...” He pauses and glances over at you as he drives. “You can just call me Changkyun.” He tells you. You take a few seconds to process his words, and simply smile afterwards. “Okay, Changkyun.” Once you said those few words, you spied a small smile form at his lips. It was cute.

He continued on driving and the two of you had some small leisurely chats. You found out he had a younger brother and that him and the boys were all very close. They had known each other since birth technically. “So, you’re closest to Jooheon and Minhyuk?” You ask. He nods and hums in reply. “Mhm. Although, I am the youngest of our friend group, we mostly treat each other like family.” He explains. You smile and nod. “That’s nice. A strong bond between friends like you guys is a very good thing.” You say with a smile. “That’s inspiring.”

He raises a brow and glances at you. “Inspiring?” He questions. You nod. “I never had a lot of friends when I was young. Even now, I just have Ma-ri and her brother Junsu.” You explain. “I lost my parents when I was a kid... they disappeared and never returned. No body was found, so we couldn’t conclude they were dead. And because of that, as well as the fact my Aunt, a Vampire Hunter, was raising me.” You paused, looked out the window, and sigh. “People didn’t like approaching me. So I didn’t have a lot of friends. Not any long term ones anyways.”

“I’m sorry.” Changkyun apologizes with a sympathetic tone. You shake your head and sigh. “It’s fine. I’m glad to have Ma-ri and Junsu. They’re all I need.” You explain. This earns a smile for Changkyun. “That’s good.” He says. You look over to him and see a relieved but questioning expression. “Thanks...” You thank.

***

“Thank you again.” You thank once more as Changkyun parks the car in front of your apartment complex. He looks at you with a gentle smile and nods. “No problem.” He answers. You smile at his gentle expression and quickly open the door to go out. But, before you could exit, he takes your hand and stops you. You look at him curiously and questingly. “Is there something you need?” You ask. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, however eventually speaks.

“Please take care and be safe.” He says with a concerned and sincere expression. You stare at him in confusion. Take care? Why is he worried? You stare in confusion a bit, but eventually nod and smile. “Okay.” You bid goodbye as he slowly releases you. With another smile, you bid him farewell and exit his vehicle. You take a gasp of air and sigh as you stretched a little and continue to walk off toward your home.

But, before you could take another step into the building, a sound of a gun bangs and you feel your body get tugged and pulled out of your initial spot. Within seconds, you find yourself tightly wrapped in Changkyun’s arms, across the street and a loud echo blasts from nearby. You didn’t have any time to react, but your heart was beating faster than the speed of light. You quickly look around, but don’t see a single thing around. Where the hell did that bullet come from? You then look at Changkyun who was still holding onto you tightly. He was breathing heavily and eyeing the entire area. His eyes were also glowing a deep shade of red. The color of blood.

“C-Changkyun?” You call out to him. He doesn’t answer you and you felt his grip tighten. “W-what?—“ Before you could say anymore, another shot is fired and this time Changkyun was barely able to dodge it. The bullet scratches him on the cheek and nicks a bit of your hair. He flings the both of you back toward his car and he quickly hides the both of you behind it.

“Changkyun, what’s going on?!” You ask, full of fear. Changkyun looks at you and gulps. “I need you to call 911 right now.” He commands. You didn’t even question him and nodded as you fumble to pull out your phone and dial 911. Meanwhile, the vampire boy continues to scan the area to find this unknown shooter. “Where the hell?!” He groans as he scans the buildings. “It’s a sniper...”

“Hello? 911? Yes! Someone is shooting at me and a friend and I don’t know where it is!” You explain. “No. I can’t see the person. They shot twice and missed but—“

BANG!

Another shot is fired and it barely misses you as it penetrates the car and grazes your arm. “Damn! They’re on that side?!” Changkyun immediately takes you into his arms and carries you over and into the apartment complex. “C-Changkyun?!” You gasp as he pulls you in and hides you behind one of the counters in the lobby. “Stay low!” He commands as he clenches you tightly and examines the outside.

“Hello?!” A voice calls out of the phone. You suddenly remember you were still on the phone with the operator. “H-Hello?!” You quick answer again. “Hello? What is happening?” The lady on the other side asks. “They shot again! I’m inside a building now with a friend!” You explain, panic gradually rising within you. “I’m at Hwasa Apartment Complex in Seoul!” You tell. The lady responds quickly and assured you that authorities are on their way.

