#my brain is bouncing off the walls AND dragging itself face down across the floor at the speed of paint drying. all at once

[theygender]

I'm currently in a situation where my brain is super wired for literally no reason and my thoughts won't Shut Up and I feel like I need to do something thought consuming like playing a video game or smth before I'll be able to sleep. But on the other hand, my brain is also extremely fucking exhausted and I don't think I have the energy to do anything that requires brain power. But I also can't go to sleep bc there's too much energy bouncing around in there. Someone hit me in the head with a frying pan

[frogking17]

Monkie swap au - ‘A Hero is Born’ - (part 2)

(Part 1)

Read on ao3

The ground shook as a loud roar came from underneath Mei's feet. Their earlier argument forgotten as the earth cracked and Mei flew across the cave from the force used as it broke apart. Rocks and debris hurdled away from the miniature explosion. It filled the room with dust, making Mei cough as she rummaged around to find her footing. As she blindly searched her hand brushed against something cold and metallic. She gripped onto it before standing up and slinking towards the exit, her back clinging to the wall.

Slowly the dust settled allowing everyone to see a large looming demon rise from the creator left from the explosion. He snorted and shook off the dust before releasing a victorious roar, turning to PIF and Red son. Princess Iron Fan was the first to step forward; wind swirled around her to remove any debris leaving her looking pristine and elegant. She reaches out her hand towards the demon while smiling "it is good to see you again husband." Gently the demon held her hand before leaning down and placing a tender kiss. He looked up and roared "my wife, how did you manage to release me from my netherworld prison?" Mei watched as the princess's posture went rigid, slowly turning and pinning Mei with a glare "this mortal managed to lift the spear!"

All eyes drifted towards her with burning hatred before looking at her hands which were holding said spear. Nervously Mei held out the spear, babbling "oh, this old thing, if you want it, you can have it! All I really want to do is leave-" as the words left her mouth Mei felt the ground underneath her shift. She felt as gravity dragged her down, into a dark void. Mei's breath hitched as darkness filled her vision. Then she was falling again, her back slamming into a table causing it to splinter and break.

Mei groaned as she sat up, looking around to see the noodle shop. 'We're somewhere safe... good!' Then she saw a shocked and worried Pigsy, Tang and MK.

They all came running over, bombarding her with questions until MK distracted them with a high-pitched squeal. He's pulling at the spear which had lodged itself in the floor, gushing "OMG you just shadow portalled through the ceiling with the legendary, Warrior Macaque's spear." Tang rushes over to inspect it before staring at the ceiling and exclaiming "I think MK's right!"

Pigsy started shouting at the two as he gave Mei a glass of water while she sat in shock, her brain trying to catch up with what had happened. Suddenly she stood on top of the destroyed table, surprising her friends before announcing "I released a demon!'

Pigsy grumbled loudly "what do you mean? You released a demon!"

Mei jumped down from the table in order to start pacing "I don't know, I grabbed the spear and then the ground exploded and this huge, demon looking dude said he'd been released!"

Gently MK grabbed Mei's shoulders to stop her from pacing before nervously asking "this 'demon looking dude' didn't happen to have large, bull like horns?" When Mei nodded MK anxiously looked towards Tang before turning back and saying, "you just released the Demon Bull King, one of the Great Warrior's worst enemies, who has vowed that one day he'd destroy the mortal world."

Mei's face dropped in horror looking from MK to Tang, panicked. She sputtered, grabbing onto MK and forcibly pulling him back and forth "I can't be the reason the world ends! What do we do?"

Tang cleared his throat to get their attention before nudging back his glasses and exclaimed "we must take the dangerous journey to-" he was interrupted by MK squealing with excitement before he nervously told Tang to continue, "- to Flower Fruit Mountain!"

--------------

Pigsy managed to get an old friend of his to give them a lift to Flower Fruit Mountain on his boat. The wind whipped past Mei as she stood on the deck of the boat, squinting into the distance as their destination came within sight.

MK hadn't stopped bouncing with uncontrollable energy since they left the shop, and his positive light was a comfort. He was absentmindedly babbling when Mei interrupted him leaning against the railing as she asked, "why do you look up to this six-eared macaque guy anyway?"

MK froze before turning and puzzled "what do you mean? He's amazing!"

Mei laughed softly before saying "you worship this guy there's got to be more than just that!"

MK starts flapping his hands before grabbing onto the railing tightly and joyfully giggling "are you actually asking about everything I know about the Great Warrior Macaque?" When Mei nodded MK squealed before happily continuing "okay the Six-eared Macaque was born to a troop of magical monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain! He was feared by all the local demon lords for his incredible cunning but one day he decided he wanted immortality! He travelled all around the world until he found the immortal sage who taught him all sorts of cool tricks." MK stopped and waved his hand as he ominously whispered to Mei "However, heaven forbid his use of these powers and declared war against him and Flower Fruit Mountain..." MK jumped back as he yelled "but the Great Warrior was too powerful! So, they had to summon the Buddha, who trapped him under a mountain for 500 years until the monk, Tang Xuanzang, released him!"

As MK finished his story the boat slammed into soot blacked rocks causing the two friends too lurch forward. Luckily both were able to grab onto the railing before flipping over. "Sorry guys but this is as far as the boats gunna take us!" Sandy called from behind the steering wheel. Cautiously Mei reached out and grabbed the spear from where it was resting on the floor. Then turned to see an excited MK running off into the boiling inferno that surrounded the mountain with an angry Pigsy trailing behind him.

With the geysers spraying boiling water and lava spitting at Mei's shoes, she thinks that this macaque guy doesn't get many visitors. Cautiously the group tries to avoid the death traps as they push forward. In frustration Mei grumbled "at this rate we're never going to get to Flower Fruit Mountain!"

MK turned, looking like he was ready to give Mei some words of encouragement when suddenly the ground began to violently shake before a giant wave of flames erupted from the ground. A hand shot through the wall of flames and opened it like a curtain to reveal a demon wearing a red Tang suit with flames for hair. Loudly he boomed across the inferno "little thief I'm going to need that spear back!" He pointed at Mei slowly walking towards the group.

Mei tightly gripped the spear before pointing it towards the demon, yelling back "no way in hell am I giving it to you, Red Boy!"

The demon hair exploded in flames while he sputtered. Eventually he shrilled "it is Red SON and you know it!"

Seeing Red Son's obvious anger, Mei mockingly said "nuh uh it's Red Boy!" In fury Red Son lunged forward and Mei got ready to slam the spear down on his head. However, she felt the spear come to an abrupt stop in the air; looking down Red Son had the fist stopping the spear wrapped in an odd metal gauntlet. Suddenly the spear was pulled forward, taking Mei with it. Red Son flung the spear with such force that it caused Mei's grip to slip, and she went hurdling away from her friends. She heard Pigsy and MK scream in worry for her as the wind rushed past her.

--------------

Mei felt sand scratch against her face as the tide pulled her back and forth. A blunt stick poked at the back of her head, she groaned into the sand, using the last of her energy to push herself onto her back. The sun blinded her before a tall figure covered it. She had to blink a couple times before the spots in her vision vanished to reveal a soot furred monkey with red markings and six ears staring down at her.

"AHHHHHHHH" She screamed as she tried to scurry away from the strange creature. The thing covered their ears before trying to shush Mei.

Slowly it crouched down to her level then calmly said "hi, I'm macaque... the six-eared macaque." They looked across the beach confused before asking "how... and why are you on my island?"

Mei starred at the monkey in front of her. This was the six-eared macaque, great warrior, the person who fought against heaven. Honestly she was a little underwhelmed but who cares she found him; he can trap DBK again and save the world. Nervously Mei started to ramble "Mr Macaque I might have accidentally lifted your spear... and released one of your greatest enemies."

She anxiously smiled as the immortal starred at her in shock "YOU DID WHAT?!"

"I didn't mean too, it's a really long story, but it doesn't matter you can just fight DBK again and-"

Macaque raised his hand? Paw? -to silence Mei's rambling before rubbing his temples "No I'm not. I gave up on human affairs centuries ago-", he stood up and shot Mei an angry look when she tried to argue, "you made this mess so your gunna fix it!"

Mei watched in shock as the monkey wandered off into the jungle. 'That jerk is who MK looks up too!' She stood up and flipped off the jungle before turning around to the ocean surrounding the island and sighing in frustration. 'My friends are alone fighting a powerful demon' she stared at the water and thought. She had two options sit here... or find a way to help her friends.

It was her mess, and she was going to fix it!

--------------

Macaque leaned back in his hammock, enjoying the warm sun just before it went down for the day. The calm atmosphere was luring Macaque to sleep when a sudden screech interrupted it. Begrudgingly he climbed out of the hammock and walked towards the main area only to see that annoying human from earlier stood by his house.

"COME OUT YOU JERK! I KNOW YOUR HERE SOMEWHERE!" She screeched before turning around and spotting Macaque. "Finally, there you are", she straightened her jacket then stormed towards him holding his spear, he hadn't seen that in centuries... he had hoped he wouldn't ever again. Once she was inches from his face she yelled "teach me!"

The sudden request caught him off guard and he could only answer back with a pathetic "wha?"

"I want you to teach me"

Macaque scoffed and started walking away "no way in hell kid" he grumbled.

However, before he could get far, she had run around him, blocking his escape, exclaiming "we both know you can't just abandon the world... if you teach me, I can take over for you become like a successor for you!" She brought her hands together then started giving the biggest puppy eyes he's ever seen.

He tried to fight it, but he knew she was right. The world needed someone like him. He sighed in defeat before grumbling "fine you win... I'll teach you." She started doing a celebratory dance, waving the spear above her head in joy, until he interrupted her "but you can't use that" pointing at the spear for emphasis. He held up his hand to stop any questions while he walked into his house and started rummaging around for something.

What he was looking for was a sword made from a green metal that sparkled like jade. It had ornate carvings across the handle and blade. A long time ago it had belonged to a dear friend of his that the girl reminded him of.

He walked out of his hut and held out the sword to her. Cautiously she took it with her free hand before handing the spear to Macaque. "So does this mean you're my mentor?"

Macaque rolled his eyes before quipping "sure kid" and ruffling her hair which got him a very angry gasp and hand whacking him away.

MASTERLIST

[avintagekiss24]

—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

[remsmoonlight]

— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other. 

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can’t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.

[mellow-em]

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 2

[special dt @bluewingedangel <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

The afternoon sun brought in a relaxing mixture of natural light from the windows, but I wasn’t even remotely focused on it.

My right leg was bouncing hastily under the kitchen table while I prodded my salad with a fork. I tossed a particularly small carrot around in the bowl, swirling it around the sea of other vegetables.

“Are you gonna eat that or play around with it sweetie?” The sound of my mothers voice raced right through one ear and out the other one.

I only sighed in response, and leaned the side of my head on my hand, not bothering to look up at either of my parents that sat across from me.

They urged me to consistently have family meals with them today, in an attempt to dine on the experiences I had away at college. If they’d asked me to do this at any other time, I wouldn’t mind.

But my head was clouded by something else; or should I say by someone else.

Last night refused to escape my line of thinking. Even after it all went down, I went back to bed to try and fall back asleep, but it was absolutely no use.

The cunning quirk of his lips as he smirked back at me was an image that glued itself to the front of my brain. I reeled around in bed until sunrise, unable to silence my thoughts regardless of any persistence. So as of now, I was beyond exhausted.

“y/n? Are you alright?”

I jump faintly in my chair, with my fathers words pulling me away from my cogitation of the man from the pool, “I’m um.. I’m fine, sorry.”

I gave them a toothless smile as reassurance, but by the exchange of looks they both gave each other, they didn’t seem too convinced.

I shifted uncomfortably, and stabbed the carrot I was messing with. I slowly bring it towards my mouth, finally having the compulsion to take a bite.

Until the man’s wink decided to project in front of me, as if I was experiencing the whole ordeal all over again.

I abruptly dropped the fork into the bowl, resulting in a reverberating clash that not only startled my parents, but it startled me back into reality again.

“Jesus y/n, what’s gotten into you?”

I’m asking that same question, mom.

“Nothing, I uh- think I’m just tired,” the excuse flew out of my mouth in a panic, “I’m just.. I’m gonna go shower for the party later.”

I hurriedly sprung from my seat, and scurried up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Well that was smooth, dumbass,” I muttered out in the open, while slamming the door behind me.  

That son of a bitch is driving me crazy, and I haven’t even had a single conversation with him.

I take a few steps into the bathroom, placing both of my hands on opposite sides of the sink, leaning over with my body weight. With my head bowed down to the direction of my feet, I suspired deeply.

This was stupid. The brief interaction was embarrassing, yes, but with how I reacted today during lunch, especially when the party was happening later on today..

I just needed to stop thinking about what happened last night.

Act like it didn’t happen.

It didn’t happen.

____________

Turmoil carried on in the form of muffled conversations, and distinct bass from the speakers on the lower levels of the house. Even being upstairs in my room, the walls weren’t thick enough to block the noise that derived from the party.

Of course, my dad’s annual excuse backfired, and instead of the party being fairly small, it was as big as the rest of the parties we've had in the past. Although I really shouldn’t be surprised, knowing this really has carried on for 10 years at most.

As of now, I could only assume that the booze was already out for everyone, and by the end of the night, I could guarantee that almost half the people here will be drunk. It reassured me though, especially when I’ll probably end up being one of those people.

I could use a little alcohol in my system; to let myself go a little bit.

While fixing the straps of my white sundress, I looked at myself in the mirror, making sure any scraps of exhaustion were not visible on my features. Despite longing for a few hours of rest, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to get much yet again.

With satisfaction, I back away from my vanity, and start for the door that barricaded me from the chaos.

The exchanges of laughter became much more pronounced as I slowly opened the door, and traveled down the hall. My feet carried me towards the stairs, shaking from the rumble of the speakers seeping through the walls and floors.

It was a blessing that the noise didn’t affect our neighbors enough for them to make complaints; but that was mostly because they were all here.

With each step down the flight, more of the party overtook my vision. Guests were dispersed amongst every room as far as I could see, gathering around each other in hopes of starting conversation over the music. It had been fairly crowded to say the least.

Immediately after I make it to the ground floor, I’m bombarded by my mother.

“Hey honey, Nathan and Elena are outside if you want to say hello to them!” her slightly raising her voice didn't really help much, with us being right next to the speakers. But I nodded letting her know I understood.

Turning away from her, I then faced the crowd of people in front of me. I start to weave my way through, making slight pauses along the way to thank them for coming. Most of the people around me had a slight stench of beer already, making me scrunch my nose; that smell is definitely going to linger afterwards.

Eventually making it to the door, I slide it open and step out, letting the freshness of the outside air fill my senses. I quickly noticed the difference between the outdoors and the impeded aura from inside the house. It felt like I was finally able to breathe.

After shutting the sliding door behind me, I strolled away towards the yard.

I made sure to make a slight detour to the cooler to grab myself a beer though, rashly cracking it open as soon as I got my hands on one. I take a swig while observing the guests around me.

As soon as I saw a familiar head of blonde hair a few yards away, I could feel myself smile widely. I hadn’t seen Nate or Elena in four years, and being back home now is making me realize how much I missed them.

The both of them had moved into the neighborhood about a year after my family, and that was over 15 years ago. Ever since then, they hit it off more than you could imagine.

They had all gotten so close to one another, that they’d have annual dinners together, game nights and tag along on all of our family trips. They would even bring in their ideal vacation spots up to us, which evolved into us traveling to entirely different countries most of the time.

While Elena and my mom went to any beach they could find, and my dad found the bar, Nathan really wanted to drag me along to the historical landmarks and teach me about everything he knew. It made our relationship blossom, and now I considered him my second father.

Plus, because of him I began to develop an endless love for history.

I liked it so much that I made the decision to go to college for it. Nathan’s reaction when I told him before I left was something for the cover of a photo album, and I just knew already that a million questions were going to arise when I got to them.

I stepped down from the deck, and walked towards them with my lips still curled in a smile.

As I made it closer to them though, my gaze became hazy. With my brows contorting, my confused demeanor became more visible with every footstep I made closer to Nate and Elena.

There was another man wrapped into their conversation. He was taller than the other two, especially Elena. I noticed his hair slicked back ruggedly, from above the others’ heads. Though, I still couldn’t get a proper look at his face yet.

I turned my direction slightly to discreetly see who my neighbors were conversing with. My curious nature was overriding my body.

I should have just listened to that universally cliche phrase.

Curiosity did kill the fucking cat, and I wish it would just kill me now.

From here, I had a clear view of his face. He stood there listening to Nate’s banter, with a cigarette wedged between his lips.

The lips I had been staring at the night before, along with the rest of him.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

By this point I would’ve  been repeating my annual habit of staring in place. But  fortunately, I turned on my heal sharply to try and escape.  

“Oh my god y/n?” My breath hitched while Elena's voice rang out towards me.

Well great.

I held that particular breath in as I turned my body once more to face her. My warm smile returned to my face, but a layer of embarrassment and panic riddled beneath the surface.

“Elena, it’s so good to see you,” I went over and wrapped my arms around her carefully, keeping her baby bump in mind, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she returned the hug, leaning close to my ear, mumbling, “especially when I’ve had to deal with him all alone. I swear sometimes I really question whether the pregnancy hormones are hitting me or him harder.”

I look over at Nate for a quick second, stifling a laugh while I let go of Elena. The two of us continued laughing faintly, certainly gaining the attention of Nate.

“What are you two laughing about? What’d I do this time?” Nate looked genuinely perplexed, which made it funnier.

“Oh nothing, Nate,” Elena and I looked at each other, smirking as she spoke.

Even with Elena and I’s pleasant interaction, that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach just wouldn’t quit. I just knew he was watching my every move.

Especially, when in the corner of my eye, I watched his travel with me as I went to give Nate his hug.

“It’s good to have you back, Crash.”

Hearing the nickname took me away from my thoughts on the man behind me for a moment, and made my smile lift. 

“It’s been too long, Aku.”

We stayed this way for a few more seconds, until I feel him pat my back. I let my arms fall away from him, and return to my spot in front of them.

I then feel my head slowly turn over to the unknown one of the three; well to me he was unknown. 

“So who’s this?” I cross my arms in front of me, anticipating an answer from one of them.

But silence continued to radiate around us. 

They all stood there, exchanging looks with one another, making me raise one of my brows. While awaiting a response I decided to take a long sip of my beer, feeling the cold liquid slide down my throat. 

That is, before Nate finally spoke up, “Y/n, this is Sam,” he paused, and I could see the hesitation written all over him, “Sam Drake.”

I almost choked on my beer as soon as I heard the last name. I thought for a solid minute that my eyes were going to fall out of their sockets. 

“Is this your-” I pointed between the both of them.

“He’s my older brother.” Nate finishes my sentence, as he scratched at the back of his neck. 

My face fell even more if it was even possible.

Wait.

Nate was in his early forties to begin with, so that would make Sam…

I looked at Sam’s face intensely again, specifically at the wrinkles that were tainted across his face. Now that my brain was functioning properly, unlike last night, I noticed how many there really were. 

Great. Not only was I checking out Nathan’s BROTHER, but the man that was more than twice my age.

Fuck.

[flirtyhyuck]

ily

; how jaemin expresses love without saying it directly

; jaemin x gender neutral reader

; love languages, pure fluff

; 3k wc

Words of Affirmation

Jaemin doesn't have a way with words, something clear since the day you met. With his simple vocabulary consisting of mostly sound effects, you wonder how he's able to melt you with the slightest mumble of praise. It's everything about him - everything other than his actual words. It's his compliments coated in honey, slipping from his wide grin beneath gleaming eyes, so earnest and loving, that has your chest tightening.

"You're even more gorgeous in person," he cooed when you first met, blinking in appreciation but not straying away from your eyes at all, not even when you stare back in shock. Everyone loves a compliment or two but online, no matter how much you appreciated it, Jaemin's emojis and capital letters were no match for the cheesiness of his physical expression.

He never learns to tone it down, always sending you an appreciative once over along with a wave of adoring words to last you for a month. Whether that be in the form of text messages, shouting across the hallway, romantic whispers, Instagram comments, or even bragging about you with his friends, Jaemin loves to talk.

"Hey, princess," he greets you sleepily, feet dragging across the kitchen tiles with no energy to put into actual steps. You smile at his messy black bed hair and turn back to your coffee, stirring with an absent mind. He never learned to stick to one pet name, always bouncing around the few he's become accustomed to. You think he's picked up on your favourites though, usually choosing to call you princess with a proud lick of lips.

"Morning," you chime back, finally lifting the cup to your lips with a hesitant sip. Hot, you think, but let the boiling drink into your mouth anyway, too tired to care about the pain.

Jaemin seems to notice it, sending you a playful giggle as he pops his favourite sunflower seed bread into the toaster. You glare back and put the mug down with a roll of eyes, clicking your tongue at his teasing through a fond smile. Your boyfriend sighs, leaning back against the counter with crossed arms and a soft gaze before humming out, "have I ever told you how cute you look in the mornings?"

You halt for a moment before your lips tug up slightly, shy, and you bring the coffee back up to hide your loving reaction. "You have," you groan in exasperation, raising a brow at the man to ask what of the comment. As if an embarrassed school girl, you avert your gaze and twiddle your thumbs, attentive to his response but becoming more and more flustered when you meet his eyes.

"It seemed like a good time to tell you again then," he chuckles with a shake of his head. With a tilt of his head, observing like an innocent puppy, the corner of his lips tug up into an attractive smirk. His words are knowing when he coos, "my princess is so pretty in the mornings. Still sleepy and in my clothes."

"Yours," you sigh back in a daze, pupils shaping into hearts at the very sound of the word. The hem of his jumper rolls between your fingertips and you drown in the familiarity of the comforting fabric, worn down and mixed with both of your scents.

"Adorable you are," he lulls, turning around to pop out the toast impatiently. It hasn't gotten brown yet. Jaemin spins back around after putting the bread back in with a groan, giving your sleepwear a once over before silently thinking to himself, contemplating. "You should wear that blue shirt you bought last week," he suggests.

You'd never thought about wearing it to work before.

"I really like how it looks on you," he compliments, genuine and whole-hearted about his appreciation.

"Thank you." There's those butterflies again, the cloudy feeling in your head as your confidence raises just the slightest, reassured. Accepting compliments is always a struggle but with Jaemin, there's not even any room to ponder the praise, a statement said with so much simplicity and care that doubt just isn't correct.

Jaemin adds, "though I think you look good in everything.*

Acts of Service

When they say chivalry isn't dead, they're talking about Jaemin. There's no doubt his pride when it comes to helping you out, so in love with receiving a thankful kiss or smile that he'll go out of his way any time he can. Dishes after a dinner party, making the bed every morning, stocking the groceries, making breakfast, dropping you off to work or school - the list goes on but by far his absolute favourite is giving massages.

