#getting much better at acknowledging/labeling my feelings within minutes of Having The Feeling

[themagnificentmx]

woah . i can feel my feelings

[parkswritessometimes]

Sunday X Marvin

It’s been almost twelve hours without a text from Marvin. Usually, he’d respond within minutes of a message. A little emoji or acknowledgment that he was alive. But nothing. No response from the good morning text he sent when he woke up. Usually, Marvin was the one who woke up early and Sunday would wake up to a cute morning image of Higgins or a bedheaded, shirtless Marvin, but no message today. 

“You good, Kit-Kat?” Sunday types hitting send before his anxieties get the better of him. Marv was probably just too engrossed in a book to even acknowledge their phone. It’s happened before on a handful of occasions, but they always replied within a few hours with an apology or an excuse or something. 

But Sunday can’t stop this gut feeling that something was wrong. That something was wrong. He’s been getting that feeling a lot lately. Especially since the twins rose to power in the magic circle. This twisting feeling in his soul, in his magic. But this was so specific to Marvin like a magnetic force pulling him towards his friend.    

And it’s not like Marvin was going to ask for help if he needed it. Marvin has always been far too prideful for that. Raised by absent parents and a semi-sane mentor who could never be understood by anyone but Marvin, he was always destined to be an aloof person. It probably didn’t help that they were bullied for several years before Sunday came into the picture. 

Sunday was also an outsider always working twice as hard to keep up with the advanced classes he was put in. Magic always seemed to come so easy for everyone else. He’s lucky that he made the cut for the Magic Circle. It would have been so easy to cast him aside and label him a dud, but he was given a single chance. Same with Marvin.

It took a lot of time for Marvin to open up. Lots of shared candy bars, healing magic, repairing uniforms with his more practical sewing skills before Marvin even told Sunday his name. But over time Sunday could feel Marvin slowly opening up. Ivy creeping up his ivory walls until it flooded his heart. 

Now they’re 28 and living life, Marvin had a bookstore that never seemed to be open and Sunday worked for the Magic Circle, always one of the first people to be in the loop. And as much as it annoyed the higher-ups, Marvin was always the first one to know what was going on. It was a good thing the two of them had going on. 

Late-night phone calls that only ended when one of them fell asleep, cute photos, and inside jokes. Nicknames and practice kisses. And yeah their heart always skipped a beat or two or just flat-out stop when Marvin would lay their head in their lap, or hold his hand. But it was fine. Marvin was always skipping from person to person, never sticking with one partner for more than six months. Bar hookups, tinder profile pictures, bumble notifications, that always broke his heart just a little bit. But what was he going to do? Marvin was having fun and Sunday didn’t want to ruin their fun. 

Maybe that’s where Marvin was, on a date or he slept over at a guy’s house and forgot a charger. But still, that didn't feel right.

Sunday looks back down at their phone. No notification. Okay, time for a wellness check. 

“I’m coming over if you don’t text me in the next three seconds.”

“3”

“2”

“1”

“On my way. I’ll bring sushi as a peace offering.” 

Sunday grabs their favorite green cloak throwing it over their shoulder and goes out into London’s warm Summer night. 

—---

Sunday knocks on the door, okay more like pounds, trying to get Marvin’s attention. He wedges his cell phone between his ear and shoulder and listens to the ring over and over again before getting the standard “leave a message”.

“Vin, Kit-Kat, it’s me. Open up. I bring gifts and if you don’t open up I’m gonna portal up to your apartment. So do us both a favor and let me in!” He kicks the door a few more times to send a message before hanging up and shoving his phone into his pocket. Sunday looks up at the flat, the lights are on which is a good sign at the very least. He sighs yanking his bear charm free from his neck letting his mask form on his face. Magic wasn’t exactly allowed in public without a permit but he’s technically on Marvin’s property. He won’t get nicked for that. Hopefully.  The portal revealing Marvin’s room appears and he steps through closing the portal behind him. 

Higgin’s little merp and rub against his thighs settle some of his nerves but the main problem still remains. His mask swirls back into the necklace on his chest and the golden magic fades from his fingertips as his he pets Marvin’s little familiar. 

“Hey, Higgy. Where’s Marvin? You gonna lead me to him?” 

Higgins jumps up on the bed ignoring Sunday’s request. Typical little cat. Sunday pushes the door open wandering out into Marvin’s kitchen and living room. Notes, pictures, and drawings line the walls looking like the workings of a madman. And in the middle of it all Marvin, still in his pajamas, pacing around the room.

“Uh, Marv? You there mate?” Sunday asks, but Marvin keeps pacing and muttering to himself. Sunday sets the dinner down on the countertop and walks over the scattered pages of Marvin’s writing. Slowly, carefully with each step Sunday moves forward trying not to mess up any of Marvin’s work. Their hand finally finds their way to Marvin’s shoulder and in an instant, Marvin’s mask is on and lighting in his hands. 

“Woah! Hey! Hey! Marvin! It’s me! It’s me.” Sunday says throwing their hands up.

“Sunday. Sunday…Sunny.” Marvin says, almost as if he’s in a trance. 

“Yeah, Kit-Kat. It’s me. It’s Sunny.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I used a portal and you weren’t answering your phone. I got worried.”

The fogginess in Marvin’s eyes clear and they flash into so many emotions going from fear to sadness to anger all within seconds. 

"I don't need your help, Sunday." Marvin’s green eyes drill into Sundays. And for anyone else, this would probably strike fear into their souls. But not Sunday. Sunday knows that look. It’s not true anger, if it was he’d be on fire. It’s that pride getting in his way. The fear that if he opens up he’ll be left alone on the porch begging for someone, anyone to stay. He has to push everyone so far away that his heart will never bleed like that again.

"Yeah, I know, kit-kat. You don’t need anyone’s help." Sunday whispers in a soothing tone taking a step forward. Marvin may growl and snarl like a feral cat from time to time but Sunday knows him better than anyone, including Marvin himself. He was just tired and clearly scared of something going on. Whatever he found must have truly shaken him to the core.

“Don’t say it in that fucking tone Sunday. Why the fuck are you even here? Did the twins send you? Because you can tell them-"

 "I came because I was worried. So can you just sit down for five minutes and let me bring you the dinner I bought before Higgins eats it?” Sunday’s golden glow wraps around their fingertips and rests against Marvin’s face. Their thumb go up and down their beard as they try to soothe Marvin. 

“Sunny…”

“It’s sushi, and I know you have some good wine. Let me get us some glasses and you can tell me what's going on.”

“Probably skip the wine.”

“Vinny, did you not eat this morning?”

“I think so? I can’t remember.”

“Okay, let's sit down.” Sunday grabs his friend’s hand and guides him down to the couch. Marvin’s head instantly rests against Sunday’s chest and Sunday finds his hand in his friend's long brown hair. “Do you want to talk first or eat?”

“What did you bring?”

“Sushi.”

“I want to eat first.”

“Okay, kit-kat. Let me grab the food.” Marvin squeezes him closer, refusing to let him get up from his spot. Sunday sighs knowing that he isn’t going anywhere. He opens a small portal allowing the food to fall through and onto the coffee table in front of them. 

“I got California rolls, rainbow rolls, and some salmon nigiri.” 

“You spoil me, Sunny.” 

“I know.” Sunday begins to unpack all the takeout from the plastic bag laying it all out on the table. He hands Marvin a pair of chopsticks and lets him dig in. With Marvin off of him, he gets up and goes back to the kitchen. He grabs a glass from his friend’s cabinet and fills it to the brim with cold water. 

“You want me to grab Higgins?”

“No, that’s okay. He’d just get lost in the papers anyway.”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask you about that.”

“It’s all my notes, I’m trying to decipher some of them.”

“Why? Aren’t they your notes?”

“Yes, but I can’t remember writing some of them.”

“Well, you’ve written so many it doesn’t surprise me you’ve forgotten some of them.” Sunday sets the cold glass in front of Marvin and nudges him towards it. 

“No that’s not the issue, the issue was they were wiped from my memory.” 

Sunday shakes his head and jolts back in surprise. Ras has been wiping Marvin’s memories? Thats-why would he do that? He practically raised Marvin. The Magic Circle has always said that he was dangerous and an outsider. Breaking the rules of magic and not conforming to the laws set in place to keep the world safe, but mental magic? On Marvin? That’s almost too much to bear. No wonder Marvin got so angry. His trust must be shattered on the floor in a million pieces. 

“Ras has been using mental magic on you?! We gotta report this! You can stay at my house until the council has him imprisoned.” 

“What no! Sunday! Ras hasn’t been tampering with my memories. The Circle has been.”

The Circle? No. They were a bit…shifty but what governmental organization isn’t?! Members of parliament and even the prime minister took bribes and did some shady stuff and they were in charge of the country! Don’t even get him started on the mess that was America's government system. But there's no way that The Magic Circle was doing something like that to its members. To Marvin. To Him.   

“Marvin, I think-”

Marvin yanks off his necklace and lets his cat mask form in his hand. The green ethereal glow signaled that some enchantment had been left on it.

“I have it recorded. The twins, they took so much away from us, Sunny. Just look.”

Sunday takes the mask and places it on his face. Green-tinted visions of the past come before his eyes. That’s him in the corner, looking over at Marvin, but he definitely doesn’t remember this. A dead body on a slab with the twins matching fox masks firmly on their faces. Their muffled voices told them to leave the room and like the good peons they were, they left. 

“We’ve reached the limits of what direct observation can show us.”

“Even magical observation is insufficient.”

“Necromancy then.”

The twins cast a spell causing the body to rise up. Sunday’s never seen anything like it. He’s always been told something like this was illegal except in the hands of the authorities. People with permits and power. He couldn’t even pay attention to the answers the body was giving, too shocked by the twin's actions to do anything. 

The body collapses back on the table and Sunday almost does as well. But just when he thought the worst was over.

“We might use Mind’s Eye.” One of them says. Mind’s Eye was one of the most dangerous spells that could be cast on such a body. The Malia it takes could easily drain that of the corpses and the users, leaving everyone involved just dust on the floor. 

“The risk would be enormous.”

“To lesser magicians than we.”

“Very well we do need answers.”

“There remains malia sufficient in the husk to achieve it once.”

The twins touch their fingers to the corpse's skull letting the purple mist swirl around the room chaotically. Sunday can’t make out the images but he knows in his soul it’s bad. The body screams out like it’s dying again before crumbling to ash. 

The twins put their masks back on allowing everyone to rejoin them. Sunday and Marvin are the first to come in but still, Sunday can not remember even being in this room.

Sunday is all but helpless to watch as Marvin picks up his mask as the twins talk.

“We learned much from this vessel, but little of substance.”

“The circumstances of its death were byzantine and inconsequential.”

“A matter of science. Nothing with which to trouble ourselves. Whatever happened to this man does not concern the magic circles. We needn’t investigate further.”

“You needn’t even remember what transpired here.”

The twins chat to cast a spell and just like that the memory is gone. The recording stops and Sunday takes the mask off of his face. 

They took their memories. 

They took his memories.

They took Marvin’s memories. 

Over a man who died to science?! Over something so simple and inconsequential?! What did they erase that was important?! Did they erase a full days months or even years from his head?! How could they do something like that?!

“Marv, what the hell are we going to do? Can we get those memories back?! I can’t- What else did they take from us?!” Could they take larger pieces? Could they take whole people out of the memory? Could they take relationships? When was the limit where they couldn’t touch the memories?! 

“I don’t know. I have regained a few memories they took but that’s only because Ras drilled it in me to record my notes and journal my days. I’m trying to fill the gaps but I think most of them are gone.”

“Shit Marv. What are we going to do?”

“I honestly don’t know. Start recording with our masks? Compare notes?”

“That’s a start I suppose.” 

Marvin takes his spot back in Sunday’s chest and Sunday holds him tight. But it doesn’t stop the intense flood of anxiety coursing through his body. Pumped by the growing beat of his heart. 

Forgetting Marvin would be like forgetting his own name, his own being. They were so intertwined there was no way they could make them forget each other. Right? They surely couldn’t rip each other away. They would have done that years ago with Marvin and Ras. The twins never kept it a secret that they hated the man and constantly pushed Marvin to ditch his mentor. But Marvin was too stubborn, too loyal to even consider that an option.  

He looks back down at his friend only to find him asleep, all curled up in their lap. Sunday smiles and traces over Marvin’s tattoos with their finger. 

“No one will take me from you Marvin. I promise. No matter what.” They plant a little kiss on Marvin’s forehead and shuffle to a more comfortable position on the couch. No use in fighting it, he was gonna spend the night on the couch with Marvin. Not the first time this has happened and certainly not the last. He leans over and grabs a blanket from off the floor and drapes it over the two of them. 

Sunday wasn’t quite ready to fall asleep, still processing the huge mind fuck that the Magic Circle was doing this. And Marvin’s notes and research were within arms reach; he might as well catch up on what Marvin found. His fingertips find a large leather-bound book and pull it closer. Colorful tabs dot the pages probably signifying different spells he needed. 

Sunday opens it up to the first tab to find Marvin’s handwriting. No mention of spells or anything. Sunday immediately closes it and sets it down on Marvin’s back. Not today. There has to be something else he can read to get caught up on all this a spell book or something. But all of the notes around him seem to be in Marvin’s messy cursive writing. 

And then something catches his eye. One of the tabs on Marvin's journal had a little sun and a heart. He rarely lets curiosity get the best of him, that was more Marvin’s department, but he has to know what the little doodle of his nickname was doing there. He opens the book back up and begins to read the tabbed page.

I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna ask Sunny out after this meeting. I know we’re already kinda going out but I’m gonna make it official with him today. I’m in love with him and I’m sure he’s in love with me. Just gotta finish this meeting. I’m pretending to take notes but it's so dreadfully boring. I swear the twins are the stiffest people you’ll ever meet in your lifetime. 

Sunday doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tear hits the page and smudges the ink. Did they take away that moment? Did they even allow them to have it? It’s not like Sunday could remember it. But he can just imagine it. Marvin just blurts out their feelings and he just goes red with embarrassment as Marvin uses sweet words until they kiss. 

And Magic Circle just took it away like it was nothing. 

Did Marvin know? He had to, he marked it after all. But…fuck. Did they take more moments like that away from them? How many times did they confess only to have the Magic Circle have it erased? 

Sunday wipes the tears away and takes another deep breath. He looks back down at Marvin and traces his finger across his jaw. He looks so peaceful right now. And as much as he wants to wake him up and tell him that he’s right, that he’s in love with him, that he wants to spend the rest of their lives together. It can wait. One big revelation at a time.

Sunday gives him one more kiss on the head and pulls the blanket up to Marvin’s shoulders. Both of them are gonna need sleep if they’re gonna figure out how to save their memories from future tampering. 

“Goodnight Marvin. I love you.”

-----

I don't usually write shippy stuff but here y'all go!

----

Tag List:

@kalcifers-blog

@the3rddenialist

[yelenasdog]

moving out, moving on (mitch rapp x fem reader)

genre: fluff

summary: mitch and reader are taking another step towards mitch moving on, and it’s bittersweet.

words: 2.2k

warnings: drinking wine, kinda suggestive at times, talks abt katrina, mitch being emotional, my writing being melodramatic LOL

a/n: so. this was written during an all nighter that went to 7 am where i was listening to nicki minaj and eminem (???) for a good duration of it so. i’m very sorry if this is wonky at times! i hope u enjoy either way! mwah 

🥍🥍🥍

The early morning rays streamed through thin fabric, draped above the assassin's window. Dust particles floated about, becoming visible within the section of light cast from the sun. The birds perched outside the small apartment tweeted happily from their branch, their songs beautiful. 

Though, they were quite pesterous to the pair that lay together, wrapped in gray sheets. They reveled in the heat provided by the soft blanket, but even more so by the warmth from their joint bodies.

A mop of dark brown hair stirred, bringing one hand up to softly rub his eyes with his knuckle, the other hand snaking around the waist of the woman peacefully sleeping beside him. He watched with fond eyes as she lightly groaned, rolling to face away from the invasion of bright, turning towards her love. 

Mitch smiled down at her sleepy behavior, reaching out and brushing stray hairs from her forehead. He reluctantly retracted it only moments later, forcing himself out of bed to go and prepare the two of them for their big day as best he knew how: Coffee.

His sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood as he went, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and groggy-ness (a word Y/n had donned as her own, and Mitch had caught on to) still very prevalent in his entire system. 

The Rhode Island air was frigid this time of year, Mitch allowing a grin to break out on his face upon remembrance of two nights previous, just how cold Y/n had been in the arena of the Providence Bruins hockey team. Nose pink, donned in a beanie proudly showing the team's logo, well, he had found himself a new lockscreen.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of said groggy-ness, his body on autopilot as it made the beverages. He picked out her favorite mug from the cupboard (AKA a souvenir from Dubai he had picked up long ago) that she had adopted as her own, drinking out of it every time she would spend the night, almost like clockwork. He waited for his coffee beans to brew, scratching his stubble along his jaw. He flinched, though, when he felt two arms wrap around his middle. He quickly relaxed into the embrace upon realization of who the supposed assailant was, her head finding its way to rest on his bare shoulder.

“You scared me, there.” Mitch muttered, his larger hand inching towards her’s on his waist. He closed his eyes in content and she hummed in acknowledgment. Mitch allowed her to turn his figure to face her, still residing in her arms, seeing a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Only for a minute though, right?”

She laughed to which he chuckled in response, nodding in false surrender. “You’ve got me there, Y/n/n.” He mused, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the coffee machine beeping. He looked back to her, shrugging.

“I made you coffee, was gonna bring it to you in bed but, y’know.” He gestured to where she had now climbed up to sit on top of his counter, his sweatshirt around her that read “Brown University” across the front in large lettering pooling around her thighs.

“It’s alright, I need to get a move on anyway.” She smiled, hopping down to retrieve the mug, taking the warm ceramic from Mitch’s hands and sighing at the wondrous feeling that had spread through her whole body. She lifted it to her lips and drank, not surprised that her boyfriend had made it just the way she liked, to perfection. 

“Thank you, baby.” She commented, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. Her lip curled as she pulled away, Mitch already knowing what she was going to say, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Mitch! Go brush your teeth, for the love of God!” She whined, watching as he scampered off towards the bathroom, snickering all the way. She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her beverage before following where Mitch had gone.

Once in the bathroom after rinsing her and Mitch’s mugs, she tied her hair up, undressing and turning on the water (practically scalding hot, of course). Mitch had no objections to the temperature, though, seeing as it was his last time showering with her in that apartment, and in that apartment, period. 

The whole thing felt very symbolic to Y/n, at least, seeing it as washing themselves clean for the next phase of their lives together, a sort of preparation. (Maybe not so much for Mitch, who really was just pleased for any excuse to see his girlfriend naked.)

They used generous amounts of soap, as not only were most of them nearly empty (in fact, a few were and if it weren’t for Y/n, they probably all would be), but also that they had decided to simply just buy new toiletries as a whole for their new place.

They giggled at the sight of each other, all lathered in bubbles and suds. Mitch reached a finger forward, wiping it from above her eyebrows and preventing it from falling into her eyes. Y/n brought her arms around his neck, her lips connecting with his. “Much better.” She regarded with a smirk, before leaning back in.

Nearly 40 minutes later, they both emerged from the shower, fresh faced and ready for the day ahead. He didn’t have a lot that needed to be packed up, given that his place came fully furnished, so it took all but 2 hours and 5 boxes to pack up Mitch Rapp’s life. It honestly might have taken even longer than originally would have been needed, as Y/n would stop every time she found something interesting, allowing Mitch to tell her all about whatever stories had been connected to the item.

It had started with the ridiculous bird lamp that sat on his bedside table, once belonging to Mr. Nazir, and ended with his lacrosse stick. (And, a promise that one day, he’d show her how to play. He swore he’d never seen her smile that big.)

They also threw away and donated a lot, some of Kat’s old stuff bringing a pained smile to his face as he would place it in a box simply labeled “Kat” in messy, thick letters. He wasn’t sure if the box would end up in his new closet, covered in dust and unopened, or back with her family. But either way, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her completely, which Y/n was able to understand.

“Mitch? Did you pack away your coats already?” Y/n called out, opening up the closet near the front door. Her breath slightly hitched in her throat upon seeing all of the photos of Mansur, still pasted to the painted wood, the edges curling up. 

“Nah, not yet, I was gonna handle that while you worked on the cupboards” He responded, busying himself with a text from Irene on his phone wishing him good luck. He looked up and saw what she had been asking about, his phone quickly sliding into his pocket as he made his way over to where she stood, visibly distressed. 

“How long have these been here?” She questioned, feeling Mitch’s arms wrap around her shoulders. She brought her hands up to grasp onto his wrists, leaning backwards into him and biting into her lip.

“Since the beach, when I decided to go after Mansur. When everything happened with the CIA, it was kind of a whirlwind, I didn’t really have enough time to even think about taking it down when I was only even here for hours at a time.” He lightly chuckled, watching as she stepped forward and began to take the pictures down, crumbling them up in her hands. 

She ran her fingertips over the indents left in the door, feeling the splinters against them. She turned back to Mitch, quipping how “Mr. Nazir won’t be too pleased about that.” 

He smiled, joining her in taking all of the images down, ripping them or balling them up in his fists. All of them ended up in one of the old Target bags they had been using for trash, filling up an entire bag (minus a few Dunkin cups sitting at the bottom).