“Please stay calm. I’m right here. Tell me if anything is happening, okay?” The operator orders you. You nod and reply with a mumble. “I—“

“Y/N!”

BANG!

In seconds, Changkyun takes a tight grip of you and shields you with his body as the front door suddenly blows up and debris fly in all directions. “CHANGKYUN?!” You scream in fear as you see glass and other debris scatter about in the building. Luckily, no one was hurt since the both of you were behind a counter. But, you accidentally dropped your phone and it had flew somewhere. “Y/N?! Are you okay?!” Changkyun worriedly asks as he slowly raises his head. You nod but immediately duck and hide in his arms as you hear another gun shot.

“Fucking hell!” Changkyun curses as he quickly grabs his phone and dials a number. “What’s happening?” You ask. Changkyun looks down at you and huffs. “Someone’s trying to kill us.” He bluntly tells. “SOMEONE WHAT?!” You gasp. But at the moment, someone picks up Changkyun’s call. “Hyung!” He exclaims. “Hyung! I need help! They’re here! And I have Y/N with me!” He explains. “Who?—“ you were about ask, until bullets begin to fly into the building, causing you to scream and huddle tightly in Changkyun’s protection.

“HYUNG!” He tells out furiously. “Okay! We’re coming! Keep her safe!” The voice tells out through the phone. You were too scared to try to recognize the voice and just continue to hold onto Changkyun tightly. “C-Changkyun!” You yell in panic as the bullets fly around. A planted pot goes flying across the room and more explosions are heard. Changkyun hugs you in his arms tightly and begins to reassure you that you are safe with him. “It’s okay! It’s okay, Y/N! You’re going to be fine!” He hugs you and pats you for comfort. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He speaks warmly. “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

Another explosion goes off and the building shakes. You shudder and begin to whimper in fear. What the hell was happening?! Why is someone trying to kill you two?! Why?! What’s going on?! So many questions were running through your brain, but you were also incredibly afraid for the both of you. Every bang, every crash, and every flying bullet caused you to tense and shake. You hold onto Changkyun tightly, him being your only sense of security, and begin to cry. “C-Changkyun...” You whimper. He tried to hush you and calm you down with reassuring words and gestures. “It’s okay. I’m here. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” He continuously says as he hugs you. You could feel his heart beating vigorously and his breathing sharpening.

“I’m scared!” You cry. He nods and pats your head. “I know.... but it’s going to be okay. I promise.” He assures with a gentle and soft tone. His protective grip, his calming voice, and his mere presence was assuring and comforting for you. You felt secured even though you were scared. But you trusted Changkyun. He was your only comfort now.

Suddenly, you hear sirens and a cars screeching outside. It was the police. You felt a bit of relief. However, before you could feel anymore senses of security, you hear a huge boom and your entire surroundings explode.

“CHANGKYUN!”

[sserpente]

A/N: Sundays…

Words: 1792 Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THOR: RAGNAROK, blood

Tony had misunderstood the concept of a bachelor party. Instead of going out with his male friends and superhero colleagues including Bruce, his best man, he simply decided to throw one big party in the manor two days before his wedding with Pepper.

Literally everyone was invited—even Loki and to be quite honest, you were very surprised he had showed up at all. Ever since Thor had returned from the ruins of Asgard and brought Loki with him, claiming idly he had changed, the God of Mischief made no effort whatsoever as to make friends with the humans he had not long ago attempted to subjugate.

The amount of alcohol he had drunk already, however, seemed to loosen his tongue tonight. Loki was actually smiling, joking with his brother and clinking glasses with Bruce, who had, more or less, began to trust he wouldn’t get stabbed once he turned his back on the Trickster.

You had known before that Loki was attractive, yet his smile took it to a whole new level. For hours on end already, you had watched him from afar, sipping at your cocktail and pretending to listen to a story Wanda was telling you enthusiastically. A sigh escaped your lips.

Was it really that easy to fall for a god? Was this how Jane had felt when meeting Thor? Well, at least she had spent a lot of time with him before allowing herself to kiss him. You on the other hand had barely exchanged a bunch of sentences with Loki, for usually, he hid in the library, reading in peace and not bothering to acknowledge anyone else’s existence in the manor.