With an echoing, exhausted groan you fall into the hot bathtub with closed eyes, allowing your body to slowly submerge and get used to the heat. The water is a pastel purple, white glitter floating on the top with tiny daisies bobbing up and down with every wave your fingers send their way. The air is filled with an artificial lavender similar to that of your car freshener but you appreciate the effort anyway, taking in a deep breath letting the scent flow through your brain like peach fuzz. Candles are lit on your sink counter, the closed lid of your toilet, and the corners of the bathtub itself. Jaemin asks if you'd like the lights off with that and you nod softly, listening to the switch flick as soft music lulls through the air, reverberated by your bathroom walls.

"I made a playlist for this too," Jaemin grins proudly at his Spotify playlist listed as a single bathtub emoji. How appropriate. He sets it down on the floor at a low volume and lets the world fade away, only orange candle wicks slowly burning away with the movement of water to fill your blank minds.

Jaemin sits outside the tub, fully clothed but just as content, with an adoring gaze laid upon his open palms. "Do you like it, princess?" he asks, already knowing your answer but dying to hear it himself.

"Oh Nana, how much I love this," you lilt through an exhausted smirk, eyes fluttering open to appreciate his skin glowing in the fire light, "you must've worked so hard on this just for me. Everything is absolutely perfect and I couldn't have asked for anything more, you didn't even need to do this in the first place."

He beams, satisfied, "as long as you like it then all the work is worth it." You hold back an adoring grin, biting on your trembling lip so painfully that you try to grip at the cloudy purple water. He's kind and you just feel so special. "How was work?" he asks, redirecting the conversation.

"Ugh," you deflate at the thought, twirling a daisy stem into Jaemin's hair distractedly. He accepts it with a cute smile. "I was assigned to sort out bills in the afternoon so my neck and shoulders are killing me. I never want to look down again." Your neck tilts back with the words and there is a small pop in your neck, bones cracking grossly to show Jaemin just how awful it has actually gotten.

"Oh, baby, do you want a massage for that?" Jaemin's not the best as massages, hands always a little too gentle and wandering with soft touches rather than helping to release stress. Yet you accept anyway, absolutely lovestruck that he'd even offer after all he's done to set up the bathroom alone.

His hands awkwardly twist around your shoulders, the angle of the bathtub not leaving much room for his arms to be properly placed. The tips of fingers meet your shoulders first, pushing in awkwardly to try and undo the knots in your muscles after a long day. God, does he suck at this.

"Thanks, Jaemin," you whisper, genuine and appreciative.

Receiving Gifts

Everything always seems to remind Jaemin of you; planned or spontaneous, big or small, expensive or cheap, bought or handmade. The feeling of a fluttering heart never fleets when the man offers you a gift, his adoration for you held in the palms of his hands, ready to be taken by your own.

Sometimes the amount he offers is concerning, both because of how empty his wallet is getting and in exchange, how much space is it all taking up. The bathroom drawers are filled with lipsticks and eyeshadows Jaemin wanted to see you in, the sink right above it with two rubber ducks in matching scarves that he'd bought because "look! They're just like us. Duck couple!" The wardrobe is getting packed and packed with every new shirt the man buys for you, knowing that you've been looking for something like that for a while now. The jar is going to overflow soon, rocks that Jaemin collected by the seaside all packed for a mix of colour and texture through the glass.

"Y/n!" he calls out, the tone of voice familiar, the same eager excitement of a child getting ready to show their parents a painting they did in class today. His footsteps pad up loudly, practically stomping as he sprints, and you turn around to a familiar sight.

Jaemin stands tall, not at all affected by the running, with strong shoulders and hands behind his back suspiciously. You pretend to be clueless, wouldn't want to ruin a surprise after all. "Yes?" you reply, fond but unaware.

He becomes overjoyed by your unknowing attitude, heels bouncing up and down in an animated manner as he does his best to hold back the giant grin growing on his lips. He fails miserably, obviously. If holding the gift behind his back wasn't enough, Jaemin's eyes always glow in an overjoyed thrill when giving you something, curious of your reaction. "Guess what I got you."

He's practically shining, glimmering with the way he's staring up at you with stars spinning around his head. "You got me something?" you chirp, lifting yourself happily and trying to take a peek behind the boy's shoulder. Jaemin, like always, dodges your advance and takes a step back, a playful smirk on his face when he shakes his head with a click of his tongue.

"No peeking," he bites his tongue, "I said guess."

You blank at him, blinking with absent eyes before grunting out a "no."

Jaemin gives up easily, shoulders drooping down before he rolls his eyes. Through a wistful smile, he mumbles, "I got this for you."

This is the same too, his timidity whenever actually giving it to you, regressing into a shy attitude once the time for your reaction comes around. It's probably when he's most anxious in your relationship. His feet fall flat and he watches with curled shoulders as you gape at the tiny cupcake that finds its way from behind his back.

It's red velvet in a white paper liner and pink hearts iced all over top. "It's adorable," you peep, bending down to get a closer look before taking into your own grasp first, "this is for me?"

"Well I was hoping we would share," he chuckles, "but yes, I bought them with you in mind."

The cake is room temperature in your fingers, feeling like butter as you peel off the wrapper. "That's so sweet of you," you gush, looking back up at Jaemin feeling like you're about to burst.

"There's more." He rushes back to the hallway and bends down for a small white box that you hadn't noticed before, too distracted by the singular cake that Jaemin originally approached you with. It's cardboard with a silk red bow wrapped around the handle, draping down the prism with romantic waves. You almost want to keep the box too. There are all sorts of red velvet cupcakes, all the same paper but with different rises, sprinkles, icing patterns, and colours.

They're too sweet to eat.

Quality Time

Jaemin is busy. Extremely so. Stressfully so. Any time he has to himself are balanced halves dedicated to you and sleeping. Sometimes you feel like a burden, always taking up every second he isn't working, time he could be using to unwind alone, but he insists.

Jaemin pushes that he loves to be with you, even when he's too emotionally drained to chat or stressed to even be touched, Jaemin accompanies you. It's the small walks together to the SM building before late night practice or the new restaurant he's wanted to try in Itaewon. He's around.

"I'm sorry we didn't watch the one you wanted," you apologise yet again, kicking at the footpath sadly with your hands folded behind your back. The movie you begged profusely to see was definitely not at all what you thought it'd be and now, regretful, you realise that maybe that comedic drama Jaemin originally took you out for might've been the better option.

"I already told you to not be," he groans playfully, knocking his shoulder into your own until you stumble at the edge of the footpath, toeing onto the road before hopping back up to push him aside in retaliation.

"I wasted your time though," you sigh, solemn again. The sound on Jaemin's feet on cement pause and you look up from your own shoes to see him standing behind you, arms crossed and lips in a pout. You rush to explain yourself, panicked by his displeasing expression, "we just don't know when you're going to be free next so the only time we had was used stupidly…"

Jaemin stands stoic, unmoving, until you slow yourself down and he softens at your shy purse of lips. "Don't be sorry," he begins, moving into your personal space with a reassuring tug of lips, murmuring, "any time spent with you is enjoyable, I love being with you, don't ever feel guilty, okay?"

You worry at your lip, eyes darting around the cinema's screens to observe every other movie's showing times. Jaemin frowns even deeper at this, taking your silence badly and brushing a delicate thumb down your jaw to grab your attention.

Holding eye contact, stare holding so much intent, Jaemin repeats, "okay?"

A shaky sigh runs out your chest but Jaemin is pleased, dropping his hand to grin down at you encouragingly, patient. "Okay," you chuckle, awkward but just as happy with yourself as he is.

"Now let's go to the arcade, I'm not done with you yet."

Physical Touch

Jaemin loves to touch everyone. His friends, family, strangers, and especially you. It's his encouraging pats on the backs in place of 'good job', his hugs that make you forget the entirety of anything that isn't his hold. It's his delicate kisses on the cheek that light up anyone's mood, teasing yet loving all the same. His hands are always everywhere, it's always weird to see Jaemin on his own, not connected with another.

His hands are always wandering, finding home on any bareskin they can find, bare or under fabric. The touch is warm most days, other than when it's dry and cold outside, his fingertips taking on the temperature, but otherwise Jaemin's hands are clammy and rough, padding against your skin gently.

"Hey!" Jaemin yells, kicking at Donghyuck, who had slid into the seat next to you right before your boyfriend could. They bicker over the spot, pushing at one another like children until Renjun cuts them off in annoyance, shoving the youngest to the front seat with a curt glare.

"It's okay, Nana," you pout, leaning toward the passenger seat with a reassuring smile. Your fingers tug at his sleeve lovingly, twirling the fabric around your thumb and watching it fall loose before Jeno politely asks you to buckle up already. "We can sit together on the way back."

There wasn't anything to be lost, his shoulder is probably cramped from reaching into the backseat the entire car trip, holding onto your own outstretched hand or your ankle, fingers dipping into the cuff of your jeans tenderly. Only thing more he needed was to lay on your shoulder on the drive home.

Kisses of all kinds are Jaemin's thing, he puckers his lips, all ugly and chapped, before leaning in with mischievous eyes to pepper any surface of skin with kisses. It's especially dreadful when he's just gotten his makeup done, tacky lip tints and glosses pressing marks of pink and glitter.

"Y/n! Come here," Jaemin waves his hands at you, calling you over to his vanity in the waiting room as the details of his hair get fixed for the second performance recording. His skin gleams grossly with sweat but he smiles so purely with so much affection that you can't help but approach the man with a mirrored look of adoration. It's hard to not ruffle his hair when he peers up at you cutely, the stylist pulling away until his head is facing the right way again.

You think of complimenting his performance but bite your tongue. Today isn't a praising sort of day for you and Jaemin. "What's up," you reply off handedly, tapping Jeno on the arm as he walks by to send the other man a thumbs up. He receives the gesture with a curt nod before going to get his own clothes fixed up.

Jaemin clicks his tongue and reaches for your hand, your fingertips now mildly damp from Jeno's own sweat, before pulling it up to his lips to place a small, sticky kiss. A small line is left on your knuckles, sheer red with silver glitter, and you cringe at the sight, internally melting at his sudden affections. Your boyfriend's lips tug up proudly before his hand weaves into yours silently, humming along to their song that plays in the background as your locked fingers settle on the arm of his chair.

Renjun steals Jaemin's attention from across the room but his thumb rubs along your pointer, gentle and present.

[blackberry-bloody]

so I haven't done much original whump in quite a while, but I really felt the need to fill my own prompt (even though technically this turned into waaaaaaay more than I intended, and the tail whump is kind of an after though in this it seems.), and I really wanted to introduce my boi Dayzel officially. So Here's two birds with one stone.

@darkwarfy, @icyheart-and-friends, @seagullsausage

Contains: creepy whumper, retrained whumpee, non human/demon whumpee, angel/non-human whumper, implied prior whump, torture, choking, broken bones, loss of limbs (not graphic/ not described), humiliation (if you squint, so just in case), stress position, snarky whumpee that doesn't know how to shut up, whumpee reaching their breaking point

Dayzel's breathing came wheezy and strained from where he was unhappily seated. The ropes pinning his wrists to each if the chair's arms were starting to cut bloody red lines from his tugging, and his vision was just a little hazy from the repeated blunt force injuries to his head. Still… He looked up at the man glowering over him, a smug grin plastered quite firmly from ear to ear. He was Dayzel Infernos, and he was not about to be bested by some punk angel trying to get all high and mighty on his ass. "Look, chicken wing-" a resounding slap echoed in the room as his head snapped to the side. He clenched his jaw and slowly turned his head back to glare at the very narrowed purple eyes that had gotten much closer. "Oh wow, don't like nicknames huh? I'll keep it noted." His voice was practically dripping with a toxic mixture of venom and sarcasm as he chuckled in the man's face and spit a globule of blood at him.

The look of disgust on his face made his smirk that much more smug as he leaned forward as much as he could with his wings tied to the back of the chair. Just needing enough to close the gap. He was not impressed. "Hey bird brain, I don't know what you, or your buddies that dragged me here are thinking you're doing, but whatever it is… It's pretty fucking pathetic." His tail twitched from it's position around his leg, swaying from side to side like a snake judging the creature before it. "You're not the first person to try and "teach the evil demon a lesson", hell you're not even the first angel. I've had humans do worse than you. All you've done is smack me around a bit and glare at me." A slightly manic giggle escaped, but soon turned into a coughing fit as he had to pull back to catch his breath and relieve tension on his wings. Once he opened his eyes again, he noticed the angel's expression had changed from one of anger and disgust, to something more unreadable…

Dayzel paid the change no mind however, and continued with his taunting."I've been here many times before and not a single person… Human, angel, or otherwise has yet to make me break. None of you have any creativity. You're all so dull."

"Is that so?" The man before him finally spoke. His voice was deep and commanding, but also incredibly soft. But in the otherwise quiet room… It was practically booming.

Dayzel's eyes snapped up once more and processed the moment, his grin faltering for only a split second, and only due to the surprise. "Ah, so he can speak. Wonderful. I was starting to get tired of my own voice. Oh wait, no, that's impossible." He laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and making them echo. However, he was abruptly cut off as a hand shot out and grabbed one of his horns. It didn't hurt, but it was just jarring enough to make him wince. He let out a low growl and tried to tug it out of the angel's grip. Only for the man to laugh in return, and guide Dayzel's head into an uncomfortable position looking straight up at the ceiling. "For the record. Yes. It is so. And of all the times I've been caught, this doesn't even make the top ten." He bit out. He tried to jerk his head again to make eye contact… But his head was held firmly in place.

"I see. Then perhaps it's time I showed you some of my… Creativity… Hm?" Delicate and utterly cold fingers found their way to Dayzel's fully exposed neck, and ever so gently wrapped around the skin… Before the grip became crushing hard, cutting off his airflow entirely.

Dayzel gasped and, although he tried his best to hide it… He did start to panic… As he tugged on the ropes trying to reach up and claw his hands off him. Or even shift his head so he could bite him. But neither were really options, so he was just left to slowly choke on nothingness until his vision went black.

~~~ Eventually, and ever so slowly, Dayzel could feel himself being pulled from the black void of unconsciousness. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer seated in an uncomfortable chair, but instead was laying face down on an uncomfortable floor. The second thing he discovered was that he was indeed still restrained, despite the new position… His arms twitched behind him to try and push himself up, but was only met with stiff and sticky resistance of boring duct tape around his wrists. He had yet to open his eyes, but he still rolled them behind his eyelids. “I thought you were going to show me creative, not cliche, pigeon,” he growled out, despite the somewhat still smug tone in his voice. “Oh, don’t worry your fake red haired head, I’m getting to it. Try not to pass out before I can, ok?” The same voice as before spoke somewhere directly above him. Monotone, flat, and utterly condescending.

Dayzel’s eyes finally snapped open and he tilted his head to try and see where the angel was, “What the fuck is that-?!” He was abruptly cut off as a boot was placed securely at the base of where his wings met and weight was steadily applied. “Oh” was the only thing he could wheeze out as he struggled to take in air with his rib cage being crushed. He attempted to seem nonchalant as he felt the angel shift his weight behind him… But that was quickly thrown out the wind as he felt soft hands carefully take hold of his tail, lifting it up to get a better look. Immediately Dayzel started thrashing under him, letting out curses and threats that could put a trucker to shame.

"Oh hush, no need to get so worked up yet." Was the only reply given. Well, the only verbal reply… The twist and added pressure on the tender muscle between his wings were his other reply all it's own. The motion itself was enough to stun Dayzel beneath him, reeling from the pain. The angel, of course, took advantage of this moment and swiftly tied a cord around the man's tail before releasing him. "See? Now, up you come."

Delicate hands corded through Dayzel's blood matted hair and yanked, startling Dayzel from his daze, guiding him to be standing upright.

Dayzel gasped and heaved for breath as he stood up, wobbling ever so slightly as he did so. Although, he'd deny it with the same vigor and venom as he would anything else that might bruise his ego. His eyes were ablaze with fury. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?! As soon as I can, I promise I'm going to pluck you like a chicken!"

The angel's expression remained neutral as his hand made its way up to wipe the spit off his face. "Yes… I'm quite certain you'd like to. But do please remember you brought this upon yourself sweetheart." There was no warmth, nor malice for that matter as he reached up and patted Dayzel's cheek. "Don't worry, though, I'm almost ready to leave you alone."

"Don't you dare touch me like that!" Was all he could manage to growl as he snapped his face to the side and bit down hard on the man's hand. However, instead of pulling away, or even acknowledging the red lifeblood dripping down his hand… The angel simply tsked and gave Dayzel a look of… What he could only describe as disappointment… Which was enough to startle Dayzel enough to let go.

The angel's uninjured hand shot out so fast he actually flinched as his horn was once again grabbed and his head tilted back. The angel carefully and slowly maneuvered behind him once again, and as he was still held in place, Dayzel had no idea what he was doing. "Such a shame. Your wings are actually quite beautiful you know? I was hoping to merely pin them for this… But seeing as how you want to resort to such. Brutality. I shall return the favor in kind. They should make a nice mantle piece."

Dayzel felt his stomach drop. All tough guy act and threats thrown away as fear took over his face. Actual, genuine, raw fear… "Wait, please don't-!" But he didn't even get the finish as the angel gripped tightly at the base of his wing and twisted and wrenched until the limb fell to the floor. And before he could so much as gather his thoughts… He immediately started on Dayzel's other wing, doing the exact same. That too fell with a soft thud to the floor. Dayzel never cried… And that much held up… No, through his screams, instead he was sobbing. And once his horn was released from it's crushing grip, he too fell to the floor in a heap of himself.

"See? Now we're getting somewhere. Lesson one. Fighting only ends in pain." The shifting of the voice told Dayzel that the man was once again in front of him. He didn't respond. "If you don't acknowledge me, I'll cut off your horns next."

"Fuck you." Dayzel lifted his head ever so slightly to get a look at him… Splattered with his blood across his white uniform…

The man crouched down to be closer in view. "Ah, out of threats I see. That's good. That's progress. There may be hope for you yet." He reached down and delicately pet the tufts of Dayzel's hair and the fuzz of the back of his neck. And Dayzel hated himself for being grateful for the gentle touch as opposed to pain. He merely clenched his jaw. "Unfortunately for you, lesson number two is that hope is meaningless." His hand withdraws and he stands back up to his full height, before fishing around in his pocket for something. Once found, he pulls out a tiny two button remote, one up arrow and one down arrow. He presses the up arrow.

Confused, Dayzel looked up as he heard some sort of mechanical noise, like a motor. And that's when he noticed the cord going up, that was attached to his tail… Which was seemingly being lifted by said motor.

Again, panic rushed through him as he scrambled to stand up and tried to reach the cord just below the tip of his tail… But he was still far too dazed and in pain to grab hold and undo the knot, let alone with his hands tied. He watched as the angel started walking towards the door out of the room, meanwhile his feet finally couldn't touch the ground and he lurched forward with a hiss of pain. The motor stopped, leaving the wingless demon dangling from the cord and the tip of his tail. When he looked back… The angel was gone, leaving him to his own misery. "FUCK YOU!!!" He screamed again, this time raw and full of hate, so loud that it left him once again panting for air.

~~~

It started as a sharp pain, every muscle and joint screaming at him to get down. To ease the pressure. To stop what was happening. And it lasted like that for the first little while as he struggled against the tape and spun in the air. He even tried being upside down and climbing backwards up his own tail to reach the cord. It didn't work of course, but he was desperate enough to try.

Eventually, he figured he'd try staying as still as possible to reduce the sudden jerks on his tail. But then he got lightheaded, or his legs fell asleep and he inevitably had to shift again, sparking the pain once more…

However, after a while… The pain became duller, and more muted. Still very much there and ever persistent. But his tail was slowly losing its ability to hold him up.

Finally he lost the ability to move his tail at all. It had gone a tingling sort of numb and lifeless…

He slumped, folded in half, and without the strength to hold himself facing parallel to the ground. He didn't know how long it had been, nor did he know how much longer it would be… But for the first time, he felt completely helpless.

[sickonthedancefloor]

77-Minute Consequence...

Prompt: Not everyone left the pool from Run 132 unscathed...

Sickie: Hoseok, Jimin Caretakers: Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi... so far Content: fevers, flu-like illnesses, emeto

Hoseok had fun filming the double-dose of run episodes, their second being a watery debate that ended in non-stop splashing and drenching, but he could feel the chill once they were out of the water. Even if the water was so forceful it really almost hurt, after their long morning of tennis battles, it was still a great day. The pool water was warmed, not quite at the intensity of the hot tub but it certainly wasn’t freezing. But they could feel the draft every moment they stepped from the water, the feeling of the air drafting over their soaked clothing the moment they left the safety of the pool.

“Come on, hyungie, time to get out,” Jimin urged, pushing his foot against Hoseok’s. They were still in the pool trying to soak in the last bit of warmth they could after Jungkook pushed them in while horsing around, hair plastered to their necks and foreheads while they bounced across the shallow end.

Laughing, Hoseok tried to grab Jimin’s foot, only to assist in tripping the younger member as Taehyung hurried in after them.

“Come on, guys, let’s get ready to go.”

Suga, with a new towel wrapped around his shoulders, stood from the sidelines. He already worried about all of them catching something, but he definitely didn’t want to be the first. While the pool was relaxing and the hot tub even better, it was just slightly too cold for them to enjoy it to its fullest. Hoseok, ever the one of reason, let go of his roommate in favor of wading towards the exit—but Jimin was quick to jump on his back to shove him in, cackling as Hoseok barely had time to grab his nose to prevent inhaling water. When he came up, spluttering and wiping away fresh water from his eyes, he leaned back in an attempt to dunk Jimin off.

…just kidding about reason, Suga realized. Laughing, he just turned and hurried off to find where Namjoon had gone.

Hoseok sneezed again, small but powerful; it shook his core, his sinuses burning, his nerve endings tingling uncomfortably from his shoulders to his fingertips from the force. It startled him.

“Uh-oh.” Came a voice behind him in the water.

When Hoseok shook water from his eyes, slightly dazed from the force of the sneeze, he caught Jungkook wading over, hands outstretched. Hoseok barely had time to reach back before Jungkook had latched onto his shoulders, slowly dragging him back.

“Jungkookie, what are you doing?” Hoseok mumbled.

“Taking Hobi-hyung to the steps. Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry!”

“We need to shower first,” Hoseok started. “The chlor—clor--… claahh…” And another sneeze, which had him shaking suddenly in Jungkook’s grasp.

Jimin, who’d been lazily wading behind them, sniffled with a frown. “Hob-ah, that doesn’t sound so good.”