Mitch trailed a few tender kisses down the left side of her next, and though it sounds cheesy, a feeling of hopefulness flooded himself out of most of the bitterness that had been stuck inside for so long. 

She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, and smiled into the kiss, her hand finding the back of his head. She lightly tugged on the chocolate colored strands and he groaned in content, to which her grin only widened. She pulled back, ruffling the top of his head before beginning to pack away the remnants of what was left in the closet. He rolled his eyes, following suit.

They had piled all of the boxes into the back of Mitch’s old decommissioned CIA vehicle (which was obvious that is was such, given that the side was littered with bullet holes and metallic scratches), returned the key to Mr. Nazir (who was glad to see Mitch go), and with that, they were off.

The new place wasn’t too far away, the pair taking a page out of Stan’s book and opting for a wonderful sense of privacy. It was nestled in a rural corner of Massachusetts, where Mitch would be able to come home to a sense of serenity. Y/n had already moved in her possessions, Mitch’s items being the last step. They’d also furnished the cozy cabin, trips to IKEA and Urban Outfitters (along with several other over-priced boutiques) making the place feel like a perfect fit for the couple.

Mitch’s strange and varied knick knacks made the house feel like a home, his lacrosse stick finding a new home by the front door, right under a hanging potted plant that Y/n and Mitch had decided to affectionately name “Charles” after a drunken night watching the X-Men movies. The house was littered in plants such as Charles, in fact, with Mitch’s first response to seeing all of them being “Wow, looks like a greenhouse in here.”

(Still, he’d grown to love the plant babies. Trust me.)

Two tired smiles made their ways to their faces as they both sat on their new sofa, admiring a job well done. Though several boxes still lay on the hardwood, unopened, they felt accomplished enough to pull out a bottle of wine that they had been saving for the occasion. It was an early housewarming gift from Stan, to which they were unprepared to take advantage of, it seemed.

“Baby, did we unpack the wine glasses earlier?” Mitch questioned, his mind slightly foggy of the day's events and early start.

“No, I think they’re still packed up.” She replied, to which Mitch’s eyes lit up, an idea forming and an imaginary lightbulb popping up over his head. He got up from his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face. Her expression mirrored his own, with an added quirked brow at his antics.

“I’ve got a solution, wait here.” Mitch responded, padding over to where he had remembered the new home of the mugs to be. Upon realization of what he was doing, Y/n smiled, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up to run through her roots.

He shuffled back over moments later, his girlfriend recognizing one of the mugs in his hands as her favorite. He sat down next to her, with the bare skin of her thighs touching his own, jean clad. He bumped his knee to hers with a giggle, pouring out the Pinot Grigio into the mugs. 

She gratefully accepted it as it was handed to her, smiling as she took a sip. Mitch did the same, the two of them leaning back into the soft sofa. Y/n brought her legs up, cuddling into his side and absorbing his warmth. He brought his free hand to her side, a strong hold giving them both a strong sense of comfort as she lay her head on his shoulder.

The box labeled “Kat” remained unpacked along with the others on the floor, dust already beginning to gather. Mitch had come across it a few times that day, each time more thoughtful than the last as he struggled to decide what it was exactly he was feeling towards the objects; or perhaps towards the memory of Katrina.

He had come to realize that it was acceptance he felt, deep in his stomach, settling down. It had been brought upon him in totality over time, today’s events being the final step. A soft smile spread across Mitch’s face, a single tear falling from his eye. Y/n looked up, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Mitch, are you alright?”

He leaned down, connecting their lips in a watery yet nectarous kiss, his hand beginning to rub small circles on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Y/n/n.” 

The fire they had built earlier was roaring, now, casting a warm glow across the pair’s features. The damp trail down his cheek was highlighted, nearly glistening on his skin like an amber. 

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

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ok btw ik that wine in mugs would be a horrible idea but this is fiction so SHUSH

anyway i hope yall enjoyed! i love writing for mitch and i have lots of future fics for him, so if u liked this, please reblog and follow if ya wanna. mwah, go drink water and have some protein <333

 xx hj

[jasontoddswhitestreak]

what died didn’t stay dead

(originally posted by vormirjumper)

dedicated to @starsvck and @artipotter hope u enjoy this <333

summary: the last thing you remember was fainting in wakanda thinking you saw your own fingertips turn to dust only to wake up in a world where natasha romanoff no longer existed. inspired by marjorie by taylor swift

content warning: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, set after endgame, angst, mentions of death, trauma, their relationship ending on a bad note, trust issues & previous steve x nat, (WANDAVISION SPOILERS AT THE END)

‘моя любовь’ = ‘my love’ in russian <3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (please lmk if anyone written something similar to this! & if you want more nat content lmk!)

masterlist

PART TWO

You forced your eyes open.

Pulling yourself up from the ground you glanced at your arms in confusion. You swore you saw your own hands turn to dust before fainting. You glanced around to take in your surroundings eyes widening in shock as you saw the hundreds of Wakandan's you fought beside minutes ago appearing out of dust. You stared speechless as you watched people materialise out of thin air, the dust forming into fingers, then a whole hand and eventually becoming a person who's mirroring your exact reaction.

You felt guilty about the first thought that came across your mind.

'Is Nat okay?' You panicked while rushing to look around, ignoring how you spent the last few years loathing her to hide your heartbreak.

You were an avenger since the beginning. The two of you were on the same team during the airport fight which wasn't surprising due to your history together. Despite the slight age difference between the two of you, your personalities worked well together which is why you got along well, so well in fact that those platonic feelings you thought you had for her developed into something more and somehow you found yourself in her bed many times in her arms with your bodies pressed against one another's, struggling to catch your breath, bliss written all over your face. Your legs were intertwined with hers as you embraced the warmth radiating off her. You refused to acknowledge the unspoken tension in the atmosphere due to the fear of speaking out about your feelings and end up ruining what you had. You couldn't help but let the insecurities build up as you gently caressed her cheek, her eyes met yours back in adoration, full of what could've been love.

But you knew she once looked at him in the same way.

"I love holding you in my arms моя любовь." She muttered, as she stroked your hair gently, you hummed in response, not trusting your own voice. What you both had felt right, you didn't want to ruin it, you didn't want to label what you had together due to the job you both have. Being an avenger doesn't exactly mean stability, anything could happen.

You remember the panic you felt when Ultron took her, the chance of losing her filled you with dread, but you also had faith. You knew how strong Natasha was. Your faith gave you strength and it kept you alive, Nat admired that about you.

The two of you fit together well, whether it was on the field or outside of the field. You could predict each other's moves and although telepathy isn't either of your powers, you know what the other was thinking. You made her better. You helped her wipe out the red in her ledger and when everyone's files was exposed to the globe you were right there by her side comforting her as she feared the reaction from everyone. You were there for her when nobody was and you stood by her side no matter what. Those feelings were reciprocated, you knew Natasha would've done anything for you.

She would even sacrifice herself for the possibility of you coming back.

Then the Accords happened and Nat betrayed the Accords, ending up on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda and Vision. You were left alone at the compound with an injured Rhodey.

"How could you do this?" You spat out, voice full of hatred as you watched Natasha let Steve and Bucky get away. Your pistol shook in the palm of your hands, pointed directly at Natasha who lowered her own onto the ground, allowing herself to be defenceless.

"It's not that easy моя любовь, you out of all people should understand that." She explained, and you scoffed in response. The pet-name which once caused a flutter in your stomach now fuelling the fire that's building up. All the insecurities you felt during your relationship suddenly turned to hatred. You should've expected this, you should've expected that after all this time she would've chosen Steve over you.

"I guess you'll never change." You responded flatly, admitting defeat. You silently walked passed her and climbed out of the rubble that was created, allowing a wall to be in between the two of you not knowing you tore a piece of her heart as you did so.

That was two years ago.

You thought you'd never have to see her for a long time. You hoped you wouldn't have to see her. Clearly things never go the way you wanted it to go as you found yourself staring back at the person who once owned your heart.

"Well, you guys look like crap." Rhodey teased, wrapping the fellow avengers in his arms as you stood to the side, awkwardly watching the scene in front of you while fidgeting with your fingers. The atmosphere in the compound was comforting, it's been a long time since you've heard so much laughter in one room despite the war that's brewing.

Natasha, who was now blonde but as gorgeous as ever, hesitantly approached you. The two of you stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the next move.

"Romanoff." You nodded, greeting her before moving away to greet the other Avengers, missing the way she muttered the now bittersweet name she specifically picked you.

"моя любовь..."

Did she really love you? Or was it just for revenge? You believed that love blinded you, you managed to convince yourself that your love wasn't enough for her and that's why she left you. Your relationship with her died. It was over. You thought you buried it all, all your feelings. But you were wrong, when your eyes met her green eyes all those feelings came back to life, flowing through your veins.

After all this time you still loved her.

But your feelings for her weren't the only thing you couldn't bury.

Within an hour of reuniting with the Avengers, the team found themselves on the quinjet travelling to Wakanda. You wouldn't have said this out loud but you had faith that everything would be okay, Nat was finally by your side after all these years.

You felt as though nothing could go wrong.

That was a couple hours ago you estimated, you glance at Wanda who appeared a couple feet away from you the tears were evident on her face.

"Where is he?" Wanda cries out, clenching her fists, you saw the scarlet red energy glowing around her. You knew she must've been talking about Vsision who should've been on the ground next to her. "Wha- why does everything look different?" You realised, noticing the damages caused by the battle has disappeared. The grass was greener as ever. The corpses of the creatures you fought were no longer on the ground.

It looked as though the battle never took place.

You ran over to Wanda, helping her up from the ground when you hear someone call your name out. "That sounds like Sam." Wanda points out as the two of you held each other up.

"Wanda!" Sam called out.

"Come on, we gotta go! They need us! The fights not over yet!" He shouts from a distance, the two of you made your way to the direction you heard his voice come from, you saw all the superheroes surrounding him and a man in a red cloak. "What about Nat? Or Rhodey?" You questioned, looking for them in the crowd. You missed the sympathetic glance the man shot you before waving his hands up in the air, creating a yellow ring in the air that transformed into a portal.

"We're going to fight beside them right now." Sam confirms before flying through the portal.

The compound was completely destroyed. Your home was crumbling apart. Thor looked completely different, Tony had grey hair and Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

You wanted to finally tell her, tell her that you loved her with all of your heart.

You fought beside hundreds of Avengers that day, but you couldn't help searching for one specific Avenger. You ran over to Clint who was on the ground struggling to fight off a bunch of creatures, saving him within moments.

"Thanks kid." He pant, out of breath from all of the fighting. You smiled at him in response, reaching your hand out for him to take which he gratefully took, lifting himself up. "Have you bumped into Nat on the battlefield yet?" You asked, hopeful. There were hundreds of people fighting so you didn't expect to find her easily. The smile on Clint's face fell.

In that moment he relieved everything that happened moments ago. Flying to Vormir with Natasha, climbing the cliff with her, reminiscing about Budapest. And the way he witnessed her body hit the ground, the crack echoing so loudly he managed to hear it more than just once. He glanced down the cliff and saw her lifeless body faced towards his.

His closest friend. The person he trusted with his entire life. The person he named his son after. The Godmother of his kids.

Gone.

Just like that.

"I need to do this for her Clint, she's моя любовь." Nat whispered to him before smiling back at the oldest friend she had, pushing away from the cliff and inevitably falling to her death.

You found out what happened to Natasha, hours after.

The Avengers won, but at the cost of the lives of the people you cared the most about, the person you'd do anything for and the person who owned your heart the minute you met them. Clint broke the news to you, he felt as though you deserved to hear it from him.

"She loved you till the very end." He finished after explaining what happened on Vormir. You felt as though you couldn't breathe, like your soul was crushed and pulled away from you.

Natasha Romanoff was dead and there was nothing you could do about it.

She never got to hear that you felt the same towards her.

"I didn't think the ending to be so soon." You struggled to hold back a sob, holding the letter Clint gave you tightly in your arms. Scott somehow found a letter on the ground while trying to save Clint, it was slightly damp and covered in mud. But it was written for you in Natasha's handwriting.

You couldn't bring yourself to read the letter even nine days after the blip. You had to live in a world without her, a world where people drag her name through the mud even though she is the reason they're still standing. You adjust to a world without Natasha Romanoff and reading a letter she wrote for you months ago wouldn't help.

You regretted everything. You regret spending those last few years in anger, you should've stayed with her, you could've told her how much she meant to you. You could've told her you loved her, you could've held her in your arms once more. You would do anything to have her in your arms once again.

Sometimes it felt as though she was still there, laughing at something she saw on the TV. You always felt her presence around you after she passed away, it felt as though she never died. It felt as though a part of her lives through you.

You sat in the passenger seat of Wanda's car, staring at the Sword logo plastered on the side of the building, you could feel the letter in your back pocket, dying to be read. Wanda made her way back to the car, face flared in anger, tears threatening to spill.

"Wanda?" You called out as she got into the car, turning on the ignition but not pulling out of the car park. She sniffled quietly, wiping her eyes before glancing back to you. "I saw him." She responded, her eyes glancing to the folded paper on the backseat of the car, she could see the faint colour of red that was in the shape of a heart. "But they're not letting him have a funeral." You realised, looking back at your friend, heartbroken. "I figured at least one of them deserved a funeral, it's not fair. It's not fair that the world can just go on like nothing happened and we don't get to mourn the people we lost." Wanda rants, pulling out of the parking lot and beginning to drive.

"They both deserve a funeral." You agreed solemnly, remembering the fact that Natasha's body is at the bottom of a cliff in space in 2014.

"Where are we going now?" You asked, wanting to distract yourself from that thought. You felt as though you and Wanda were left to mourn your loved ones alone as the rest of the avengers scattered across the country.

"To the only thing I have left of him."

The two of you sat in silence as Wanda drove, you stared at the shrubbery outside the window before closing your eyes and resting your head on the window, allowing yourself to drift off.

It felt like it was only seconds later when you felt the car turn harshly, you opened your eyes and glanced around in confusion when you saw that you pulled into a quaint town, you had only just missed the town sign plastered with the words "West View." You watched the pedestrians walking by, noticing how some of them sat on their own with no one to comfort them similarly to you and Wanda.

The two of you pulled up to a plot of land with the foundation of a house on the ground, it looked at though the house never had the chance to get completed.

"Stay in the car, I won't take long." Wanda reassured you before reaching towards the back of the car to grab the folded up sheet of paper and getting out of the car. You nodded, staring at the built house next to the plot of land.

Your mind wanders as you stare at the home. You think about Natasha. You think about the future you could've had with her, living together in a quaint home like the one in front of you. No stress about being an avenger, just the two of you and your family. You softly smile as you imagine Natasha's reaction to wanting to adopt 5 cats, knowing she was more of cat person. You imagine holding her hand while walking down the street and watching movies with her in your shared bed. You wanting to stay in for the day and watch movies to ignore the real world outside and her letting you.

You think about what could've been.

A heart wrenching scream snaps you out of your thoughts, you rush out of the car and look for Wanda but is blinded by a scarlet red light that knocks you unconscious.

Your eyes open on command.

The room you stood in was black and white. It was a nicely decorated living room with a dining room connected to it, you couldn't pinpoint which decade the interior was from, too preoccupied by the woman standing in front of you.

Although the lack of colour in them, you could recognise those eyes from anywhere, that smile that you've wished to see was right in front of you. The dress she wore matched the decade and decor of the room, her hair curled up neatly. Natasha stood in front of you, reaching her hand out towards you waiting for you to take it.

You hesitantly reach out towards her, happiness flooding your emotions. She pulls you closer to her, welcoming you into a hug. The palm of her hands are warm as they rested on your back, you could feel her heartbeat as you laid your head on her chest, melting in her arms.

"Welcome home моя любовь."

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.3; Lantern Rite Part 2

Author’s Note:  Happy Valentine’s Day ;)

........

--Can feel your emotions...emotions cannot be permanently ignored...fall on deaf ears...early grave... Xiao scoffed and downed the rest of his tea before forcefully setting the cup back down onto the table. "You think admitting my alleged feelings for a mortal human would solve the problem?"

"She's done her part, now it is your turn," Zhongli straightened. "If you fail to do so, I fear she will perish from your karmic debt in no time at all. If what you say is true, it's a miracle she's still alive. Your admittance would seal the bond, as it would eliminate the side effects altogether."

Xiao's head whipped in the direction of the playing of an instrument note, but was only greeted with the joyful screams of children running around nearby. "Tch. How annoying," he played his mishearing off and returned to his normal sitting position.  A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again.  "I would only be prolonging her untimely demise.  If we stay together, if she stays by my side, my sins will affect her with or without the bond."

"That is correct."

The archon was never one to sugarcoat things.  "It would be selfish of me to admit to those emotions, selfish to indulge in them--she would die at my hand."

"Yes."

"Then why should I seal the bond, if us getting closer seals her fate?"  The yaksha's voice nearly cracked, but he hid it well with his piercing gaze as he questioned his master.  "Why?"

"How long do you plan on protecting Liyue?"

The random question made the yaksha falter.  "For as long as our contract endures."  What a silly question--it wasn't even for debate.  It was his duty to protect Liyue, to absolve his sins and pay thanks to the archon that redeemed him.  Why would Zhongli bring it up now?

"How much longer can you protect those who reside in Liyue?  How long until the cracks begin to form within you, too?"

'Just as my fallen friends...' Xiao searched his master's eyes for a moment before parting his lips.  "I--"

"I do not know the end of your story, Xiao, but I brought your unruly fate upon you.  When the time comes for you to face the same darkness that's consumed you, you cannot face it alone."

.........................

Zhongli watched the three of you push your way through the crowd to greet him, his eyes narrowing at you in particular.  "I see you have found your other teammates," he nodded approvingly.

"Yeah."  You hadn't stopped scanning the crowd, and didn't so much as look his way despite being prodded by Aether.

"Something's wrong with her," the boy warned Zhongli.  "She's not--"

"Do not concern yourself, traveler.  She will be just fine."

"Huh?"  Paimon grumbled.  "What do you mean by that?  Have you no concern for her?"

"We've convened earlier today.  I will inform you, but first..." His eyes slid back to you, and he raised his voice to catch your attention.  "You wish to see him?"

"Hm?  U-um, yes..."  His piercing gaze saw right through you, and it was an uncomfortable feeling.  "What?"

"I'd advise you to leave the harbor," he nodded to the mountainside that was on the other side of the city gates.  You nodded a quick thanks before running away at full speed.

I'm here, Xiao.  But the yaksha didn't need to hear your impolite prayers to know that you were, when he could hear the distinct conversations of the people you ran past even though he was literal miles away from the harbor.

..............

You felt him before you saw him.  Sitting on the rocky hill that overlooked the guarded entrance of Liyue Harbor, you peered over your shoulder to find the one person you had longed to see all day.  The yaksha stopped in his tracks when you met his eyes.  

"What...are you doing here?"  It was like he was uncertain if he was hallucinating, eyes narrowing cynically as you stood to greet him.  It was clear that he was weary from his day-long battle, but any pure exhaustion was hidden behind his tough façade.  

"Childe brought me back for the Lantern Rite," you caught him snarling when you said the harbinger's name.  "I--"

Your vision was suddenly obscured by his face once he appeared before you at the speed of light.  His hand gingerly traced your cheek, a rare gentleness, a fondness seeping through his cynical eyes.  You hadn't realized how much you had been craving his touch;  your hand kept him from removing his from your cheek.  How long had it been?  Two weeks? It had to have been three by now, but it felt like an eternity from how much you had to deal with Childe or watch people die.

Real, Xiao's lips twitched into an unnoticeable smile, but the light in his eyes was bright as day.  The two of you stood with foreheads pressed together for who knows how long until the yaksha was the one to pull away and regain his neutral composure.  His eyes floated to that of the dark ocean before landing on the small lantern that sat next to your viewing rock.

"They'll be releasing them soon," you say, noticing his gaze.  "I meant to make two, but it turns out its REALLY hard to make them..."

"Mm."  He acknowledged you before sitting on the left side of the rock, silently prompting you to join him.

You did.  "H-hey, is that blood?"  You finally noticed the smear on his right cheek, worry entering your voice.  "Are you okay? Here, let me see--"

"It's not mine."  Xiao leaned away from your hand and wiped the smudge away himself.

Back to pushing me away, you faltered back, wavering eyes refocusing their attention on the black horizon to distract yourself from the hurt that panged in your chest.  You sat on your hands as if to close yourself off from him--to restrain yourself from invading his personal space.

I did it again.  Xiao inwardly cursed himself out for causing the sad look in your eyes.  It's not like he meant to.  He's too used to shutting people out for their safety; he's too accustomed to being alone.  Xiao watched you out of the corner of his eye before finally gathering the courage to speak.  She needs to know.

"I need you to understand," he started, sending you a brief glance before facing the ocean again.  "Yakshas accumulate karma from the eons of slaughter we're tasked with.  It eats away at our souls, corrupts us, or drives us mad.  We become the monsters we're meant to destroy.  Outsiders, companions, anyone who gets too close, will share and suffer that karma.  It is why I order you and Aether to leave, and it is why I keep everyone at a distance."

You watched him continue to carefully sort his thoughts out.  He's never talked so much without your prompting.  

"None of us have had, nor will have, a happy ending.  This is our fate.  And it will be your fate too, if you continue to stay at my side.  The karma I've accumulated will only grow in future years, and you won't be a stranger to it."

Your shoulders dropped.  Is he...Is he going to leave me completely? Is he going to push me away for good?