If only you had the courage to walk up to him, drink another cocktail together and talking about your favourite books. Instead, you remained sitting there coyly, already mentally preparing to fall into bed alone and tired again tonight and masturbating to the thought of his soft hands with those delicate fingers of his exploring every inch of your body. Another sigh.

Thor was grinning wickedly and wriggling his eyebrows. He patted Loki’s shoulder so fiercely the impact had him flinch and then, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd of dancing, laughing, drinking and chatting people.

It looked like for just a split second, Loki was considering what his brother had told him, smirking smugly to himself before looking around with curious blue eyes. He was stunning and after you had told him he looked outrageously handsome in his black suit, he had elected to wear it more often—so he did tonight. The dark fabric complimented his rather pale skin and raven hair. It brought out his height too and reminded you of how he was literally a giant compared to you. A third sigh escaped your lips.

His actions confused you right when a tiny blonde girl with silicone breasts and an awfully short red dress leaned over the bar and asked for another drink. He turned to her and opened his mouth, his lips moving without you being able to make out what he was saying but the girl only raised her eyebrows at him with a rather shocked expression on her face. As soon as the bartender handed her the drink, she vanished again.

Loki rolled his eyes. Did he know her? Had he met her before? If this was the type of woman he was into, you barely stood a chance. Your own dress was second-hand and worn out, the (Y/F/C) washed out already, the mess on your head could really use a new haircut and without any plastic surgery, your breasts were, compared to the blonde’s, unimpressive.

You would spend the whole evening sighing sadly.

Another woman approached the bar. Long brown hair was falling over her shoulders in waves, her darkly framed eyes glazed. She seemed to be pretty drunk already. Loki spoke up again and she replied. For about a minute, you watched them talking to each other, then, she suddenly reached for the drink she had ordered and threw it in his face before making her leave.

Your lips parted. What had he said to her? For just a brief moment, you considered Loki simply provoking Tony’s guests out of pure malice but you quickly came to an entirely different conclusion when the God of Mischief lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together to a thin line. His right hand clenched at the cocktail glass he was still drinking out of. Even from the distance, you noticed his jaw working as he gnashed his teeth, the fraction of a second later, the piece of crockery burst in his tight and violent grip. Blood poured from the fresh wound, staining the dozens of shards on the bar and in his hand.

Wanda gasped when you jumped off your seat and hurried over to him. No one else seemed to notice a fellow guest had just injured themself, or maybe they simply didn’t care.

Strong emotions were radiating off him when you reached him, claiming the barstool next to him. You couldn’t yet tell what it was. Whether it was anger, frustration or sadness… it only felt intense and so real it nearly knocked you off the seat again.

Carefully as to not startle him, you took a hold of his hand and turned up his palm so you could take a look at the damage. Loki instantly turned his head to you, frowning and staring you down with his mesmerising blue eyes. It made you nervous, feeling his full attention all on you but his well-being, so you realised, was more important than your crush. His hands really did feel soft…

The cut didn’t look too bad. You knew about his supernatural healing abilities. It would heal quickly if only you removed the bloody shards still sticking into his skin. It was then he pulled away, scoffing in the process.

“What happened?”

“Is that not obvious?” He replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery. Another reason for why it was so hard to have a conversation with him. Taking a deep breath, you tried again.

“Loki, tell me. I saw her throwing a drink in your face.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes. When he finally answered you took his hand again, examining it once more. The big shards you could easily pick out, the smaller ones… you would need tweezers for.

“Apparently, Thor deemed it, in view of Stark’s approaching wedding, a good idea for me to open up to mortal women, if you get my saying.”

“So he told you to get laid.”

Loki frowned. “He told me to try and seduce one of the women here.” There hadn’t been a lot of success yet then. “It will heal, (Y/N), leave it.”

“It won’t until I have removed the shards!” You shot back, glaring at him to drown his refusal. “Loki, look… don’t bother about it. The women who come to Tony’s parties are… predictable, to say the least. Mercenary hoes who only want to make the front page as a celebrity’s girlfriend. The only thing they are interested in is getting one of their heroes they have seen in newspapers and on TV in bed, they are practically drooling over them.” None of them would take an interest in a complex and deeply misunderstand man like you, you added silently, sighing for the fourth time this evening.

“Let’s go upstairs, I can get rid of those shards for you.”