“Aish… I just need a hot shower when we get back. You too, Jiminie, your nose is running.”

“Is d’ot!” Jimin protested, but he had to bring a hand to his face to wipe away what he had originally thought was just water. It felt wet but warm, stringy; definitely snot. And disgusting. He turned his head from Hoseok to hide the move, but Hoseok had already begun ascending the stairs, already trying to peel himself out of his soaked tops. On Jimin’s own way out of the pool, he sneezed—and it was enough to drop him back into the water with a melodramatic air about it. Jungkook lost himself to laughter immediately.

 ~*~

 The next morning, Hoseok woke up with two major complaints. His blanket was part missing, and he was hot. The dorm room had felt frigid the night prior which prompted Hoseok to crawl underneath the comforter and the sheets, but his bed felt so warm he began to regret his choices the moment he stirred awake. It felt almost… stuffy. A little gross. As he blinked open his eyes, ready to push back one blanket, he noticed a familiar lump pressed against him that was holding on to his blanket like a lifeline.

“Jiminie?” he mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Still as ever, Hoseok recognized that messy blonde hair from anywhere. He and Jimin had shared enough beds that he could tell in an instant.

The room still seemed too dark as Hoseok tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he knew something had to have been wrong if Jimin had maneuvered over to his bed that night. Stifling a yawn, he reached a hand over, gingerly pressing his palm against Jimin’s forehead. He could feel heat, but… not too warm? Maybe? Jimin felt clammy to him, which he was sure wasn’t his own sweaty palms. Something still seemed off to Hoseok, but even with his sleep-logged brain he wanted to do something about it. He figured, while he was up, he’d at least check on him, perhaps get him medicine and water to shake whatever he seemed to be coming down with. The older dancer moved carefully, sliding his legs from the covers first so he could slip from the bed without disturbing his younger guest. The floor seemed chilly under his feet, but what startled him awake was how fast the world seemed to sway the moment he stood.

Was he really so tired?

Taking a moment, hand pressed flat against the wall, he just reacquainted himself with his sense of balance before he took another step. He felt… sore, tired from yesterday’s events. Perhaps he just really needed more sleep; Hobi hated not getting enough sleep when he had the chance to. But today’s schedule was light—he could go back to sleep after he took care of Jimin, squeeze in another hour or two. Grumbling, he shook his head; once everything seemed to right itself, he shook the funk from his head and just left the room. That sure was strange. With a soft yawn, he headed over to the bathroom on their side of the hall, as he could hear the shower running in the closer one, moving towards their first aid and medicine stash they had.

Given the seven of them were always prone to falling, overworking, or catching each other’s illnesses, their bathrooms in the dorms were always stocked with various painkillers, bandages and cold medicine or prescriptions for various circumstances. For organizational purposes, Hoseok had placed them all in a plastic container, so different bottles wouldn’t just get knocked over and passed around the bathroom. It still had a crack from the last time Namjoon knocked it over. Pulling over the container closer to him, Hoseok reached in for one of the bottles of painkillers, looking at the specifics on the label. His vision blurred, and he spent a few moments just blinking, trying to will his eyes to focus so he could read the label.

Wow, he must have been really tired…                          

“Hoseok-ah?”

The light turned on suddenly. That would’ve helped, but it had Hoseok grimacing, an odd heavy feeling forming in his head. He didn’t often get headaches from lack of sleep, but he was starting to wonder if an impending one was coming along. He looked into the mirror at the new offender, and was surprised to find Jin standing in the doorway with his toothbrush. The two made eye contact through the reflections.

“Ah… Hyung. Good morning. Using our bathroom?”

“Yeah, Taetae’s hogging the shower in ours.” Jin’s head tilted to the side, a small frown tugging on his lips as he noticed the medicine kit in front of them. “Did something happen? Hoseok-ah, are you okay?”

“Hn? Ah… Jiminie’s sick, I’m pretty sure,” Hoseok explained. “He crawled into my bed last night, but he’s really warm today so I think he’s got a fever.”

“Hm… Well, let hyung help with that.” Jin set his toothbrush down and moved a little closer, brushing his shoulder against Hoseok’s as he slid the container of medications closer to him. “And you?” he asked, head turning to Hoseok directly. “How are you feeling?”

“Ah…” How was he feeling? Hoseok just yawned again. “I think once I check on Jimin, I’m—” but he paused, bringing a hand to his mouth to force out a rough cough. It hurt, an uncomfortable heat overwhelming his chest as he tried to choke out whatever offending phlegm had gripped into his lungs. After a few rough coughs, accompanied with Jin’s hand patting his back, he manages to stop, taking in a harsh breath. He looked up, shaking his head. “Once I check on Jiminie, I’m going back to sleep for another hour.”

Jin’s arm draped around his shoulder to give the younger rapper a hug, but he paused and moved his hand back, pressing it against the back of Hoseok’s neck. At the offending heat, he brought his other hand up to Hoseok’s cheek, pressing the back of his fingers to clammy skin. Hoseok didn’t bother fighting him off, not bothering to entertain his concern, and just continued to rummage through the kit until he could find the thermometer.

“I think you’re also sick… It’d explain why you’re so sweaty. You’re really clammy.”

Hoseok just shook his head. “Jiminie was too hot is all,” he answered. “Jin-hyung, I’m okay--” But his breath hitched. His sinuses suddenly burned, and it’s all the movement he could do to turn his head away before letting out a loud, nasally sneeze onto his own shoulder. His nose felt wet instantly, and he screwed up his face in discomfort, leaning over to grab a tissue.

Jin’s frown grew in intensity, and as Hoseok wiped his nose, the older one turned him to face him, looking closer at his face, catching view of the glassy look in Hoseok’s doe eyes. Despite his determination, Hoseok merely looked too dazed to stay on his feet for long. “Seok-ah… Come on, listen to hyung.”

Hoseok sniffled, blinking almost owlishly at Jin. “I’ll take something later, but I’m fine.”  With a soft laugh, Hoseok shook his head and stepped back, grabbing the painkillers and thermometer on his way back to his room. Jin watched after him, frowning heavily.

“I’m going to get you both some water.”

“I already have water,” Hoseok called after him, but he grimaced at how harsh it felt against his throat. He pointedly ignored Jin’s pressing stare and scurried back into his room, crawling back onto the bed. Leaning over, he gently pressed his weight against Jimin, resting his head against the younger dancer’s. “Jiminie, wake up, wake up,” he said softly in a sing-song voice.

Jimin grimaced, but immediately turned his face towards his pillow to cough roughly as he tried to clear away any phlegm that settled into his chest during his slumber. Hoseok eased off, dropping the pill bottle on the bed to pat Jimin’s back until the fit ended. It took a minute, but by the time the fit ended, Jin was back with a water bottle, Hoseok slowly urging Jimin to sit up while Jin brought the cool water to his lips. Barely awake, Jimin sipped at the water slowly, his small hand reaching up to grab it from the older vocalist. After a few seconds, with Hoseok just rubbing circles against his back, he handed it back, taking a deep breath with it.

“Sorry, hyungs…” Jimin mumbled. He brought a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “I didn’t feel great last night… I was cold.”

“You’re sick, Minnie.” Jin ran a hand through his hair, then pressed a hand against Jimin’s forehead, taking a moment to gauge his fever himself. His eyes widened, which had Hoseok tilting his head in confusion. “Your fever feels really high, too…”

“It didn’t feel that bad when I checked earlier,” countered Hoseok, though the exasperated frown he received in response had him shrinking back. He glanced around, a little surprised to find another water bottle and cough syrup on the side table. Turning his lips inward, he handed the thermometer over when prompted, and Jin removed the cap.

“Under your tongue, please. And no talking until it gets a reading.”

Jimin blinked in surprise, glancing between the two of them. “You guys came prepared… Wasn’t expecting that.” But he did as instructed, letting Jin position the thermometer in his mouth before closing his lips around it. Hoseok turned his face away to let out another sneeze, grimacing as the sensation set his nerves temporarily aflame. Still holding the tissue from earlier, he just wiped his nose again.

“Did—”

“Don’t talk.”

Jimin’s lips closed back over the thermometer, but his eyes turned to Hoseok as they waited. Jin pointedly avoided looking at Hoseok. Once the small device beeped, Jin moved it from Jimin in order to gauge the reading: 38.8°C. Jin read it aloud as he stood from the bed.

“Not dangerously high, thankfully… If we stay on top of it, it should go down. Feeling anything else besides the fever, Minnie?” Jin questioned his dongsaeng.

“This dumb cough… my head hurts a little, but the painkillers will help with that.”

The eldest nodded. “Alright… I grabbed cough syrup too. Take that while I go wash this off.”

As Jin left the room, Hoseok leaned over Jimin to grab the cough syrup, frowning when he noticed the two small dosage cups tucked on top. Jimin seemed to notice them too, looking over at his roommate.

“Did I get you sick, hyungie?” he asked softly.

“You didn’t, Jiminie, so cute of my precious roommate to worry about me!” Hoseok cooed playfully, though the rasp to his voice was evident to the younger man given his little pout. The older dancer worked on finding the proper dosage for the syrup. But as he attempted to read, his brows furrowed; for some reason, they words weren’t focusing as well, but it was probably due to the lower lighting. He brought it closer to his face, but his eyes watered a bit trying to stare too closely.

Jimin’s own clammy hands gently eased the bottle from his grip, a soft look in his eyes. Hoseok could see a look of worry; he didn’t like that at all. “Let’s just wait for Jin-hyung for that one. Where’s the painkillers?”

Oh, those he had. Hoseok picked up that bottle and opened it with slight strain, but paused as he turned his face away with another sneeze. He sniffled, then knocked out two tablets to hand to Jimin. The smaller singer tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with a large swig of the water, then glanced at his roommate again.

“What, Jiminie?”

“Are you just going to pretend you’re okay all day?” Jimin asked softly, pouting once again.

“W-what?”

Jimin didn’t get a chance to answer before Jin was back, sitting down near Jimin’s legs. He leaned over, holding the thermometer to Hoseok. He had his stern face on, something the others hadn’t seen in a long while. Jin was a rather easygoing member, usually more playful than anything, unless there was something truly bothering him or if he was concentrating too hard. “Humor me.”

“Jin-hyung, this is ridic—” Jin cut Hoseok off by pressing the thermometer in his mouth.

“Under your tongue.”

“Ji—”

“And no talking!”

With a frown over the small device, Hoseok pulled the thermometer from his lips and merely climbed from the bed to clean it. What he didn’t expect was to catch Jimin’s hand gripping his own, tugging him back down. It was almost embarrassing how easy Hoseok stumbled back, eyes wildly blinking as his view changed suddenly. He frowned, and the uneasy sensation from earlier returned almost full force. Jin wasted no time pushing the thermometer back in his mouth, but he sat still with a small huff, waiting. Jin busied himself with filling both dosage cups with liquid, handing Jimin one of them. Once the thermometer beeped, Hoseok pulled it from his lips and frowned at the reading: a 39.1°C. Jin quickly snagged it from him before he could erase the reading, which had him sighing.

“Hyung, I’m fine,” Hoseok insisted.

Jin just handed him the second cup. “Drink up.”

With a sigh, Hoseok just nodded, drinking the small cup like a shot. It burned just as badly going down, but far less satisfying, than soju. As Jin collected the cups, he handed Hoseok the second water bottle and left the room again.

Jimin sighed, flopping back on the bed. He definitely looked worse for wear, and Hoseok brought a shaky hand up to run fingers through his hair. Jimin smiled softly. “Hyungie… Since we’re both sick, we should just nap all day. Cuddle me?”

With a grumble, Hoseok just crawled his way back onto the bed next to Jimin, pushing away the covers on his side. With this fever, Jimin felt like a furnace and it was extremely easy to overheat. Hoseok didn’t sip the water, merely held onto the bottle pressed to the side of his chest; although he wouldn’t admit it, the cold temperature in his hands felt nice to just hold onto. Jin didn’t say much else, merely reached over to ruffle both of their heads before standing.

“Go ahead and rest, okay? I’ll stay in today. If you need anything, call hyung.”

Jimin smiled up at him before tucking his face into Hoseok’s neck, yawning loudly. Hoseok merely pulled him close and let his eyes flutter closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

 ~*~

 Waking up was a startling affair. Still half-asleep, Hoseok barely registered the feeling of someone pulling him upright, and he bumped his head immediately against someone’s knee.

“Whoops, sorry, Hob-ah.”

“Yah, Namjoon-ah! Be careful!”

Faint coughing from Jimin, then the immediate sound of retching. Hoseok opened his eyes to see Jimin hunched over the side of the bed, Jin rubbing his back gently while looking at someone over Hoseok’s head. Namjoon, Hoseok guessed, but he couldn’t understand how Namjoon ended up standing over him. And then the overwhelming scent of vomit just attacked his nose, overpowering the scent of sickness that had begun to permeate the room. He felt hot, and sticky, and feeling Namjoon’s large arms holding him up by his armpits didn’t help.

“You awake, Hobi?” Namjoon asked. “We’re gonna have to help you two shower after this.”

Grimacing, Hoseok brought a hand up to rub his eye—only for both Namjoon and Jin to yell at him to stop moving. He paused, hand lifted upward—and it was wet. A warm, sticky wet, and smelled sour… He was quick to realize it was vomit, in its gross and putrid glory. Jimin let out another heavy, loud retch, and Hoseok’s own stomach flipped at the sound of liquid splashing into something plastic. Hoseok didn’t do well with vomit on a decent day, barely being a step above sympathy puking, but the uncomfortable warmth and the heavy odor in the air was more than enough to make him nauseous immediately. He whimpered, mouth already beginning to salivate uncomfortably.

“Yaaaah, Hoseok-ah, let Namjoon get you to the bathroom first! Namjoon--”

“I got it!”

The younger rapper came into view as he stepped to Hoseok’s left side, letting go of the dancer in order to flip the blanket to the side. Hoseok could see the liquid already seeping through, and his shirt was drenched in sweat and speckled in leftover stomach bile. He felt gross… His stomach rolled immediately. Namjoon wasted no time in pulling Hoseok to his feet and off the bed, ignoring the dripping mess from his hand as he ushered him to the bathroom. Hoseok wasted no time dropping to his knees when they made it past the door, not even waiting for Namjoon to turn on the light before he gave in to his body’s demands. The pressure forced bile from him like it had been waiting for hours, the cramp in his stomach twisting to empty the contents. He didn’t eat much, so he was startled when one mouthful became three, which soon were too many to count. Just what did he even have in his stomach to expel so harshly? His shoulders shook with exertion, cleaner hand trembling as it gripped the edge of the commode so tight his knuckles were white. All the while, Namjoon knelt beside him, wiping his messy hand with a wet wipe before just rubbing his back, reassuring him that he was okay, to just let it out and he’d feel better soon. It felt almost never-ending, each few seconds forcing out another painful retch as he tried to cough up whatever he could have eaten in the past week, his esophagus on fire. His back hurt, tense from the strain, and he could barely feel his fingers.

It took a long few minutes before the cramping let up, and Hoseok, extremely winded and drained, rested his head to the side of the bowl. He’d needed a shower anyway; this wasn’t the worst. Namjoon sighed softly, more of relief than anything.

“Nothing else in there?” he asked.

“Nn-nn. Joonie… that felt bad.”

“It looked bad.”

Hoseok could feel Namjoon easing his face away, hearing the sudden roar of the toilet flushing before him. He let him go, and Hoseok’s cheek found the porcelain again while he just let his eyes fall closed and listened to the ruckus happening around him. Namjoon swearing softly as he messed with the cleaning wipes, probably cleaning up whatever mess Hoseok may have made of around the toilet. He could hear the shower running, and Namjoon soon tugging the toilet paper roll—the entire roll, judging by the sudden clanging of metal—from the ring. It didn’t take long for Hoseok to feel toilet paper wiping at his mouth, and he pouted at the feeling.

“Sorry, we should probably rinse your mouth out before you shower, but let me get this extra off your face.”

“Can I shower here?” Hoseok muttered.

With a soft laugh, Namjoon just helped him remove his dirtied clothing. Hoseok leaned back to realize Namjoon also seemed to be shirtless, and opened his eyes to find that his friend had already stripped to his own boxers.

“Wha…?”

Namjoon laughed softly. “You’re really not in any condition to shower by yourself, Hob-ah.”

That earned him a pout. Hoseok wanted to believe he wasn’t so incapacitated that he needed help… but given how the fatigue seemed to stay settled in his bones, he knew his friend was right. Namjoon was at least kind about it as he helped him move into the shower, taking extra effort to massage Hoseok’s scalp as he conditioned his hair just to help him relax. Hoseok didn’t even feel shame as he let the shower’s water splash against his clammy skin. He let Namjoon sponge away grime and sweat from his body, and the gentle scent of the soap already brightened up his mood. Namjoon urged him out before he got too relaxed, helping him dress in fresh pajamas. Upon closer look, Hoseok realized that neither the pants nor the oversized shirt were his, but they felt nice nonetheless.

“Finally got in your pants, Namjoooon,” Hoseok laughed breathlessly.

That got a chuckle out of his friend, who just toweled his hair for a few seconds before walking him down the hall. As they passed his shared bedroom, Hoseok found himself squinting over his shoulder in surprise. “Mm… Joonie?”

“Jin-hyung’s letting your room air out a little more,” Namjoon replied. Instead, he was led right into Namjoon’s own room, and the taller rapper helped ease him into bed. With a soft sigh, Hoseok pressed his face right against the pillow. Feeling considerably cooler, more comfortable, and on one of Namjoon’s feathersoft pillows, he was already doing better. The fellow 94-liner draped a blanket over him and straightened it out, then, to be safe, pushed his desk trash can to the side of the bed. “Rest for a while, okay, Hobi?”

Hoseok didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes closing, he fell asleep easily.

 ~*~

 Hoseok awoke feeling way too warm. With a grimace, he lifted a hand to push the blankets away, only to find that he apparently had been hugging some sort of companion. Confused, he paused, lifting his head up as he squinted forward.

From there, he saw Yoongi, earphone in one ear, phone in a hand with stylus in the other, He seemed to be jotting down notes. Yoongi absently placed the stylus in his mouth and moved his hand to Hoseok’s hair, petting it gently. The notion had Hoseok moving to drop his head against Yoongi’s chest, his arm still draped across his stomach. He hummed softly.

“Hyung?” Hoseok mumbled.

Yoongi’s hand didn’t stop petting his hair. “You’re awake, Seokseok-ah?”

Hoseok gave a slight nod. “It’s hot in here.”

Yoongi looked down, and his hand moved from ruffling his hair to covering his forehead. “Shit… you missed a dose. You need more medicine.”

Shaking his head, Hoseok let out a whine. “I don’t wanna be asleep anymore. Yoongiiii…”

That got a chuckle out of the older boy. “Come on. Meds, a little bit of juk, and maybe we can crash in the living room for a bit—”

Before Yoongi could finish discussing the game plan, the door to Namjoon’s room swung open carefully, and Jin’s head popped in. Hoseok turned to look at him, putting on a smile.

“Hey, you’re up! See, Jimin-ah? He’s okay, he was just resting in here.” His voice remained low and soft, and Hoseok had to smile at how careful their eldest hyung was being. As Jin moved back, Hoseok could see Jimin peering in, eyes tired but delighted to see him.

“Hobi-hyung!” Jimin wasted no time in crossing the room, immediately draping himself over the two on the bed.

Hoseok fought back a grimace and smiled, small hand reaching over to ruffle Jimin’s hair. Jimin’s extra weight pressed against his tender stomach and just made him feel warmer, but he was glad to see his roommate. “Jiminie, feeling better?”

Jimin sighed dramatically. “Only a little bit… I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

At that, Yoongi laughed, hand reaching over to gently shove Jimin’s shoulder. “Better get out before you throw up on this bed too.”

“Hyung, don’t tease me, I’m sick,” whined the small vocalist. He received another shove in response.

But with a laugh, Jin merely headed in to tug Jimin back to his feet, promising they’d visit again later. As they left, Hoseok could hear Jin convincing Jimin to return to bed now that they’d seen Hoseok, and the gesture made Hoseok feel warm inside. It was nice to know that Jimin cared for him even as they were; he just hoped the others were taking as good care of Jimin as they were of himself. He was sure they were, especially if Jin was there. Jin was the best.

“What’s that make me,” Yoongi asked, “Chopped liver?”

Hoseok laughed, not realizing he’d spoken out loud. “You’re my best hyung.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Yoongi chuckled at that, bringing a hand back up to stroke Hoseok’s hair. As Hoseok began to relax against him, the older rapper nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, Seokseok-ah… Food and meds. Food and meds, and then you can sleep again.”

With a grumble, Hoseok just pressed his face further into Yoongi’s shoulder and tried to pretend he didn’t have to get up.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Yes, ma'am

Pairings | Jimmy Woo x domme!reader

Warnings | smut, gun play, female domme, Dom/sub dynamics, role play, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Word count | 1.5k

Summary | Jimmy wanted to try something new

Masterlist

Jimmy sighed, pushing back from the desk as the clicking of heels sounded around the room.

"Here she is, boss." One of his coworkers said, hands clutched tight around your wrists where they were tightly handcuffed behind you back.

Your lips were twisted into a permanent, deviant smirk. Face cold, calculating as you looked Jimmy up and down - the only hint of emotion displaying itself when you traced your lips with your tongue before pulling the bottom one between your teeth.

"Put her in the back room. I'll integrate her." Jimmy dismissed, his own eyes cold as they bore into yours.

You had been at odds with the agent since, well- since a long time ago. He never quite managed to catch you, or even get close for that matter. You were always one step ahead.

Until today.

The chair screamed as you plonked down, the legs scraping over the scratchy floor in a melody of ear-crunching rakes of metal over old marble.

You cringed, leaning out of the officer's way as he attached your cuffs to the table. He scoffed, clearly amused at your compliance after so many years of running and fighting and defying...

Little did he know, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

He left the room with a thud of the door and a pointed look, as if to say 'don't you dare fucking move', even though - let's face it - there isn't really anywhere for you to go right now.

Chained up and locked in a room. You might find the bondage arousing if it wasn't for the hard metal and the fact that, oh yeah, you like to top.

Well, like might be the understatement of the century.

You cleared your throat as the door sprung open again, malice behind the action when Jimmy stepped through.

He sauntered over to the table, shuffling papers and settling his coffee down. Jimmy pulled the seat out and sat down, only looking up when you cleared your throat again.

You couldn't contain your grin at his bugged out eyes.

"H-how did you...?" He cut himself off as he eyed your hands with marvel.

"Get free? Oh, sweetheart, did you really think these," you held up the opened handcuffs and swung them side-to-side tauntingly, "would hold me?" Jimmy swallowed and you grinned.