Xiao heard your worries, and he briefly met your eyes again.  "Could you still love a yaksha, while knowing this information?  While knowing your fate will be sealed, and you won't find peace?"

"Of course."

"This isn't a light decision," Xiao admonished and rotated his body slightly to face you.  "You cannot--"  Do humans not understand danger?

"Xiao."  The determination in your eyes made his next words stick to his throat.  "I've already thought about it long and hard.  I've seen your past.  I've felt some of your pain.  Even if this bond thing doesn't 'seal'--whatever that means--even if I am stuck with hearing those awful voices for the rest of my life, I will never be able to stop my feelings for you.  Even if you don't return my feelings.  I've come to accept all of it."

Could Xiao bring himself to admit his feelings if there was a high chance that fate would set its cruel sights on you?  You could say all this now, but you've only felt the karma for a month.  What happens in a year from now? A decade? A century?  Your life wouldn't be as short as a humans because of his blood...Could he find it in him to confess if you were driven mad and he, ridden with guilt from causing your downfall?  Sealing the bond wouldn't guarantee that the voices would leave you, and it definitely wouldn't make you immune to his karma.  Xiao had thought he had decided on confessing, but now that he saw that raw, naïve determination in your gaze, maybe it was better that he kept it to himself for your safety--

"Do you trust me, Xiao?"  His attention snapped back to you.  "You felt my love for you in Zapolyarny Palace, didn't you?  If you did, then you know my feelings are genuine..."

That's right...your feelings were so warm back then, and the way you had hugged him close...He felt his own version when he had heard your moonsong.  'How long can you continue protecting Liyue? When the time comes for you to face the same darkness that's consumed you, you cannot face it alone.  Zhongli was righ--Archons, forget it.  You had never lied to him, and he doubted you'd ever plan on doing so in the future.  You were still just as stubborn as all those years ago on your deathbed of bloody soil; that aspect of you never changed.  And if you were this stubborn, it wouldn't make sense for him to label your decision as a half-hearted, half-thought out answer.

Xiao examined you carefully for a silent minute, not quite listening to the words that flew out of your mouth.  He didn't know how much longer he could stand tall against the swarms of darkness that swirled in his heart; he liked to think he could do so for another millennia, but that could change with one wrong move, one wrong thought, or one misplacement in willpower.  But maybe as Zhongli said, he could find a new purpose, a new ray of light that could help him continue his duty if the day for evil to overwhelm him ever comes.

The yaksha couldn't quite find a place in the mortal realm, but he was curious on how it worked, how the humans were, what kind of customs they created.  His karma made it impossible to quell that curiosity, and equally as dangerous for mortals.  But he met you, that four year old girl that didn't do anything but provoke his curiosity and longing for kinship further.  And then he really got to know you, all those months ago--what made you tick much like the other humans, the way you smiled, how you had the same sense of humor as him, the aggressive and the kind sides of your personality that clashed together to form this perfect, messy example of how humans worked.

Maybe he found out where to start when it came to you mortals, and that starting line was with you.  You shone at the end of the tunnel, a beacon for safety and dare he call a symbol of peace that he could come home to.  Xiao's eyes never left you as you continued to ramble on.

"--Then, I suppose, I could love you."  The yaksha muttered the words like they tasted sour, but his eyes were soft when they landed on you.

"I--You--Huh?"  You had thought he was trying to pull away from you for good, but this? He was confessing?  Your oblivious mind wouldn't have guessed this would happen...So this is what Zhongli was inferring earlier!

"What?"  Xiao narrowed his eyes and looked away as if he were embarrassed.  "It's not that significant," he pouted.  "Humans are flustered too easily by the smallest matters."  Despite his crimson cheeks and beet-red ears, he found it difficult to fight back a smile when he saw the ridiculous look on your face.

"You..."  Faint lights shone down on your little moment, and you glanced up to find that the lanterns were being released.  "Wow, look!"  You rose to your feet and stared at the distant lanterns before remembering that you had one of your own.  Your gaze dropped to it, and an idea struck you.  "Xiao...would you like to do this one together?"  You picked it up and lit it with the match you had in your pocket.

"I still don't understand why humans discard their trash into the ocean," he muttered before standing as well.  He watched the small flame burn brighter as it sat in your hands.  "What's the point?"

"The lanterns represent our wishes and thanks to the adepti," you explained and gestured for him to take hold of the other side of the lantern.  He reluctantly did so, but curiosity overcame him and he patiently listened to you with a slight childlike wonder in his eyes.  "As for why we chose lanterns, I think it's just because they're pretty."

"Hmph."

"Do you have any wishes for the archons?  We're supposed to write them on the lantern," you pulled a small pen out from your back pocket and uncapped it, offering the other end to him.

"Adepti don't go by your mortal ideals," he scoffed.  

His clear distaste for your question drew a laugh from your lips.  "I figured there was no harm in asking again! Okay.  Even if you don't have a wish, let's release it, yeah? One, two, three..."  The two of you gently pushed the lantern into the air, where it slowly made its journey to join the rest of its companions that now floated all around you.  

"You didn't write your wish," he commented, his brows furrowing in confusion.  How dare you ask him to write a wish, yet you did no such thing.  The hypocrisy of humans!

"Why would I need to if it already came true?"  You gave him a smirk before facing the sky.  "They're so pretty," you marveled, nearly making yourself dizzy from staring straight up.  "Don't you think so?"

"Mm."  He agreed, but he was only looking at you.  It took you a few minutes before you could gather the courage to return his gaze, feeling his stare while you watched the lanterns sparkle like the stars.  Well, it was also when your neck got tired.

You returned your eyes to the yaksha only to find him staring hard at you with an unreadable expression.  "W-what?"

"You're serious about me, even if it ends up killing you?"  He still couldn't understand why...Wouldn't self-preservation be what everyone chooses when put in a perilous situation?  Is this human stupidity, or is there some type of logic behind your trust that he failed to grasp?

You blinked, facing him fully.  "One hundred percent."  I don't need to think twice about my answer, but he's still concerned about me?  "Xiao, do you trust me?"

He didn't answer and instead approached you after a few beats of silence until you almost breathed the same air.  He was visibly struggling with something, but as for what, you had no idea.  He allowed himself to slide a hand through your hair and play with the strands before it settled against the nape of your neck.  He pulled you closer until his lips grazed across your eyelids.  He ignored the shocked gasp that left your parted lips and let his brush across your other eyelid before they settled against the spot between your brows.

He then pulled away, his head resting against your forehead, and for a second you wondered if any of that was real until you managed to snap out of your daze.  "D-did you just...?  Xiao...?"

[mageofseven]

This is part two! Satan and Asmo's parts are below the cut. Enjoy~

Part 1 | Part 3

~

Satan:

MC had a lot of stomach aches with the nausea. Even when she wasn't puking, her days were spent with this twisted feeling in her stomach.

From month three on, it turned into some bad cramping. It made no sense to the couple, but a heating pad and some cuddles usually helped her.

By month five, it was something so much worse. It evolved into episodes of MC hugging her stomach and screaming in pain. The woman was terrified when it first happened, crying as she thought she was losing her baby.

That wasn't what was happening though, evident to her boyfriend as he noticed bruises forming on her stomach during these episodes.

Satan didn't fully understand what was happening, but believed it wasn't what MC thought.

There was nothing he could do but hold her close and try comforting her through the pain. The episode lasted a little less than an hour and most of her stomach was left black and blue with bruises.

The demon mixed some magical ingredients together in order to make a cream to heal most of her bruises. As he rubbed it over her belly, he softly explained how it was going to help her current issue and that he was going to read up on what he can do to prevent another episode. The woman sniffled, but nodded.

None of his books really told him how to prevent such a thing however. Instead, it gave him directions on how to figure out the direct cause of such episodes.

The blonde ends up drawing a rune around her navel, which according to the book, should gather the data needed. After another episode, that is. He didn't want his Kitten to have to go through such an experience again, but it seemed that it was the only option.

For better or worse, the couple didn't have to wait long; MC had another episode later that evening. Once again, he held her close as she screamed and cried in his arms. This time, the rune glowed, signaling that it was collecting data.

After another hour of this, the pain stopped and her belly was riddled with bruises once again.

Satan didn't let go yet; he just continued to hold her close and kiss her face as her cries softened. When she was calmer, he gave one final kiss to her forehead before getting up from the bed and lifting her shirt.

He laid his hand on her belly, right over the rune, and his green eyes glowed as he absorbed the magical energy that transported the knowledge to him.

This... was not the answer he suspected, but somehow the demon felt he should have known.

The baby was fine physically, but emotionally was a different issue.

MC's body wasn't absorbing the dark energy needed for their baby's soul fast enough, causing their child to... well, get angry.

The Avatar of Wrath's baby inherited his anger issues and was essentially punishing their mother for something out of her control.

The blonde scowled. His Kitten had been writhing in pain for two hours today because their child decided to throw a tantrum inside of her?

"Satan?"

The demon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He cannot lose his temper now; not when MC needs him.

"Just a minute."

He let himself focus on his breathing, calming himself before opening his eyes and meeting his girlfriend's.

"I'm sorry, Kitten." He sighed. "It's... the baby seems to be having a hard time at the moment."

The man explains the issue to her and the woman's eyes went wide.

"So it's my fault?" She asked. "I'm not giving our baby the energy it needs fast enough?"

"No, Kitten." Satan sat back down next to her. "This isn't your fault; your body is just on the slow side with the absorption. It just needs time to catch up."

The man's mind went back to the conversation the two of them had months ago, back when they discovered that this pregnancy could be dangerous for her.

MC had said that she wanted to risk it no matter what... but maybe now that she knows what she'll have to endure for now on, maybe she'll change her mind?

"Kitten..." He called out to her slowly, grabbing her hand. "Now that you've experienced this... do you still want to go through with it?"

The woman tensed up.

"... What do you mean?"

"You don't have to have this baby. If it's too much for you, we can--"

"No." MC pushed away from him and sat with her back pressed to the window.

He watched her for a moment before sighing.

"I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again."

The two sat in silence for a while. Neither moved, neither spoke. Finally, MC did.

"Do you... not want our baby?"

She finally asked the question that had taken up space in her brain for months. All of this time, Satan had been sweet to her and taken care of her well... but never did he express any attachment to their child.

Whenever she spoke about them before that day, Satan would always stop what he was doing and speak in a careful, neutral tone. It got the point that she was afraid to even speak about the baby to him at all.

The demon pursed his lips. The truth... was that he didn't think he did. His interactions with children have been limited and what he did never inspired any paternal instincts in him.

However, he couldn't tell MC this, not when this child was obviously so important to her.

"I want to do what makes you happy." He said carefully. "And... I'm rather unsure about how I'll be as a father, but I'm willing to try for you."

Another moment of silence hung in the air.

"A...Are you scared?" She asked softly.

"I... don't know." He answered truthfully.

In all honesty, emotions were a difficult thing for the Avatar of Wrath to understand. Maybe it was because of how he was born, but labeling and identifying his emotions was quite a chore for him.

Anger, he understood well, and because of MC, happiness wasn't such a foreign feeling to him either, but everything else was... quite challenging to understand within him.

MC crawled over to his side of the bed. Satan didn't hesitate to pull her onto his lap. The two sat there, tightly embracing one another.

"It'll gonna be okay." The woman whispered. "We can make it through this; the three of us will be happy."

Oh Kitten. Here she was, comforting him when things looked so dark for herself. He pulled back just enough to give her a sweet kiss.

From there after, Satan looked up what he could do to help his Kitten with her episodes. They really didn't have a lot of options. Most potions that his books recommended weren't entirely human-safe and he wasn't about to make such a gamble with her.

There was one thing they could try though. The man raised an eyebrow when he read it.

"What is it?"

The blonde looked up at his girlfriend.

"The book suggests that I could... talk to our child."

The woman blushed.

"So... you'd be talking to my belly during those episodes?"

He sighed.

"It appears so."

He was a bit awkward with it, but he tried it during her next episode. And it actually worked.

What lasted about an hour for both sessions before this only lasted a little less than ten minutes.

The man was quite surprised, but still comforted his Kitten before putting his hand on the rune.

It... his child felt a sense of peace and comfort at his voice. It was hard to understand fully what his child was feeling, but it seemed as if under all their anger was another core emotion: fear.

Their child was scared and felt comforted by his voice.

Something in him shifted at this news. He... wanted to protect his child from the fear in their heart.

And so, his stance on this pregnancy had changed dramatically. Everything he did was for his girlfriend and their child.

The couple had cute moments where Satan would gently lay his ear on her belly and listen to the baby's little movements.

He'd talk to them even outside of the episodes, telling them that they were safe and loved, causing the episodes to happen less often

And when one would spring up, he was no longer all that awkward with soothing his child, except during the first time he had to do it around his brothers (it happened at dinner time and scared his brothers half to death to see MC in pain, but later they teased him, saying they didn't know he could speak so tenderly).

Satan didn't know if he could be a good father... but acknowledged that now was the time to try.

Good End:

The remaining months were mostly uneventful for the couple. MC was a bit overdue so her body could catch up on the spiritual energy absorption, but only by about two weeks. She was sore and uncomfortable, but still in positive spirits. Satan was as well, but it would be a lie to say there wasn't some anxiety mixed in there. When his girlfriend finally went into labor, he was very calm and dependable.

About seven hours later, MC was holding their daughter. She had her Daddy's blonde hair and Mama's eyes, even the beginning of a pair of horns, just like Satan's. The man was lost in the preciousness of his daughter. When asked if he wanted to hold her however, he declined. He... didn't want to risk hurting her.

"It's okay." MC cajoled. "I know you're a lot more gentle than you think. Plus, this is how you two bond."

The demon pursed his lips, but nodded. He carefully took his daughter from MC and held her close.

"Hello, Amelie." He used her name. "It's okay now; you're safe."

Bad End:

The labor took too much out of MC. Their baby's head was stuck inside of her and upon further inspection, they found out she was being cut on the inside by their child's horns. She was losing too much blood.

"Satan... get them out... please." After hours of screaming in pain, his girlfriend's voice was hoarse. "Save them..."

The woman's head fell to the side and the man started panicking. He called out to her as he checked if she was breathing. But she wasn't. Her last breath was used to beg him for their child's life.

Tears fell from the man's eyes, but he only gave himself a moment of this before wiping his tears on his sleeve and heading back down below. Knowing that he didn't have to worry about causing her pain anymore, he reached in and carefully pulled out the baby. Her insides were getting cut up more, but it no longer mattered.

He collapsed on the floor with his daughter now in his arms. As the two cried together, the demon didn't realised at first that he transformed, but suddenly felt the need to wail from the very core of his being. And he did. And he preceded trash his room. Knocking over book piles, snapping the wooden bookshelves, even break his window.

He was stopped by Lucifer. He didn't even realize when the older demon came in, but there he stood with a hand on his shoulder. And that's when he heard it. His daughter's panicked sobs from within his arms.

He had frightened her. His daughter was just born and the first thing he did was scare her. After all those moments he spoke to her while she was inside her mother, after telling her over and over again that he would keep her safe, he was the very first danger she perceived in this world.

The fourth brother collapsed into Lucifer's arms, surprising the older demon. He still held the blonde tightly though and let him cry.

Two years passed. Not a single day went by when Satan didn't think of MC. Every milestone their daughter hit, the man couldn't help thinking of MC and how she should be there to see it.

One day while Satan was in the library, he heard commotion coming from out in the living room. He had left Amelie in Asmo's care so he could have some reading time by himself, but somehow it escalated into something.

He rushed to find the one of the stands broken at their legs and the china cabinet's glass shattered. And Lucifer restraining an angry Amelie. One look at the scene told him everything he needed to know. This was her first destructive tantrum. Asmo couldn't handle it so he roped in Lucifer, who was restraining his daughter in the exact same way that he used to restrain Satan when he was a child. And that set the man off.

Satan remembered being in the exact position as his daughter and knew how frightening it was to have a big man screaming in your face while restraining you. The blonde transformed and launched himself at his older brother. Hand against Lucifer's throat, but more in warning than in attack, then said

"Not. My. Daughter."

The blonde looked straight into the older man's eyes as he said it. He let his words set in for a minute before letting go and scooping up his sobbing daughter from the floor. He carried Amelie off to her room, the very room that was once her mother's.

The Avatar of Wrath learned the true meaning of his title, thanks to his daughter. Years ago when MC carried her, Satan learned that underneath all of her anger was pain and fear. Through this, he learned the same for himself. Satan was created by the anger Lucifer felt at his Father's decisions and his sister leaving his life the way she did. He was so overwhelmed by it all though he never looked close enough to see the real emotions that he was feeling. Pain and fear. The first brother just wanted to get rid of it all now. Because of that, Satan never knew before what his anger really was. But now he does and that was what his daughter taught him.

"Shh, it's okay, Kitten." He soothed his daughter, using the same nickname that he used to give her mother. "Daddy's here. No one's going to hurt you."

Asmodeus:

Starting during the beginning of her second trimester, MC was... difficult to be around

It seemed as if every little thing the Avatar of Lust said just set her off, either with anger or tears or both.

Wanting to avoid conflict and the stress of such interactions, the man started to avoid her

Eventually his brothers started guilt tripping him for it though because without Asmo, the human was a lonely mess and it was hard for them to watch.

Why should he be around her though if he always seemed to upset her?

This lasted a couple weeks.

He couldn't stand being around his brothers anymore either so he left the house as often as possible.

One night, he came back late from a party. He headed to his room and found that MC was still awake, crying in bed at 2am.

"Doll?"

He heard a few sniffles, but otherwise received no answer.

Hearing her cry broke his heart; that was part of why he had been avoiding her.

In this moment though... he realized that he couldn't keep doing this. He promised that he would take care of his Dolly... but look at what he's been doing.

The man got in bed and pulled his girlfriend to his chest.

"Y-You don't love me." She said in a shaky voice.

"Doll, you know that's not true--"

"Then why do you abandon me?"

The woman cried into his chest. His heart ached at the sound as he rubbed her back.

"I don't know how to help." He admitted. "And... it makes me so sad to know that I can't help my Dolly."

The fifth brother starts giving her little kisses, starting from her neck and working up to her jaw till his lips were at her ear.

"You know I would kiss away your pain if I could." He whispered.

"I know."

The woman pulled back and laid a hand on his cheek.

"For now... just don't leave me. Please."

And so he didn't. As difficult as it was, the demon stayed by her side. Even when she burst into tears. Even when she'd snap at him over minor things or things that was not his fault to begin with, he stuck by her. MC tried her best to remind him how much she appreciated that.

It was the start of her fifth month when things started to get more complicated.

The two were in their room. Asmo was giving his Doll a back massage, trying to get her to relax after a day of feeling sore and tense.

"Moooommmy."

The woman jumped. Her boyfriend frowned.

"Are you hurting there, Doll?" He asked, wondering that last spot her rubbed was too sore for her.

"Didn't you hear that?" She asked, staring towards the door where she heard the voice.

Asmo continued to rub her back, focusing more near her shoulders now.

"No, but it was probably just one of my brothers." He stopped to lay a kiss on her shoulder. "Don't be so jumpy; you're fine, Honey."

The woman didn't say a thing, just tried to forget the voice that she swore she heard. But she couldn't.

Later that night, the woman was having trouble sleeping. It seemed like all her baby did was stretch and kick inside of her, waking her up if she so much as dozed off for a second.

"Mooommmy."

She heard the voice again, but this time it was accompanied by a knock on her door. MC froze. Another knock. She looked over to her sleeping boyfriend before slowly leaving his arms and their bed as she approached the door.

She slowly opened it before finding a boy in the hallway. He had four little black wings and two horns just like Asmo's, but eyes that were eerily similar to MC's.

"Mommy, I can't sleep... let's go play!"

And with that, the boy started running down the hallway.

"W-Wait!"

The woman chased after the child and had to do a hard turn for the stairs, causing her to lose her balance and trip.

Luckily, Satan was right there to catch her.

Before the man even spoke, MC started telling him about the child running around House of Lamentation.

Satan raised his eyebrows at her.

"MC... there is no child in House of Lamentation." He told her. "And if he was running down the stairs, I would have seen him pass me."

MC just stared at him. How could he not have seen the boy? He--

"Mommy, are you okay?" The little boy asked her, standing right next to her and Satan now.

The woman pointed down at the child, eyes wide.

"He's right there! Satan, please tell me you see him."

The blonde looked down at where the human pointed, but merely saw the wall next to them.

"...MC, I think you need some sleep."

The woman gripped his arm.

"Satan. Please. He's right there." The woman pleaded. "He has Asmo's wings and horns and he... calls me Mommy. Please believe me."

The demon's eyes widened.

"In that case... please come to my room."

The fourth brother led her down the hall. Just as he opened his door, Asmo called down to her.

"Doll! Now what are you doing awake?" He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her. "Is your anxiety acting up again?"

"Asmo, you come inside as well." Satan spoke up before MC could.

"Eh? Why?" The Avatar of Lust raised an eyebrow, but still followed him into the room.

Satan never answered, just had MC sit down on his bed as he searched through various stacks of books. Asmo sat next to his girlfriend.

"Hey, I don't know what the issue is, but you'll be okay." He told his girlfriend before laying his hand on her belly. The baby kicked underneath his hand and the man smiled. "See? Our baby thinks so too~"

"I like it when Daddy pays attention to me."

Suddenly the little boy was in front of them, smiling.