It sounded ridiculous, really. Loki trying to hit on women. You were surprised he was considering dating a mortal in the first place. The alcohol might have a slight impact on him too but the fact that Loki—the Loki, God of Mischief and Lies—was attempting to get a woman’s interest in him, was all but strange. Now you didn’t doubt for a second that if he went out there on the street and smirked at a young girl he would be successful, only this sudden need for affection awfully smelled like a cry for help.

He surprised you once more when he nodded, following you away from the vast living area to a dimly lit and empty hallway. Apart from a young couple snogging the life out of each other, you were alone when you ascended the stairs and led him to your room. You kept a pair of tweezers in your bathroom cabinet, they would have to do.

Disappearing in the bathroom attached to your bedroom for a moment, you had him sit down at your desk. He was curiously looking over the stash of books you stored there when you returned. When he noticed, he drew his blue gaze to you, involuntarily making your heart skip a beat. It was scrutinising, demanding even.

Tell me all of your secrets, it appeared to say. Tell me or I will find out on my own.

Swallowing thickly, you reached for his hand again and used the lamp on your desk as a surgery lamp. Loki didn’t even flinch when you pulled at the few shards that had bored themselves deep into his skin.

Soon, your own hands and the desk were a bloody mess but you were quick to remove the rest of the shards without any struggle. You even believed to have heard an uttered ‘thank you’ when you were finally done and went to wash your hands.

He was still sitting there when you returned. You could tell his hand had already healed. It was truly remarkable.

“So… are we going back to the party? Would you like to take a drink with me?” You asked shyly.

Loki smiled. It was both bitter and honest.

“I won’t go back,” he stated. “Everyone seems to loathe my presence and quite frankly, I have better things to do than spending time with ungrateful and drunk mortals.”

You nodded.

“Feel free to stay here then. To be really honest, I am in no mood to get back down there either.”

Loki tilted his head.

“You can do better, you know. Those women… they’re not worth your attention.”

You had no idea why you were telling him this. Should he find out you liked him more than you should? No, of course not.

Quickly, you cleared your throat while Loki still seemed to think about what to reply to this. He opened his mouth without actually saying anything.

“I’m gonna take a shower and then go to bed. I have some things to do tomorrow and I still need to pick up my dress for the wedding on Saturday.”

Loki would attend too, Thor had convinced him to come. After tonight though… you had no idea how you would survive it.

A/N: Part II can be found on my masterlist! ;-) if you liked this story, would you care to support me by buying me a cuppa? I would appreciate it so much! ♥ ko-fi.com/sserpente

[jonathanbitterli]

Beatuified Abstraction

The house floating like a concrete butterfly.[1] A spartan symphony of poured concrete, concrete block, gravel, tarred piles used as decoration, concrete tiles, galvanized metal: the Bijlmer displays more gray matter than any other place in the world.[1] The floor is a patchwork: different textures—concrete, hairy, heavy, shiny, plastic, metallic, muddy— alternate randomly, as if dedicated to different species.[2] An innovative building with film and fabric.[3] This way of building was fit for a king, especially when combined with the antique repertory of forms, and strictly proportioned, symmetrical designs.[4]

Round it grew numberless flowers of varied hue, filling the air with the richest perfume, Coco saw the blue flower alone, and gazed long upon it with inexpressible tenderness, she at length was about to approach it, when it began to mock, and change its form. [5] “I have been a rose,” says the perfume.[6] There were flowers for colour and for perfume. [7] The lower orchard showed exuberant vegetation, with ornamental trees and fruit, and the trunks of citrons and oranges which reached right up to the windows of the emperor's room, and delighted him with their colour and perfume.[7] The trees are the true glory of the park some 274 chestnuts, flanked on either side by a double file of limes which perfume the air in summer.[8] Coco stood alone in the huge perfumeyard gazing quietly at the city.“This city can only become more Parisian” she thought “It is already on its way to becoming hyper Paris, a polished caricature.[9] The city is no longer supposed to function as the land of opportunity for the little guy[10] its about opportunities for big women like me.”