"I, uh-"

"Aw, are you getting Flustered, Darlin'? Don't worry - I'm only getting started." You smirked, placing your hands on the desk as you pushed yourself to your feet. "Stand up, don't make me ask twice."

You walked across the room, double checking the door was locked before turning around. Jimmy was still in his seat, gaping at you. You arched a brow.

"What did I just say?" He snapped to it, quickly getting up and standing with his hands at his sides. Your tongue snuck out to smooth over your lips as you moseyed closer to him. "Good boy."

Your finger danced over his chest, peaking under his coat before your dragged the material from his shoulders. Jimmy stayed still as stone, ridged and frozen as you dragged the garnet from his body.

As quickly as it came off him, you pulled it over your own shoulders. The jacket was baggy and hung unflattering the from your arms, but you were taunting him.

"Strip. I may have use for you yet." You demanded and you'd never seen a man move so fast.

A blink of an eye and his gun was in your face, aimed straight for your brain. Your eyes flutter up to look at it and your red-painted lips curled into a malicious grin.

"Put your hands in the air, right now." Jimmy breathed haughtily, hands shaking.

"Cute, but not gonna work." You murmured, grabbing his wrist and turning his arm until Jimmy released his hold on the weapon.

You pushed him up to the wall, his arm bent uncomfortably behind his back as you lifted the gun to his head. Jimmy swallowed thickly as the sound of the safety turning off. Click.

"Awhha, and you didn't even have safety off!" You exclaimed. "It's like you want me to win." You commented before shoving it against the back of his head. Jimmy flinched. "Now, you're gonna do exactly as I fucking tell you to, or I shoot you. Got it?"

Jimmy winced again.

"Got. It?" You repeated through clenched teeth.

"Yes!" Jimmy shouted and you pushed him against the wall harder.

"'Yes' what?"

"Yes, ma'am!" You grinned, easing your grin to spin him around.

"Much better." A kiss was placed to his damp cheek before you pushed him to the ground.

You could see him quivering, his thighs shaking as his knees made contact with the cold ground. You waved the gun back and forth, humming in contemplation before settling on an idea.

"You ever sucked someone off before?" You asked and Jimmy frowned.

"W-what?" Jimmy asked, confused.

"I asked if you've ever sucked anyone's dick before." You hummed, gun pressing against Jimmy's head again. He swallowed. You smirked.

"N-no, ma'am." Jimmy whispered and you sighed.

"Hollow your cheeks, breath through your nose, don't gag too much." You rattled off your instructions.

"I-I don't understand-" was all Jimmy got out before the gun parted his lips and made its way into his mouth. You licked your lips at the sight of Jimmy's - spread beautifully around the gun and shiny with spit as he bobbed his head.

For as much as he was resisting, it's like he wanted to do this.

After a little while, you noticed Jimmy was canting his hips into nothing - humping the air as he sucked his own god damn gun.

"Rub yourself off, baby. Go on, make yourself cum." You mumbled, pressing the tip of your boot against his crotch. Jimmy moaned around the metal, long and strained as he began to roll his hips against your foot.

And oh fuck, it felt good. Oh so fucking good, and that feeling alone made Jimmy feel ashamed. He shouldn't like this at all. You loved to see him like this, desperate and needy as he ground against you.

"That's enough." You decided, and Jimmy whimpered as you pulled away. You chuckled, setting the gun down the the table before crouching down before him. Your fingers found their way beneath his chin, tilting his bowed head up so you could meet his eyes. "On your feet."

By the time you'd finished playing around with him, Jimmy was a planting mess. His hair was sticky with sweat and his eyes droopy with lust as you hovered over his achingly-hard dick.

A smug expression settled itself on your face as you lowered yourself onto his cock. You still had his jacket on - the rest of your clothes discarded around the room along with his.

You had put him back into the chair he'd originally sat down in, using the cuffs you'd been locked up in to attach his wrists behind his back before climbing onto his lap.

Once you straddled him, you began to lower yourself down before letting him sit deep inside you.

"You're so big." You moaned, lifting your hips in a slow roll that made his eyes roll back. "Fuck, you feel good." Your fingers traced the lines of his muscles, finding their way to his nipples before you began to pull and pinch at the stiff peaks as you picked up the pace.

Jimmy was a moaning, whining mess as you bounced on his dick - walls clenching teasingly as you felt him throb inside you. Your fingers kept pulling at his nipples, the act surely nothing but painful.

Your teeth nipped at his neck, your aim to leave marks when you kissed against his jaw. Jimmy's arms strained as he fought against the bonds, muscles flexing beneath a soft layer of fat that made him so much more attractive in your eyes.

"Such a good boy, letting my ride your dick. So big for me - fuck, I could stay here all day." You continued to purr dirty nothings into his ear, relishing in the deep moans you were pulling from the man as your pace began to falter.

You came with a cry of his name - the only crack in your facade - before you were collapsing onto his chest. You kept a slow roll, grinding dirtily against Jimmy until you felt him tense.

"Cum for me, sweetheart. Fill me up." The words twisted your tongue next to his ear, a filthy whisper that had him groaning through an earth-shattering orgasm.

"F-fuck." He moaned and you hummed. You slid the key for the cuffs from the pocket of his jacket, which still clung to your frame, before reaching around and freeing him. You rubbed his sore wrists before kissing each one softly.

"How was that, baby?" You asked, leaning back to look in his eyes, yet you made no action to get off him. Jimmy smiled dopily as your hands cupped his face.

"It was perfect, thank you." He mumbled and you smiled back.

"Good, I'd do anything for my best boy." You murmured, lips pressing a small kiss to his forehead, his nose, his lips.

Taglist

Other Marvel Characters One-shots, Drabbles and Headconnons | @buckysgirl101 @quxxnxfhxll @anakinsslag @marvelhoesworld @macylawz @zaphdekota @thegirlwiththeimpala @ohmy-fandoms @prettysbliss @samira_mcd @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @dpaccione @multihoee @natasha-danvers @supraveng @cap-n-ce @sebbyxlover @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @veronicapaula @ravenmoore14 @frickin-bats @itstaylorcale @dannjulie @ChaseTheMoon

If your name is crossed out, it means I couldn’t tag you!

[hansoulo]

thread count

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Warnings: liek… cursing? mentions of nightmares. bed sharing. the works.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: posting this at noon bc im tired of staring at it in my drafts 🤡also i recognize that star wars decided glass is called transparisteel but given that it’s a stupid ass decision i’ve elected to ignore it. enjoyyyyy :)

“No.”

“Mando-”

“No.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your rucksack dropping to the floor with a heavy thud as you flopped back onto the bed. The one, single bed.

“It’s too late to go anywhere else, alright? We’re basically stuck here. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?” He grunted at this, still standing at the doorway gripping his disintegrator rifle. “Drop the ‘tude, tin can. Could be worse,” you mumbled as you reached to wipe a hand over your face, sinking into the soft sheets.

It was kinda nice, actually. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept on a real mattress, with real pillows and blankets that didn’t feel like sandpaper. The inn owner was sweet, a wizened old woman who’d only smiled when you asked if there were any rooms available. Just the one, she had said. Down the hall.

This was ridiculous.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, closing the door with a large hand on the rusted knob. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was a far cry from your usual, less than ideal sleeping arrangements, so you relished in the feeling of the pillows beneath your back before propping yourself up on one elbow, eyelids already drooping as you watched him. He looked… awkward. If you had any more energy, you’d probably laugh. “I could- ” he cleared his throat, setting the rifle against the wall, “I could sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed as you reached down to pull off your boots, throwing them haphazardly into a corner. You’d helped him with the occasional bounty for years, and known him for longer than that. You could share a fucking bed. Besides, it’s not like anyone else was around to see. Minus the baby of course, but it (he? she?) didn’t really count, right? It was already sleeping. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m going to just-”

“Mando,” you glared, standing up. “If you sleep on the floor, you’re gonna be even more of an ass tomorrow morning. Just do us all a favor,” you waved a hand towards the baby in its pod, “and get over yourself, alright?” You reached down to the hem of your top, tugging it above your head before you heard him make a low, distorted sound - probably a cough, but the modulator made those kinds of things hard to tell. Left in your undershirt, you crouched down to stuff the fabric - dusty and soiled from a day of travel - back in your bag. “What?”

He shifted on his feet, his helmet ducking slightly at the sight of your exposed skin. “Oh c’mon,” you groaned, your expression teasing. “You stabbed a guy with a serving fork yesterday, Mando. I don’t think this could be any worse.” If you could see underneath his helmet, you’d be willing to bet he was blushing. Funny, how that worked. How he worked.

The bedsprings creaked underneath your weight as you laid down again, pulling the blankets out from their tucked corners. The window on the other side of the room lay open, bringing in a chill that had you drawing the covers tighter around your shoulders. “Could you close the window?” you whispered, tracking the glint of beskar through half-closed eyes as he complied with your request. His armor reflected orange light - dim and flickering from a small lamp hung beside the door - before it was snuffed out by a gloved hand. You let out a quiet thanks, not bothering to fight the exhaustion dragging at your mind as he stood above you. “I’m going to sleep,” you mumbled, turning on your side to face the wall. “Do what you want.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

Flat, white light crackled across your vision and you opened your eyes with a groan. You could hear rain beating against the windowpane, glass rattling with every new roar of thunder in a way that had goosebumps erupting across your arms. It was dark outside, inky and fogged over save for the few flashes of lightning that cast the room in sharp relief. You didn’t really mind the storm - you usually liked them - but something about the way it sounded had you on edge. It was a bitter kind of rain, unrelenting and loud and really, really cold. Bracing yourself on your hands, you lifted your head, only to knock it against the edge of something metal. “Ow what the fu-” Oh. Oh.

He hadn’t been next to you before - no, you would’ve remembered if he had - but now... now he was. Next to you. And he… had a hand on your hip and- and you were still facing away from him but you squirmed, feeling the weight of his arm on your waist, heavy and slack. No gloves. No vambrace. No pauldron. Just… the helmet. No shit, bantha-brains. The Mandalorian let out a breath, the sound low and seeping syrup in your bones. Was he still asleep? Maybe you should- “Stop moving,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your words thick with sleep. “M’just cold.” It was a half-truth. You were cold, but the fact that you were pressed up against one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy probably didn’t help either. Neither did the fingers digging into your hip. Or the arm tucked underneath your neck. Or the hand attached to said arm that was skimming across your collarbone, seemingly unaware that it was touching anything at all. He drew you in closer and you could feel his legs slotted into yours, your toes brushing the bare skin of an ankle (that didn’t belong to you) before your scattered thoughts were forced elsewhere.

“Then why’d you take off your shirt?” he mumbled. The rain pounded a rhythm in your head, lulling you down and allowing yourself to sink back into his arms. You didn’t really want to think about tomorrow morning. If things would be weird. There was a chance neither of you would remember this when you woke up, though, so it’s not like it mattered. Even if you did - if he did - you knew it was all business.

“Hm?” you said, tucking your chin and scooting back slightly. Your back met the hard planes of his chest, his skin hot and thrumming even underneath the thick material of his shirt. The man was like a fucking space heater. Ha. Space heater. Funny. You were funny. And tired. And- wait did he ask you something?

“Why take off your shirt if you’re cold?” he repeated. The last word trailed off as a palm moved across the expanse of your stomach, his thumb rubbing circles across the raised seam of your undershirt and burning the skin beneath.

“I wasn’t cold then,” you huffed, reaching a hand over his and guiding it below the thin fabric until it rested still on your sternum. A better version of you, more awake and with more critical thinking skills - with the power of thought in general - would probably kick you for using the Mandalorian like a fucking hot water bottle, but that didn’t really matter. You were cold - and exhausted and laying on a bed that was very, very comfortable - and he was warm. You couldn’t really be expected to take any responsibility for this. “Plus, the shirt was dirty,” you added, only dimly registering how your fingers laced with his, tracing battered, scar-shiny knuckles in your half-sleep. He hummed and leaned forward, the metal of his helmet rounding smooth against your hair.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, his breathing falling back into tandem with yours as you felt your eyes fluttering shut. “Go to sleep.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

“Mando, wake up. Wake up, please.” Your voice was tremulous as you shook his shoulder, stretched over tight with desperation and knocking against the walls of the room. Your plea bounced back hollow, a high, unrelenting tone that made your ears ring. Everything was caving in on itself, crumbling slow and then all at once in a way that had the sweat on your temples icing over. You weren’t a child anymore. You shouldn’t have nightmares. “Please.”

He sat up quickly, a hand bolting out to the blaster tucked underneath his pillow and aiming steady at the enemy that had yet to show itself. “Is someone there?” he asked, graveled over but still frighteningly alert. A light sleeper, you supposed.

You shook your head, wet tracks crackling on your cheeks as you spoke. “No, no one. It’s fine.” He relaxed at this, setting the blaster down at his side. His palms were dry when they came up to your face, slightly calloused but still soft as they traced over the rolling tears.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whispered, meeting the dark slit of his visor before ducking your head. “It’s nothing, I-” you sniffed, swallowing the air that was caught in your throat. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Hey,” he called out, hesitant and a bit unsure. “You okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision before opening them a few moments later. The Mandalorian only stared, his helmet tilting with a cock of his head.

“Just nightmares,” you said when he remained quiet. “But they aren’t normally this bad.” The remains of a sob fragmented beneath your ribs, bubbling up in a wet cough that burned your throat. His hands came to rest at your back, flat and steady against your spine until your breathing evened. “I’m sorry,” you repeated after a few minutes.

The Mandalorian let out a quiet noise, gruff and a bit pained-sounding. “It’s okay,” he said, his fingertips pressing softly into your shoulder blades. You could only just hear him through the storm outside. “I get them too.”

You faced the beskar, gaze searching for the eyes you knew were looking at you and finding nothing but darkness. It was enough, though. To know he was looking. “You do?”

“Every night.” A beat passed before you hiccuped again, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s still late,” the Mandalorian whispered, his hands gentle as they reached around your shoulders. You let him pull the covers over you, feeling his words soak into your back. “Let’s just go to bed.”

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt​ @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch​ 

[yolkyeomie]

Crescendo | Kang Yeosang

summary — The beating of a heart is like a crescendo, screaming louder and louder in one's chest until it's reached maximum capacity, and you’re about ready to burst.

word count — 8.6k words

pairing — yeosang x female!reader

genre —violinist + college au, band au there if you look around a little bit, fluff with like a hint of angst in the later parts

disclaimer — SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT,,, this is more of prologue than anything tbh. also I have almost zero knowledge on college and violins so if this is horrible I’m so sorry. also typos. lots of typos.

part I | part II | part III

I.

There was just something about summer that you liked so much. You just couldn't exactly put your finger on what.

Maybe you liked the sunny days that it would bring? The giant ball of light in the sky beaming down at full power onto every human in sight. It would illuminate the world with a golden glow, bringing out the more natural and earthy colors hidden from the other seasons. The heat would call for unplanned trips to the cool waters and hot sand of the beaches or a quickly made dash to the nearest frozen ice cream shop. Perhaps it was because there was no more school, no more time needed to spend on slaving away for hours at a desk just to not retain any knowledge given.

Or maybe you liked it because it was the time you’d see children the happiest. Every time you biked along the sidewalk to and from your home you’d come across a playground almost always filled to the brim with the joyous sounds of laughter. Children scattered around the playgrounds like little ants to a picnic, grabbing whatever they found the most intriguing for the day. Some would be swinging, some would be sliding, some would even be chasing each other around without any of the equipment catching their attention at all.

However, there was a possibility that you enjoyed the summertime because of the theater your town held. It wasn't very big compared to the ones that could be found in the big cities of your country, but it was nice nonetheless.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

Every year your high school would hold recitals for their students in that theater. They would use these performances as a way to showcase their students' growing talents in the art of music or to spotlight their shyer students who never had gotten a chance to show everyone what they were made of. You weren’t in any sort of music group nor did you know how to play any instruments, so you never participated. But you did show up to every recital you could.

When you were in tour first year the only reason you had attended the performance was because your English teacher had promised to raise their overall grade for the year if they did. You were a decent student, overall you had average grades but wasn't the most outstanding person in your class. A few extra points to curve your grades were always appreciated so you had planned on attending the performance.

You had tried to grab a couple of friends to go with you, but all of them coward out when they got the chance. Some would say they were too busy, some would outright tell you they didn't want to sit through a performance they had no interest in. So you ended up simply going with your family, more begrudged than you originally were for the recital.

You had sat through choir members and members of the school's small orchestra and band repeating nearly the same song over and over again. Each song had a different tune, maybe a different style depending on how much creative liberty the singer or player gave themselves. One song was sung a bit louder than the others, another song was played by a small thrown together orchestra than simply a soloist, but they were all the same.

It was boring, and you were growing tired of listening to the same thing constantly. The only thing willing you to stay in your seat the entire time with the arm crushing strength of your mother and your need to get extra points on your grades for the year.

Near the end of the recital was when you had gotten hooked. Your family had finally decided they were going to pack it up for the night, her father had to work early in the morning and you were going to be thrown over towards your grandparents for summer. Just before you could have risen out of your chair to leave behind your parents, you heard it. A different melody than the ones that have been rocking your brain that night.

There was a boy walking on the stage, probably no taller than you was at the time. He was tiny for a first year boy, probably one of the shortest in his class as well. His hair was like a fluffy brown bunny's tail, bouncing and tousling itself around with every step he took. There was a string instrument in his hands, from what you could see was a red-tinged wood violin. You couldn't quite see the expression on his face either though, due to the distance you were from the theater stage.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he plucked one of the strings, letting the note resonate through the theater and bounce off the walls and into their ears. He had played a note, on a different key from the other performers. He was playing a song that his fellow violinists hadn't picked. He was different.

The sound was like a siren's song that grabbed the audience's attention and placed it to the stage. His melody started out soft and somber, almost as if the violin itself was conveying its unspoken emotions. The violinist was trying to use those emotions his instrument lent him to serenade the tears in the audience's eyes to fall and hit the ground simultaneously, creating their own beat to his song.

After a moment of enticing the audience to his performance, he sped up his pace. His quiet song suddenly grew in size until it overpowered every other sound in the room. He strummed each string with a quickness you didn't even believe was possible, his bow striking each note like it was powerful enough to create an earthquake. In a sense, it was like he and the violin had become one being, his string instrument becoming an extension of his arm as he played.

The audience whispered in wonder and amazement of the boy's talents, unable to take their eyes away from his figure. It was an enchanting sound so you couldn't blame them. The violinist had brought you into a world completely different from reality, where every object and plant in sight was made out of his musical chords.

How does a boy, barely over the age of fifteen, have this much power in his hands? You would be cursing yourself if you didn't grant him the title of prodigy right then and there.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn't listen to the rest of his alluring song. Your family had dragged you out of the theater to finally retreat to their humble abode for the night. After that night you had declared to yourself that you’d find the violinist who played that song, whether you had to search all summer for him or dig around your school for him. You’d attend every recital and every performance your school's small orchestra had just to get him to play for you again.

However, you lucked out each time you tried. Your school's orchestra didn't allow students outside of their instrumentalists into the classrooms. The violinist boy was too short for you to find in a crowd at their performances either. You even tried to find someone who might be close to him, but no one seemed to step up to the plate. This went on for the rest of your high school years. The only time you could see him where those days after the school year had ended, listening to him play those high energy tunes and somber melodies for his recital before he disappeared from existence once more.

That was, until now.

Plus you made a little bit of money on the side as well, and who didn't like money? Sure most of it was going to your tuition for college but there were times where you liked to splurged on your own interests every once and awhile.

"You seem tired," a feminine voice commented, making you turn around to face her. It was a girl, around your age, walking towards you, her long sleeves rolled up against her arms to mirror the way her shorts looked. She sat down on the pavement next to you, handing you a water bottle ice cold to the touch. "I would be too if I rode around in this crazy heat. I'm surprised you haven't melted at the mere light of the sun yet."

"I almost did," you responded, taking the water from her hands gratefully. "Today was unreasonably hot... I felt like I was sitting right in the middle of hell. And the fact that my bike is made out of metal, too? It's a miracle I didn't get third degree burns or something."

The girl went quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought before speaking again. "You know I can always do it for you? The delivering stuff. It's my family's business anyway, I should be helping them out, not relying on you to do all of the hard work for me."

"Are you serious?" you questioned, suppressing the unusually strong urge to laugh. "You can't even ride a bike or skate. Nor do you have a car either, it'll take you hours to get from one house to the next. And I like the money I earn from doing this for you, I can't get a job anywhere else so this is just perfect for me."

"But still!" She complained, a pouting donning her lips as you screwed open the bottle cap. "I feel bad seeing you bike along in this hot ass weather for my family! I gotta do something to give you... at least a little relief."

You laughed at her desperation, placing the water by your side to face her fully. "The relief you can give me is not playing your cello so loud in the morning. You play wonderfully, trust me, but it's so loud and I'm so tired." you clarified, reminiscing on every time she'd walk up to her house with the sound of a cello's notes wavering through the air.

The girl wasn't in their school's orchestra, she had picked up on the instrument as a hobby. She didn't have a desire to play it in a school setting or professionally no matter how much everyone would suggest otherwise. Yet she suddenly began to really start practicing more often when her next door neighbor had moved in two years ago. You remembered exactly how frustrated the girl was when she discovered that he played guitar at maximum volume in the middle of the night without any regard for anyone else.

To counteract his annoying behavior, she'd open up all the windows in her house and began to play her cello as loud as she physically could in the morning times. It became a war of the instrumentalists after that and neither of them seemed like they were going to stop any time soon.

"Oh you know I can't do that," She responded, glaring at the house to their left where the guitarist resided. "He'll take it as me surrendering to him. I don't even want to think about what he'll do in the middle of the night once I stop. Probably bass boost his guitar so that it's even louder than normal! Oh god, I won't ever get any sleep if he does that."

You found it funny really. The two had never even met each other face to face. "Right... and we don't want that happening do we?" The girl shook her head vigorously in response to your words, taking your sarcasm very seriously. "I still think you can at least tone it down a little bit... this is our last year, in a few months we'll be dragged off into a bigger city to attend colleges and universities for another four or more years. Are you really going to be playing your cello first thing in the morning in your dormitory?"

"Well..." the girl pauses, taking your words into consideration. "No... I won't really need to since I'm not bringing it with me."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands together and giving the girl a mocking smile. "Now I think you should at least go over to that boy's house and settle this raging war before you move onto better things. Make amends with him, he might even become a new friend of yours for the future. If not, you're not gonna see him again. There's a very high possibility that he's not going to the same college as you, or that he might not be going to college at all!"

She rolled her eyes at your suggestion, forcing herself off of the ground reluctantly. "Fine. I'll go make amends with him or whatever. But I'll only do it if you give up on the violinist boy from the recitals."