In that moment, it truly became undeniable who he was.

MC started crying as she stared at the boy.

"Doll?" Asmo laid a hand on her cheek. "Honey, please look at me; its okay."

The little boy stepped back as Satan approached with the correct book, opened to the page he needed.

"Okay, now I need you to lift up your shirt." He told her.

"Aww, Satan!" His brother grinned. "I know MC is beautiful but--"

"I just need to draw a rune on her stomach, Asmo." The blonde sighed, too tired to deal with him.

"Just... please wait a minute, okay?" MC told her boyfriend before lifting her shirt.

Satan drew a rune around her navel. Upon completion, it glowed. The blonde raised an eyebrow at that before laying his hand over the rune.

His eyes glowed. The room was quiet for a full minute before he lifted his hand.

"Well, I now know you weren't wrong before." The blonde admitted. "You really were seeing a child. Your own, in fact."

"Huh??" The fifth brother looked to his girlfriend. "What did I miss?"

The little boy poked around the blonde demon to look at her.

"Azzy..." The woman kept her eyes on the child, but still spoke to her boyfriend. "I see our son. Right in front of me."

MC explained what happened while he was asleep. Her boyfriend gave a huge grin.

"Oh my devil, you can see him?? You're so lucky!"

At that the woman smiled back. It was all a bit unnerving, but... yeah, she was.

Tears started falling from her eyes, but they were happy tears.

Asmo leaned in and kissed each one away.

"What does he look like? Tell me, Doll." He asked sweetly.

"He... he has your wavy hair, but it's my color." She sniffled. "He has my eyes too, but also your wings and horns... he's beautiful."

Her son smiled at her as she said that. She reached out to touch him, but was stopped by Satan.

"He's not really there, MC." Satan spoke up. "You're child is merely using a vision of himself that you built in your head to project himself in front of you."

She lowered her hand.

"But... why?"

Satan sighed.

"I'm afraid his motivations are out of my realm of knowledge. However, this is one of the more dangerous symptoms for demonic pregnancies that you could get."

"Wait... how?"

"MC, you almost fell down the stairs." He reminded her. "Your connection and worry for your child almost led you to getting hurt. This child has yet to actually experience this world and doesn't realize all the ways it can lead you to hurt yourself or even to your death."

"I wouldn't hurt Mommy!" Her son came closer to hug her leg and the woman swore that she could feel it.

"He wouldn't hurt me." MC spoke up for her son.

"Maybe not purposefully," The blonde explained. "But it's too ignorant about it's surroundings. You need to focus on where you're going and what you are doing more to make up for it."

The forth brother looked to Asmo.

"You need to watch out for her. The last thing we need is this child leading her into some lake to drown or something like that."

The fifth brother was quiet.

"Azzy?" MC called out to him.

Asmo plastered on a smile.

"Right, right, sorry."

The fifth brother was worried, but kept a close eye on MC during the following months. There were a few close calls. That day they went out shopping and MC found herself following their son to a harsher part of the Devildom. The time he caught her trying to climb out the window because she saw their son on the roof. The time she chased their son out to the forest behind House of Lamentation and almost got attacked by some of the dark wildlife. And many more events

It all scared the man. He cried more than a handful of times because he just barely made it in time to save her. At the same time, he wasn't mad at her though; he knew that she was compelled so strongly to follow their son when he showed up. The woman simply couldn't help it.

By the end of her pregnancy, Asmo was more stressed than he has ever been. His skin even broke out from all of the stress he felt and the man acted like it was the death of him.

Good End:

The day MC told him that her water broke, this man was relieved.

"Like, finally! Get out here before I start losing my hair too!" He joked. Or well, half-joked.

His girlfriend laughed at his words, before another pain hit her. Asmo gave her his hand to squeezed. During the whole labor, he gave her little kisses on her face and all the positive affirmations she needed; always telling her how well she doing and how close their son was to being in the world thanks to her.

Five hours later, crying filled the room as their son was finally pushed out into the world. Just as MC had originally saw, the baby had her hair and eye color, but his dad's wings and horns.

Asmo stared at this beautiful woman of his, holding his equally beautiful child, and the man couldn't help but cry. He remembered all those months ago, back when they found out she was pregnant, how thrilled he was for this baby... and how his heart sank later on when he found out the pregnancy might be dangerous for her.

"Doll... do you really have to do this?" He smiled at her, but it was filled with just as much anxiety as he felt. "We don't have to risk it; we can still be happy without any children."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this right now. What happened to the man from hours ago that was so happy for our baby that he was near tears?"

Asmo reached out to her, but she shook him off.

"Azzy... I need this baby. Please accept that."

Now, all he could think was the fact that this moment was only a reality because of her. Because MC decided to fight for this, fight for their son, even when Asmo himself was too afraid to.

"Azzy? Hey..." MC adjusted her hold on their son before reaching out and wiping a tear from his cheek. "It's okay. Everything worked out."

Asmo smiled before leaning in to give her a sweet kiss then give a gentle one to the top of their son's head.

"I know. And it's all because of you, Doll." He said sweetly. "Thank you for fighting for him even when I was too scared to. He's beautiful. Just as beautiful as you said."

The two end up naming their son Liam.

Bad End:

"You're not listening to me!" MC screamed at her boyfriend.

"Oh honey, it's hard not to listen when you're fucking yelling."

The woman pushed past him and ran out of the room, crying. Asmo leaned against the wall and gave a deep groan. Even after all this time, he really wasn't good at handling these moments. He knew it wasn't his girlfriend's fault that she was so moody. Pregnancy in general tends to make women a bit hormonal, but she had it so much harder because it was his kid she was pregnant with. Satan once told him it was a side effect related to him or rather, with Lust Demons in general. He and his kind could be very dramatic and he knew it, but never did he truly see it as a bad thing until now.

The demon knew he had to be more patient with his Dolly. I mean, it wasn't her fault she was so moody all of the time; it was his. That fact didn't make it any easier to deal with though. The man stood there, debating how long he should wait before going after her. On one hand, he really felt that she needed to cool down. On the other, he knew he had to keep an eye on her in case their son takes her somewhere he shouldn't.

The man decided to give her another couple minutes, for both her nerves and his own. After about five minutes, he sighed and went upstairs to their bedroom to check on her.

"Doll?" He said through the door. "Dolly, I'm sorry. Can we talk please?"

No answer. Asmo opened the door to discover their room to be empty. His eyes widened. She always goes to their room after a fight. So where is she? The man started checking everywhere in the house and I mean everywhere. When she never turned up, he tried calling her phone. No answer. Freaking out, the demon called Lucifer, who answered on the 11th ring because he was in a meeting with Diavolo. When the first brother heard his brother's plight however, his annoyance shifted to worry. Lucifer excused himself from the meeting and rushed home.

The Avatar of Pride ended up using tracking magic to locate MC. They found her out in the forest behind House of Lamentation. At least... what was left of her. The poor woman was attacked by a Chiropteran, a giant, almost orcish like creature with bat wings. Their baby didn't survive either.

Asmo grabbed a hold of her body and sobbed heavily. She's gone... MC was gone, their baby was gone... all because he lost his patience with her. It was his fault. He lost the woman who tried to give him everything, even a child despite the dangers to herself, because he couldn't handle her being just a bit moody.

The Avatar of Lust spent weeks in his room, shutting himself away more than even Levi. Then one day, he came out and acted as if none of it happened. He refused to talk about MC or their son or even acknowledge that ever existed. He started going to parties again and sleeping with succubi and living life with his old "Me Me Me" mentality again, like before he and MC dated. And he never got close to anyone ever again. Because that was what he thought was safest for himself and others. After all, the one time he tried to take care of someone that wasn't himself, they died and now he cannot even bring himself to say their name.

~

Part 1 | Part 3

[leejungchans]

— first meetings.

juliet’s masterlist

note: obviously i don’t know what exactly happened that day at mama/award shows in general, so this is mainly based on my own imagination!!

words in bold are spoken in english!!

set on december 5, 2019

summary: juliet catches the eye of a certain someone at mama 2019, and got to meet him all thanks to one jung wooyoung.

a/n: 👀

“That ended way too soon,” Juliet sighs contentedly to Jongho, leaning into his shoulder. Though being exhausted physically from the long day and their performances, her heart has never felt this full.

If you told her a few years ago that she’d be invited to attend MAMA she’d surely laugh in disbelief, but here they are—having performed and received a award in front of one of the largest crowds she’s ever seen with eight of the most important people in her life.

If this is all a dream, Juliet never wants to wake up.

Jongho rests his head on hers. “Yeah,” he says softly, “it feels like... we really made it.”

“You didn’t feel that when we were on tour?” she teases.

“Of course I did, but you know what I mean.” Juliet nods against the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe we’d ever in be the same room as that many big names in the industry, you know?”

She hums. “We’ve come a long way.”

Despite the tender moment between the two youngest members, it’s chaos all around them as their staff hastily packs everything—props, makeup, accessories, costumes, the works—back into suitcases and boxes as they prepare to leave the venue.

“Where are you going?” Jongho asks when Juliet shifts to get up.

“Washroom,” she answers, and he nods before shooing her away jokingly.

Laughing, she slips out of ATEEZ’s waiting room and into the hallway. In her hoodie and matching sweatpants under a long coat, Juliet would’ve blended in with the staff members rushing around to wrap everything up if it weren’t for her styled hair and glittery makeup, both of which she decided to keep on until they get back to the dorms. Just to prolong the magical feeling from tonight.

Just as she’s about to go into the washroom, she hears someone—definitely Wooyoung—shout her name from behind.

“Found you!” Wooyoung, dressed as casually as she is, says gleefully as he pulls her in the opposite direction. “Thank me later, okay?”

“For what? For abducting me outside the women’s restroom?”

Wooyoung snorts. “There’s a good reason—”

“I don’t think there’s ever a good enough justification for stopping someone from going to the toilet! Besides, our managers said we have to leave soon!”

“Yes, there is! Because I’m taking you to meet your favourite seniors!”

Juliet stops in the middle of the crowded hallway. “Wait, who?” she asks suspiciously with narrowed eyes.

Wooyoung’s eyes practically shine when he answers, “SEVENTEEN-sunbaenim!”

“Huh? Why would they want to—Yow! If you keep pulling that hard my arm’s gonna fall off!” she whines as he continues to tug her down the corridor. “How do you even know them?”

“I ran into Seungkwan-sunbaenim in the washroom, and he complimented our performance before saying he’d love to meet more of our members!” Wooyoung explains, oblivious to the way Juliet’s eyes widen. “I was gonna go to our waiting room to grab all of you, but then I realised we probably have to leave soon and was about to turn back when I saw you! This is it!” he finishes excitedly, stopping in front of a door with a label saying ‘SEVENTEEN’ attached to it.

He’s about to knock on the door when her hand shoots up to catch his fist. “Wait! I can’t go in there!” she suddenly protests. “It’s going to be so awkward.”

Wooyoung frowns confusedly. “Huh? Why? We’re just gonna introduce ourselves and stay for a few minut—oh. Oh. Are you still embarrassed by what happened during the show?” he teases, giggling at the way her gaze averts. “Aigoo, it’s going to be okay! I promise you it wasn’t a big deal.”

“She’s amazing,” Juliet leans closer to Wooyoung to murmur dreamily as they watch Chungha’s performance, eyes not leaving the small screen placed in front of their seats. “Everything about this is incredible.”

“I know,” Wooyoung agrees, equally as starstruck. “Also, did you notice we’re sitting in front of SEVENTEEN-sunbaenim?” he asks in a much quieter voice. “Don’t look, though! Act natural.”

“I wasn’t even gonna look!” she complains before whispering, “but yeah, I wanted to tell you but then the show started and I didn’t want them to hear me.”

“You don’t think they can hear us now, right?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure the music and crowd are too loud for that.”

Wooyoung hums in acknowledgement before they continue to pay full attention to the performance, Juliet mouthing along to the lyrics and subtly doing the key points of the dance.

She gasps quietly when the dance break starts, fully entranced by Chungha’s performance and decides she wants a better view of the choreography, so she cranes her head to find one of the big screens located all around the dome.

The moment she turns to look behind her for said screens, her eyes meet those of SEVENTEEN’s maknae. If she weren’t so startled, she would’ve found the situation more amusing from the way both of their eyes widened before quickly looking away, and she feels the embarrassment burn hot within her as she decides to stick to watching the smaller screen in front of her instead.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks as Chungha’s performance ends, noticing how Juliet had stiffened up, a stark contrast to her relaxed form from when they were enjoying the other performances.

“Come closer,” she mutters, gesturing with her hand for him to lean in before whispering, “I was trying to watch the big screen just now and accidentally made eye contact with Dino-sunbaenim for a few seconds.”

Wooyoung snorts. “I swear, these things only happen to you, dummy. What happened after that?”

“I turned the frick back around, of course!” Juliet whispers back furiously. “It was so embarrassing.”

“If someone caught that on camera and puts it on YouTube or Twitter or whatever, I’m never letting you live that down.”

Juliet groans and buries her head in her hands, ignoring Wooyoung’s giggles and San’s curious whine of “What? What were you guys talking about?”

The sound of firm knocking snaps Juliet out of her thoughts.

“Jesus, Wooyoungie, you’re going to wake the dead knocking like that,” she mutters in a pitiful attempt to distract herself from the pounding in her chest. Truly, she doesn’t know how Wooyoung handles meeting new people with so much ease. She could never.

“It’s them! I got it!” A voice says from inside the room, one that unmistakably belongs to Seungkwan, calls out. There’s a few seconds of hurried footsteps before the door is thrown open, revealing the beaming main vocalist of SEVENTEEN.

“Hello,” Wooyoung and Juliet say in unison, bowing to their senior.

“Oh, there’s no need for that!” Seungkwan says kindly, inviting them into the room. Juliet sticks close to her member as various staff members crane their necks to observe the newcomers, hoping that hiding behind Wooyoung will make her less visible to everyone. Thankfully, the staff quickly turns back to their work, paying them no further attention as the trio move further into the waiting room.

Juliet feels like her ears are on fire, barely registering Wooyoung explain to Seungkwan that he didn’t have time to bring the others. Then she realises who Seungkwan is leading them to, and her heart drops.

Is it too late to run away?

Apparently not, as Wooyoung seems to have noticed her slowing footsteps and proceeds to gently pull her along by the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. She wonders where the nearest hole to bury herself in is when Seungkwan calls out to two of his members, and she’s sure her cheeks are bright red when Vernon and Chan look up at the approaching trio.

“Look who I brought,” Seungkwan sings as the two ATEEZ members murmur greetings before introducing themselves.

Juliet thinks she’s about to pass out when Chan gets up and offers his seat to her. “No, no, you don’t have to,” she says shyly, frantically waving her hands, “we won’t be staying long anyways.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “there are spare chairs right there.”

She feels a small nudge on her other side, turning her head in that direction to find Wooyoung wriggling his brows at her. Utterly mortified, she looks away from her member to thank Chan profusely instead, before hesitantly sitting in the chair he was occupying just a minute ago.

Is it just her, or is the room getting unbearably hot? Taking a deep breath, she removes her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair while Chan drags over two more chairs for him and Wooyoung.

“Are you okay?” Vernon asks worriedly from beside her, noting her red cheeks and ears. “I can turn down the heat, if you want.”

“Oh, no. I’m good, thank you,” Juliet replies sheepishly, wringing her fingers together nervously. “I just turn red really easily when embarrassed... because... this is... kinda awkward.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “We don’t bite,” he assures, “congratulations on your award, by the way.”

“Thank you, you too. We loved your performance,” she says genuinely. “We were all jamming out back there.”

“Ah, I wish we were there to see yours. We were preparing for ours during it so I only caught snippets of it. You were also the one giving the speech in English earlier, right?”

“Yeah, I’m from Australia so I usually take care of the English speeches.”

“Explains the accent.”

“I get that a lot,” Juliet says wryly, eliciting chuckles from the both of them.

“Yah, are you two excluding us because we can’t speak English?”

“Yeah!” Wooyoung chimes in in support of Seungkwan, “what were you two talking about?”

Juliet cocks a brow at him. “Are you sure you want to know?”

To her delight, Vernon plays along. “What if we tell you that we’ve been gossiping about you three the entire time?”

“What’s this about gossip I hear?” Jeonghan cheekily butts in, appearing in the space between Juliet and Wooyoung. She squeaks from surprise, and looks up to find him already grinning down at her. “Hi.”

“H-hello, Jeonghan-sunbaenim.”

Seungkwan bats him away. “Hyung! You’re scaring the poor girl. Also, this zone is for maknaes only, shoo shoo!”

Juliet smiles, the scene in front of her reminding her of ATEEZ’s sibling-like dynamic. Jeonghan’s presence lessens the awkward energy even more, and soon she can feel the tenseness dissipate from her body, starting to genuinely relax as she engages with the others. Sadly, their animated conversation only lasts for a couple more minutes when Wooyoung gets a message from Jongho asking for his whereabouts and if he’s seen Juliet.

“Oops, I think they’re looking for us,” he tells her, sounding completely unapologetic (though she can’t really blame him this time). “We should probably go.”

Juliet agrees, watching in amusement when Seungkwan asks for Wooyoung’s number because this is probably the most starstruck she’s ever seen Wooyoung look.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He rejoices on the way back to their dressing room. “I got Seungkwannie-hyung’s number, and you got to meet the others! You had fun!”

“Okay, I’ll admit that it was pretty f—”

Juliet suddenly stops cold, cutting herself off with a loud gasp as her hands fly up to cover her mouth from shock.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen in alarm as his head whips around frantically. “What? What’s wrong? What did you see?”

“I... I think I left my coat in their room. I put it on the back of the chair and... forgot to take it when we left.”

He blinks at her owlishly while her words sink in. Then he starts cackling.

“Stop! This isn’t funny!” Juliet wails. “What do I do?”

“What do you mean? Go back and grab it, of course!”

“Can’t you do it for me?” she pleads, giving him her best puppy eyes.

Wooyoung scoffs. “No way. That’d be rude. I’ll wait for you here while you go get it.”

“You’re actually the worst,” she groans, though they both know she doesn’t mean it.

He pats her on the back. “You’ll thank me sometime in the future.”

Juliet frowns at his cryptic tone before heading back to SEVENTEEN’s room with an exaggerated sigh that she made sure Wooyoung heard. The humiliation is already starting to build in her gut, creating a churning feeling in her stomach. Talk about leaving a questionable impression, she thinks dejectedly. Must she always be so forgetful?

“Juliet-ssi?”

Something within her crumbles like a tower built from toothpicks when she glances up to find herself face-to-face with none other than Lee Chan.

“I—um... you left your coat,” he says quickly, not quite meeting her eyes as he hands her the garment.

Juliet accepts it hurriedly with a bow, hugging the coat to her chest tightly for some semblance of comfort. From what, she doesn’t know. Probably the sheer embarrassment. “Thank you, I was... on my way to go get it.”

“Right, I... I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah... okay... thank you again.”

The two of them exchange one final nod before turning away and speed-walking in opposite directions.

She’s definitely changing her name and moving to Mars. Juliet Baek? Never heard of her.

“What did they say?” Wooyoung asks curiously when Juliet approaches him. His bewilderment increases tenfold when the girl strides right past him with rushed steps instead of stopping.

He jogs to catch up with her, raising a hand to poke at her cheek. “Aw, why are you blushing again? What happened?” he presses on with a coo, obviously teasing the maknae.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just never gonna show my face in this industry ever again.”

a/n: on today’s episode of the boys not letting juliet breathe 💀💀💀💀 bro if this happened to me i’d google map the nearest cliff to fling myself off of 😭 10k awkward-acquaintances-to-lovers slowburn let’s go 😼😼 please leave feedback and chat with me!! as always thank you for reading and take care 💕

[monikafilefan]

Love your writing so much! Can you write a New Year’s fic set in season 6 where they actually kiss? No Fowley angst if you can? Thank you

Thanks so much. This turned out longer than I hoped so I’m a little late, but I hope you enjoy. Takes place just before Tithonus.

——

10:02 PM: Mulder swallows another mouthful of Shiner Bock, letting the alcohol warm him from the inside out. He sets the beer bottle next to the other empty ones with a clink and the beat of the music vibrates along the golden table cloth beneath him. Laughter and muffled conversations of fellow agents fill the silence of isolation he’s purposely surrounded himself in.

He doesn’t want to be here. Not at this New Years Eve bureau mandated banquet, sticking out like a black sheep among the herd of Kersh-loving ass-kissers, and certainly not forced to appease the Deputy Director in the name of another successful year of wielding justice. He sure as hell doesn’t want to celebrate the loss of his life’s work to his ex-wife and Kersh’s errand boy he’s currently hiding in a dark corner from. Wielding justice…

What a crock of shit.

But Scully is here, and the loss of his near constant contact with her is something he will never celebrate acknowledgement of. Not ever. He feels their absence on the files like a missing puzzle piece, teasing him with its existence lingering just out of his reach. Yet as he stares longingly at her across the room in her black satin dress, drinking wine as red as her lips, and smiling with their peers from the bullpen, Mulder can’t help but smile in return.

10:38 PM: Scully turns his way and scans the room, her big blue eyes flickering from person to person. She’s searching for him, he thinks. He knows. He’d told her hours earlier he decided to forgo following rules forcing him to be social. And still she looks for him, hopeful, unable to accept he can truly leave her partnerless for even one night. She’s right. As he sips at another Shiner, Mulder knows the heat of the beer isn’t the only thing warming his chest tonight.