 Gathering of the guests

The event takes its course, the tension rises by the minute - the room temperature as well. [11.1] Coco finally appears. [12] So the rest of her children. She wore much make up, and was heralded by exotic scent.[13] Her children were wonderful. [14] Among many the most outstanding were N°5, N°19 and N°22. N°5 embodies the essence of everything that one has to imagine under a classic, floral powdery aldehyde one. She is the epitome of feminine beauty, fearlessness and therefore wearable in all moments of life.[11.1] She’s perfect,  smelling like glass. There is a clean transparency throughout her.[11.2] N°19 however is fresh faced, hers is a beauty in need of no masking, she's blessed with a warm personality. She is the epitome of confidence, gently wrapped in the comfort of a fragrance oozing the tenderness of iris, the delicate sweetness of orris, and the clean, just about soapish caress of vetiver.[15.1] But over the time she has changed. Her original formulation is much greener, sharper in a sense than those of today. The drydown is a lightly poudre'.[15.1] N°22 on the other hand is a woman who wears this as tall, slender, with porcelain-like skin. She wears her elegantly styled hair upswept, and she is draped in the finest silk garments.[16.1] While reflecting in its streamlined profile the boyish androgyne silhouette.[16.2]

Few hours into the spell, jasmine and peach add to the ball, juicy and crisp enough to not obscure the previous duo. At last, ylang ylang and vetiver make their appearance; one dance and they leave, only to return some time later for a goodbye take.[17]

 The rite

If there arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the pleasure of the imagination, and make even the colours and verdure of the landscape appear more agreeable [18] with their sensibilized senses the group moved to a place where there are no mirrors, projecting screens, complex illumination effects and the sounds of a concealed orchestra suggest an infinity of forbidden space beyond the accessible parts of the villa. [19] It was really an escape into a fairy tale world that was sought. [20] Here the gods of mythology and the animals of fairy tales converge in[21] each other. The subject of xenofeminism, then, is neither woman nor human [22] This dream a fantasy of sensory gratification, confused identities, and commingled pleasures is a celebration of the self and its grandiose desires [23] Now that both beauty and truth are considered subjective among the intellectual class, “interesting” has become the new term of highest praise. [24]

An old man, uncrowned, but with curling hair, at work. [25] He is wearing his ritual costume, with decorations representing servitor spirits, and holding the drum that he used to induce a trance state. [26] He takes an empty bottle of perfume from Coco and performed the ritual. [12] The diamond was taken to be crystallized water and the old man mumbled: “a little frozen wässcrli,’ Anshelm 2, 21 ; fon diu wirt daz is da zi (thereby turns the ice into) christallan so lierta, so mau daz fiur dar nber machôt, nnzi diu christalla irglnot, ^[ei'igarto 5, 25; conf.”[27] Coco cries out in labour, when her new daughter Cristalle is born. [28] The causal potency of an idea, or an ideal, becomes just as real as that of a molecule, a cell, or a nerve impulse.[29] The abstraction becomes beauty.[30]

The rite is ended, and we have [31] a bright forest clearing in spring, a cool clear stream flows by, a certain humidity is still in the air, flowers blossom and exude their delicate scent.[32] It's a dance of passion, the water and fire each shaping first a separate, then a common impression in the air. Cristalle is utter sophistication. Enchanting, distinctive without being loud, precious in the way only great creations - of all sort - can ever be. Some days, nothing can compare to her. [17]

Quotes

[1] Koolhaas, SMLXL

[2] Koolhaas, Junkspace with Running Room

[3] Koolhaas, Elements of Architecture

[4] De Jonge, Unity and Discontinuity

[5] Harrison Wood Gaiger, Art in Theory 1648 1815

[6] Hugo_Les Miserables

[7] Gothein_A History of Garden Art

[8] Saunders_The Art and Architecture of London

[9] Vanderburgh_Tourism Revisited

[10] Steinberg_Gotham Unbound

[11.1] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/No_5 Blog from Friedaherz

[12] Greenhalgh_Coco Chanel and Igor Stravinsky

[13] Carter, Anthony Blunt His Lives

[14] Rudolph_Taste and the Ancient Senses

[11.2] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/No_5 Blog from Stinkypenny

[15.1] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/N19 Blog from Interdit

[16.1] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/No_22 Blog from Oriane

[16.2] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/No_22 Blog from WildGardener

[17] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/Cristalle_Eau_de_Parfum Blog from Interdit