You stiffened at the mention of your high school goal, your very unsuccessful goal of finding him and making him play a song for you. "It's like you said, this is our last year here as teenagers. You've been trying to find him longer than I've been waging this musical war on my neighbor. It's about time to lay to rest, you. Seriously, it's more painful to watch than those terribly edited movies from my parents' watch for the "nostalgia"."

"Ouch there was no need to stoop that low," you mumbled, making the girl laugh in turn. "But I guess you're right. I've failed at finding him for this long, I might as well just give up now."

The girl nodded before patting your shoulders in reassurance. "If you really want to hear someone play music so bad for you, you can always ask me. I know a cello sounds nothing like a tiny violin but I can always try?"

"Actually that doesn't sound like a bad idea," you mumbled after a moment of thinking.

"Perfect!" The girl hummed, nearly jumping with excitement to show off her talents and pleasing your several years long urge to have someone play for you. "Usually I only play for my family but I'm very willing to show off what I've been working on. There's this one song I've using to annoy the guitarist boy in the morning and—"

"Go," you reminded her, your smile growing wider at her friend geeking out about her work. "Go get your cello and actually play it for me."

She nodded at your words, skipping on her feet as if she was as light as a feather towards her house. You knew it would be a bit of a struggle in moving her instrument from her room to the outdoors but if the girl was willingly and happily doing it, she had no reason to stop her.

It was a little funny though, how much you were surrounded by people who were gifted and talented in the form of music. Your school's orchestra knew you because of how you’d always try and snatch a peek into their classroom and attended their performances. Your closest friend was a cellist, but only played for hobby and the boy next door was a guitarist. All these connections started happening because a boy you had been chasing after for four years was a violinist.

You'd think you’d pick up some sort of instrument to attract them to you, and trust and believe you tried. You attempted to start playing many instruments after that summer night in your first year. Guitar, flute, piano, trumpet, you even tried to learn the violin yourself. You just weren't musical gifted, you didn't have the patience nor the ears to learn any sort of instrument that passed your way. The best you could do was play a sad tune on the kazoo or laugh into a harmonica.

It's even funnier when other’s learn that your mother used to sing and play the piano while your father played the clarinet when they were in high school. Go ahead and laugh, you knew you were a musical disappointment. Music was practically flowing strong in your blood and you sucked at it. Don't even get started on dancing either, it was a frightening sight to see. Those who could live to tell the tale never told the tale to anyone.

A melody began to float through the air once your friend disappeared into her house, catching you off guard. It wasn't the sound of an electric guitar, shocking the hair and making your skin prickle with its overbearing and booming sound. It was soft and sweet, vibrating through the air as if it was playing with the wind that blew by every few minutes. You could immediately identify the instrument as a violin, it's slightly strained notes from the bow connecting with the strings were all too familiar to you.

You turned towards the guitarist's house where the song was the loudest. To your knowledge, the boy didn't play any other instrument than the guitar. Yet the violin's sweet yet sorrowful song was coming from his house. Without even thinking you rose off the ground, following the song's notes like it was your guide. You had heard the door of your friend's house open again, signaling that the girl had successfully brought her cello from her room to the front of her house. Unfortunately for her, you were walking a little faster than she could drag her cello case.

"Y/N?" The girl called, trying to catch your attention. "Y/N, where are you going?"

You stood in front of the guitarist boy's house, right before where the balcony was hanging. The door to the balcony was ajar, letting the cool afternoon air into the room and releasing the melody of the violin out. "Is that the guitarist boy's room?" you called out to her friend, not taking your eyes off of the balcony. Just as you spoke the violin came to a screeching stop as if the mere sound of your voice was disrupting the flow of its song.

"No," the girl responded after abandoning her cello and running to your side. She pointed to the other side of the house where the window's blinds were closed yet light still shined through them. "His room is right across from mine, I should know I get the brunt of the blow every time he strums his stupid guitar."

Your voices dropped into pure silence when you saw something moving in their direction from the balcony. The door to the outside area slowly screeched open as the figure on the other side pulled on its door handle, stepping onto the wood floor of the balcony and letting the floorboards creak under their weight. Your eyes widened at the sight of a red-tinged violin, it's body scratched from its long term usage and its color dull from the lighting the setting sun had given them.

A boy stepped into view after the violin, the brown hair bouncing on his head like a bunny's tail. His resting face looked like you were staring at a statue, unable to catch any hint of movement in most of his features unless he blinked his eyes every few seconds. Right beside his eyes was some sort of mark, more of a rosy color than the rest of rather pale skin. He must not leave his house that much. After a few moments of silence, he leaned over the balcony's hand railing and spoke, "What do you want?"

The girl beside you glanced between the boy and you frantically, trying to piece two and two together. "you... is that the—"

"I want," you yelled up to him, interrupting your friend's question to respond to the boy above them. A smile began to play on your lips as you spoke, excitement festering up in your chest. You had found him. You had found the violinist from your first year. "I want you to play for me one of your best songs yet."

II.

There was just something about mornings you hated, no matter the day of the week. They'd always leave you more exhausted than you were the night before, whether you had gone to sleep late or not.

Maybe it's because of the dorm room you stayed in, assigned the room the moment you had gotten accepted into your university. It wasn't tiny, but it was definitely much smaller than your room at home. Your belongings barely had enough legroom with your roommate's whole entire area taking up more than half of the room. Despite being rather clean, to an extent, and cool during the day it was also incredibly hot at night.

A few months back the air conditioning unit for the floor you lived on broke down due to age. The university had reassured the students that they'd be looking into the broken unit and the technicians would be coming in and out of the building to fix it. However, they were rather slow with the process. Instead of just moving toward the third floor where the problem had started, they were moving from room to room on each floor the building had.

Apparently, they were just going to fix the problem in one go, however one go suddenly turned into a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks. And a few weeks turned into two months.

Thankfully they were on the edge of the summer season, the crisp breeze of the autumn air in October beginning to blow throughout the city. However that breeze simply abandoned them every time the night fell, the hallways and the common room being filled to the brim with students trying to escape the blazing heat. One would think it would be much cooler around the nighttime, so did they.

You weren't the heaviest of sleepers either, which meant you'd wake up at even the slightest vibration of a phone. One could only imagine your reaction when your alarm clock suddenly blared its ear piercing wake up call. The irritating buzzing of the built on alarm would always shock you out of bed like a cat. Yet even when you knew you were wide awake, you constantly struggled to force yourself up and out of your room. If time would allow it, you would lay in your very warm and comfortable spot in the bed for at least an hour or more.

What's even worse for you was that your dormitory was co-ed, which meant that next door to you was a group of boys who were sharing a room for the school year. They were loud, constantly moving around in the middle of the night, and screaming at random times of the day which usually ended up being the time that you used to study. There were always noise complaints about those students. No one on their floor, or the floor above and below, like them that much. Yet they never seemed to tone down the problem, they made them worse with every noise complaint that was filled to their resident assistance.

Every time they'd get a noise complaint, they'd go and find someone else who was just a little too loud one day and pin the blame on them. It was a way to show that everyone in the building made a commotion and that they shouldn't be the only ones punished for it. You didn't really care about what they were doing until you had suddenly become a target one day.

"I'm sorry, what?" you questioned them, leaning up against the door frame with your arms crossed. In front of you stood the two boys that lived in the dorm next to you, nearly towering over you like the buildings in the city thanks to the monstrous amount of height. They appeared to be up to no good when they had randomly shown up, and you were absolutely right.

"Are you the one who has been playing that music for the past three days? What was it... classical music?" He asked, tugging at his hair as he spoke. He glanced towards his roommate for confirmation, who nodded his head vigorously in response to his question. "Are you a music major or something? Maybe in the orchestra? If not it's been blasting really loudly lately and my roommate here has a majority of his classes at eight am. Right, Jaehyun?"

The boy didn't seem like he was on board with being used as an excuse at first, raising his eyebrow and staring at his roommate in confusion before turning to you. "Right, I have to get up so early for all my classes. I'd really appreciate it if you keep the violins and cymbals and triangles to like a minimum so that it doesn't bother me anymore."

"If not we'll take it to the RA," His roommate quickly added to put their threat in full effect. "And we'll file a noise complaint for disturbing us."

You scoffed at the thought, wanting to slam the door closed and forget about their petty revenge. "Aren't you the same duo that got a noise complaint filed to them last week because of an extremely loud yet unidentifiable thud..." you began before turning on your heels and correcting yourself. "Oh, my apologies. I meant boom, extremely loud yet unidentifiable boom that came from the laundry room. Only for one of the students on the lower floors to go down there and find that one of the washers and dryers had literally malfunctioned and exploded?"

"Listen," One of the boys tried to interject, his ears burning bright red as you kept talking. "That's not... listen, we—"

"Didn't they go on the security cameras to find out who had done the damage? Because a washer and dryer going suddenly haywire on its own is extremely worrisome and dangerous for the students who may have been around during that time. And weren't you two—"

"Classical music is such an amazing genre of music!" The roommate interrupted, yelling over your voice in a panic. There was a pained smile on his face as he hooked an arm around the other boy, punching his arm to follow along as he spoke. "I mean, it has such a clean and light texture to it, simplistic but a great melody nonetheless! God, it gives me nostalgia for a time I wasn't even alive in! Isn't that right, Jaehyun?"

"Oh," the boy spoke, his eyes darting in between his roommate and you. Slowly a smile began to grow on his face to mask his growing embarrassment as he gestured towards the other boy. "Of... of course! Johnny has such nice music taste! So you know when he says a genre is really good it really means something. Seriously love classical music, man. Lulls me right to sleep!"

Needless to say, they choose to not bother you as much as they used to. The strange and loud noises that would echo through the dormitory walls had gotten significantly lower since that day. They didn't stop completely yet but it was enough for you to keep your peace of mind before waking up every day.

Your mornings had gotten relatively calmer after that incident as well. Both of those boys were usually out of the dormitory by the time you were awake to attend classes or work, so you didn't run into them much during the week. You'd have calm enough mornings to where you didn't feel the need to nearly pass out on a car or bus ride to your campus and almost miss your stop. It felt like a dream come true when you would hop out of whatever vehicle you were in and would be right on time before your classes even started.

"Y/N!" A feminine voice screamed, catching you off guard when an arm suddenly slung around your neck. You clutched onto the bag hanging off your shoulder as you nearly tumbled to the ground at the sudden addition of weight, bringing the other girl down with you as you struggled to comprehend what was going on. They got a few stares from the other students who were arriving and leaving the campus but no one said a word to them. Thankfully everyone practiced the art of minding their business. "You'll never guess what I got!"

"Do I want to guess?" You questioned, shoving the girl's arm off of you so you could regain your balance. Once you were stable enough to stand up, you turned around to see who had stumbled into your path. The girl's eyes were wide with innocence and excitement as she stood in front of you, fidgeting in place as she tried to contain herself. Most of the energy she'd originally be exerting into jumping up and down was focused into the beaming and bright smile she couldn't wipe off of her face even if she tried. "Do I have to guess?"

"Yes, you have to," She demanded, holding her hands behind her back to hide whatever got her spirits high. The girl must have ordered some sort of object online again and simply couldn't wait till after your classes to show you. "It's so worth it, I promise! Just... just guess!"

A sigh escaped your mouth as you straighten your posture, reading deep into the girl's expression to try and figure out what it was. "I'm going to guess—"

"Two front row seats to our school's very own band performance!" The girl nearly squealed, shoving two flimsy pieces of paper in your face. You took a few steps back in order to align your sight with the tickets, taking them out of the girl's hands to inspect.  Both tickets were for general admission, their names printed on it with the date they were expected to attend the performance. "Aren't you excited? I literally fought tooth and claw to get these before they sold out, and you know these sell out fast!"

"Band? Like the guys who play trumpets and bass drums during school games?" You questioned, glancing up from the tickets to face your friend. The tickets didn't have exactly who was performing written down on it, simply stating that it was a live music event. "Why would you go watch them play? I thought you were more of a... pop genre person?"

The girl rolled her eyes at your response, snatching the tickets from your hands and placing them back into your pockets. "No, not the band. Who goes out of their way to specifically watch our band team play?" She hissed. "I mean like rock bands. You know, the type of people who play the drums and guitars in one big band and perform on stage with a lead singer and everything. That type of band."

"My point with you being a pop genre person still stands," you mumbled in response.

"Yes I do like pop music, I understand that," The girl clarified. "But we're going to see Aurora. Our school's very own rock band! Do you seriously not know who they are? I know you listen to classical and orchestral music and all, but I thought you were at least in the loop with Aurora!"

You scoffed as you began to walk forward, shoving your hands into your pockets and you spoke. "Just because I don't listen to the popular music right now doesn't mean I'm out of the loop! I'll have you know that I am a very big fan of idol groups. I even participated in those farewell events when groups’ oldest members start enlisting in the military."

"Idol groups have absolutely nothing to do with Aurora and you know it," your friend grumbled. "Do you seriously not know who Aurora is? At all? Have I seriously been friends with a hermit crab this whole time?"

"Fine then," you shrugged. "Go ahead, tell me about this Aurora band since you're so obsessed and knowledgeable about this group I've never heard of."

Aurora is a much bigger thing than you had imagined. From your friend's knowledge, it was a group of boys who had gathered around the beginning of the year together, all of them having several different traits and personalities that simply meshed together all too well. They had created the band, Aurora, for fun at first as they were all instrumentalists with different crafts. They had started busking in order to make money as a side job and quickly grew in popularity with the audiences they performed to.

Their university had caught wind of their musical abilities and had asked them to perform during the annual club fairs to help attract more students. After that, they seemed to have skyrocketed in popularity within the college campus. Jung Wooyoung, the group's bassist, Song Mingi, the group's lead guitarist, Choi San, the group's drummer, and Jeong Yunho, the group's lead singer, had become some of the most well-known people on campus.

Everyone seemed to know them and wanted to listen to their music, which is why your friend was so excited to be getting front row tickets to their next performance. You thought it was funny though, Wooyoung was the guitarist boy that lived next door to the girl. 

"The past is in the past!" She exclaimed, throwing up her hands as the two entered the university's building. The indoors wasn't very crowded, all the students attending were spread throughout the area either taking a break before their classes began or nearly booking it straight up the stairs in fear of being late. "Sure I wanted to murder him with my cello beforehand, but it's okay because we put our differences aside like you said we should have. And it's good that we did because we ended up going to the same university."

"So..." you began, thinking for a few moments before turning towards your friend. "Does this mean he's your favorite member? I mean you've got the background and chemistry for a nice little love story don't you think?"

"Oh absolutely not," she immediately responded. "We may have made up that summer but I have not spoken to him since. Plus my favorite member is their drummer so if anything I'd like to start a love story with him. Do you think I should plan out of my outfit for the music event? What if I actually start a love story with him like in those tv shows my parents used to watch? We catch each other's eyes during the performance and before we're about to leave I get asked backstage to meet him in person!"

You visibly cringed at your friend's fantasizing, putting four feet of space in between the two of you. "Gross. Go to class before you contaminant me with your fantasies."

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes, stopping in her tracks so that you were forced to wait for her. "Everyone likes to fantasize about their love life every once and awhile. It's natural to want something grander than reality to happen to you."

"You are the most cliche woman I have ever met," you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder to look at the girl. "You just told me you want to make eye contact with him and immediately fall in love just like that! Have a fun time dreaming about that while you stand in a crowd full of people in your general direction."

"You're so mean to me!" She yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at the sudden commotion. "You're just mad that the violinist boy from freshman year refused to play music for you even when you got on your knees! And you were looking for him your entire high school career!"

You sprinted towards the girl at full speed, clamping your hands over her mouth to silence her. She screamed into your hands as you dragged her away from the public eye and muffled her voice. "Heejin, are you out of your mind?" You growled, looking behind you to see if anyone had heard her. "I thought we had both agreed to pretend like that never happened?"

The girl pried your hands away from her mouth and smiled innocently up at you. "We did promise. I just never forgot."

You shoved the girl towards where her lecture hall was located, a frustrated frown growing on your face as a pinkish flush began to creep across your face. "Go to your stupid business math class. Go before I chase you all the way there!" you threatened through gritted teeth. Her friend laughed at the girl's response, skipping like a child to her class for the day.

You really did get rejected that day, it was too ingrained in your brain to forget. The boy had stood on the balcony staring down at the two with a bored and uninterested expression in his eyes, tilting his head like a dog's when you screamed your demands up at him. Honestly, you didn't know exactly what you were expecting. Did you really think that he was just going to pick up his violin and start playing whatever tune he knew just because you asked him to? You didn't even say please!

You had spent a good ten minutes arguing with the boy about how you had been searching for him for years just to make him play at least ten seconds of a song for you. Each time you'd explain your situation to him, he'd immediately give you a dry response of why he kept declining you. He didn't even say it politely! He stared at you straight in the eyes and told you," I don't want to play for you because you aren't worth it."

You swore if you could jump high enough, you would have bounced onto the balcony and strangled him for his rude behavior. It was truly a sight for sore eyes watching an angry and frustrated high school senior scream up at an innocent looking but totally uninterested boy on the balcony. The argument was always almost completely one-sided as well, which made it slightly embarrassing to watch from the sidelines.

You had forced your friend to promise you that she'd either forget the whole incident or pretend like it never happened. Either one was good with you since your friend was known to tell everyone's stories when you weren't paying attention. She had gone this far without saying anything so the urge to talk about it must have been truly bubbling up inside of her. It's been a few months since the incident occurred and the memory is still fresh in your minds.

"God, I'm never gonna live down that stupid incident am I?" you grumbled, practically stomping towards your end destination. "Just when I thought maybe I was finally growing past it, she has to go and bring it back up again. Doesn't she know I'm still healing from that embarrassment? It took a toll on pride and this is how she helps mend the wound? By opening up again?"

You stopped in place when a melody began to waver in the air, following along the cold breeze of the university's air condition. The music notes hopped from breeze to breeze as it traveled through your ears to the next. The sound continuously grabbed your attention as each note was struck no matter how many times you turned to keep walking. It was hitting you like a rock to the head as your brain immediately identified the music maker to a violin.

You slowly turned around to see a few students peering through a crack in some double doors, staring intently on what was on the other side. "They're at it again," one of the older students spoke, holding the door open for his friends to look through. "They're much earlier this time than usual, we'll only catch a little bit of the performance. Do you think something important is happening?"

"You think they're competing for first chair again?" One of the younger students asked, glancing up towards the boy who had spoken beforehand. He shrugged in response to their question, but he seemed to agree for the most part. "Whatever it is, I bet Hong is about to take the first chair again. He's always the first chair. No one can beat that boy when it comes to the violin."

"Kang is always right behind him though, don't forget that," another voice reminded, trying to get a better view of the inside. "Both of them are musical prodigies, and the conductor has always been fond of Kang's playing style. I think he'll get first chair this time."

You couldn't help but let curiosity take over, standing just a few feet away from the group of friends and trying to peer through the small windows of the door. It was rather dark near the entrance to the room, but farther back was lit up by lights that illuminated the wood floor stage where two performers stood. The doors seemed to have led towards an auditorium from the looks of it. You couldn't exactly see their faces from how far away you were, but you could make out a little bit of what was actually going on.

A boy stood in the middle of the stage, the music coming directly from him as he strummed the violin with his bow, grace and elegance oozing off of him. He seemed rather focused on playing his violin precisely, not missing a single note in the song as he allowed the rich and melodic song to ring through their ears. The opened door seemed to amplify his sound even more, ringing within your brain as if it was trying to engraved its sound into her ears. Hearing a violinist play in person was truly much different from hearing it through speakers.

In a chair behind the violinist sat another figure, holding what seemed to be a violin as well in his hands. You assumed that it was the competition who had played their song earlier before you had arrived on campus. His shoulders seemed to tense as the violinist held his final note, a plaintive sound echoing through the auditorium as he held his form to leave an everlasting effect on his listeners.

The students in front of you held their breath as he finished, staring intently at where you assumed the conductor was sitting for his reaction. There was a moment of silence after the note finally fizzled into nothingness, no longer bouncing off of the walls after finding a home in the audience's ears.

"It's Park," the younger student spoke, standing up from where they originally crouched down. "Park is the first chair once again. Honestly, was I expecting a change? No, not really. He's just that talented."

"I was really rooting for Kang this time," the other student spoke, huffing as they crossed their arms in disappointment. "I wonder what he did to not get picked again this time. Usually, Kang performs wonderfully but we weren't early enough to catch his turn."

"Whatever it is," the older student added, shutting the door to the auditorium and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure Kang will get over it. I mean that's always next time! But I guess I say that every time this happens..."

When the trio had disappeared from sight, you couldn't help but open the door to the auditorium and peek inside. You had been walking past this exact area how many times and you didn't even notice an event like this happening? Your either extremely stupid or completely oblivious, there's no in between.

You pulled on the heavy auditorium doors, peering in the room to take a look for yourself. The room was chilly, much colder than the breezes nature had been giving you so far. It was like you had stepped straight into the freezer, feeling the need to rub your arms for warm to make sure you didn't suddenly die from the cold. "How long has this place been here? I could have sworn this was an administration office or a classroom... literally anything but an auditorium..." you mumbled to mumbled, your eyes drifting towards the stage.

Only one violinist was at the stage, his instrument dangling in his hands as he sat in silence. The other violinist and conductor were nowhere to be seen, abandoning him to be alone with his thoughts. He must have been the one who wasn't picked by their conductor for first chair, reveling in his defeat by his peer. "Is it that serious?" you mumbled, going to close the door before you zoomed to your class, only just a few minutes late.

Though you saw the violinist rise from his seat in the corner of your eye, approaching the edge of the stage to leave the room. Of course, being the generally nice person you were, you pushed the door back open, holding it open for the violinist to pass through. "Hey, are you about to— Woah! Woah, woah, woah, don't do that!" You yelled at him.

The violinist had raised his instrument high above the ground, a bored and uninterested look in his eyes as he debated on whether he was going to let the violin drop from the height it was at and scar it. It definitely wasn't going to shatter and break, but an ugly dent would be achieved through the notion. Your yelling seemed to stop him in his tracks, preventing him from possibly making the worst decision in his life.

"Don't violins cost a lot of money?" You nagged, forgetting about the door you were holding open and marching towards him. "I know you might be frustrated over whatever just happened but is it really worth breaking your instrument? You should be satisfied with the fact that you even got the chance to be chosen as an option for, what was it, first chair? Whatever it is, I think breaking your violin might be a really bad..." you trailed off as you got closer, slowing down your pace as you got closer to the stage

The violinist stared at you through his long blonde bangs, his eyes gleaming in the dingy and dim stage lights. Despite the horrible lighting it seemed to illuminate him as if he was some sort of statue on display, every curve and sharp corner of his face being highlighted just perfectly. His impassive expression refused to let you in on any sort of emotion or thought in his head, locking you out with every chain known to man. His eyes glanced over you, reading you like an open book before he finally spoke. "Why... do you care?"