A slow song begins to play as the lights dim. His pulse quickens at the thought of asking her to dance. Of holding her petite body close to his. Of kissing her at the stroke of midnight. He stands, unable to resist the pull of her proximity a moment longer, when another man swoops into his eye-line and offers Scully his hand.

Mulder’s fists clench as an agent from the lab arrogantly claims her bare back with his meaty hand, sloppily twirling her around the dance floor. Her surprised laughter is as loud as it is fake, but she doesn’t pull away. She accepts his hand with a tight-lipped smile and promptly stares at her three inch stilettos instead of at the man attempting to woo her.

Mulder does the same while his nostrils flare with every indignant breath.

Turning away, he picks at the yellow label on the bottle until only the brown glass reflecting his scowl is showing.

10:55 PM: He hears Scully laugh again. Then again and again. He doesn’t know what she’s chuckling about or who with, but it doesn’t matter when she’s enjoying her last remaining hours of 1998. She’s having fun drinking and dancing, he tells himself. She deserves this. He wants her to be happy, always. He just refuses to watch someone else make her that way.

This time, when a high-pitched, unScully-like laughter slices through the sound of his heart thudding against his eardrums, his gut clenches along with his fists.

11:02 PM: One hour and four - no five - beers later, Mulder is ready to leave. To flee, more like it, when a thick hand slaps at his back.

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner’s voice booms over the music. “Glad to see you decided to show up.”

He scoffs, “I was summoned.”

Skinner glances at him, his heavy hand squeezing the meat of Mulder’s shoulder; hard. “You mean she asked or you wouldn’t be here,” he corrects, nodding towards Scully draining yet another glass of wine. “She wants you here, Mulder. I suggest you remember that.”

11:32 PM: Mulder does remember that. In fact, that’s all he’s been thinking about for the past half hour when he lost sight of Scully within the crowd. After dodging both Diana and Spender, three agents requesting a dance, and one persistent secretary’s offer for much more than that, Mulder halts his search for his partner and ducks into the restroom to break the seal.

He glances at his cell phone. No service. Goddammit.

The entire time he’s been looking for Scully, the sickening thought of her having left with someone else has weighed heavily in the back of his mind. He should’ve taken Frohike up on his offer of Mexican and movies and saved himself the heartache.

11:44 PM: “Yes, I do know I’m leaving before the ball drops, and no, I don’t have a date I’m waiting for,” Mulder repeats to Agent Matthews at the coat check.

“You want one?” he asks, smirking. “Because I’m outta here in ten.”

“Oh uh,” Mulder can’t help but smile. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass.”

“I knew it. But hey, a guy can dream.” The man shrugs and hands Mulder his jacket. “Agent Scully is one lucky woman.”

“You’ve seen her?” Mulder questions, ready to interrogate the poor guy. “Did she leave?”

“Maybe,” Matthews says, chuckling at Mulder’s unabashed desperation. “But I’ve seen her walk by looking for someone special a couple times earlier, though. I guess that someone was you.”

“Yeah, thanks. Have a good night,” Mulder groans as he walks away, feeling more and more like an asshole as the minutes tick by.

11:50 PM: Mulder makes his way down the side stairwell and shuffles past the ladies room tucked away in an alcove at the end of the hall. Fireworks spark outside the window next to him and he can’t help but wonder if Scully is looking at them, too.

He sighs, takes three steps, and stumbles when a flash of red catches his eye.

“Scully?”

“Mulder, you’re here!” she praises, her cheeks flushed with wine. Her eyes flick down to his coat slung over his arm and her smile fades. “You’re leaving.”

He falters, shifting in his Wingtip Oxfords he’d worn just for her. “You know me, Scully,” he feigns nonchalance. “I’d rather pull out my hair than kiss the asses of the ‘powers that be’ more than I’m forced.”

Scully shakes her head and is quiet a moment before boldly brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “Can’t have that now, can we?”

He stifles a moan. The familiar feeling of her touch lulls him where they stand. “A full head of hair means that much to you, does it, Scully?”

“Mm…” She nods while his hand covers hers sliding gently across his scalp. “You do have great hair.”

“Melvin will be crushed.”

She laughs - this it’s time for him - and Mulder swears it’s the most beautiful sound echoing through the hall. They continue to stand in the hallway, staring at one another as her fingers dance through his hair, letting the soft melody of the muffled music fill the silence.

“So why show up then?” she finally asks, her fingers trailing over the shell of his ear, down to his cheek, hovering there. “Why come at all?”

The alcohol that flows through her veins, leaving her open and vulnerable deserves only honesty from him. “Because you’re here,” Mulder confesses.

“I am.” Her eyes hone in on his fingers twining through hers. “And you were about to leave without saying goodbye?” She arches a brow, pins him with an accusatory stare. “Or hello, for that matter?”

“I-you were enjoying yourself out there. You were…” he sighs, guilt washing over him for not being a better partner to her. For not walking out on that dance floor and showing her exactly how much he appreciates her. How much he loves her. “Scully…”

“Mulder, it’s okay. I get it, really.” She rolls her eyes, tapping his tie with a manicured nail. “Plus, Skinner told me that if you’re as smart as your IQ says you are, you’d be here to ring the new year with me.”

“Ha!” It’s Mulder’s turn to roll his eyes, imagining the AD just itching to dance with his beautiful partner. “I’ll bet he did.”

“I told him you were smarter.”

Mulder’s heart began to race at the husk in her voice. “And if I hadn’t shown up?” he wonders. “I have a feeling Skinner and every other person in that ballroom would give anything to dance with you tonight.”

“They asked to dance with me, Mulder, not date me.”

Mulder’s jaw clenches at that, his free hand dipping down to settle gently at the base of her spine.

“And besides,” she arches into him, amused and emboldened. “There’s only one person I wanted to dance with tonight.”

“Scully.” His voice catches when her sapphire eyes snap up to lock onto his, imploring him to say more. “I-you looked… you look...” The liquid courage swirling though his mind gives him the nudge he needs. He touches her face, softly tracing the slope of her jawline from her ear to her chin. She hums and he melts. "...Stunning, Scully. You look stunning.”

Her half-grin twitches higher. "Bet you say that to all the girls, Mulder."

“No,” he denies in earnest. “Only you.”

She nods slowly, unblinking, as if she’s always known. Her eyes are large and luminous in their dimly lit corner, the deep blue sea of them beckoning him into dangerous waters. Lashes fluttering under his gaze, she leans into him like a feral kitten, fierce and unyielding in her affection. And it’s a good thing, Mulder thinks as he leans in too, that he’s an excellent swimmer.

“You showed up, Mulder,” she whispers. Her tiny hands skim down to his waist and tug his body flush to hers. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he begs. “Don’t thank me for anything.”

He palms her neck and she allows his hand to wander up into her hair, tangling the silky waves through his fingers. He watches her eyelids flutter half shut, her lips parting.

“And why did you come, Scully?” he blurts, curious.

“Why do you think?” she retorts, challenging him. Suddenly, Mulder knows exactly why she came. Why she’s still here, staring up at him with dark eyes and rocking against him with hardened nipples.

He forgets to breathe.

“Tell me,” he says, cradling the base of her skull and letting his forehead fall forward against hers.

“No,” she breathes while stroking the curve of his ribcage, nudging the tip of his nose with her own. “I’ll show you.”

Her eyes flutter shut and a gush of warm breath tickles his cheek. As he leans down, her cushy lips press softly to his and his heart threatens to burst from his chest.

Her mouth tastes of red wine and sugar - a tart sweet-filled sin laced with a hint of blush-colored lipstick. She tastes more satisfying than any dessert. She tastes like raw desire.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hips away from her soft belly when his rock hard want for her becomes impossible to ignore.

She whimpers with her arms now wrapped around his neck, tugging him down for more.

Mulder gulps and kisses her nose, her cheek, inhales the fruity scent of her shampoo. He breathes her in while keeping a lung full of her essence within his chest. The warmth of her baby soft skin beneath his lips makes him wonder if he’s having an out of body experience: an erotic X-File, as his soul quite possibly ascends into the unknown.

A sudden cacophony of cheers bursts through the cracks of the heavy ballroom doors. Mulder jumps while Scully clutches at his back, keeping him close. Their heavy breathing mingles with the chorus of Auld Lang Syne playing in the background as fireworks boom outside the window pane. Bursts of copper and cerulean stream across the ink-black sky and it rumbles the carpet beneath their feet, reminding him that, yes, his feet are still on solid ground.

Two hours, two minutes, and one kiss from Dana Scully are all it takes for his world to tilt on its axis.

“Wow. Wha… what was that?” he gasps dumbly.

Scully arches brow. "I would have thought that's fairly obvious," she purrs. "You asked me why I came here, so I kissed you."

"Yeah, I know that, Scully, believe me. But...” Fuck, he berates himself. Why does his conscience hate him so damn much?

“Shh, just shut up and kiss me again,” she slurs.

His eyes flutter shut. He wants this - wants her - more than his next breath, but she’s been drinking, he remembers. They both have. “Shit, I want to, badly. But I think,” he hesitates, no more than a whisper, “I should hail us a cab.”

“Mulder…”

“In case you don’t remember these last few minutes when you wake up in the morning,” Mulder explains further. “Or worse, you regret them when you do.”

“But…” Scully frowns, hiccuping as she sways within his arms. “Okay…” she sighs, rolling her forehead against his sternum and mumbles to herself, “Fine, but the cab’s on you.”

“Deal,” he chuckles, his love for her growing with each passing second. His lips brush against the crown of her head, his palms smoothing over her hair and down to the lithe bare blades of her shoulders. “I can do that.”

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

12:10 PM: This year, Mulder thinks as he waves down a cab. This year will be different. When Scully’s pinky loops through his, he squeezes it in promise. This year, he will do better.

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

And next time, when he looks into her eyes and tells her he loves her again, Scully will finally believe.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Sixteen | Dummy! (Part 2 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

When you're done freshening up, dinner's already underway. The scent of vegetables and broth hits your nose, and the cold temperature left behind by the storm brings forth an additional hint as to what the monster's cooking up for dinner. You try to stay soundless as you sneak off to the kitchen and stand behind him, looking over his shoulder when you make it there.

"I can tell you're here, pal," Sans says, chuckling. 

He turns to you with a spoon held out in his hand. There's a sample of soup on it, waiting to be tested. The scent reminds you of having missed lunch break due to the stormy weather, with the hours it lasted bringing forth your boss's decision to call the rest of your shift off. You were supposed to be at your last meeting by now, but the rain and wind had proven to be superior, canceling all plans. Less work meant less pay, though you try to refrain yourself from worrying too much about that right now. "Taste it." He offers it out to you, still waiting. You, on the other hand, take a while to do anything, overthinking the situation as you then debate on whether to grab the spoon or taste it right off his hand. The first option had the risk of you brushing hands with the monster and spilling the soup in the process, yet tasting it right off his hand was almost unthinkable to do. 

Another thought pops into your mind, and that's whether it was fine to trust the skeleton by tasting the food and giving him the benefit of the doubt about it not being tampered with. Though you knew him for a few months now, it's still impossible not to acknowledge a possibility like that one. If a man you'd known for so many years had ended up leaving you, only to make a scene like yesterday's when trying to get back with you, who's to say a stranger with customs far different from yours wouldn't do something similar -- or worse?

You remind yourself of your main and original task: confronting him and the rest of the monsters over the choices they made back at the Underground, regardless of how charming and kind they were being with you currently. Sans was no less of an exception. This wasn't only for Frisk's safety and their overall state of well-being, but for your reputation as their parent -- and for your peace of mind, too.

You figure you've taken too long based on how the skeleton backs the spoon away.

His grin widens, and he then sips the contents off the spoon, leaving it empty. "I promise it ain't poisoned." He gives his back to you as he goes to wash the spoon, offering it to you after it's been cleaned. "You can taste it now." Sans moves aside, creating space for you to step forward and scoop a bit of the soup still bubbling in the pot.

Just as you're about to eat it though, he says, "I'm not the best cook around, so go ahead and lemme know if it tastes funny." 

A smile forms on your face when you hear that, captivated by the idea of him having no clue how to begin cooking, and even more considering he was at your home instead of his. If it was often difficult for beginners to cook in the familiarity of their own home, you can't imagine how it must feel doing that at another person's place. For a moment, you wish you could've seen him in the process of cooking, an opportunity you'd lost while you went off to shower and change.

When you taste it, what's missing drops into your thoughts; years of having cooked at home reveal the capability of identifying that quickly. You consider the suggestion and confirm what the soup's lacking when you clean up the spoon and take a second sample off the pot. "It's good," you say, setting it aside. "Just needs a bit of salt and more time to stew. The rest is fine."

"Thanks," he replies, hands going back to his pockets. "Paps wants to improve his cooking, so I figured I've gotta better mine some more before I teach 'im anything."

Again, your mind finds itself in a conflict. While it's charmed by the thoughtfulness of that comment, it's also clouded by the morose reminder of why you'd asked him to stay for dinner in the first place. To distract yourself, you add the missing ingredient to the soup and walk with Sans to the couch while it finishes boiling.

It feels strange to sit so far apart from each other, but he doesn't close off the distance, nor do you.

You prop a leg over the other and rest a hand over your knee, bouncing the one on the floor when you lack anything more to say. Your thoughts scramble around as you try to find a way to make the situation less awkward. When you glance back at him, you see it's something he also seems to want to end; your gaze meets with his when you both decide to look at each other's side -- synchronizing.

He shifts closer and you do the same, continuing until your hands touch.

Almost immediately, you pull back, yet your gaze remains locked with his, eyes drifting down to his teeth. Even as he gets nearer, you stay put, lost in your thoughts and the risky scenario unfolding. Your brain and heart scream at you to stop; your body -- conversely -- refuses to move out of its current spot and rebels by inching closer to him, until you're near enough to catch the scent of the only soap brand you often bought for showering: soft-scented, cheap, and antibacterial. It's strange to catch that aroma from someone other than yourself. Frisk preferred using a different kind, making the situation much more intimate than you would like it to feel.

You grab his hand again as he leans into you, only stopping himself when your back presses against the armrest. Then, he pulls his hand back and uses both to hold your shoulders and corner you right into place. Height difference makes it so that his legs stay knelt on the couch while yours hang off it, these tucked aside as you focus on the matter at hand. He brings himself closer as he tries to level out your heights, grip on you staying. The sound of your heart and of the soup simmering by the kitchen are the only two other things to keep your mind occupied from what's happening; anticipation makes your breaths waver.

As if the situation couldn't get tense enough, the door of the living room opens and in barge two people, leaving you in an iced state. 

Rather than Frisk and Toriel, it's Frisk and Jerry who stand at the frame, one casting a look of betrayal at the monster while the other scrutinizes the scene. You try standing up, yet the monster's hands hold you back, body held up over yours -- still cornered. His face reveals nothing but conflict, an expression similar to your state of mind regarding how freely to act with him. 

Jerry leaves without a word and shuts the door too slow for it to even click. Frisk does the rest of the job for him by locking it, checking it again, and saying nothing themselves as they look at you in the eye and sign, "Can we talk later, ren?"

Still in a tough position, you nod once, lacking strength or words to say anything out loud. 

Sans doesn't move even as Frisk disappears into the hallway.

You see his irises falter when you look at him; his gaze isn't fully there. A few drops of sweat are present on his forehead, and you can feel his hands grow colder with each second. "...Are you okay, Sans?" you ask, voice faint. "I, um... I think the soup should be ready now."

You hope that's enough to snap him out of it, only to have that contradicted when his hold on you stays. "I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he mutters, huffing, "I failed you."

Sans moves back while you sit up straight; silence returns. He stands up and goes to turn off the stove, all done within more time than you would expect as he chooses to stay there a few more minutes, staring aimlessly at the kitchen's wares. You rest your hands on your knees, and you wait to see what he does next. There's not much you can do now that you were caught in a moment like that one, and there's no time to beat yourself up over it, either. All you can do's admit your blame where it best seemed fit, and that was in letting your inner voice act before you. You'd given it your strongest efforts to wait until your first year of college to date Jerry, only to then wait until you had a stabler job by your second semester to actually do anything more serious with him, and later waited six more years alone, watching as Frisk grew up in your care for most of the time, only to let your wants show through now of all times.

Excuse through excuse -- be it valid or not -- you'd restricted yourself at every moment you saw possible.

All that, and yet it still felt as if you hadn't done enough.

You wanted to be stronger. 

"Frisk told me 'bout your situation," Sans says, distracting you from your thoughts. "Not whatever happened with Jerry, but the way you see monsters, and well… me, in general." He turns away from the kitchen and sits back down on the couch, looking directly at you, though for wholly different reasons than earlier ago. His hand stays over yours, more comforting than sultry. Were you to know him for any longer, you would've assumed he's holding his soul on his sleeve, yet you remind yourself he's still a stranger. "Maybe this's my habits showin' up, but if I were to judge you based on what they told me, I'd say you're labeling yourself as the bad guy." His fingers intersect with yours, squeezing your palm. "Of all the things I've gotten to learn about you, this's one of the least you should be blamin' yourself for. If anything, you're not exactly the only one responsible for all that's been happenin' right now."

Your breaths grow tighter the longer you keep listening to him. Your heart's racing again, yet it's not the same as before. The monster lets your hand go, continuing with, "I can't tell you just how different we are from each other, and how much I wish I had a fraction the amount of willpower you and your kid have." He sighs; a hint of a smile shows despite the furrow in his gaze. "You've got some things right about me, and one of 'em's havin' chosen to act too late. Being unable to be there for those I care about, more specifically." His nose cavity flares as he lets out a stifled laugh, remorse showing in spite of his best efforts not to let that happen. "I hate who I used to be, and even now, I still feel like I could've done more. I wanna try harder, but I don't have a clue on where to start with that."

Sans tries to stand up, yet fails to. He heaves out a breath as he closes his eye sockets and surrenders himself back on the couch; he rests his elbow over the armrest and lets his chin rest on his hand. After that, he looks back to your side, an apologetic gaze showing as his grin widens and his crease deepens, the way his monster anatomy worked allowing him to further display similar movements to that of a human narrowing their gaze. "Keep taking credit where it's due, (Y/N). And when you've got somethin' you want to improve, try your best to overcome it." He pauses, and the crease in his gaze lessens as he casts a fonder look at you. "Not that you ain't tryin' already. But you're still takin' up too much of the blame, and not realizing when you can be free. It doesn't have to be with me -- or anybody else, for that matter -- but try to live life a lil' more. Don't just dwell on the past and restrain yourself from stuff you want to achieve for yourself. You should live for you, just as you're tryna live for others."

He closes his eye sockets and brings a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead until he lets out a hushed sigh. Then, he opens them and straightens up on his seat, hands resting on his lap. There's a brief pause, broken when he breathes in again, saying, "...So a skeleton and a single parent walk into a bar," he takes another stop, continuing with, "One bares their skin to the bartender, earnest down to the bone," his breath hitches, yet he composes himself quickly, "the other sits back, looks into the past, and then wonders why he's feelin' so lonely."

He huffs and ends it all with a chuckle and an attempt at covering his face away from your sight. You stop him with the brush of a hand, taking his cheekbone when he turns to you. His body's shaking and a few tears escape his sockets, these he tries to wipe with his free hand, only for you to hold him back by doing that yourself. Caught in the moment, you kiss one of them away, the expectance of a salty taste proven wrong as you receive a hint of sweetness instead -- reflecting the memory of your day with him at the pâtisserie. His shoulders shake as he chokes back a sob, breaking down. His hands grab your back, bringing you in for a hug as he seeks more comfort. In that embrace, you can feel how his rib cage rises and falls at quick intervals, slowing down when you hug him back and wait until he breaks it apart.

The wait's as long as you expect it for someone in his state; the weight of his breaths diminish as he calms down and lets you go.

"Sorry about that," he comments, chuckling. "Wasn't really myself for a moment there, huh?"

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Yay requests! I was wondering if you could do something like y/n giving Bakugou a back massage after a long day of training? ^^

Yo this turned out soooo much thirstier than I meant! It was supposed to be a cute fluffy thing, but nah. Part 2 is nsfw, link at the bottom. Enjoy!!

-Brit, @slut-zawa

Ao3

Rating: mature, heavy petting? Just a bit hornee     ~3.7k words

Want to go to my room? || Katsuki Bakugou PART 1

Ding!

The smooth metallic sliding of the elevator doors opening rings out in the vast common room of the third floor of the U.A. dorms. The new architecture has surprisingly high-quality acoustics; any sounds echoing slightly against the plain walls and ceiling.

“Out of my way. Damn nerd.” The signature insult and strained voice of Bakugou makes you look up from your place on the couch. He stares down your freckled classmate, waiting for the smaller man to move aside. It’s definitely Bakugou’s voice, but something is...missing. Horrifying aggression (that was very unbecoming of a hero-in-training)? Murderous intent? Explosive competitiveness? It lacked its usual venomous bite. In fact, it was nearly devoid of all emotion. 

Still, it prompts your poor, unfortunate green-haired classmate to stutter out an apology as he stumbles aside and makes his way past the blonde into the elevator. You can see Izuku’s ashamed blush all the way from where you’re sitting across the room. However, instead of the usual victimized expression in his eyes, he narrows them, worriedly looking Bakugou over. It’s a relief to know Izuku isn’t actually taking it personally. People always do that and it annoys you. 