[18] Warner, Alone of All Her Sex

[19] Harris, Governing by Design

[20] Hays_Architecture Theory since 1968

[21] Zajko_Laughing with Medusa

[22] Braidotti Hlavajova_Posthuman Glossary

[23] Butler_Synaesthesia and the Ancient Senses

[24] Speck_Walkable City

[25] Ruskin, The Stones of Venice

[26] Hutton, The Witch A History of Fear from Ancient Ronald

[27] Grimm, Teutonic Mythology The Complete Work

[28] Hofstadter, I Am a Strange Loop

[30] Serres, The Five Senses

[31] Michelet, Satanism and Witchcraft

[32] https://www.parfumo.net/Perfumes/Chanel/Cristalle_Eau_de_Parfum Blog von Schatzsucher

[justanotherbuckydevotee]

lostmyhead - part 3

Word Count: 2,580  words. Prompt : Lovecraftian – Horrible and indescribable platonic love. Or in which you don’t know how to deal with your emotions. Warning(s): Angst. Reader being selfish (im sorry) A/N: SO LIKE IDK . My Final next submission for @hellomissmabel‘s 2k Birthday Celebration. Happy reading! Any feedback/criticism would be welcomed (like seriously this got out of control pls tell me what you think i don’t mind if its gonna hurt me). ps this isnt proofread. its 1.27 am and i have class in the morning im sorry for any mistakes! 

masterlist || series page  The Prologue || Part 1 || part 2 || Part 3 || part 4 

** gif not mine ** 

It’s late at night (or was it really early morning?) when Bruce comes out of one of the operating room, bringing good news about the other super-soldier of the Avengers team.

“It’s a strong sedative. Any normal human being could’ve been killed with the amount he was given, but he’ll be okay” Bruce explains, making Steve release a sigh that’s been constricting his chest, tightening his shoulders when he waited.

“He’ll wake up soon” Bruce adds, “I suggest only a couple of you at a time. He’ll be a little…” he continues, a hand gesturing to his head as he waves it around in circles. “Confused” he finishes his sentence.

A moment of silence follows, a heavy stillness that nobody dared to move, one other question lingering in their heads but are too scared to ask.

“And (y/n)?”

Bruce takes off the glasses that was perched on the bridge of his nose, fidgeting with it. There was no delicate way to deliver the news about you. “She’s… They’re still in the operating room”

Everyone held their breathe.

“The wound on her leg is easy. But the one on her hip is complicated. We don’t know if it’ll affect her ability to walk, whether it’s temporary or permanent. The injury she sustained on her head is” Bruce pauses, still not looking up at his team mates.

“It’s difficult to assess” he words.

Again, silence. Nobody knew what to say, trying to process everything that’s been said.

“Thank you” Steve breaks the heavy air with his words, before taking long strides to Bucky’s room. Bruce could only nod, eyes following the trail of Steve until the door to Bucky’s room is gently closed. It’s only after that did he look to the eyes of each of his team mates.

Wanda is biting her fingernails, a distant look in her eyes with an arm crossed against her chest. Sam is leaning against the wall deep in thought, his engineered backpack on the ground of his feet. Clint is right next to Natasha, both looking solemn.

“You guys should rest for a bit. It’s been a long day”. With that, he leaves.

Clint is mumbling words to Natasha, encouraging her to change and rest as he waits for more news of you. She’s shaking her head in protest. Sam looks utterly exhausted as he brings his hand over to his forehead.

“You guys should go. I’ll wait here” Wanda announces, taking a step from where she was only to look over the others. “I’ll come get you if anything happens” she continues, speaking to them but her eyes fully locked with Nat’s.

It’s all she can offer, and with what the day had entailed. Wanda was relieved to see them one by one caving into the need of their bodies. Natasha was the last to go, whispering tiredly to Wanda “please get me first, okay?”.

The smell of alcohol and medicine made Wanda feel all the more anxious, as she sits on the edge of her seat, waiting for more news. Her eyes kept going to the double-doors whenever a staff came in or out, scrubs slightly stained before disappearing down the end of the hallway before re-appearing again with a medical cart. She clasped her hands tightly, almost as if in prayer when Steve comes out of Bucky’s room. He looked drained but he can’t make it show that’s he’s actually scared right now, not when the youngest Avenger is sitting across the operating theatre alone.

��Hey” Steve greets, taking the seat next to her. “Why aren’t you in your bed? It’s late” “I promised them I’ll wait”

He could only nod.