Your eyes dropped from his face to his violin, taking note of the bored expression and the red tinged violin in his hands. It seemed like it had been used frequently, it's the color worn from age and usage with scratches scattered throughout the instrument's body. "Oh...," you trailed, dropping your hands to your side in defeat.

How long had he been here? Hiding right under your nose in what seemed to be plain sight. How long were you going to go without realizing the violinist from your freshman year was attending the same university as you? "It's you again."

The boy titled his head curiously, a moment of silence expanding over them like a blanket. You felt like you were going to twitch and squirm under his gaze, the eerie silence of the auditorium and his almost blank stare making the atmosphere uncomfortable for you. All you could think about was the one sided argument you two had; how you had embarrassed yourself in front of your whole neighborhood just because you wanted him to play a song for you. The amount of humiliation that was crashing over you like angry waves could have washed you right of the auditorium if it wanted to.

The violinist crouched down on the stage to look down on you, resting his head on his hands as he began to speak. “Do I... know you?”

“Do you know me?” You repeated, disbelief prevalent in your tone of voice. “Did you really just ask that? Of course you know me! Remember from this summer? Just a few months back?”

The boy nodded his head as you spoke, absorbing all the information you were telling him and letting it process in his brain. He closed his eyes as he began to form his final thoughts, leaning back on his heels before opening them again and staring at you. “Ah... I remember now. You were Wooyoung’s fling for a couple weeks... right?”

“What?” You exclaimed, a rosy pink tint spreading across your face as you spoke. You’ve never even spoken to the guitarist boy when he lived near you, nevertheless have a fling with him. The mere thought of doing something so... dangerous like that made your skin crawl. “No... I don’t... listen, are you serious? You don’t remember who am I at all? Not a thing about me seems to trigger some sort of memory in you?”

“Not to be rude,” he responded, lifting himself out of his crouched position and beginning to walk across the stage to the stairs positioned at the side. “But you don’t look like the most memorable type. I mean if I don’t remember you are, would anyone else be able to?”

His blunt honestly was like a knife to the chest, only he was repeatedly sinking the weapon into your already open wound. Had he always been this straightforward with people? Of course he was, that’s why you never got him to play a song for you. You didn’t even know whether or not you liked the fact that he didn’t recognize who you were because he had formatted his words. You’d much rather be remembered for something embarrassing you did than be forgettable as a whole.

Though by the time you had clocked back into reality, a snarky and rude comment ready to hit the bullseye on the back of his head, he was gone. There was no sign of violinist boy anywhere in the room, as if he has quiet literally disappeared into thin air. “I should have just let him smash his violin to pieces,” you rumbled, now not only late to class but also filled with bitter rage that wasn’t even reciprocated.

[hauntedelation]

Asunder

Description: There was a churning Michael’s gut that morning. He stretched in his bed and felt as if there was something dark, something breathing over his neck. Something waiting to waiting to lunge.

And he wasn't sure if he would ever be prepared.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: This is the finale to the what I want to say is greatest creative journeys that I have been on. I want to thank @hope-to-hell for showing me and @feralrunaway how wonderfully Mike and Walter go together, and for being the reason this all started.

Both of y'all push me to be a better writer every time I go at it. Thanks guys.

This is a very depressing one. The warnings in this are serious, and I do not wish for anyone to read where they could feel uneasy or uncomfortable.

Please enjoy. If you are reading this, thank you for all of the engagement, the comments and reblogs, and just following along! 💞  I proofread, I hope it reads alright!

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: serious warnings ahead!! homophobia, emotional abuse, self-hatred, angst, big sad feelings with this one 

➽─────────────❥

There was a pond located just outside St. Peter’s Cathedral. The water was always still, especially so early in the morning. The body stretched around the side of the large building clear to the back. 

A small number of trees stood around the perimeter, arching toward the water. Lily pads and tall strands of grass sprouted about the surface as well.

In that little ecosystem, you could hear frogs’ croak and crickets’ chirp until the remnants of night hung onto the day. The area seemed to house all kinds of local animals. 

One thing Michael never noticed before about this pond, was that it was home to the occasional family of ducks and even swans.

That dreary morning, after the rain fell and everything was developing in a fog, he sat. His eyes were irritated and sore, but through his thick lashes, he could see. 

He took a seat in one of the less used halls of the cathedral, further away on the southern side, hands clutching a crumpled sheet of paper. 

The window had a view of one part of the pond. This small part was where, next to a tree, appeared two white swans. They had begun gliding slowly across the surface of the water, performing a dance of sorts, before coming to a stop centimeters away.

One swan placed the side of their head to the other, closing the distance between the two. They found each other in a tender embrace and continued to float motionless about the fog.

Michael's eyes followed the two swans and watched how their beaks never broke from the proximity of another.  

He attempted to pull his eyes away, an ache climbed itself into his stomach. His eyes burned hotter than they have been for the past couple of hours. Mike couldn't...

His head drifted toward the floor, the weight between his shoulders nearly taking him out of his seat. In the silence of that hallway, Michael could pick up the ticking of his watch, the seconds’ hand clicked a measured rhythm.

In an anxious fever, he tilted his wrist to take a look—hardly a minute has passed.

Mike's hand returned to its previous position, pressing down on his bouncing knee and suppressing the frantic movement of the leg. But, with all of his effort inside, he had not found a permanent way to settle his nerves. 

The paper was withering in the fist of his other hand, small tears and rips littered the edges of the shape.

Michael couldn't let go of the sheet in his hand. As the moments passed him by, it remained in his fist, the grip around it growing tighter. He subconsciously wrapped that same hand around his middle. He took his other hand off of his jittery knee to hug his body.

If he pinched the skin of his arm, would he be able to feel anything? Was all of the apprehension as bothersome externally as it was internally? 

Would he be as numb as he felt that time in the hospital? 

That seemed so far away, it was a time where he would wake up and not even feel the sensation of his nails gliding across his skin. All of his senses were on delay and everything felt muted. 

So what if?

Michael pinched the skin on his side through the sweater. Yes, he could feel the pull, he could feel the faint jolt of discomfort shoot from that spot to the other parts of his body.

The young man never wanted anything more than to take that feeling away from himself. 

He wanted to take everything away, all of the suffocating breaths, the searing in his eyes, the ache in his clenched jaw. He wanted to forget what it felt like to hold this—this weight settling inside him. 

Michael wanted to erase his mistakes and wipe away the memory of himself from these walls. Everything that man commanded him to do.

It was right after the break of dawn, merely a quarter of six o’clock passing by. Bishop Daniel Franklin arrived to silently interrupt his studies, knocking on the door and giving a sideways glance at Mike's current instructor.

He placed his book and pencil down, eyes watching his instructor's for a moment before they gave him a nod. This had been just enough for Mike, but with the benign expression on the old man's face, he felt confusion swell inside of him.

It was not as if he could deny the request, the demand of someone so high up in the church.

He was led to the western wing in the house of worship, following after the white and cream-colored robe, observing the way the fabric partially dragged on the pristine floors.

The sun was starting to rise when the Bishop began.

"Michael—" the old Bishop had stopped to peer behind Mike's shoulders before continuing. His face grew dour, eyes falling back to the curate's face. He waited a long while before quietly slithering out,

"I know what it is that you are doing. Michael, don't think that I am blinded."

At the time, the young man was not sure of what he was getting at, no alarm bells sounded off. How naive he was to not have caught on sooner.

He remembers gazing down at him and a pinch pulled at his brows before sending his reply, "Bishop Franklin, I'm sorry but, I don't know if I understand what you're talking about."

His voice remained calm and ever-so questioning, for this had come out of nowhere. 

Michael remembered that he slipped his hands in his pockets and felt the strange cloud of uncertainty seep into his brain. He knew that within the church, he was the most hard-working, and understood enough that he followed everyone's orders appropriately. 

With most of the people there, he was able to cordially get along with them. Not even the people who doubted him in the beginning seemed to show animosity toward Mike.

He thought that Bishop Franklin was one of those people. It was in his mind that the old man turned his feelings around about him. 

Michael never forgot the stares he received when he first walked in those church doors. They had lasted for several months, close to every time he was in the Bishop's presence. And yet, as of recently it was this man who congratulated Mike on all of the work he put in, how far the young man had come.

The old man's claw dug out a sheet of paper. The man read through the contents, promptly spitting out each word.

"'Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God's'—I don't need to say anymore. And, I find it impossible to ignore the handwriting of a man who has worked under me for the better part of ten years now."

How could he have been so foolish?

"Whatever is going on, whatever has been going on is irrevocably unacceptable. It is a festering pustule on the face of God. And he, he has the audacity to mention his glory in this—this love letter?"

Michael was quite sure that in some way he was still in his bed, still laying on a pillow and sweating through another nightmare. 

The blue in his eyes began to trace the same colored ink on that paper.

"I have the right mind to disbar Mr. Marshall from this church...To make sure of his exclusion from any facility."

His eyes shot open wide.

Michael reached out; he didn't know why but for any drop of protest inside of him, he gathered it all and reached his right hand out to the old man.

Please. He wanted to say, 'Please just listen to me,' yet his voice betrayed him. As if that would have helped in any way.

Bishop Franklin stepped back, balling up the note in his fingers and tossing it dismissively in the curate's direction.

"I want you out of here...I want you out of here before the noon service today or I will expose the vile behavior that you and he have been engaging in. I will make sure that he never receives another position for as long as he lives."

Michael's eyes had followed after where that paper landed, the balled-up note bounced off of his chest and fell to the ground, right next to the Bishop's feet. 

He forced his lids shut while he blocked back more phrases from his mind, willing that memory of his to close up more. There had been a lot, and in the wake of his delirium, they played on a broken record.

Mike knew that they would stick, for a long time.

In his peripheral, he could see a blanket of white shift, and the man's feet step out of their previous position, kicking the paper. He had forgotten about the evidence entirely.

"It is, of course, your decision...A bus will be arriving at the front gates by 11:15 and taking you to another location—another..."

His ears picked up the man begin to glide away from him. 

Under the old man's breath,

"You should have never been accepted into this building. I don't know how the flames of hell haven't swallowed you up yet."

➽─────────────❥

The young man did return to the classroom, following the confrontation. Michael shakingly picked up that tattered sheet of paper, and walked back to where he originally was that morning. 

On his way to the room, Michael thought back to the day he received this cherished paper.

The note was slipped to him on one of the tables in the library, while he and Walter both sat studying scripture. 

Michael had his books opened and several pages of annotated notes. His nose was deep in the opened pages for the better part of an hour.

He decided to take a break and shut all of the covers, fingers rubbing at his strained eyes. When he had gone to stretch his back, Walter wasn't anywhere in his sight.

It wasn't until he felt a warm hand slip along his back that he was made aware of where that man was. Mike flashed a bleary grin, he knew that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself if he tried. 

On the table in front of him sat a small folded-up sheet of paper. At first, it appeared to him as one of his note cards, but when he heard the older priest whisper to him, "Read it," he did.

“Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s…The divine magnet is in you, and my magnet responds.”  —WM

Michael took his index finger and gingerly brushed over those written words, feeling the slight indentation at the strokes. With each touch of his skin to the paper, he could feel an anomalous emotion penetrating his soul.

"What do you think?" Walter asked him. The man appeared slightly anxious for his reply having shown with the absentminded play with the hair on Michael's nape.

"I-I really like this…" he tilted his head back and gazed up at the bearded man, "—I didn't know that you were a poet, Walter."

His tone was teasing but for a second there Father Marshall saw a tint along his cheekbones. He waited for a second or two before telling Michael that those words did not come from him, but from a man named Herman Melville—to another man, Nathanial Hawthorne.

Michael's eyes were big when he watched Walter's face, not saying a word but his lips parting at that final phrase. 

"Herman, the author for Moby Dick, had an intense fondness for Nathaniel...this is an excerpt from a letter by Herman to him."

Walter leant down and pressed his lips against Michael's jaw, inhaling deeply. He let his hand rest in the curate's lap, simply feeling the heat of his body.

"I found these words and felt…felt an unfeigned connection with them."

Mike listened to the voice of Walt and took in the weight of each word. 

The young man always hung onto every word he said, regardless if it was a Catholic teaching or helpful advice. That day there was a shift between them, one that was felt but had never needed to be said. 

Walter opened a piece of himself to Mike and the young man willingly followed in.

He pocketed the paper that day. His hand found Walt's larger one, and he squeezed the digits in his. Mike brought Walter's fingers up to his lips and held them there for a brief moment.

"It's beautiful, thank you, Walter."

➽─────────────❥

The rain had picked back up at around 9:45 a.m., hitting Michael's bedroom window with an irregular tapping. His eyes watched the droplets fall down the pane while he placed his clothes and shoes into a black suitcase.

Time drifted in and out of his focus, he hadn't paid close enough attention until he saw the hour and minute hand.

Additionally, Mike wasn't sure if he was grasping the situation entirely. He could feel his mind repeating everything that morning, and he knew those same words sank into the depths of his brain.

He understood what he was to do, but his body protested. 

Mike glanced around and tried his best to gauge what he should take, what could fit in that bag. 

He stopped. There he stood silently by his bookshelf, considering where it was that he was to be transferred to. The discomfort of the unknown began to poke and prod at Michael. His thoughts kicked into overdrive.

Michael knew that this place was somewhere close to four hours away, he thinks the town was Westview? Westlake, Minnesota?

He hadn't a clue of what this facility's history was, what they were exactly known for in the world of priesthood. 

What if he was sent to a far more authoritarian church; one where he wasn't allowed outside contact with anyone, where he couldn't write his mother or—connect with anyone like he had here? 

Michael's grip on the book in his hand grew iron tight. Surely, Bishop Franklin wouldn't say anything about him?

Michael was strolling down a darkening path. The book in his hand was discarded back to the shelf, and in replacement, his hand clutched the wood. His fingers pulled and loosened at his collar, trembling and drifting down to paw at the middle of his chest, directly above his knotted scar.

Always to that spot.

He shook his head and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, knowing that he had no other choice. Out of everything, every decision that he faced and was expected to make, that morning's answer came the instant he thought about Walter.

Father Marshall and all of his grand successes, the hundreds of lives that he has touched, and the dozens more that he improved. Michael knew of his accomplishments, his extraordinary career that he built throughout his life.

He was not going to sacrifice a lick of that. And still, how could he have been so reckless, so dumb and dismissive of their secrecy? 

The letter, now residing in his pocket—he could feel it press against his thigh whenever he bent down. Why did Mike leave it in such a vulnerable place? He knew that Bishop Franklin found it in this very room. Why didn't you do better? Mike asked himself.

You were always a fuck-up anyway, you can't keep anything good in your life.

All he could do was bite down hard, almost injuring his tongue. His head sank and he pressed his forehead against the edge of the bookshelf. 

His fingers slipped from their previous places, one hand went to his hair.

Mike's body tensed up, and he steadied against the support of the self, but he could feel his fingers tighten. Painfully and almost as a distraction, he pulled until he felt that burn return in his eyelids.

He let the moisture slip down his cheeks. He decided to stay there, blurry images racing through his mind that were hastily becoming more distant.

➽─────────────❥

The entirety of his closet had been packed, save for the clothes off of his back. The pictures and pages on his wall were placed neatly into a folder, sitting on top of the clothes. Any remaining objects fit into the side pockets, ornaments and other gifts given to him.

His room was almost bare, close to what it looked like when he first arrived. He didn't bother taking everything.

The suitcase was heavy in his hands, and he found himself exerting much of his energy into transporting it. He sighed as he thought about how he squandered breakfast that morning. 

Even if I'm still not hungry now. It never hurts. Maybe he will be able to find something on his way out.

Michael sat the suitcase down at his doorway, fingers dancing along the side of his thigh. He glanced around the room one last time and pondered his next step. 

Walter's room is just next door. All morning the door had been closed. Mike knew the man was most likely in there, or maybe even out for the day. His nails dug at the fabric of his pants.

There was no way that he could say anything right now, he would never trust his voice and his composure with that deed—not here. 

He needed to feel ready.

Mike felt the note poke his thigh, and without another minute wasted—before Walter could possibly leave his bedroom, the young man rushed to his desk and tore a sheet of paper in half.

In pencil he quickly scrawled a message, folding the paper back up and signing Walter's name on the top of the fold. With his distinctively messy handwriting, he knew that the man would be able to recognize who the writer was. 

Mike did not waste any more time, on his way down the hall, he bent down and slipped the paper under the door. He gathered his suitcase again and swiftly returned walking.

➽─────────────❥

It was colder outside than Mike originally thought. His sweater was layered. Under the material, he had his button down and undershirt, but he could feel a chill creep up his back.

While Michael was bidding his friends farewell, and conversing with other acquaintances, he was biding the weather. It may appear rude of him to not exactly remember what his friends said. With his eyes watching the windows and his mind already filled, he only could tell what everyone's mood seemed to be.

To his surprise, the people were forlorn. They were under the impression that the young man was to be transferred to continue his studies.

Even though this was a very common occurrence, Mike was going to be missed at this church.

He couldn't grasp that.  

The rain seemed to be done for the rest of the day. From his position on the stone bench, he could see the fog increase throughout the property. 

His suitcase sat next to him, leaned against the bench. His hands, chilled and the knuckles on his fingers flushing pink had been shoved into his pant pockets. 

Michael liked the cold, despite being so easily affected by it. He was drawn to the grey and the rain that would cost everything in its path. He supposed that the image of the outdoors today very well fit everything happening. 

But with all of that comfort, with all of the genial faces he said goodbye to and his seemingly calm demeanor, Michael's pulse remained striking in his throat.

He shut his eyes and inhaled the moist air, working in increments to steady his racing heart. His ears pricked up, barely catching the sound of soft footsteps to the left of him.

Through a cracked eye, he peered to the tall, dark figure standing on the sidewalk. 

He had on a near-black sweater as well, thicker than the clouds materializing around them. His handsome face, partially hidden under that beard of his was tense. His lips pursed, and the way that his eyes watched Michael told the young man just how mystified he was.

Mike’s breath still hitched, even at what felt like the millionth time his eyes would see Walter.

The older priest had his arms crossed over his broad chest, and he tilted his head to the side, 

“Michael, what’s going on? Why did you want to meet in the...garden?”

His eyes drifted from the green and the stone around them to Michael’s body. How the young man appeared drained, none of his spirit seeming to reside inside of the vessel. 

Mike didn’t say a word. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and steadied them onto his knees, pushing himself to his feet. The younger male hesitantly closed the distance between them.

The watchful eye of Walt moved down to the black suitcase leaning against the mossy stone.

“Michael...what...”

Walter’s eyes grew pillow-soft. Those shadowy brows frowned at the young man and only deepened with each passing second. 

It was easy, effortless to see how the tension in the air was affecting the older man. And the way that Michael’s eyes were dimmed erupted chaos to his insides.

He stopped a foot away from Walt, back hunched and his face not meeting the priest’s look. Mike could feel them and in a way he wanted to lean closer, to feel that ghostly touch, but he visibly distanced himself away.

His voice was scratchy coming from his throat.

“Walt, I...” Michael cursed, the knot in his jaw working once more. He hadn’t thought this through, how could he? 

The man in front of him reached out, with one of those unbelievably large hands. Those hands that could smash and destroy if they wanted to. They could break Michael, as his vision smeared together the color of Walt’s skin, he thought of just how powerful. 

And, all the young man could remember was how soft they felt against his body, in his hair, on his face. 

He sniffled and choked out, “I-I have to go, Walter. I have to leave. I’m uh, I am going to be sent away...”

Michael interrupted Walter when he heard the man begin to speak. He let the pressure spill over in his head and that familiar moisture trickled down his cheekbones. When he met the man’s eyes he could see the anguish, the astonishment coating his face.

“—Walt fuck, please. Bishop...” he lowered the tone of his frustration and sighed, 

“Bishop Franklin pulled me aside this morning, and he presented me with this—”

Mike reached into his pocket and ripped out the wrinkled note, holding out the item to the older man. Walter inhaled and fell deathly silent, eyes scanning Michael’s opened palm.

“He told me...” Michael began to force the words out of his mouth, gritting his teeth through the venom. In all of those thoughts that he was trying to lasso, Walter’s fingers began to delicately inch along his palm, picking at the worn paper.

“Walter, he told me that I am to be sent away, that he knows about us. H-he must have found this in my room and he had to have read this and he...he was appalled. He was disgusted at us, at me. He told me that if I don’t leave, then you were going to be suspended from your title as a priest.”

He felt the salt mix onto his tongue as he wet his lips. Mike let Walter take the note into his hand and watched him study the crumpled contents.

“If I don’t leave, then he will tell everyone about us."

He began to shake his head.

"I shouldn’t have ever been brought in here, you shouldn’t have taken me in. I don’t belong here and...I-I’m just a waste of space. All I do is ruin everything. Walter, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

The tears were starting to soak the collar of his shirt, it caused a chill to pierce his face and his throat under the autumn air. Walter shushed the younger man, letting his palms surround those red-tinged cheeks.

Michael, in all of his hysteria, hadn’t noticed Walt move closer to his body. He also hadn't noticed how the priest slipped that note right back into his pant pocket.

The heat soothed the bite of the cold air. Michael quieted down soon after the sudden touch. His head and his body leaned closer, wet lashes fluttering shut.

“My darling please breathe for me, that’s it please just...just breathe.”

He dipped down somewhat and touched his forehead to the curate’s, feeling the shiver below his skin. Walter breathed, in and out, to show Michael. To guide him through.

Truthfully, Walter needed that demonstration more than he realized. He couldn’t believe, couldn’t understand—everything was moving far too fast.

Still, he held the younger man in his hands and he felt his labored breathing against his lips. 

“You are not a waste of space, Michael. You never ruined anything...”

He opened his eyes and gazed into him, making sure that he was seeing him. 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. There's nothing, nothing wrong with you. You understand?”

Michael’s hands wrapped themselves around Walter’s wrists, not pulling away but merely resting there. Walt observed the liquid persistently falling down the young man’s face, and he was sent back to that night in the abandoned office. 

The night when he knew that he could be there and stay there as long as Mike needed. This time wasn't sure if he would be successful, what could he do?

Before he could think of anything else, he guided Mike’s face to his and slanted their lips together.

The curate hiccupped and struggled with returning the kiss. He pressed weakly and put more effort in fisting at the fabric of Walter's sweater. 

Walt dragged him closer, flush against his chest. Yet, the distance never seemed to close enough. He wanted to drink him, desperate and dying of thirst, none of this was enough.