He’s noticed the same thing you have, and he’s assessing what could have happened, looking concerned. But he certainly can’t do anything about it. Not like you can. 

You and Kirishima are the closest Bakugou has to actual friends. Having become significantly closer in recent weeks, you could actually say you were the blonde’s best friend. It was strange at first, seeing a more—dare you say it—vulnerable side to the blonde. You weren’t sure what that meant, and others would poke fun at him, jokingly calling you his “girlfriend.” That thought had certainly crossed your mind. It’s unlike Bakugou to be soft or even slightly friendly to anyone, and he did occasionally let his apathetic facade crumble just a trace around you.

It pissed you off that people would make fun of their own classmate for being human. Everyone needs a best friend, or someone they can be completely themselves with. It thrills you that you can be that person for Bakugou. That he trusts you more than he has ever trusted anyone. Maybe even his own family. Before all the students were made to live in the dorms, you had been his next door neighbor. 

There was no way to ignore the incessant rageful scream-arguments coming from that house. You had met his mother a number of times. It broke your heart that she was always aggressive with him, never really acknowledging his emotions. No wonder he turned out so angry. No wonder he’s so afraid to show vulnerability to anyone. But, as much as Bakugou likes to pretend he doesn’t need people, you can see it in the way he has been seeking you out the past few weeks. 

It started off as him asking small favors, as he would call it, never admitting to asking for help. 

“Show me how you got that damn answer!” You had been sitting peacefully at your desk in math class when you saw a shadow come over your notebook where you were hastily scribbling down the next problem. Incredibly startled, you looked up to see a stern Bakugou pointing at his own math problem that was crossed out with a plethora of large ‘x’s. The other students shook their heads as they interpreted his question as accusing you of doing the problem incorrectly. At this point, you felt like you could speak his language, and saw that demand for what it was. He needed your help with that problem.

Of course, you never called him out on it, lest he yell some unsavory things. You wondered if it was some strange compulsion for Bakugou to call everyone in the class derogatory nicknames. As time went on and you two interacted more, he eventually broke and called you by your given name. You would even go as far to say that he enjoyed your presence, as much as he may have tried to hide it. 

The two of you didn’t necessarily do anything together, the man would just seek out the quiet companionship you offered him. A number of times, he had knocked on your dorm room with a gentle “hey. Open up.” When he stepped in, he would silently hold up his textbooks, plop down on your bed next to you and just study. Only a few words would be exchanged here or there, and you supposed it was a somewhat strange friendship, but you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Well, you certainly could, but you can’t let your feelings get in the way of the only safe friendship Bakugou has. It seems so obvious that you make him soft, but the man is so cut off from anything romantic, you always end up doubting his feelings for you. He would probably say he has to make it to the top first. Can’t bother with such trivial things before he is the number one hero.

You minutely shake your head to clear it, to focus on the matter at hand, as Bakugou practically trips over his own feet on his way towards the couch. It’s a far cry from his usual swagger, each step carefully planned, confident, without a trace of doubt.

He looks positively beat, and as he approaches you see the red scratches, sanguine beaded up and coagulated in approximated lines all over his exposed forearms. The soot layering his hands and face from being within the explosion radius of his own quirk. You watch as a drop of sweat rolls down his forehead, nose, down to his mouth, causing him to spit and make some sort of enraged noise. He’s back! 

To your disappointment (that you would never admit to anyone), the anger ebbs away from his face, taking the crease out of his brow as he flops down next to you on the couch. Seeing your friend’s rapid chestrises, you gather that he is still catching his breath. Must have been one hell of a training session. 

You regard him curiously for a moment, but don’t dare ask a question about what happened. You know him better than that. His stark change in demeanor tells you all you need to know.

He doesn’t even have the energy to make some sardonic remark about you staring at him. His head lolls back against the couch to gaze blankly at the ceiling. Trailing your gaze down the long line of his neck, you wrench your eyes away from the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, gulping. Focus.

“Need anything in particular?” You try your luck at asking a question. The moment of vulnerability feels so fragile, you’re sure that a single word will shatter it, rain down like shards of glass. But it doesn’t. 

Bakugou just makes a low noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and stays put. Suddenly, you feel so lucky that you are his safe place. You never have to say anything to each other, one look and there’s a tacit understanding of everything going on with the other. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk; he just needs your silent support and gentle presence.

Bakugou looks so tense, and you find your hands on his shoulders before you can stop yourself. Before even he can stop you. Your fingers gently dig circles into his taut muscle through his jumper. If you weren’t staring at him like you are, you may have missed the way he turns his torso slowly away from you with each knead of your hands until you can reach both shoulders comfortably. Luckily, he still leans into your touch. You could have—and probably would have—taken it as a rejection if he wasn’t still so relaxed against you. He even heaves a deep sigh of what must be relief.

However, it’s still difficult to access his skin or see where you’re touching with the cursed turtleneck portion of the blue gym uniform. The normally explosive man has been receiving everything well so far, and you can tell he needs this, so you feel safe to continue. Your quaking hands cautiously, so slowly, reach around front to unzip the jumpsuit. You’ve never been undressed around each other before, and you’re afraid how he will interpret you doing this to him. Is this what friends do?

You kind of expect him to stop you when you roll the material mostly off his shoulders. Anyone can walk in and get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be the wrong idea as far as you’re concerned. You understand your feelings are a little complicated but it can be easily boiled down to this: you like him. A lot. How can you not? He’s just so complex and beautiful. 

A surge of affection washes over you and spurs your hands to run gently over the hard muscle of his shoulders. He’s so warm. He’s so warm it gives you pleasant chills that race across your arms, cascade down your spine, raising your goosebumps. You knew Bakugou had a lot of muscle mass,—you’ve been fortunate enough to see him train in that blessed black tank top—but seeing it up close is….entirely different. All you can think is wow. 

Watching his large pectorals peek out the top of the zipper, you notice the rolling beads of sweat across his chest. Focus.

He actually closes his vermillion eyes, brow melting into a relaxed position, tension falling away from his jaw as your hands draw invisible swirling patterns over his skin. Noticing how the pads of your fingers drag uncomfortably over his shoulders, you are thankful you have lotion in your purse that is lying slightly smashed between you two on the couch.

One hand continues warming up his shoulders, while grabbing the lotion with the other. You smile as you read the label: “Sunflower Cherry body butter.” Whatever the hell that means, it’s girly and surely he doesn’t want it. But his eyes don’t open back up, and he is clearly far too exhausted at this point to care. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to yell at Izuku. That says a lot. Sunflower cherry it is.

The other hand reluctantly pulls off the tired man for a moment to warm up the lotion, lathering it over your palms. The floral scent wafts to your nose, and you sigh contentedly. Your hands spread the pastel pink lotion over his shoulders and neck, using more pressure now that your hands glide smoothly over his skin. 

Your eyebrows knit in worry at the knots of muscle he has all over. Bakugou does have a habit of pushing himself too far, but you had never thought of the physical repercussions of that. Certainly he hadn’t either before that training session. 

Letting your thumbs do the work at first, you cup his shoulder with your fingers, running deep circles into the hardest areas of muscle. Starting out gentle and gradually increasing the pressure, he... groans? when you move your thumb over to a sensitive spot on his shoulder. 

Bakugou. Made a noise. Acknowledging that he feels good from your massage. Oh my god, is this really happening? You try to keep it together.

You giggle gently in acknowledgment, hoping your voice doesn’t break or betray your pleasurable giddiness when you ask, “there?” The blonde nods once and you continue to rub at the tense spot, motivated by his soft sighs. Sighs. You might be hyperventilating by now, unbelieving that he is reacting to you this way.

He isn’t usually this vulnerable around you and it gives you such deep satisfaction that he trusts you enough for this. There’s a low heat churning in your abdomen, deriving a possessive delectation from the fact that you’re the only one who gets to see him this way.

Minutes pass by as you slowly rub the tension from the blonde’s shoulders, muscle knots melting away. Red splotches bloom up on his skin from the repetitive friction of your fingers. You move your thumbs to either side of his spine at his shoulder blades and, using deep pressure, run all the way up to his neck. 

The movement is infinitesimal, but you are certain he shivers at that. So you repeat the motion, rewarded with a hitch of breath. You smile gingerly as your thumbs ease circles into the muscles on either side of his cervical spine. With light pressure, you drag your other fingers comfortingly over his neck.  

You pull the lump of muscle away from his spine as you have seen in swedish massage videos. You have genuinely no idea what it’s supposed to do, but you assume it feels nice. After working on his neck for a few minutes, reveling in the gentle groans he gives, your hands travel up to rub circles into the blonde’s scalp. You spread your fingers, covering most of the sides of his head, relishing the feel of the chaotic spikes of his hair being surprisingly soft at the roots. He lets out a shaky sigh as you scrape your nails lightly along sensitive flesh, drawing circular, yet angular patterns. Like a kaleidoscope. 

It’s rewarding to give Bakugou such relaxation, but he keeps letting his head fall back, becoming a part of the couch behind him in a way that makes it nearly impossible to reach anything. Also, in this position you have to constantly tear your wandering eyes from the absolutely sinful way he subtly arches his back. He’s definitely trying to suppress it, but you’re stripping away at his layers so that he can’t anymore. You want to run your tongue along the column of his spine.

Throwing your purse on the floor, you turn the blonde and bring him back so his head is resting in your lap. To your surprise, he is compliant. He’s more than compliant; he’s absolute putty in your hands. Here you can access every part of his scalp. 

Your fingers ghost over the spot behind his ear, running back up to scratch lines into his scalp, earning another small moan from the male. You try desperately to ignore how Bakugou’s new position sends the vibrations all throughout your lap. It’s just enough to make your eyes flutter shut. Biting your lip, you try to keep your breaths even, lest he hear and judge you for getting turned on at something like this. What if he doesn’t return your feelings? 

Another soft noise from the man in your lap brings you out of your mind, and back to the room. Glancing down at his now-slack features, you admire the harsh curve of his striking jawline, how the tip of his nose curls up at the end. He looks so peaceful and even a bit younger without anger and frustration wrinkling his face. It’s not often that you get the chance to just look at Bakugou, so you are sure to take your time to memorize every little detail. 

Peering down at the male, you begin to notice his little tells when you do something particularly nice. His eyebrows twitch and raise, and his head tips up slightly into your touch. His lips dip open, jaw dropping minutely. It’s cute. And really hot. At the same time. It’s desperately arousing watching him lose his composure, and your mind can’t help but wonder how his face will contort during other activities. Eyes widening as your heart begins to pound, you’re certain Bakugou can probably feel it.

Your fingers curl along his hairline to distract yourself, gingerly raking your nails in and pulling the hair back up as if he was wearing a headband. You giggle when his hair flops back down. He lets out a relaxed, yet shaky exhale. At this point it’s safe to assume he has never had a massage before. He’s never been taken care of.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper jokingly, a lopsided smile adorning your face. Bakugou’s eyebrows twitch, pulling together, and he just grunts. 

Another several minutes are spent with your fingers idly carding through his hair, when you notice the blonde’s breathing coming slowly and evenly. The poor guy fell asleep. At least that gives you a chance to ease some of the tension that had been building up in your abdomen. Your fingers continue mussing up his hair, and you feel safe to openly stare at him again. You hope that isn’t creepy, but who can resist drinking in the appearance of Bakugou when he is calm? It’s so rare that you feel obligated to take full advantage of this moment.

Other people may see Bakugou as a hot head and though you can’t deny that, what you see is so much more. An incredibly driven, dedicated man who knows what he wants and stops at nothing to get there. Every wrinkle on his brow maps out a victory or a time when he overcame great adversity. He doesn’t care how other people perceive his personality, he just wants to make sure they know he is unequivocally the best. You admire him greatly for that, where other people criticize him.

Unsure what compels you to do it, you find your head dipping down to plant a chaste kiss on his temple. When you pull back and open your eyes, you’re met with wide crimson orbs. Oh shit.

“Why did you do that?” He sits up as he asks the question, chest hovering close to yours, hot breath puffing down onto your face. Oh god. You brace yourself for the rejection of a lifetime. You can’t help but feel guilty that the only best friend Bakugou has is about to ruin a precious friendship that he probably needs. Your breathing coming quick, you stare back at him, analyzing his expression. 

To your utter relief, there is no overt disgust written on his face, but the blonde is staring at you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyebrows are knitted together in bewildered confusion. He must see your nervousness, because he tries to reassure you. He never reassures anyone. 

“I’m not mad. Jus’ wanna know.” Even now the man isn’t fully awake enough to not slur his words. Unfortunately that does nothing to ease your nerves as he continues to stare you down. You exhale deeply, mouth forming an “O” as you steel yourself and try to keep your shaky breaths under control. Though gazing into the deep burgundy of his eyes terrifies you to no end, you can’t look away.

“I.” You gulp, mouth dry. “I have-....I think I like you.” Now you can’t meet his gaze. You only hear a hitch of breath before a rough hand is on your chin, turning it gently to face him. Bakugou wears an unreadable expression before he pushes his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, enjoying the closeness. You both are just panting into each other's slightly ajar mouths. Breathing the same hot, charged air. You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he asks,

“Can I?” In lieu of an answer, you surge forward to seal your plush lips over his. He sighs into the kiss, deepening it immediately. Tilting his head, he brings another large hand to the back of your neck to pull you into him. His tongue darts out to run along your bottom lip and you open up for him. You moan as his tongue slips into your mouth, licking along every surface he can. It’s like he’s been waiting forever to do this, and he lays his desperation out in the open for you to see.

The heat in your core is back in full force, sending scorching waves through your body as the hand on your neck comes to the small of your back. His hands are scouring over every bit of you, greedily squeezing and kneading and stroking. You arch your body into him, frustrated that you can’t get the friction you need, but breath hitching at how you can feel his ab muscles contracting against you. Your hands are stroking down his arms and chest, appreciating the way his muscles pull taut under your touch.

He breaks away first, trying to catch his breath, but wastes no time in trailing sloppy kisses down your jawline and neck. He sucks on a spot at the base as one calloused hand comes to stroke up your thigh. Widening your legs, you gasp and whine as your hands dig into the roots of his spiky locks and pull. You delight at the full-bodied groan that earns you, and he pulls away from your neck with a searing gaze. 

“Want to go to my room?” His deep voice rasps. You do. You very much do.

Part 2

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

Evanescence's Amy Lee on the Band's New Album, 'The Bitter Truth'

The singer is ready for the band's next era and to be seen as more than just a "cute frontwoman."

In the early aughts—when Juicy Couture sweatsuits dominated and The O.C.’s Seth Cohen was TV’s no.1 man—it was nearly impossible to not hear Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life” piercing the airwaves. The throaty vocals and crushing guitar riffs help raise the single to number five on the Billboard Hot 100 and secure its certified platinum status. So it’s almost hard to believe that nearly two decades ago that level of success seemed unattainable for the band.

“From every angle starting out, we were the indie long shot,” bandleader Amy Lee recalls to Marie Claire from her home in Nashville. “Too many things about us didn’t quite fit the mainstream for it to be safe to spin [on the radio].”

She continues: “The biggest thing about us that was different, was that I’m female. The label insisted we had a male vocalist on the chorus of the song, to make it more familiar. I said ‘no,’ so they cut our funding, and I moved back in with my parents. I thought we were dropped. Instead, they called us a few weeks later with a compromise: We only had to do it on one song, and if we did it, they had a placement for us in a film that tied in the male/female theme and made the song have a bit of creative purpose.”

The film was the critically-panned Daredevil. But regardless of the film's flop, placement on the movie’s soundtrack bolstered the band’s pedigree. In a few short months in 2003, Evanescence went from playing clubs to an international stadium tour for their debut album, Fallen. The band catapulted to fame for their melodramatic, baroque-laced harmonies. And Lee, who was just 21 at the time, became revered for her “goth” rock princess aesthetic, flaunting heavy black eyeliner and sleek, raven hair.

Life quickly changed for Lee, who “wasn’t emotionally prepared to be so exposed.”

“I struggled with the differences between myself and my image, feeling like I was always coming up short of someone’s expectations, and frustrated about the lack of support I was getting from the people around me,” she says of the band’s early success. “I had to toughen up and fight for my place, my beliefs, my music, my band.” Lee’s internal battle ultimately prompted a shift in tone on Evanescence’s second album 2006’s The Open Door. “I stopped asking somebody to ‘save me,’” Lee says, quoting her “Bring Me to Life” lyrics, “and started making changes for the better.”

But it’s been nine years since Evanescence has put out any new material. “I needed to just remember who I was,” she says. “We had been going hard. I was just ready for a new chapter of my life.” So she started one. During the band’s sabbatical, Lee ended up writing music for a handful of films—including 2014 drama War Story and the romantic flick Blind (2017)—and recorded a children’s album featuring covers, as well as original songs. “I was really inspired to do something that didn’t sound like Evanescence,” Lee, now 38, recalls. “I needed an outlet to show some other sides of my personality for a while. That felt really good.”

At the same time, Lee was going through changes on a personal level: She relocated to Tennessee after living in New York for 13 years, had a son, now 6 years old, and suffered the loss of her brother. “It just sort of makes you zoom way out on yourself where you're looking kind of more existentially at life,” she says.

That perspective eventually evolved into something tangible: This year, the singer rallied the band back together. By February, Evanescence had a handful of songs ready to go. “We thought we were about to go on a big tour,” she recalls. The pandemic, of course, had other plans for the group.

But Lee was determined to put out music. Quarantine only made her need to create more salient. “I just wasn’t going to stop,” she says. “We were going to find a way, within the limitations, to do this now because I was not waiting anymore.” As it became harder to go into the studio, Lee worked with their producer, Nick Raskulinecz, alone. She met Raskulinecz in a parking lot, and he laid out the preamp, the compressor, and gear needed for recording while they sat 10 feet apart. The process was “unusual” but it worked.

The result is Evanescence’s forthcoming album, The Bitter Truth. “There are songs that are a part of this album that have been in the works for a decade, and songs that just started up this year,” she says. The material reflects how inspired the songwriter has become over time. “I get inspired being in nature, walking through the woods, looking up close at weird bugs,” she muses. But her biggest inspirations are the emotional experiences she’s had in her life, something that makes Evanescence’s music “as dramatic as it is.” “Things like losing someone you love, being a part of creating a new life.” Lee says. “[They] rock me on a deep level to a point where I feel like I have to make music.”

To usher in their new era, Evanescence released their slow-burning single “Wasted on You” in April. “I started writing [the song] on New Year’s Eve, and we got together and we finished it as a band,” she recalls. Evanescence didn’t intend for this particular track to be the The Bitter Truth’s lead single, but its meaning resonated more as lockdowns began, prompting a change in plans. “‘Wasted On You’ wasn’t supposed to be about this moment that we were all in—feeling frozen in time and stuck in place and wanting to break up with a moment and all those things—it just already existed and suddenly applied in a way that had more gravity than it did before,” says Lee.

Because of the overwhelming presence of COVID-19, April wasn’t the right time to release what they had intended to be their first single: the fierce political anthem “Use My Voice.” It instead debuted last week. “Our world is really messed up right now, and if we want it to change, then we can’t just sit around, complaining about it,” Lee says of the track. “We need to get up, speak out and use our voices, and make the change.”

For Lee, “Use My Voice” was a track that had been “bubbling” and “building” the past few years because of the state of the world and American politics. But she was struggling to find the right chorus to accompany the verses. To help her finish the track, Lee enlisted VERIDIA singer and friend Deena Jakoub. It’s something she couldn’t have imagined doing 15 years ago, when she felt like she needed to have complete ownership over her music to be taken seriously. “It was so hard to break through, and I had to fight so much for my rights beyond being a ‘cute frontwoman,’” says Lee. “Like, I’m a writer. I’m a piano player. I’m all these other things first, so hold on a minute before you count me out of the technicalities here. I never would have been open to that kind of collaboration [before].”

As one of the most powerful women in rock—a (largely) male-dominated category—Lee has had to simultaneously prove herself and get comfortable speaking up for her needs. Truthfully, she didn’t have much of a choice.

“I definitely have been the only girl in the room a lot in my life,” she says. While she has felt “empowered” by the number of women moving into diversified roles—producers, engineers, lighting technicians—she can’t help but acknowledge the challenges she faced: “You have to make your own space. You have to be the first one, make a great impression, be the most professional, the most on time and the most patient because you’re there and that’s not normal. You better prove that a woman does belong in the room.”

Amy Lee always has.

[brighterthanghosts]

Meant for Romance

Word count: 1,893

Part 1/1

Pairing: Taishiro (past Koumi)

Read below the cut or on ao3

Summary:  “So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.” 

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

Heavily implied nsfw. Lots of awkward. Humor maybe? Largely fueled by too much coffee at 4 a.m.

So warm.

Koushiro doesn’t remember ever feeling so cozy in his life. He knows he needs to get up soon — the morning sun on the other side of his eyelids beckons him to start the day. But sleep is still within his grasp, and his pillow smells so nice, like sage and bergamot and mint. He recognizes that scent, though he can’t quite place it, but his brain supplies him with hot breaths on his neck and a husky coo of his name.

Koushiro shivers, pulls the cotton sheet under his chin, and revels in the way it drags across his skin. His skin. All of his skin.

Eyes snapping open, Koushiro jolts up. The sheet, having fallen to the tops of his thighs, answers his first question, but — Where the hell am I?