“How’s Bucky?” “He’s okay. He’s finally asleep”

The double-doors swing, a team of doctors and nurses filing out, a gatch bed with machines and wires tangled with each other and on it is you. They’re pulling you to a room next to Bucky, passing by Steve and Wanda. Their eyes fall on you; head wrapped with a bandage, a breathing ventilator tube down your throat, eyes closed shut.

Dr. Cho stops in front of them both, still in her scrubs and begins explaining what Bruce couldn’t manage to tell them.

“It’s the only thing I could do. I’m sorry” Dr. Cho mumbles, eyes shining with guilt. Steve is quick to react calmly, saying “You’ve done everything you could”. She looks at Steve for a moment, as if wanting to disagree. She felt she could do more, but the brain is the most complex organ of the whole human anatomy. She blinks, looks down, then moves her feet to her office.

Wanda stayed with you long after Steve has left, suggesting he should rest up too. Dragging a chair closer to you, she places her hand gently on yours, breathing in deeply as she closes her eyes.

There’s somebody behind her, a translucent shape.

“Why aren’t you coming back?” Wanda asked without turning around. She knows who it is.

“I had someone to find first” the figure said, taking slow steps to stand before Wanda. Her palm reaches Wanda’s shoulder, but it can’t really reach her, can’t physically place her touch in this world. A mere ghost of a being.

“But Bucky is back” Wanda announces, head finally turning to see you. The one in front of Wanda now looked better than the one laying on the bed. “So why can’t you return?”

You give her a weak smile. “I’m not too sure I want to come back this time, Wan” you confess.

You take her stunned silence as your cue to continue, to explain. “When I didn’t see him, when I thought he was gone, I couldn’t see anything worth fighting for. I would’ve gladly let that agent do whatever he wanted to me”

“It’s when I realized how much I cared for him. Deeply. More than just friends who look out for one another. More than just friends who understand each other. I don’t ever want to know how it feels like to lose him after this. But he can’t” you stop yourself, eyes closed shut to try and calm yourself from the on-coming wave of emotions that would undoubtedly have an effect on your physical body.

“If I come back, what good would having this feeling do to me? He has someone now; he has Yvy, Wan, and I’m so happy that he’s finally happy” you continue, sadness marring your facial features. “But it also pains me because I won’t ever have that with him. I’ll just be his friend, sure someone he cares about, but not the one he loves”

“But he does love you, (y/n). Can you not see that?” Wanda retaliates. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t love me like I want him to”

Wanda is trying to understand what you’re saying, trying to process the idea of you not coming back to this world, to this team, back home. She feels a painful twist in her chest, pricking her heart.

“So you’re just going to leave?” she asked. She had to. It felt like losing Pietro again, but the difference here is that Pietro didn’t have a choice. You did. You could come home, deal with whatever it is you’re feeling instead of running away. The pricking in her heart suddenly changes to simmering anger; you had the option to live and yet here you were deciding to be a coward and run. She hated you for wanting this, for having an option.

“You’re going to be a coward, and leave us?” she pushes when you’ve yet to answer. The air is thick now once realization dawns on you at how selfish you were being. Wanda abruptly stands up, the chair pushed forcefully behind her.

“It’s your choice. Say hi to Pietro for me”

This goes on for days; you remain in your astral form, looking down at your body as it rests and heal. You spend most your time confined here, not wanting to leave far with the fear that someone –or something sinister, decides to take your unprotected physical form as its host.

The last time you interacted was when Wanda closed the door to your room, leaving you to wallow in her last painful words.

“Say hi to Pietro for me”

So you stay. You stay and watch the aftermath of what would be if you decide to leave. Wanda is the only one who knows of your ability.

You smile faintly at how she discovered, or rather how you decided to reveal your secret to her. She was devastated at the loss of her twin, the speedster you always hear about from Clint, during the weeks you first met her.

“Did you hear that?” Bucky asked just as his hand grasped the knob of your door. You quirk an eyebrow at him before shaking your head, slightly confused. He moves his head closer to your door and for a moment he stays like that. You stand up as quietly as you could, fearing something bad was going on outside when Bucky has yet to say anything.

“Bu-“ his name barely comes out of your mouth when he raises a hand to your direction, his lips mouthing ‘sshhh’. A moment of total silence follows before the worry in his eyes disappear, his features softening before he looks at you.