The younger man whimpered into Walter’s mouth. When he relaxed his hold on Mike, Father Marshall's thumbs remained under his eyelids, murmuring on his lips, 

“Dry your eyes, My Love...Hey? It’s going to be okay. Just breathe with me.” 

While he wiped at Michael’s cheeks, the younger man continued to shake his head morosely.

The older priest grew hushed and kept his eyes on Michael. For a long minute the sounds of crickets could only be heard, chirping in and out between them. With one hand staying on Mike’s skin, he reached below the collar of his own shirt to pull out an old, silver necklace.

Michael's interest piqued at the movements and he watched the man remove that jewelry from his body. Walt took both of his hands to carefully place it around Michael's neck, adjusting it's sizing and how it sat on his chest.

His thick finger followed the end of the silver to the tiny crucifix hanging at the bottom. When Walter reached where the charm on the necklace sat, he noticed that the weight rested over the bundled up skin at the center of Michael's chest.

Mike recognized this cross from the times he saw Walter without a shirt on, he never really asked about it, and, truthfully thought it was something the man got and wore under his clothes.

"I want you to have this. This cross was something I've had since I began the priesthood, a long time ago."

Mike hadn't said a word but watched inaudibly, breath slowing the instant that cross grazed the area his scar sat.

"Michael? Look at me—" He gently placed his finger over the charm and pressed into him, 

"It doesn't matter what happens, I will always be here." 

The younger man's attention returned to where Walt's finger was, blinking rapidly and a few more tears slipping down his cheeks.

Walter clenched his jaw.

Oh, how he loathed it, that he was beginning to agree with his impassioned beloved. He could never sacrifice Michael’s privacy, his safety. He thought nothing of his title and each of those accomplishments.

If he could forget all of that, and just keep him safe, keep him right here he would.

Walter gripped the curate in his arms and held him against his chest, inhaling the scent of his hair. The man fought back the itch at his eyes as his hands began to tremble on his lover's back.

For the first time, the man didn't know what he could do to make it better. He couldn't relax his arms to left go of Michael's body.

“Walt, I have ten minutes left. I-I meet the bus out front…”

Walter blinked and slid his palms down Michael’s arms. A glance at his wrist displayed five after eleven. Michael wiped at his eyes and tried to make himself more presentable.

“I...I don’t know if we could while I’m on the bus I-Walter...

He returned his glassy eyes back to Michael's bloodshot ones. Not finding any more words in his throat. "I...think this is goodbye.”

Goodbye.

He could feel his eyelids droop downward when the young man wrapped his slender arms around him. Mike could hardly do so with how large Walter was, but in some way he managed. 

Walt's attention was far off in the clouds when Michael's cheek pressed against his. And, when the curate pressed a kiss to his lips it was him who was left breathless.

"I love you."

The younger man backed away.

He attempted to reach out and grab the curate. Walt thought that he was close enough, but the young man already had his suitcase in his grip. Michael was making his way through the garden and disappeared into the thick fog.

➽─────────────❥

The bus’s engine was loud and rattling over the hushed conversation. Standing outside by the gate was a small group of church workers, each were friends to Michael or people he had been close to since his arrival. 

Mike peered into the distance and saw the Greyhound bus emerge from the low clouds. Soon following, he felt the many warm touches of the people around. He released his hold on the bag and turned to hug each person close by him.

After a glance around, Mike saw the image of Walter standing adjacently to a few other people, jaw hardened and his folded arms back to covering his chest.

Mike met Walter's eyes and both men burned weakly under each other’s gaze, the younger man gave a forced smile and pushed his hair off his forehead.

Walter returned the favor with a tight-lipped smile, offering to help him in storing his luggage.

The suitcase was lifted by Walt with no strain. The both of them walked toward the storage unit on the bus and began loading it.

Deep rumbling of the engine was felt under the men’s hands and between both of their bodies. Through the window, the driver gave Michael a look, and tapped at his watch.

This prompted the younger man to turn and wave toward the people of the church. He shared a look with Walter, lingering longer than he wanted to, and slowly stepped around him to trek to the door.

The weight of a hand found its way to Mike’s shoulder, softly, and he momentarily stopped.

On the shell of his ear was the scratch of familiar facial hair and the muted whispering of final words. Michael could be seen nodding, patting that hand and pulling away to climb into the bus.

Walter stepped from the vehicle and backed toward the people of the church, hands deep into his pockets and his breath steaming the icy air. The people waved, and observed the bus pull away from the church.

A few workers picked away from the group as the bus moved further and further from the property. 

When the tail end disappeared into the fog, and the sound of the engine was no longer audible, Father Marshall was still in that spot. His eyes watched the swirling fog.

.

.

.

That day, he stood on the stretching, gravel driveway for as long as he could stand it. Walter’s lids fluttered closed when the moisture broke through and fell down his cheeks.

He took in a long breath, but collapsed to his knees, fisting the dirt and tremoring.

Walter had been out there long after the ring of the church bells.

➽─────────────❥

Following after that day, all piling together into months, the church continued their services. 

Events were planned. Many popular ones brought money to the church and aid to the citizens. Services were held by all of the leaders and the spirit of the Lord seemed to be felt strongly through the town.

Father Marshall gave his teachings, clearly and elegantly. The man still pulled fully seated pews and many more people's hearts with his warm nature. He seemed to be more righteous than all the years he'd been there.

Nonetheless, people amongst the crowds took notice of his peculiar lack of vigor behind those words.

The people in attendance would say that the man's spirit had been weakened in some way.

The father graciously brushed away those concerns, and remained adamant in his teachings. Walter delved himself more into the work. He spent much more time in his office and placed his attention on various things surrounding the church

.

.

.

One late evening, while the man sat in his room, he watched the candlelight dance on his papers. The moon was low in the sky when he heard a knock at his door.

Upon opening he was greeted with a young assistant, her face laced with a bright smile and crisp white items filling her hands. She gently spoke to the man about the mail being delayed for that day, and that he was to finally have been delivered his postage for the week.

She placed several envelopes into Walter's hands and bid the priest goodnight.

Father Marshall found his way back to his desk, sighing profoundly when he sunk into the chair. The letters were dismissed on the surface of the desk. Many were labeled from other churches and financial institutions.

Walter rubbed at his drooping eyes, deciding that he would pick up those tomorrow and deal with them first thing. Sleep was the one thing on his mind.

As the man loosened his collar and sat up to gather his nightclothes, he left the candle flickering on his desk.

Under that warm amber light, the letters were illuminated, each one layering over the other. If one gave a closer look at that stack of mail, it could be noticed that a singular letter stood out from the rest. 

On the surface, barely showing under the side of another envelope, there was the appearance of scribbled black ink where the return address laid.

'Westbridge, MI 56087'

➽─────────────❥

Taglist: @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks  @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard @littlefreya @zealoushound @luna-aestas @feralrunaway @tuckersgirl​ (So sorry I forgot to add you love!)

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- Unfortunately, these tags didn’t work :(

➽─────────────❥

Thank you to everyone who was interested in this! I know I've said it before but this story is dear to my friends and I. We constantly think of scenarios between M and W. Let us know if there should be more!

➽─────────────❥

[misskikuwrites]

A Helping Hand

Bederia Week 2021: Day 1 - First Impressions

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Tags: fluff, light angst, babysitting

Words: 7,612

@bede-x-gloria

-

Babysitting felt a world and a half away from training Pokemon. All her skills as the Champion were of no use here- there was no battle to be fought, nothing she could power through with brute force. She had to be delicate. Kind. 

 She had to figure out how to entertain a toddler when she'd never done anything like this by herself before. The living room was covered end-to-end in an array of miscellaneous toys, from plushies to colourful blocks and toy cars, none of which gave her any ideas for what to do. With Pokemon, they found ways to entertain themselves. She could explore with them. Battle with them. Train them. Even swishing a toy from side to side was a form of training with Pokemon, and the ball she’d lob across the campsite turned into a competition for her Pokemon to see who could retrieve it first. She couldn’t do any of that here- not with little Samuel. Not with his baby sister, Gracie, asleep in the nursery down the hall. Sitting on the carpet next to Samuel, Gloria tried to remember the times she'd accompanied her mother to watch over them. She’d tagged along for the fun of it, not expecting that one day she would find herself babysitting the two of them alone. 

 And, with Gloria's mother at work, she had no one else to turn too. 

 Samuel shuffled over to a crudely-made tower of blocks, immediately knocking them over. Gloria pursed her lips, stomach churning, and edged over to him. 

 "How about we build a tower?" she offered, and slowly began to reassemble the tower. 

 Samuel watched for a moment. He followed Gloria's movements as she stacked one block on top of another, balancing them precariously as the tower grew taller and taller. Without warning, he shoved the blocks again. 

 "Hey!" Gloria gasped in shock. "Don't do that, we're trying to build it, not-" 

 She paled as Samuel whimpered, his face scrunching up, cheeks beginning to flush… 

 "No, no, that's okay! You can knock it down!" Gloria hurriedly stacked another tower and deliberately toppled it. "See? That's loads of fun!" 

 Samuel squeaked a precious laugh. "Gen!" he said, staring at the blocks. "Gen!"

 "Gen? Oh, you mean 'again?'" 

 "Gen!" 

 She could do that. Wrecking the towers Gloria painstakingly constructed was a simple and easy way to keep Samuel entertained- at least, it was for the first dozen or so towers.

 "Gen!" Samuel said, his laughter trickling out. "Gen!" 

 "Again…?" Gloria sighed. 

 She'd lost count of how many she'd made - not that she'd been keeping track in the first place - and it had quickly become monotonous for her. How it still managed to amuse Samuel was beyond her. 

 "Why don't we do something else? Look, Mr Wooloo wants to play with us, too-" 

 She turned around to grab the Wooloo plush when Samuel let out a whine. 

 "Gen!" 

 "But I've already built a ton of towers-"

 "Gen!" His whine turned into a wail. "Gen! Gen! Gen!" 

 "Okay, okay, okay!" Wooloo plush thrown to the side, Gloria snatched the blocks off the carpet and stacked them for Samuel once more. "There, another tower!" 

 He knocked it over with glee, bubbling with laughter as the tower collapsed. His smile was so innocent and happy, Gloria couldn't help but stack tower after tower for him to knock down. As boring as it was, it kept Samuel occupied and - more importantly - content. She made another for him, and retrieved her drink bottle from her bag in the meantime. The tower collapsed, and Samuel burst into a fit of giggles as the blocks bounced left and right over the carpet. 

 His enjoyment was so simple, it made Gloria smile. She didn't understand what was so amusing about a tower of blocks falling over, but Samuel's laughter was sweet, his smile adorable, and she shucked off any grievances she had about repetitively making towers for him to knock over. It was worth it if it made him happy. 

 Soon enough, Gloria found ways to keep herself entertained as she made tower after tower for Samuel. She began adding different things to the tower- first, she placed the Wooloo plush on top out of sheer boredom. The blocks collapsed by themselves, and Samuel shrieked a laugh. When she went to build the next one, she stuck a toy car on top. Then the square-shaped toy ambulance in the middle of the next tower. Each odd addition made Samuel laugh, from the Rolycoly figure that wouldn't balance by itself, to the Wooloo plush Gloria placed on top of her head. He cackled when the Wooloo fell off Gloria's head, and she held back a snort of laughter. 

 Perhaps looking after Samuel wouldn't be so bad after all. 

 A slowly building cry reached Gloria's ears. She'd spoken - well, thought - too soon. Gracie had woken up. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told Gloria that it was well under the hour or two Mrs Jones had expected her daughter to sleep for. She got to her feet, swallowing her trepidation, and made for Gracie's room. 

 "I'll be back in a second," she told Samuel, "I'm just going to grab Gracie." 

 A whine followed her, silenced beneath the disgruntled cries coming from Gracie. Gloria braced herself before opening the door to the nursery, and was hit with a wall of noise. Gracie, still swaddled in her blanket and lying on her front, screamed for all her tiny lungs were worth. The tremendous volume that came from such a little girl was unbelievable, and Gloria had to stop herself from flinching as she swept the squirming baby out of her cot. 

 "Hey, hey, it's okay," Gloria cooed, holding Gracie close to her chest and patting her back. "I'm here, you're alright."

 She didn't know what else to say, what else to do, and dug through her memories to try and recall what her mother had done in situations like this. 

 The scream doubled in volume. No, that wasn't right- there was an echo now. A scream by her ear, another by her leg. Samuel had followed her, and was matching Gracie's efforts with his own wail. He planted his face against Gloria's leg, arms wrapped tightly around her, and howled. 

 Gloria's head spun. She tried to step towards the door, barely able to move and completely unbalanced by Samuel clinging to her. Both her hands were occupied by holding Gracie up. She had nothing to spare to calm Samuel, or even to try and pry him away from her leg so she could move more than an inch at a time. 

 "Samuel, what's wrong?" she asked, speaking over Gracie's cries in her ear with a grimace. "Hey?" 

 She couldn't kneel down with him stuck to her like a Komala on a log, and was paralyzed with one foot through the door. Despite everything in her body telling her not to, she forced the leg that Samuel was holding onto forward, tugging herself out of his grip. It made him scream louder, but Gloria had no choice. She hurried back to the lounge with Samuel howling at her heels. 

 "Look, look, we're back. I'll build you a tower again!" She knelt by the blocks, Gracie still crying against her front, and balanced the wailing baby on her lap so she had a free hand to stack blocks with. 

 Samuel stood, unbudging in the doorway, and cried. 

 "Sammy? Look, I've made a tower for you!" 

 He wasn't looking. 

 "Come on, I had to get Gracie up!" she pleaded with him, and resumed patting Gracie's back in a soothing rhythm when Samuel refused to look at her. "Shh, shh, it's okay," she said to Gracie. 

 Her head throbbed. Ears ringing. 

 Wait, no- that was her phone. 

 Now, of all times?! 

 In a split second of panic, she wondered if it was Mrs Jones calling to see how things were.

 Gloria wanted to scream. She overpowered the urge to throw her own tantrum and tugged her phone out of her pocket. On the screen, accompanied by a candid photo of him taken in the Wild Area, was Bede's name. 

 Bede?! 

 She almost didn't answer it, wincing beneath the onslaught of cries piercing her ears, and decided she needed to brush Bede off quickly so he wouldn't call again. Distractions were the last thing she needed right now. 

 Gloria hiked Gracie higher in her arms and answered the call, her Rotom phone hovering by her ear. 

 "Sorry, Bede! Now's not a good time," she said quickly, and shuffled on her knees over to Samuel. "I'm kind of... in the middle of something!" 

 She patted Gracie's back in a firm, steady rhythm, trying to sooth Samuel at the same time by wiggling the Wooloo plush with her other hand. 

 "I can certainly hear that," came Bede's voice in her ear, drowned out by the cries in the room. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?" 

 Gloria bit her bottom lip, the lump in her throat tightening in shame. Her inadequacy was crushing, dragging her heart into the pit of her stomach, and she didn't need, or want, Bede to find out. 

 She felt like a failure. 

 "Shh, shh, Gracie. Shh..." Gloria murmured, well aware that Bede could hear her, and kept trying to comfort the crying baby in her arms. Gracie hiccuped and whimpered, burying her face in Gloria's shirt. "There, there." 

 Samuel's wails got louder as Gracie's softened, and Gloria wished she had more arms to spare. She could only comfort one child at a time. 

 She could only talk to one person at a time. 

 "Look, Bede- I have to go," she said. Forced the words out. Pushed him away. "I've got my hands full right now." 

 Despite the throbbing of her heart, the need not to be alone. 

 "Sounds like you could do with some assistance." 

 Her brain short-circuited. "I- What?" 

 "I happen to have some spare time on my hands, so if you require some help-" 

 "Please!" Tears pricked her eyes. She held Gracie tighter, ready to crumble to the floor herself as her pride shattered, as her voice wobbled. "Please…" 

 A pause. 

 "Tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can." 

 -

 Bede hung up, immediately calling a Sky Taxi for Wedgehurst. He exhaled a heavy sigh and dragged a hand through his hair as his racing heart began to settle. 

 That was not how he'd expected that call to go. The script he'd spent all morning preparing, the words he'd gone over again and again in his mind, had flown out the window the second Gloria had answered. Cries loud enough to make him flinch had wiped his brain clean. Desperation hidden in the Champion's voice had turned his attention away from the reason he'd called in the first place. 

 He couldn't very well ask her that when she was struggling enough for it to reveal itself in her voice. And, for a moment, it sounded as though she was on the verge of tears. 

 Bede climbed into the Sky Taxi as soon as it landed in Ballonlea, and repeated to the driver the address Gloria had given him for a house in Wedgehurst. His heart sank in trepidation as they took off. The question lingering on his tongue could wait- he would swallow it down for her until whatever was going on in that house was under control. 

 To reign in his desires was simple enough when it came to Gloria. For her, he would. 

 In the meantime, he had other things to worry about. Mainly, the screams of children he'd heard during his call with Gloria. He could only begin to imagine what was going on in that house, and hoped he'd arrive in time to prevent the chaos from getting any worse.

 -

 Gloria's heart lifted when she heard swift knocking on the front door. 

 "It's unlocked!" she called, hopefully loud enough to be heard over Samuel's tantrum. He refused to calm down, and Gracie was beginning to grizzle in her arms. She wouldn't stay put, squirming this way and that, and had taken to sucking on Gloria's shirt in her frustration. 

 The door swung open, and Bede strode into the lounge, his eyes widening at her. Gloria's breath caught. She stiffened beneath his gaze, waiting for his judgement in the form of a snarky comment, for him to scoff at her predicament. He said nothing, and walked over to her in silence. 

 "Here." He reached for Gracie and said, "give her to me." His eyes lingered on Gloria's for the moment it took for her to relinquish the baby to him. 

 He hefted Gracie into his arms and pulled her out of the blanket. He began to bounce her in a way Gloria had seen her own mother do in the past. 

 "Seems like she's hungry," Bede said, raising an eyebrow at the wet stain of slobber on Gloria's shirt. Gracie mouthed at Bede's Gym uniform shirt, as if to confirm his suspicions. 

 Gloria blinked, her brain taking a few seconds to catch up to reality, and she nodded. 

 "There's- uh, a note. In the kitchen." It was difficult to speak beneath her shock. "Her bottle's in the fridge." 

 "Alright. Leave that to me, then." He turned on his heels, Gracie having quietened completely in his arms, and made for the kitchen. "In the meantime, try making some faces and noises at him," Bede suggested, glancing over his shoulder at Samuel, who was now crying on the floor again. "The weirder, the better. I think you'd be good at that." 

 Gloria frowned at Bede, pursing her lips in confusion, before signing. He seemed to have a knack with Gracie, and she had little pride left to spare after failing spectacularly at babysitting, and so she wandered over to Samuel and sat beside him. 

 But… to make faces at him…? 

 Gloria quickly made sure she was out of Bede's line of sight, and took a deep breath. 

 Here goes nothing…

 "Hey, Samuel. Look at this!" 

 Samuel sniffled and peeked up at her. His eyes fixed on Gloria's face. He blinked. Sniffled again, and then laughed. He pulled himself off the floor as Gloria smooshed her cheeks, poking her tongue out at the same time, and made whatever weird noises she could. 

 And it worked. Samuel laughed.

 "What about this?" 

 Gloria dragged her palms down the sides of her face, pulling her cheeks and curling her lips into another strange expression. Again, he laughed. It wasn't long before Samuel had no tears left to shed. The room descended into amicable silence, into peace, and Gloria found that she could breathe again. She sighed, releasing the pent up tension in her chest all at once. 

 It was a miracle. No, more than that- Bede had worked some sort of magic. His mere presence had settled the torrent of nerves in her gut, and he'd known just what to do to calm Gracie down, picking up on the fact that she was hungry as well, and his suggestion for Gloria to pull faces at Samuel had worked like a charm. He'd gotten too much right for her to put it down to chance. This was more than luck. More than a good guess- Bede had experience with children. 

 He'd floored her completely. It was so unexpected, she didn't know where to start in order to comprehend what had happened. The chaos she'd been struggling under had lifted in an instant when Bede arrived. She sat on the carpet next to Samuel, pretending that the Wooloo plush was making weird noises and not her, with her gaze continuously drifting to the kitchen. Swift footsteps, the click of the fridge door, and the trickle of running water came from the room beyond what she could see. Her heart thumped warmly in her chest as her mind conjured images to fit the sounds that reached her. 

 She wanted to see, wanted to watch, Bede in action. This was a side to him she'd never seen before, and it set something fluttering away in her lungs. He never ceased to amaze her in ways she wouldn't have imagined when they first met. Who knew that the snobby, arrogant boy that had acted like everyone else was beneath him was hiding such skills? There were so many layers to Bede, so much she still didn't know. He continuously shattered the shallow first impression she'd had of him again and again, from their first battle, to meeting on the pitch in front of the world, to him leaving his past behind and taking up the role of the Fairy Gym Leader. 

 Bede had turned out to be so much more than she'd given him credit for. 

 Gloria was impressed, and grateful, but more than that- she was awestruck. Speechless in a way that left her breathless. Almost giddy. It made her smile like an idiot to herself. Her heart skipped when Bede returned to the lounge, with Gracie cradled in his arms and a bottle of warm milk in hand. 

 Arceus, it stole Gloria's breath away. She watched as he stepped over the discarded toys to the couch, and gracefully sank into it without jostling Gracie an inch. He lowered Gracie onto his lap so she rested against his arm, and brought the bottle to her mouth. She latched onto it and began to suckle away eagerly.

 "If you keep gawking at me like that, I'm going to take offence," Bede huffed. His eyes lifted to meet Gloria's. She sucked in a sharp breath and snapped her attention back to Samuel. 

 "Sorry!" she squeaked as her cheeks began to flush. 

 She'd been staring. Gawking, as Bede had pointed out. How could she help it when he was tending to Gracie so expertly? She was struck once again by how skilled he was with babies, both Pokemon and human. 

 "I was just surprised, that's all," Gloria said quickly. She nuzzled the Wooloo plush into Samuel's side, making him giggle. "It's like she's your own child or something, with how easily you calmed her down." 

 "Are you insinuating something?" He raised an eyebrow at her, unamused. 

 "No!" She flushed darker, darker than before as her heart leapt into her throat. "No, I just mean that you're such a natural with kids, it's- y'know, impressive!" 

 Gloria breathed a panicked laugh. Coils of embarrassed heat tightens on her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing hard. 

 "You're way too young to have your own children, for sure." She waved that suggestion off quickly. "Well, I know you're almost eighteen so it's not completely impossible- but that's not the point," Gloria said that last part in a rush, almost stumbling over her words as she realised where her mind was going. 

 "I just- what I mean is-" She couldn't think past the blood rushing to her head. 