He remembers Mimi, her pretty hair pulled back, making her deep-set frown stand out even more. She told him it wasn’t working out, that there’s someone else, that this just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. I wasn’t doing it for her at all.

He remembers calling Taichi, desperate and agonizing. Taichi saying he’d be there in 30 minutes. Taichi hailing down a cab to take them to a bar where “the drinks are cheap and totally worth it.” Taichi making him feel better instantly with big grins and fond laughter because that’s what friends do.

Spotting his clothes loosely folded on the desk chair across from the bed, Koushiro moves hastily and slips his underwear on, left foot then right foot. He knows he told Taichi about the breakup. Well, it wasn’t really a breakup, considering he and Mimi had never put a label to what they were doing, which wasn’t much.

Koushiro was busy, and Mimi was needy. She needed things from him that he couldn’t give. They’d tried to engage in sexual activities exactly twice, and neither time could Koushiro perform. It was something that embarrassed him to no end because he liked Mimi and he thought she was cute, but for the entire 8 months they were seeing each other, his body just wouldn’t respond.

Taichi spent most of that conversation listening, Koushiro realizes now, and he never poked fun or judged him. He loves that about Taichi. He’s working on the fourth button of his white dress shirt when his eyes dart to a Polaroid photo propped up on the desk. In the bottom right-hand corner reads ‘The Yagamis 2002.’  Nonononono.

And it hits him like a bullet train. Rough hands, harsh lips. Hips colliding, hot with need. Smooth, sun-kissed skin everywhere. Taichi over him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Fuck,” Koushiro stutters, palms suddenly clamy. He’s got both legs in his pants, pulling them up in one swoop, and he hears the door unlock. Fuck.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Taichi says, smiling. At least, Koushiro suspects he’s smiling, but he doesn’t want to know. He can’t bring himself to look at his friend. He hears a rustle of plastic and something heavy hitting the table, but his mind can only focus on slipping on his socks at light speed.

“Sorry to leave you alone,” Taichi sounds sincere. It makes Koushiro feel worse. “I didn’t have much in the fridge, so I ran to the convenience store down the street. I grabbed that bottled Oolong you like. I hope eggs and — you’re leaving?”

“Sorry, Taichi-san. I have to go.” And Koushiro is out the door, leaving Taichi to stand alone in his little apartment.

***

He’s not sure where he’s going, not exactly paying attention, but he spots a park and some familiar treelines, and he manages to make it to a door, knocking furiously.

A beat passes, and he knocks again.

“Jesus, what!?” Miyako says, whipping the door open and looking like she just rolled out of bed. She eyes Koushiro, his tousled hair, frazzled expression, and haphazard outfit.

“Either you’ve met a very unfriendly tornado, or you’re doing the walk of shame,” she says, causing Koushiro to flush from the neck up. “Ah. Walk of shame, huh? Come in.”

The next 20 minutes are filled with Miyako filling her toaster and putting on a pot of coffee while Koushiro relays the previous night’s events with record speed. He’s beet red.

“So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.”

She pauses to look directly into his soul, and Koushiro would like nothing more than to simply pass away.

“And you panicked.” Miyako’s tone is pointed, but when she doesn’t immediately continue, Koushiro opens his mouth to reply in uncoordinated hand gestures and wordless exasperation. He nods instead.

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

“It’s not like that!” Koushiro defends. Taichi was his very first friend and probably his closest friend — there was no way he could jeopardize that. His failed attempt at a relationship with Mimi was proof enough that Koushiro isn’t meant for romantic endeavors of any kind.

“I just got out of a relationship!” Koushiro pleads, but Miyako’s expression is solid. She’s not buying this for a moment. Softer, Koushiro says, “And Taichi is my friend. I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“He obviously didn’t mind,” Miyako, says, annoyed and unimpressed with Koushiro’s half-hearted explanation. Koushiro grunts and looks down at the kitchen counter — he’s not entirely sure he believes himself. Miyako sighs again, this time with a hint of sincere tiredness woven in, and saunters toward her bedroom. “Tragic.”

***

The drive to the office is mostly silent, except for Miyako’s intermittent humming to whatever song is playing on the radio. Koushiro can’t make out any of the words over the sound of his heart thrumming like an upright bass in his ears. Miyako doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s times like this when he truly appreciates her — hiring Miyako as his assistant director was one of his best decisions. She always sorts him out when he gets too caught up in the details. Which is probably why he randomly showed up at her home this morning.

They’re walking into the building, and Miyako greets the receptionist quickly, shielding Koushiro from anyone passing through. He looks a mess, he knows, and Miyako’s being kind by attempting to uphold his reputation. She walks him all the way to his office, reminding him to pull the curtain over the glass windows by his door. She says to find her when he’s done.

It was also Miyako who mothered him into keeping spare clothes at the office after one too many all-nighters. “You look like a trash panda, honestly.”

The morning goes as usual, answering emails, IMing Miyako about the slides for their monthly report. He doesn’t notice when noon rolls around. He doesn’t pay attention when his office door opens, or when the sound of rustling plastic makes its second appearance today.

“Koushiro,” comes a soft voice. Koushiro’s fingers hover above his keyboard and a shiver runs down his spine. “Koushiro,” Taichi says again.

He knows he needs to respond but he can’t pull himself away from his safety net just yet. His fingers touch down on the keyboard again, and he exhales shakily.

“Hello, Taichi-san.”

“I was worried you didn’t eat, so I brought you lunch,” Taichi says quietly. It’s unlike him, and it breaks Koushiro’s heart. He knows he’s being selfish. He knows he should acknowledge his friend, but —

“Koushiro, please,” Taichi says, voice sadder now, a tinge of anguish in that last word. “Can we please talk?”

Koushiro freezes again. He’s so utterly fucked and completely inexperienced in all aspects of what’s sure to unfold here. But Taichi sounds hurt, and he doesn’t want to be someone who hurts Taichi.

He swivels around in his chair, facing Taichi on the sofa but looking at the ground where the toe of his shoe meets the wood floor. He wants to say something, taps his foot a few times, and finally looks up.

“Taichi-san, I —”

“What the fuck?”

“Huh?” Koushiro says, caught off guard. Mimi is storming into his office, face fire-engine red.

“You cheated on me?!” She squawks.

“Excuse me?” Koushiro musters because this is his ex, and his mother taught him to mind his manners, but he feels offended.

“Sora heard from Yamato that you slept with someone last night!” Mimi is causing a scene. A few of Koushiro’s colleagues have poked their heads into the hallway outside Koushiro’s office.

“Did you know about this? Who is she?”

She’s addressing Taichi now, who sinks deeper into the sofa and looks like he might combust, and Koushiro’s blood is boiling. He stands, moving into her line of vision.

“Mimi-san, I hardly think anything I did last night could be considered cheating as we never defined the exclusivity of our relationship and you said there was someone else.” Koushiro says with as much confidence as he can. “I think that gives me the right to do as I want.”

Mimi stomps her foot and raises her arms, ready to shout a thousand expletives, but Miyako is through the door and in Mimi’s face like a forcefield.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Izumi Corporation. My name is Inoue Miyako, and I’m the lead director of team shut down. As in, I’m shutting this down immediately,” Miyako says, straight faced and with her kindest customer service voice. The first-floor security guard stands just outside Koushiro’s office, already escorting Mimi out. Miyako follows after them, stopping in the doorframe. “Thank you for your visit to Izumi Corp! Have a nice day!”

She smiles and waves, and Koushiro feels like he can breathe again. He has know idea what just happened, and his head is pounding. Miyako’s smile falls, eyebrows pull together, and from the doorway, she points her finger at Koushiro and yells, “I expect a raise!”

She shuts his curtains, slams the door behind her and disappears after that. Koushiro’s mind would normally leave the train station in 50 directions at once, but he’s just stunned. He turns, hoping to find Advil in his desk drawer, and — Taichi!

“Taichi-san, I’m so sorry,” Koushiro turns around to face him, and it’s all he can do because Taichi doesn’t deserve any of this. Taichi is looking at him unexpectedly, reaches a hand up to scratch at the nape of his neck and smiles slightly.

“So,” Taichi says and pauses, looking at the table, “lunch?”

Koushiro stares in awe. Taichi smiles and after a beat, looks up and says, “And maybe we can start this day over?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking, and Koushiro apologizes with his entire being. For the event with Mimi. For leaving him. For being so cold. Taichi reassures every “I’m sorry.” Taichi says it’s okay because he doesn’t expect the world Koushiro. Taichi is his best friend. Taichi would like to try last night again. Today, preferably, with less alcohol, but he isn’t pushing.

They weathered a year’s worth of drama in a single day. Koushiro is still breathing, and Taichi still smiles at him like Koushiro is the sun. And maybe Koushiro is meant for romance.

[splendorten]

In the bleak midwinter

Pairing: Doyoung X Reader (ft. Taeyong)

Genre: 99.9% Angst, 0.1% fluff if you squint really hard

Warning: None

Summary: “You can love someone so much...But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.”

Word count: 2,789

Clad in a simple knee length black dress, the wind blowing through the brown locks of your hair, you stood with arms crossed, tapping your feet impatiently on the grey concrete pavement while waiting for your husband who was running very very late. He could forget dates and anniversaries but not this, he knows how important this is to you, and how badly he’ll screw up if you don’t see him in the next 5 minutes. You tried calling him over and over again, but it always brought you straight to his voice mail. Time passed, his time was up. Not bothering- or wanting to wait any longer for him, you swiftly turned on your heels and entered the memorial hall.

--

You were lounging on the couch with a pint of double chocolate ice cream in hand when you heard the lock on the front door click. He was home. “Darling I’m home” Usually those words would send you flying into his arms/embrace, but not today, not when you were so close to throttling him. He slowed his steps, his smile wiped off his face when he saw the expression you carried. The aura radiating off you was pure ice cold rage, it was as if he now stood in a minefield while facing off with a coiled wild beast, ready to pounce at any time. One wrong move and he was dead. “Darling, are you okay? Is something wrong?” his soft tentative voice floated towards you as he made his way over. You kept your focus on the TV screen, the programme on air wasn't very much to your taste, but anything to keep your mind off your anger towards Doyoung for now. The couch sank as he took a seat beside you, hand coming to cover your own but you snatched it out from under him like his touch had burned you. You stood up sharply and started to walk off till you heard his voice once more. “Why are you like this? I’ve had such a long day at work and I come home having to deal with your and your little tantrum!” You could hear the anger in his voice build up with every word. Is he for real? This is outrageous! He truly forgot what an important today was for you and he even has the cheek to turn this situation on you?

Angling yourself to face him, you didn’t bother to hide the scalding fire burning in your eyes. “Sure blame me! All you care about is your work, you don’t even know what today is do you? You completely forgot how much today means to me!” Matching up to your level of anger Doyoung strides over to you and shouted back “Haven’t I been coming home early to keep you company? Did I not bring you to Hawaii last week? I need to earn money to provide for us!” Doyoung had never raised his voice at you, never. The hurt and shock was evident in your eyes and you knew he noticed how you took a slight step back because in a flash all those anger and negative emotions vanished from his gaze, those love filled orbs taking over. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” You had to get out of the house or you might just do something you’ll regret, “It’s my father’s first death anniversary today and you completely forgot!” Without waiting for his response you ran out the house. You didn’t see the way he dropped to his knees and tears streamed down his face, or how his arms tried reaching out to you, and you most certainly didn’t know how his heart broke. It wasn’t within his control, missing such an important date was only the first of many more to come.

That night neither one of you got any sleep, you stayed out till dawn while he sat by the door waiting for you to come home. Praying that you hadn’t abandoned him, especially not when his life was a complete mess.

--

You eventually went home, sure you could provide for yourself without the aid of your husband, but money wasn’t the issue, you loved him too deeply to be mad at him for long. Yes he hurt you but he is only human, you’ve also made countless mistakes alongside him too. Although both parties were talking and everything was back to normal again, none of you brought up that night because neither knew what to say other than apologise for your actions.

--

“Darling can you go get my laptop in the room and set it up for movie night? I’m just about done with the food” Doyoung called out to you, who was casually lounging on the living room couch reading - or should you say rereading your all time favorite book. Have a little faith, by Mitch Albom. Being unable to tear your attention from the said book, you merely made a sound of acknowledgement to Doyoung before unfolding your legs and making your way to the master bedroom. “Sheesh watch where you’re going or you’ll end up walking into the wall instead” Without turning around you knew Doyoung’s head was coming out of the little kitchen window to watch your retreating figure, so extended your hand and playfully sent him a vulgar gesture over your head. You had requested the contractor to install that little feature so that you could watch your husband work his magic in the kitchen. You heard him click his tongue at your actions and let your chuckle resonate down the hall.

Once in the room, you begrudgingly set the book down on the nightstand before beginning your hunt for Doyoung’s laptop. Thanks to his very successful career as the CEO of Kim Corporation, your master bedroom is huge - you could have a party of 20 and there’ll still be space to spare - and his laptop could be anywhere in the room. Walking over to the glass desk at the far right hand-side of the room, you spotted what you were looking for under piles and piles of documents. Reaching from the front of the table you tried to carefully pull out the device without messing up his work files, but life never ever goes as planned, and you pull out a few extra stacks of paper. Cursing at your clumsiness, you bent down to clean up the mess you’ve made. For a moment, the sound of rustling paper moving against one another filled the silent room. You were just about to leave after setting the files down on the table when one of them caught your eye, more specifically, one that was labeled “Seoul General Hospital''. Snatching the file off the table, you opened it and glanced at the content inside as dread pooled at the pit of your stomach. You were never really talented at science to begin with so it wasn’t much of a suprise when you couldn’t understand half of what was written on the papers, but 1 phrase and 1 name was all it took for you to figure out what was going on, for your heart to sink.

“Mr Kim Doyoung”

“Memory loss”

Suddenly the memories of Doyoung being forgetful, not remembering the times you've spent together over the past month started to make sense. You knew he was a meticulous and organised person who has a great memory, so the chances of him forgetting events, dates nights were close to being non-existent. "Darling did you find my lapt-" the words died in Doyoung's throat when he saw what you were holding in your hands. His medical report. From his spot by the threshold of the room door, he could see the stiffness creeping into your shoulders as you turned to face him with a mask of deadly calm. Your face contorted from a wave of calm, to anguish, to emptiness and finally rage. You couldn't bring yourself to believe that your husband was slowly losing his memories, all that you've been through together turning into nothing more than a speck of dust. The air was heavy as you contemplated on how you should feel, what your reaction should be. Breakdown and cry at the fact that you're going to have a husband with no memories and who might possibly not even remember who you are, or, rage..rage because he didn't trust you enough to tell you what happened, didn't believe after all that you've been through that you'll stick by him through thick and thin. Choosing the latter option, you stormed up to Doyoung, jaws clenched as you questioned him through gritted teeth "When were you going to tell me about this? Did you even plan on telling me? Your life doesn't just belong to you anymore! You can't be so selfish and keep me in the dark!" Your voice grew louder and louder with each word as tears of frustration streamed down your cheeks, chest heaving. When Doyoung didn’t so much as look at you, let alone answer your question, you raised a fist and brought it down on his chest “answer me! Were you planning to keep me in the dark?” Doyoung caught your fist in his hand and looked down at you with tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he apologised over and over again, pulling you into a tight embrace, holding you so close to him that you knew he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You’ll figure things out together, you always do. 

“When did you know?” you finally asked once the both of you had calmed down. Letting out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding, his reply came out as a mere whisper. “The day of your father’s death anniversary.” That’s why he didn’t show up, and now that you know his reason, you felt terrible for saying all those nasty things to him. He went to the doctors...doctors..right, if anyone they’re the ones who can help Doyoung. “Let’s go to the doctors, they’ll know what to do!” you said pushing away from him to look into his eyes. “It’s no use. I’ve asked. There’s nothing we can do.” Shaking your head in denial you grip onto his dress shirt “there must be someone who can help us. Let’s get you a specialist.” You stood up only to be pulled down again “trust me, whatever you think of I’ve already thought of and tried.” Swallowing hard, you build up the courage to ask “How much time before..before you forget me”

“I will not forget you” Doyoung replied as he scrambled to kneel in front of you, holding your hands in his. Ignoring him, you asked once more. “How much time.” Seeing the look on your face, he knew better than to hide it any longer.

“A few months.”

--

Leaning on the cold metal railing of your shared apartment, you speedily dialed the number of Taeyong, a close friend of you and Doyoung. After a couple of rings, you hear his sleepy voice come through the speakers.

"Hey, what's up?"

You opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, trying to form a proper sentence.

"Is everything okay?" You could hear the ruffling of his sheets as he moved to lean against his headboard. For a moment no words were exchanged, only the sound of both your breathing could be heard as the situation sank in. The news of Doyoung losing his memory hit you like a flood, your emotions were all over the place, and you had no idea how to face this.

"What am I supposed to do" you asked while sliding down the glass panel to the cold ground of your balcony, the ends of your lips pulling up into a sad smile. How can you bear to lose the one person who meant the entire world to you, when your life together was just beginning. “It’s not fair Tae, after all we’ve been through, after all the obstacles that we conquered together. Why this, why take him away from me. Take away my memories too, I can’t bear this pain anymore.” By the time the last words left your lips, tears flowed down your cheeks like an endless river. “I know this is the hardest for you, and no matter what I say nothing will change, but the guys and I will be here together with you. I don’t know what to say to make you feel better and I hate myself for that. Just please, please stop crying. It’s breaking my heart to see my 2 closest friends suffer.” Taeyong’s voice was breaking with every word and you knew that his cheeks were as damp as yours. Gripping your phone tighter, you roughly wiped away your tears with the back of your hand. Regretting what you did or didn’t do these past few years isn’t going to help the situation. “You’re right, I’ve got to be strong for him. He’s going through enough, I just...just wish I can take the pain away, just wish to have more time.” Silence enveloped the both of you, only the sound of passing cars down below playing as a companion to this dark and cold night. “You have work tomorrow, I’m sorry for calling so late. You should go back to sleep, bye Tae.” You didn’t give Taeyong a chance to reply, immediately ending the call. Looking up at the starry night sky, it was as if the stars were mocking you, like a million stars shining high above free of worries, of pain and suffering. Wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, you let the second wave of tears take over. Like the title of your favorite book, you should have a little faith, and hope for a miracle.

Unbeknownst to you, Doyoung was listening in from behind the wall of the hallway. Listening to your every plea to take the pain away, to return everything back to the way it was, to give you the happiness you deserve. Every word broke his heart to more than a million pieces. To see the woman he loved so much suffer because of him was like restraining him and setting his whole body on fire. Doyoung felt like someone had ripped out his heart and stabbed it over and over again, had wrapped their icy cold fingers around his throat cutting off his oxygen supply. He bit down so hard on his clenched fist that it drew blood, and in a feeble attempt to stop the pain he started clawing and pounding his chest. Call it what you will, a mercy maybe, when Doyoung passed out from the overwhelming emotions swirling in his broken heart.

--

Days passed, weeks passed, you and Doyoung spent almost every waking moment together. Going to places that you guys have wanted to visit since the start of your relationship, spending as much time together as you could before the inevitable happens. Sometimes it could be just as simple as lying in bed tangled up in each other as you talked, feeling the warmth and touch of the other. Savouring the moments.

Today, you had a big day planned for the both of you. Doyoung has always mentioned how he wanted to spend a winter up in the glass igloo resort, and you had called in a few favours to get a booking for the weekend as booking always had to be made months in advance. Looking out the kitchen window as you prepared breakfast, you saw the first snowflake descend. The first snow in years, the both of you love the snow and Doyoung would be so happy knowing that he could play with them up in the resort. Smiling to yourself, you quickly finish cooking breakfast and went to wake your sleeping husband, barely able to contain the excitement of seeing the smile on his face once you broke the news to him.

Sitting down by the edge of the bed, you slowly and softly shook his shoulders, willing him to leave the dreamland. The way he stirred awake was just too cute and you couldn’t resist giving him a peck on the cheeks. However, when his eyes fully opened, you couldn’t help but feel something was wrong. His eyes scanned the room slowly before landing on your figure beside him, he looked confused, lost even. You reached a hand out to hold him, but he flinched and subconsciously moved backward till his back was pressed flush against the headboard. He looked at the room once more before locking eyes with you. That expression...you knew. You covered your mouth as tears streamed down your face, the inevitable has happened.

“Who are you.”

(A/N: Hello, I know I haven’t been writing much lately, terribly sorry for that but life has been getting in the way>< I hope you enjoyed this short piece of work, and if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! As always feedback is appreciated and feel free to chat me up or leave Asks ^^)

[ianite-simp]

dark!karl pt. 5

finally here boys, it’s a good bit longer than the other parts, but that’s cause things are going down :)

The strange black cat was back again. It seemed to follow Karl around his island, sneaking closer whenever he wasn’t looking, always just out of the corner of his eye. If Jordan hadn’t mentioned it when he stopped by one day, he would have been sure he was hallucinating. Cats never showed up on his island. And it was a fairly long swim from Tom or Jordan’s places - so its appearance was really just a total mystery to Karl. It was a cute cat, he’d have to admit. But he was too occupied with his purge preparations to pay it much attention - he only had a few days, after all, to get ready for it. Apparently it was a tradition the others had in their other dimensions, and Karl was determined to do his absolute best - at least, not get completely destroyed by the others.