He hesitates for a moment, but then decides to say “I think someone’s crying”

Immediately you walk over to him, peeling your door and motioning for him to stay there. Even though you absolutely hated being the mother hen –believing the title is rightfully Steve’s, you did have a tendency to act like one. So you tiptoed your way up the hallway, straining your ears to pick up the muffled sobs from one of the doors.

You stop dead in your tracks when you find the source.

It’s Wanda.

Bucky, who ignores your request to stay put, looks at you anxiously. You lick your lips, unsure whether you should go in or knock on her door. Clint has told you about this, had told you to look out for her during the times he wasn’t there. He’d given you a list of things that help her mind off of it, and one of the things he suggests doing was to just be by her side.

So that’s what you did. You found her curled at the corner of her room, in her arms an article of clothing. Your hand reaches her shoulder cautiously, and when she doesn’t jolt away from your touch, you pull her slowly into your arms. Thankfully Wanda doesn’t hesitate, crashing her body to yours.

Bucky takes it as his cue to leave, closing the door to Wanda’s room.

You hold her as she mourns the death of her brother, her twin, the only family she ever knew for the longest time. The black and white track jacket was wedged in-between you both. The room is filled with her pain, and you do your best to hold her, comfort her.

“I miss him. So much” she whimpers as you stroke her hair.

It’s a heart-breaking thing to listen to her say it, the absolute heart-ache she feels clearly present bringing you to tears.

It happened naturally; one moment the room is dark and depressing, and the next there’s a dim glow to everything in sight. Next to her you see a young man with silver hair, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears as he looks down at his sister.

“Then talk to him” you whisper when the person next to you realizes you can see him.

That was the night that got you closer to Wanda, and the night she finally said her goodbye to Pietro. The small smile you wore is now completely torn off of your lips. How could you have been so selfish? Here you were having the ability to continue living while others do not. Here you were wasting a life when others had theirs taken from them. You look at your body again, knowing how easy it is to just come back.

But then you see Bucky.

Bucky is both a reassuring and aggravating presence. You’re thankful that he remains by your side when he can, giving your heart an empty promise at the sight of him next to you for hours on end. But that, of course, is shattered when he leaves, where the others take his place. It exhausts you, drains you out of energy that it leaves your astral form lying on the floor to rest.

On the fourth day he remains longer than usual, saying nothing and letting the only noise in the room be from the heart monitor and respiratory machine. He stays glued on the chair next to you, this time without a book in hand.

And, this time, a little more agitated.

He’s wringing his hands together –a noticeable habit shared among people with anxiety, that it pained you even more. You push yourself closer to him, wanting so badly to comfort him, to say you’re sorry for being like this.

“I’m sorry” he croaks, guilt drenched in the words that stumble out of him next.

Four days.

It took you four days to realize the severity of your action. None of this was his fault yet here he was, sitting on that chair feeling the weight of guilt crushing his soul. None of this was his fault because he’d done everything he could. None of this was his fault because the decision was in your hands.

It took you four days to recognize the torture Bucky went through at seeing you like this. He’s looking at your weak form, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, delicate tubes and wires running around your body. The agony he must’ve endured throughout these four days finally dawned on you when he’s looking at in this moment.

You see him leaning forwards slowly, calculatedly. Then pauses for a brief moment.

“I-“ but he doesn’t continue, leaving you confused. I what? You thought. Then the door is pulled open, where Natasha and Wanda comes in before he leaves.

You follow him out, forgetting about the consequences of such action, the vulnerability you’ve put your body to just to follow him to his room.

And just like the days he left, you can feel your heart being torn apart piece by piece.

You see Bucky slide easily into his bed, hands wrapped around the waist of a beautiful women. He kisses Yvy’s back. When he closes his eyes, you can see the difference her presence has on him; the worried line and frown that marred his face is gone, his feature softening.

He looked so at peace, so calm next to the girl he loves that it makes you completely forget why you should stay. It hurts you now more than ever. He’s finally happy, so why can’t you be happy for him? Isn’t it your duty, as a friend, to support him no matter what?

Rationality isn’t of utter importance to you right then and there as you force yourself to tear your gaze away, to will yourself back to the room where you laid, wanting nothing more than to just go forget.

To forget. It’s what you wanted –to forget a time where your feelings towards Bucky was anything but platonic, to not remember a time where you craved to have him as yours.

And you know exactly who to turn to.

read final part >> part 4

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