It was quite convenient for him, the timing of the purge. Any time Tom, Jordan, or even Dec approached him about the results of the judgments, he could just make up an excuse about being behind in his preparations and bolt off. Especially given his physical condition - the strange, cracking pattern had spread across most of his face and was covering his neck and shoulders. Doing simple tasks grew excruciating as tiny chips flaked off with his every move. Luckily he had gotten his hands on a bandanna that he could tie around his face instead of the itchy scarf he used to use (though Tom found the look hilarious, and constantly called him Cowboy Karl). But because of the spreading condition, sleeping became entirely out of the question. As such, he had spent numerous sleepless nights thinking about his judgment. It just didn’t seem right. He was just as loyal to Mianite as Jordan was to Ianite, and definitely more loyal than Tom was to Ianite. So why did it decide he was with the Darkness? Had his doubts of Mianite’s strength really given the Darkness that much power over him? 

Is it really a bad thing if that’s the case? He couldn’t stop pondering that question. Mianite was a totally different creature from what he had once been, suddenly seeming incredibly self centered and a bit of a snitch. He was nothing like the welcoming, strong god that Karl had once been proud to call his. 

Hello, Karl.

Without so much as a flinch (the sudden voice and hair-raising chill he associated with the Darkness had grown quite familiar to him at that point ) Karl raised a hand in the air greeting. He trusted the Darkness was able to see it, the sneaking thing he was. He was occupied with trying to calculate the amount of spare supplies he’d need on hand for the purge; a frustrating task, given that he’d never participated in anything like it, as far as he knew. 

You haven’t acknowledged my presence these past few days, Karl.

A sceptical look crossed Karl’s face. “You didn’t talk to me, I’m not going to be talking to thin air like an idiot just to get your attention.”

The Darkness let out a laugh - strangely, it was a warm laugh, almost sweet. I’ve been here the entire time Karl, trying to get your attention. Just turn around.

Feeling slightly bemused, Karl obliged them, turning to look behind him. All he saw was the odd black cat sitting primly atop one of his bookshelves. “What exactly am I - oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me you’ve been spying on me as a bloody cat.” He rolled his eyes, hoping his exasperated tone was evident enough.

I haven’t been spying on you Karl, the Darkness reprimanded as the cat’s eyes narrowed slightly, I’ve been watching over you, and your preparations. The cat stood up, arching its back to stretch before it hopped to the ground, strolling over to the chests. It paused alongside one, rubbing against it with a faint purr. I think you’ll find something to help you if you’d spare a moment to check.

“Must be a trap or something,” Karl muttered, still walking over to the designated chest. He nudged the cat to the side with his foot, lifting the lid of the chest to check inside. It was entirely empty, with only a violently red potion sitting in a small flask at the bottom. Pulling it out, he scanned the label on the side. “Potion of darkness… this is absolutely insane.” His eyes widened as he read the effects listed. One sip of that thing and he’d be practically invincible. “Wait, I can’t even use this during the purge. Potions aren’t allowed.”

I’m sure you’ll find a use for it, the Darkness said mildly. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. 

Karl held the potion in his hand for a long moment, the cool glass bottle heavy in his palm. “Right then,” he mumbled, tucking it back into the chest for safekeeping. It was just a potion, after all. It couldn’t be a bad idea to hold onto it, at least for a little while.

The morning of the purge arrived quickly, the five individuals participating in the challenge loosely huddled on the beach of Tom’s island. Karl felt like his entire body was trembling with nerves as he stood alongside the others, drumming his fingers on the sheath of his sword as Declan went over the rules a final time. “The gods will revive you when you are on the point of death, only that will qualify as a kill. One kill equals one point, and…” Tuning out what Dec was saying, Karl shifted his shoulders slightly, his infected skin stinging painfully from the pressure. He had spent nearly an hour that morning, carefully adjusting every piece of his armour to cover every bit of exposed skin on his torso. The strange, creeping infection had almost reached his waist, his fingertips the only healthy skin remaining on his hands. He had resorted to constantly downing health potions, the only things that offered temporary relief to the burning pain he endured every time he moved.

As Dec finished his short speech, he presented them with the swords of their gods. Karl took the new blade he was offered, eyes wide as he studied the shining blue weapon. 

Come now, Karl. You don’t need something like that.

Ignoring the low voice in his head, Karl slipped the sword under his belt for temporary safe keeping. It didn’t seem much stronger than his own, but it was a gift from the gods. He couldn’t toss something like that away. 

At the sound of a wailing siren, the group split apart, each person picking their own direction. Karl bolted for the boat he had left at the shore, determined to put some distance between himself and the others. He climbed in, using broad pulls of his oars until the currents began to pull him along, and he could rest his already tiring arms. Glancing back, a faint feeling of dismay set in as he spotted Jordan and Declan not too far behind. By the looks of it, though, Jordan was faltering slightly, as Dec scored hit after hit - Tom only adding to the problem by firing arrows from the shoreline. Jordan had practically reached his boat by that point, it would be the work of a moment to draw his sword, lunge forward, and sink it deep into the Ianitee’s chest.

That was precisely what Karl chose to do. Jordan’s eyes widened with shock as he let out a strangled gasp and splashed back into the water, his limp body vanishing within the moment as he was revived. Ignoring the faint whoops and cheers from Tom and Dec, Karl grabbed his oars, pulling with all his strength to get as far away as he could. Within a few moments he was halfway between his own island and Tom’s, his small boat bobbing gently in the calm waves.

A strong wave of pride and adrenaline washed over him as he sat, taking deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. He had managed to get the first kill, despite it all. That meant something, surely.

Congratulations, Karl. I knew I chose you for a reason. The familiar rasp of the Darkness rang in his ears. A faint smile crossed his face. Despite it coming from what everyone thought to be the embodiment of pure chaos, the praise was nice.

“I’m still not working for you, you know,” he remarked, sliding the sword of Mianite out from where he had stashed it in the boat, resting the heavy blade across his knees.

You wouldn’t be working for me if you joined me, Karl. I’ve been trying to explain this to you. The voice was calm, patient. That’s the difference between myself and those godlings. You can’t lie to yourself, Karl. You and Mianite were never equals.

Karl shifted uncomfortably, his eyes rising from the sword he held to the horizon, scanning for any signs of the others getting near. “Never said I thought that, man.” That was a lie. He knew it was. All the times he had spent talking with MIanite, the god had given him his undivided attention. He always made Karl feel at ease when he spoke to him, joked with him. But when he remembered the scorn that had filled the god’s face when he last saw him…

You deserve better, Karl. Someone who actually values you, cares for you. The Darkness’ voice softened reassuringly. All I ask is that you trust me.

Karl was silent for a while, completely still as his thoughts wandered through the mess of emotions the past few weeks had been. He knew the choice he was going to make. It didn’t seem like he had any better options. But a small part of him still questioned it, the part that still wanted to be loyal to Mianite, his god. No, he couldn’t refer to Mianite as that. He had lost the connection to the god the moment he put on that armour. He couldn’t go back on this decision.

“I trust you.” 

The potion. He knew what he had to do, even as the Darkness spoke. Before he could change his mind, he stood, and dropped Mianite’s sword over the edge. It only made a faint splash, before sinking silently beneath the waves.

It hardly took five minutes for Karl to row to his island, ascend the elevator, peel off his armor, and open the chest where the potion rested. He felt something push against his legs as he scooped the delicate bottle into his hands. He glanced down, and met the eyes of the cat. It was purring, and seemed almost pleased to see him. Popping the cork out of the potion, Karl took a deep breath before he quickly downed it in one go. A faintly bitter taste lingered in his mouth as he swiped a stray drop from his chin. For nearly a minute he stood there, unsure if anything was actually going to happen. Then it hit him, fullforce.

An excruciating pain filled him, forcing him to first his knees, then into a crumpled heap on the ground. His skin burning, his insides churning as though they had been coated in lava, everything hurt.. It felt as though his eyes had been ripped from his skull, his head throbbing with the waves of pain that just kept coming, and coming, and coming. He felt himself convulse, his head flying back, his limbs twitching sporadically. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. He wanted to peel himself from his own body, to fall unconscious, anything that would just make it stop,

And then it did. It took a long moment for him to force his eyes open, to realize the pain was gone. His throat felt raw, his mouth dry. He must have been screaming, cursing, without even realizing it. But otherwise, he felt fine. He felt even better than fine. The weight that always seemed to drag him down was gone, he felt positively light. Slowly, he rose to his feet, holding onto the chest beside him for support as his strength slowly returned. It was incredible, he could move ease, without putting any thought into it. He looked down at himself. He didn’t look significantly stronger but oh, god, he wasn’t himself any longer. Every bit of skin he could see had taken on the cracked texture, darkened to a dusky grey. He could feel something wet on his cheeks. Some black substance as dark as the void, he found, when he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. It seemed to flow steadily, soft plips barely audible as it slipped from his cheeks to the floor. Experimentally, he flexed his hand, causing a small dusting of the flaking skin to detach and drift downwards. He felt nothing. None of the burning, none of the aches, none of it. He felt normal.

I’m glad you’ve joined me properly, my friend. The voice of the Darkness, rather than giving him the faint chill he was so accustomed to, made him feel almost warm. We will achieve many great things together, so long as you continue to trust me.

Karl smiled as he reached down to scoop the cat into his arms. The others were always underestimating him, but it wouldn’t happen any longer. No, with the Darkness at his side, he would be unstoppable, undefeatable.

He would be happy.

[cosmicbash]

This was something I wrote in chat to my best friend earlier today then spruced up in docs. Because I thought yall might enjoy it too 😉

No proper ending of course cuz I'm lazy af

Concept

Em just straight up buying Kelly from Diddy. Like real world AU. He just buys Kells time for a month, just to prove he can and make the brat squirm when his label manager suddenly comes and tells him he needs to go be Marshall's (slave)  assistant for a full month and if he doesn't then they can't produce his new album

Just Diddy not giving two fucks about his artists except for the money they can earn him and Em rubbing it in Kells face that he's practically a for hire whore if he wants him to be;

Marshall barely acknowledges the blonde for little more than to give him his coffee or fast food order the first few days, just to make him sweat. See how he will react to repeatedly being ignored and treated no better than some random kid hired off the street.

By the 4th day Colson just snaps, and slams the coffee none too politely down on a meeting table to snarl at the older rapper about how he's not some goddamn coffee boy. All because he expected Colson to sit there and stir his cream and sugar in it for him in front of a group of people. 

Of course all that does is lead to everyone staring and Marshall ordering them out of the office. Eyes finally meeting the blondes dead on, glueing his feet to the floor and leaving him terrified.

By the time the brunette has slid the door lock over with a loud click and turned back around to start storming towards him Colson is near shaking in his designer boots. Marshall's stride and face unflinching like a predator closing in on its prey.

The poor boy doesnt know whether his fight or flight wants to kick in because yeah while he's sure he might be able to take the older rapper in a fight solely due to their size difference alone he also doesn't think hitting the guy will bode well for him and his bands careers. So instead he just tenses up and braces for impact. Expecting a fist to the jaw, or gut, hell maybe even a shoe.

The impact he's waiting for never comes, instead the rapper diverts his path last minute and instead settles back into the large cushiony office chair that rests at the head of the table.

The squeak and hiss of air when his weight lands makes Colson's hearing perk up. Focus zeroing in on the man's every movement while his body turns to face him once more.

Then comes the order, a finger crooking itself in a come hither motion that has Colson's feet moving despite himself. "Here. Now."

And before the blonde knows it he's in reaching distance of his rap god and suddenly a hand is fisting itself in his tank top, yanking him down. Forcing him awkwardly across the other man's lap, while another grabs the belt loops of his jeans. Leaving his hands to fly out and press shaking finger tips against the carpeted floor when he finds himself horizontal. And his legs to flail in the air for a moment before they also find purchase. Shoe tips finding zero traction.

The arm of the chair is digging into his chest and thighs painfully, and the fingers Marshall has fisted in the belt loops of his jeans to hoist his ass up and across has electricity radiating out from where a knuckle brushes against bare skin

"If you want to throw a fit and slam things around like a child I can treat you like a child-"

One hard yank later and Colson's whole face lights up like the fourth of july. Cold air conditioned office air tickling his now bare ass, jeans pulled down just enough to flash both cheeks and rest snug beneath the curve.

He knows what's coming before it happens but a startled yelp still escapes his mouth when the first open palm slaps down. A stinging pain shooting up his back from the impact. And em doesn't give him any time to recover, another succession of slaps follow within seconds to the same cheek. Until the skin feels hot and Colson's fingers have dug their way into the thin carpet in front of him.

Gasped grunts and jerks of his legs are all the reaction he's capable of giving. The humiliation of it all placing a tight knot in his throat.

Just when Colson thinks it's over, the older rapper switches his smacking to the opposite cheek. The palm that had been clapping down shifting over to tightly grip his hip, fingers digging in so tightly they inspire a curse.

Now using his right hand to smack. The blonde can't help but literally whimper at the sting added from cold metal rings present. 

"Is this what Diddy needs to be doing to keep you in line? Hm? Should I use our time together to train you into a good little bitch?" 

Colson's whole lower half feels like it's on fire, but somehow his face manages to feel hotter. He wants to retort, curse and scream and tell the older rapper off. All he needs to do is give a good push of his long legs or his arms and he knows he could knock himself free. But his body refuses to listen to him.

Between his legs his cock is steadily filling, thickening up against his thigh where its trapped between tight briefs and the lowered hem of his jeans.

The embarrassment coiling in his stomach triples, shame and arousal joining the cocktail of mixed emotions.

The stinging slaps finally end, even if his quivering doesn't. 

Now the warm palm resting against his ass just smoothes over the sensitive flesh, pressing down and giving almost comforting rubs . "Cat got your tongue Kelly? Or was it really that easy for me to break you?"

Swallowing down the tight lump still present Colson manages to at least shake his head. By now his fingers have turned white against the gray of the carpet and his lip feels swollen from the bite of his own teeth but he does finally get words to leave his mouth.

"F-fuck you."

Far from eloquent. Or the multitude of things rattling around inside his head that he wants to say. But he wont let the asshole assume he's some weak willed little bitch.

Marshall hums thoughtfully above him, the circles being rubbed against his raw ass widening, the press harder. Until it's got him wincing.

"Is that what I should do? Want me to reward you for taking your punishment so patiently by filling your tight little hole?"

A spread to his cheeks is what finally gets Colson's legs kicking back to life. His whole body tumbling to the floor in a heavy heap, ass catching the carpet wrong while he crawls backwards forcing tears to spring up in his eyes. 

Marshall looks amused, head cocked sideways now resting on one palm while he watches him.

Meanwhile Colson's heart is racing in his chest, his own gaze locked on the older rappers. Too afraid to look away while he blindly tries to pull his jeans back up. "D-dont touch me you fucking pervert!"

The smirk on bearded cheeks just grows wider. Until the man is smiling almost shark like at him, a twinkle present behind blue eyes. "Suit yourself-" another hissing squeak of the chair and the brunette is standing back up. Looming over the younger rapper spawled across the carpet while he fishes a couple bills out of his pocket. "The coffees all cold by now anyway, get your clothes back on and go replace the order."

Cash rains down over Colson's lap and he feels like a cheap whore. But the blonde still grits his teeth and crumbles the bills up between his fingers before pushing through the pain and dragging his pants back up over his throbbing ass. 

Counting it up Colson finds double what it cost earlier "This is too much-"

"Your reward. Get one of those too sweet iced coffees for yourself, and a fucking muffin or two." Fingers suddenly thread through his hair, catching him off guard. "Ass is too bony for my taste. Need to fatten you up over the next few weeks." 

[whatdorothyhaleknew]

Something I wrote when my mother was dying.

My mother is dying, and not in the Buddhist, Sylvia Plath "we're all dying, all the time" way. Her body has been compromised, the messages her cells send each other got confused, and now there is rapidly developing cancer in her lung, and most horrifically, in her brain. Just typing that disgusts me enough to taste stomach acid rising, the most brutally unfair place to become ill, a desecration on the shrine to her life, her person. I've been staying  at home a lot, obviously, and unsurprisingly, my university work has been put on the back burner while I cope emotionally and practically. Mum has been her usual stoic self, we don't talk about it. She just wants to sleep, drink her tea, keep on smoking (as laughably distasteful that seems), listen to her radio. She doesn't want to disrupt any of our lives. But despite her stiff upper lip, her cancer is catching up with her. First, she couldn't make it up the stairs, so she had to stay downstairs. But she still was ok. Then she had her infection, knocking her out completely over Christmas. Back then we still didn't know she had cancer, she had kept it from us. She seemed to recover a bit, she came home, she was back to normal. It wasn't until later that she began to decline. Now, she is frailer than I could ever have imagined her to be. She moves with a tricycle/walker that we got from the NHS, which she could use by herself at first. I stay at home as much as I can. I stay up late, listening for her needing my help. When she could move easily by herself, getting out and into bed with no problem, zooming around with her walker, going up and down the steps no bother, it wasn't such a big deal. I went to sleep without any worry. Then she got thinner, slower, she needed more help with getting up the little step to get into the kitchen. I started staying up late, listening in my bedroom for the telltale sound of the kitchen light flickering on, coming down and making excuses, assuring my mother that I was up anyway, and that I just wanted a tea, like her. About 3 or 4 times a night I would sit with her until she went back to bed, trying to make conversation. I still haven't talked about her cancer, or her terminal diagnosis, with her. It feels too cruel to do it, to someone I love, who is dying, who never wanted to have the difficult conversations. I dread when people ask me how she is. She's getting worse, more confused as the tumours annex more of her brain and more of her, she's thinner, getting lighter for her final journey. The last week or two, she has had trouble getting in and out of bed. Now there is no pretense, she knows I am up for her in the night, because she calls me to come down. She knows I stay awake. Yesterday, I had the horrible thought that all of us were just waiting to be bereaved, trapped in between two points, the names of which I am too frightened to fully acknowledge with words. Mum was adamant that I stay in university, and so I have also been thinking of all that tedious business, in the back of my mind. Now there are some deadlines coming up, and I have threadbare theories to work with, subjects that I struggle to care about. Today, I came back to my flat near the university, and headed to the university library with my laptop, intending to bulldoze my ideas and theories until I produced something. I stared into space when I tried to read, I desperately switched to Buzzfeed, Facebook, Twitter when I tried to write. Without realising it, my fingers seek distractions from when I try to let my brain out of its safe space. About 20 minutes ago, I was finally pushing my thoughts forcefully onto the Word document, rough, shoddy work, but at least it gave me a mound of clay from which I could sculpt my argument. I had stopped, just for a second, to think, or to not think, just for a second. I had Spotify on my earphones, on shuffle, my playlist including over 9000 songs. In that dead space, my brain briefly off-lining itself while I gain momentum to write again, Amanda Palmer came on, freezing me with her words. "Love of mine, soon you will die, And I won't be far behind, I'll follow you into the dark." I sat through the entire song, not sure if I should just have skipped it, as I felt that icy boulder I have in my gut thaw, a real, bitter taste to my throat. Embarrassed to say that I cried there. I swallowed that mysterious lump that comes from crying. I think the Chinese guy to the side of me saw that I was crying, but I'm thankful he didn't say anything. After I got myself together again, after I grew used to the wound that the song had created, or exposed, I felt....the same? Worse? Better? My life at the moment is like a kaleidoscope of brown and grey, even when it turns and changes, it's just more of the same aching dullness. This whole thing with my mum at first made me scared about where would she go when she died. I was raised a Catholic, then I was an atheist in my teens, and now I confess that I am agnostic. I don't know, and neither does anyone else. I don't think the picture painted in the Christian Bible, or the Muslim Qua'ran, or any other holy book is the perfect, accurate story, I don't think it is the exact blueprint for how the cosmos works. Ultimately, these religions were created, I think, to act as an adhesive for communities, creating immutable laws for everyone, and explaining unknown things. Of course, the belief in the afterlife is part of that last thing. Even knowing this, in my cold, rational brain, I can't quite believe that a person ends completely. Part of this lack of belief in disbelief is something I can't explain without sounding mildly insane. I have always had this sense, that the pair of eyes I look out of is a complete fluke. That I could have just as easily be looking out another pair of eyes, and using a different pair of hands, being called a different name. I have never liked labels placed on my identity, or people assuming I like this or that because I am female, or because I am straight, or English. Because I am well aware that there is a part of me, deep in my mind, which is neither female or male. It has no sex, no nationality, no race, no preference. I would stay awake for a long time as a child, thinking about this other me, that was looking out of my eyes, knowing they were only mine by chance, and knowing that these eyes are only mine for a limited time. As a child, when I went to sleep, this is all I would think about. As I got older, as I absorbed the culture I grew up around, I did not have so much time to reflect on this opinionless, sexless, ageless edifice in my mind, thinking instead about how I could fit in with the others, whether I'd get a job, if I would fall in love. But that thing still lives, it has always been there, it sits, unchanging in its appreciation in the randomness of this body and this life, a dark, hard, immortal rock in ever-changing currents, the mountain my house is built into and on. I don't know what to call it, not entirely sure if I can call it part of me, and if that it is the "real me", and the personality I have developed is just a growth. I don't want to use the word "soul," as it is too value-laden, but it suits this rock within me in some ways - it is unchanging, it watches, it is nothing but itself. If I lose both my legs, this rock of me will not be chipped, it will not be scratched, it will remain as unmoved as it always has been. I could lose my eyes, and it will only increase in its heaviness, in its presence. If the part of me that is me is my brain, what happens when it rots? Does it rots away around this rock of me? Does the rock of me stay?