 "Take a breath, Gloria," Bede said. He cleared his throat, focusing on bottle-feeding Gracie.

 Her heart pounded in her ears. Thoughts swirled into a mess in her mind, tangled on the idea of Bede having his own children and the insinuation behind that. She tried to follow his suggestion and catch her breath, to calm herself down in order to clear her muddied thoughts. 

 "How come you're so good with kids?" Gloria asked instead. 

 There was no point trying to figure out what she'd been trying to say in the first place, all she could think about was that in the future, perhaps Bede would be doing this with his own child. A baby with platinum blond hair like his, soft curls framing round, pink cheeks. It made her heart ache. 

 "Your wife will be super lucky…" she mumbled. 

 Bede coughed. "I don't have a wife." 

 "Y-You heard that?!" 

 "You're hardly quiet enough for me not to hear."

 "Sorry…!" She peeked over her shoulder at him to see his gaze skip away from her. Pink coloured his cheeks, the sight making Gloria's blood sing through her veins as her breath caught. 

 Arceus. When he blushed like that, her heart danced something wild in her chest, fluttering and dizzy, and she wanted to fix that image into her mind forever.  

It made her want to say something more. 

 "It's… it's true, isn't it?" Gloria continued, "since you're great at cooking and with kids, you'd make a great husband- unlike me! You've already seen my attempt at babysitting today, and I'm horrible in the kitchen." She laughed briefly at herself. "I'd need someone like you if I was ever going to get married, 'cause I'm hopeless otherwise!" 

 Bede's eyes shifted back to hers. He held her gaze for a moment of silence, and something unreadable in his expression made her pause. 

 "Woo woo," Samuel sounded, and Gloria turned to tickle him with the Wooloo plush. 

 "...Someone like me?" 

 It was the depth to his voice that stole Gloria's attention back. Bede's words were soft, his tone low and thick, and the intensity in his gaze made the Wooloo plush slip from her fingers when their eyes met. Heat swam behind those violets that pinned her to the spot. 

 What was he saying? 

 "Sorry?" Gloria blinked at him. Nerves flittered about in her stomach as though she was missing something. Something that she'd said, something that had happened, and it sent her heart racing. 

 "You said you'd need 'someone like me,' if you were to get married," Bede said slowly. 

Silence fell. Gloria couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. There was so much more to his gaze, to his expression, than she'd realised. 

 "I…" Had she said that? 

 "Someone like me?" 

 It was a question. A deeper meaning to those three words. A suggestion. 

 Was there more to it? 

 An offer? 

 "It doesn't matter since I'm never getting married anyway," Gloria said quickly. She tore her eyes away from Bede, swallowing the lump in her throat and the rising panic building in her chest. "I promised I wouldn't, and I'm not going to break that." 

 "You promised?" 

 Shit. 

 She'd said too much. 

 Her heart plummeted. It drained the blood from her face, froze the nerves in her stomach, and bled ice through her veins. Chilled her to her core, to the marrow of her bones. 

 Heavy. 

 She felt heavy. 

 "Gloria?"

 "Forget I said that." She stood. Turned her back to him. 

 "Why? Who did you promise that to?" 

 "I said- forget it!" 

 Too loud. Hands trembled into fists at her sides as Samuel whimpered. Pain prickled behind her eyes. Tears.

 An apology lodged in her throat but she had no voice to give it life. Her lips wobbled. She pressed them tightly together for a moment, forcing her breath down. Held it in her lungs until it burned. 

 She exhaled it all at once. 

 "I shouldn't have said anything."

 It hurt to speak, to step dangerously close to the precipice of what she'd buried for so long.

 Terrified to fall. 

 "I can't- I don't want to talk about it," she said. The tremor in her voice began to fade. She shook her head, pressed her hands against her face with a breath of shame. "I'm going to the loo." 

 Gloria hurried away before Bede could reply- if he was going to say anything at all. She shut herself in the bathroom and doused her face in cold water until she could think again, until the shadows receded from her heart. 

 The promise she'd made years ago had surfaced as it did sometimes, but never had it hurt like this. Like a void had encapsulated her heart. It ached. Something had shifted, and what had been a lifelong promise that she'd always been eager to uphold now felt like a looming wave towering above her, about to crash over her life at any second. To destroy everything. 

 Gloria swallowed, letting water drip from her face as she measured her breathing. In and out, in and out. 

 Everything was fine. She was fine. 

 She wasn't in love with Bede, so there was nothing to worry about. Her promise was still in place, still intact. She hadn't broken anything. 

 The memory of that night came back to her. Her mother's tears. Being held too tight in trembling arms. Hearing those words, unable to comprehend what it meant, unable to believe it. 

 "He's gone." 

 The echo of her mother's voice tightened the knot in Gloria's throat. Droplets of water, of tears, fell from her cheeks. 

 "He's gone… Papa's gone…" 

 Air hissed through her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut to force back the heat building behind her eyes. 

 "I'm here," her own voice replied. Ten years younger, it still sounded like her. "I won't go anywhere. I promise." 

 A simple promise made the trembling stop. 

 "I promise." Those words she would keep. "I'll stay with you forever… no matter what." 

 I won't leave you.

 Gloria wiped the water off her face, stealing those memories away. A lingering ache in the hollow of her chest remained, but its blade had dulled. She could endure it. 

 She had to. 

 Even if it meant closing off her heart so she would never experience the pain of that day again, she would do it. She saw what it did to her mother. The kind of pain that love brings. 

 And Gloria wanted none of it. 

 -

 The air was stiff and awkward in the lounge when Gloria returned. She sat beside Samuel as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't left at all. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that Gracie had finished her bottle and that Bede had propped her up on the couch using the cushions to steady her. She was currently sucking on a ring of brightly coloured plastic keys. 

 Gloria desperately wanted to break the silence, to say something, anything, but she didn't know where to begin. The weight of her memories remained over her shoulders. She'd snapped at Bede. Regret and shame swallowed her voice, guilt sitting in the back of her throat so she couldn't form any words. 

 He'd come to help her, gave up his free time out of his own volition, and she'd snapped at him. She couldn't get any more pathetic if she'd tried. 

 "What have you got there?" Gloria asked Samuel. He pushed a toy car back and forth over the carpet, trying to blow a raspberry between his lips to mimic the sound of the engine. 

 "Cah!" he said, before returning to his noise making. 

 Her heart throbbed. She picked up the angular ambulance and pushed it alongside Samuel's car, but her energy was spent. She couldn't fake enthusiasm when her chest felt so heavy. 

 "How did you end up with these two?" Bede asked. 

 Gloria looked at him out of reflex, out of surprise. He'd broken the silence so easily, and raised an eyebrow at her curiously. 

 "They obviously aren't your own children, and I assume you haven't acquired two new siblings in secret… which leads me to believe that you're babysitting for someone else." 

 She blinked at him, nodding slowly at how succinctly he'd come to the correct conclusion. 

 "Oh, right. I never explained, did I?" She pursed her lips sheepishly before gesturing to the two young kids. "This is Samuel and Gracie. They're the kids of my mum's friend, Mrs Jones. She needed someone to babysit on short notice since her sister went into labour a week early and there's no one else to take her into hospital. The rest of their family is in Kanto, and her sister's husband is away for work, so…" 

 Gloria shrugged. "I've helped my mum babysit them in the past, but she's at work, and Mrs Jones really needed someone… I've never looked after them on my own before." 

 "That much was fairly obvious. It was quite chaotic when I called you, from what I heard." 

 Gloria scoffed in indignation. "That's only because I had to get Gracie up! She was crying in her room and I had to leave Samuel to get her, and then he started crying too!" 

 She huffed at Bede, folding her arms in protest, when she spied the slight tilt to the corner of his mouth. It was the barest hint of a smirk. Soft amusement lit up his eyes, and it made Gloria realise what he was doing. Riling her up so she'd bark at him and fall into their natural rhythm. The air that had been suffocatingly thick had eased away, lifting the hold of silence over the atmosphere. Bede had coaxed her into speaking her mind to him again. Into returning to normal. 

 She sank in surprise, and the heat of her protest died. Finally, she could find the words that she wanted to say. 

 "Look, Bede, I'm… sorry about what happened before," Gloria said. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just… it's a subject I'm not comfortable with. I hadn't meant to say anything about it in the first place, but then…" 

 She trailed off with a sigh.

 "That's alright. I see now that I shouldn't have pressed you about it," Bede said. "I'm sorry about that." 

 A sliver of pain dug into her heart at his words. 

 "The promise I made as a kid, it still means a lot to me, and…" She swallowed. Took a breath. "I know most people would probably think it's stupid and ridiculous, and it's hard for me to explain, I haven't told many people about it before-"

 Her voice stuck in her throat. 

 "You don't have to explain," Bede said softly. 

 "But…"  

"If it puts you on the verge of tears to even think about, you don't need to explain it to me." 

 He'd noticed the tears building in her eyes. 

 "I'm sorry…" It came out as a whisper, but in the quiet, she knew he'd hear it. 

 "For what? I can't see that you've done anything wrong here." 

 "You don't even know why I snapped at you and you're being so kind," Gloria sighed. "I feel like I owe you an explanation, at least." 

 "Only when you're ready for it." He shrugged and said, "everyone has something they're not comfortable talking about- I don't want you to have to force yourself to explain it to me because you feel like you should." 

 She nodded slowly. 

 "Besides, I may have an idea about what it is anyway, so I'm not completely in the dark as to why it upsets you so much." 

 Gloria blinked at him. He turned his gaze away from her to dangle the drool-coated keys in front of Gracie's grabbing hands. 

 "You do?" Somehow, the fact that he already knew something about it loosened the jumble of knots in her gut. 

 Gracie caught the fluorescent green key and tugged it towards her mouth as Bede nodded. 

 "You've mentioned a thing or two about it previously," he said, "if what I believe you're talking about is correct." 

 All the bits and pieces she'd let slip in the past. The words that had spilled out in vulnerable moments, hissed under her breath, fragments of pain that had broken through her walls. 

 He'd remembered them.

 "Probably," she said quietly. 

 How much he knew, how much he'd pieced together, she couldn't tell. Perhaps he'd gotten the wrong idea completely- but knowing Bede, that was more than unlikely.

 "Then I don't need to know any more," he said. "If it makes you uncomfortable to speak about, then don't force yourself on my account. I don't need to know every little thing about you in order to be your friend."

 His words softened her heart. She filled with warmth, with a sense of peace, and it made her smile. 

 "Thanks, Bede," she said, tilting her head as she smiled at him. "That's really sweet of you to say." 

 His expression froze for a split second, and Gloria wondered if she'd said something wrong when he cleared his throat and focused on playing with Gracie, jangling the keys in front of her when they fell from her mouth again. 

 "How come you're so good with kids?" Gloria asked, realising she'd never got an answer from him when she'd asked previously. 

 It was like he knew exactly what to do- when to give in and let Gracie grab the keys, when to tug them away from her and keep up the challenge. The self-satisfied look he gave Gloria, the pride glinting in his eyes, made her heart skip. He was so damn attractive even when gloating, and she folded her arms as if that would protect her heart from the influence of his smile. 

 "This is nothing special," he said, and shrugged. As if his smirk didn't clearly say otherwise. "Just the basics everyone knows, really." 

 Gloria scoffed, despite the way her chest fluttered from the mirth in his voice. His words dripped with amusement, teasing her and making her heart dance like a puppet on a string, and Arceus, it made her pout at him in return. Protesting how easily she reacted to him, although she found that she didn't dislike how it made her feel. It was a rush, a spark of emotions through her body. Strange and foreign as it was, it wasn't a bad feeling. Not one she hated at all. 

 If anything, it actually felt pleasant. 

 "What does that make me, then, if I don't even know the basics?" Gloria said, throwing those words back at him with a huff. "Since everyone knows it?" 

 She raised an eyebrow pointedly at him, not about to let him off that easily without an explanation. 

 "I may have picked up a thing or two somewhere," Bede said. 

 "Uh-huh." 

 She gave him a blank stare. Unimpressed, unbudging. She wanted to know. Her curiosity had built into a fervour, a blooming desire to figure out this secret of Bede's that he was taunting her with. She feigned hurt, and turned back to Samuel. He burst into giggles when she pushed the toy ambulance up his back and let it topple forward off his shoulder. He picked it up and tried to place it where she had to make it fall again. Movement in the corner of her eyes made Gloria turn. Bede sat beside her, laying Gracie down gently on her back on the carpet, and placed the Wooloo plush square on her stomach. He gave the stuffed Pokemon a wiggle, making the legs flop wildly, and Gracie broke into a smile. 

 It was so unadulteratedly cute to see Bede play with Gracie like that, and Gloria's heart squeezed firmly in her chest as she watched. He glanced at her for the briefest of moments before focusing his attention on the wriggling baby in front of him. Gracie gave a squeak of laughter when he booped her nose with the Wooloo. 

 Gloria felt giddy just watching him. 

 "The orphanage was short-staffed at times," Bede began. He spoke while playing with Gracie, not once pulling his attention away from her. She was completely enraptured by the Wooloo plush. "Those of us old enough to take care of ourselves were enlisted to help with the younger children. It was easier to learn how to amuse them than be surrounded by screaming babies all day." 

 "Oh." She didn't know what else to say. His explanation, his experience, was far from anything she'd imagined, and a wave of guilt crashed over her for trying to drag that out of him. 

 Especially when he'd been so understanding to her. 

 "Children are easy enough to amuse. What works for one usually works for another," he said with a shrug, "as long as you aren't too worried about your pride." 

 He leant over Gracie and blew a raspberry at her, and she laughed. A sweet, innocent laugh that made Gloria want to melt. Her insides were turning into goo. 

 "You'll pick it up over time, don't worry." Bede turned to Gloria and quickly booped her nose with the Wooloo plush. Samuel laughed, and he received a boop as well. 

 Gloria bit back her laugh, her lips trembling with mirth. Bede looked so free, so full of life, that she didn't dare laugh - even out of adoration - in case he thought she was laughing at him. She wouldn't risk spoiling the moment. 

 "You think so?" she asked. 

 He looked at her, his violet eyes softening with his smile, and said, "of course I do. Anyone can learn how to take care of children, or how to cook. It just takes time- and a bit of advice." 

 Her mouth twitched into a smile, and without thinking about it, she leant over Gracie as Bede had done, and blew a raspberry of her own. It brought a string of giggles out of Gracie, and Gloria's heart lifted. 

 "You're a quick study," Bede noted. 

 She beamed at him in return. "It helps that I've got an expert teacher." 

 -

 Time passed easier after that. There was no more crying, no more grizzling- Samuel and Gracie were content at last as Gloria fell into a natural pace with Bede. She followed his advice, taking note of the slight difference in the way he played with the two children. Often, they shared silent glances. A smile, a knowing look, as Gloria mimicked the little techniques that Bede used. After a while, he picked Gracie up when she'd had enough of lying on the carpet, and sat her in his lap. She jangled the plastic keys in her hands, happy once more. 

 Gloria's heart swooned in her chest. Bede was so utterly endearing with the kids, so sweet and kind and adoring that she could hardly take it any more. Her lungs were filled to the brim with delight, and Arceus, she was almost overcome with the desire to hug him. It was impossible to contain how she was feeling. Giddy and breathless and flustered all at once, she focused on making Gracie laugh by playing peekaboo behind the Wooloo plush instead. 

 Anything to keep her wandering gaze from returning to Bede. It was completely unfair how he made her feel- he was gorgeous and adorable at the same time, great with kids and skilled in the kitchen, seemingly perfect despite the flaws she knew he had. 

 He was so damn attractive in every way. 

 She huffed to herself and swallowed that thought. 

 This isn't a crush, she reminded herself. Stop thinking about how amazing he is and pay attention to the kids! 

 The fluttering in her chest refused to abate. It was a strange kind of nervousness, one that she hadn't felt before until recently, one that only occured around Bede. It made her lungs feel like they were too full of air, too light. She was weirdly self conscious. Overly aware of every movement, every gesture and noise Bede made, all her senses had honed in on him. 

 The space he occupied in her mind, in her heart, had grown immensely without her knowing. 

 Gloria couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. 

 Footsteps clicked up the driveway, stealing her and Bede's attention towards the front door. It swung open, and Samuel shot to his feet. 

 "Ma ma!" 

 He tottered over to his mother as she took in the surprise visitor in her house. Her eyebrows lifted curiously. 

 "Mrs Jones, this- this is Bede," Gloria said quickly. 

 "Oh, yes. I thought I recognised you!" Mrs Jones clasped her hands together as she nodded at him. She swiftly picked Samuel up and sat him against her hip, planting a kiss to the top of his brow. "You're the Fairy Gym Leader, right?" 

 Bede stood, carrying Gracie, and stepped over to Mrs Jones. He extended a hand to her politely. 

 "That's correct," he said. "It's lovely to meet you. We had no trouble with Samuel and Gracie at all- I hope you don't mind that I assisted Gloria while you were away." 

 Gloria got up and dusted herself off while Bede greeted Mrs Jones, slightly flustered by his white lie. 

 'No trouble at all' was not how she would've described the way things went before Bede arrived. 

 "I don't mind at all," Mrs Jones said. She set Samuel down and took Gracie from Bede. She smiled pleasantly, and Gloria was once again amazed at how easily Bede slipped into his Gym Leader persona. Polite, graceful and charming, he made first impressions count. 

 "My sister's husband caught the next flight back, so I was able to come home early," Mrs Jones continued, "but it looks like I didn't need to worry about these two at all."

 Gloria beamed a smile, trying to make it as genuine as possible. Next to Bede's confidence, she felt too stiff and forced. 

 "Everything went well," Gloria said. "Gracie woke up a bit early, and had her bottle at… about eleven thirty, I think."

 Mrs Jones nodded. "I'll make sure she has her afternoon nap, then." 

 She gave her daughter a kiss on her round cheeks, making Gracie smile. Samuel pottered around after his mother as Gloria gathered her bag and swung it over her shoulder. As foreboding as babysitting had felt when she'd first begun, she no longer wished to flee the two adorable children at a moment's notice. It had been an experience she wasn't likely to forget for some time. With Bede by her side, she felt like she could conquer anything. 

 Well, almost anything. The emotions fluttering in her gut weren't something she wanted to tackle, or acknowledge, for now. 

 -

 After a quick goodbye to Mrs Jones and her two kids - Samuel whimpering when he realised they were leaving - Gloria and Bede exited the house and stepped into the streets of Wedgehurst. The lazy afternoon sun bathed them in warmth, and Gloria stretched her arms high above her head and breathed in the moment of peace. 

 "I'm glad that's over," she sighed. 

 They headed down the street, passing cozy houses adjourned with blooming gardens. In the distance, bleats from Wooloo and Dubwool filled the air. 

 "I don't know how I would've managed without you," Gloria said. She shot him a smile. "I thought you had terrible timing, calling me when you did, but it turned out to be perfect." 

 Bede stopped. "About that…" 

 Gloria turned to face him. A few feet behind her, he paused. "What is it?" 

 "The League Gala is happening the week after next." Bede held her gaze. His voice, softer than before, sent her heart racing. "Are you going with anyone?" 

 She froze, jaw hanging slightly open. Then swallowed, fumbling with her tongue to form an answer. 

 "Yes, I- I'm going with Hop," she said. 

 He looked away. "I see." 

 Gloria's heart plummeted into her churning stomach. "Why- Why do you ask?" 

 Did he not have anyone to go with? 

 Did he, perhaps, want to go with her…? 

 "I thought I'd ask in case you had forgotten about it," Bede said, shrugging. He continued walking, and passed her with quick strides. "You tend to get distracted quite easily, after all."  

She skipped to catch up with him, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes as they walked. 

 "I wouldn't have forgotten about that," she said. 

 Gloria let out a huff. It was foolish to think that he'd brought up the Gala for any other reason. Foolish to think he'd ask her to go with him, when he'd be attending with Ms Opal as he had last year. 

 Besides, Hop had already agreed to go with her. The strange weight in her gut persisted, despite reasoning with herself that she was being ridiculous for getting worked up over it. 

 She wondered how she would have answered if he had asked. If she hadn't been babysitting, if Samuel and Gracie hadn't been screaming their lungs out when Bede called, would he have asked her? 

 Would she have wanted him to ask? 

 She slowed, gaze following Bede as he continued on ahead for a few steps. He stopped, and turned not a moment later when he'd realised she wasn't beside him. The question in his eyes gave her no answer to the thoughts clouding her mind. She shook them off, stepped up to Bede as though she'd never left his side. 

 Some questions aren't meant to be asked, she decided. 

 It was better this way. She already had enough to deal with- the warmth in her chest, the fluttery feeling that spread through her veins, returned as she walked beside him. She felt comfortable at his side. It felt natural, normal, to walk in amicable silence towards the station where Bede would catch a Sky Taxi to Ballonlea. The time they’d spent babysitting together had turned what could have been a disastrous and exhausting few hours into a cherished memory for her. It felt like she’d discovered some hidden nugget, a buried treasure, behind the carefully crafted walls Bede always functioned behind. He probably didn’t realise how much that meant to her, that he’d let down his guard - whether deliberately or not - and revealed another side to himself that few had ever seen. 

 It made her feel… special. Trusted. Valued, even. It reaffirmed in her mind what Bede truly was to her- a friend. He was someone she could rely on in a pinch, someone who wouldn’t judge her for her failings, for her idiosyncrasies, for the secrets she couldn’t yet voice. He may not have asked her to the gala, but she knew he would be there, and that fact alone eased the trepidation she felt towards it. 

 Gloria smiled to herself as they walked, cementing that feeling in her heart.  

[trojc-rewrite]

The Rise of Jimmy Casket Rewrite, Chapter 2

Previous

Warning - Blood

——————————————————��

After the agreement at Dunkin, the group left later that night. Toast drove, Colon in the passenger seat, while Spooker played music from the back. Mostly indie with the occasional rap song. But as the day got darker, the three grew more and more tired.

Toast checked the clock on the dash, 12:01 AM. His entire body was stiff and his eyes felt heavy. He looked around, seeing the tall pine forest loom around them for miles. He didn’t feel like pulling over and resting for the night would be a good idea.

“There might be bears, or raccoons.” Spooker said.

Colon gave him a confused look, “But you like raccoons.” He pointed out.

Spooker retorted. “NOT IN THE CAR!”.

Toast gave them both a tired look and they both shifted away. “I think I saw a motel sign a few miles ago, it might be up ahead.”

They drove for a few more miles until they spotted it. It was a run down place not too far away from town. It was old and browned, but you could tell it used to be an off-white color. A sign that once was a light up sign was now broken with one fizzling bulb. Broken stairs climbed the sides of the building, several steps rotting and mold covered. But, it would have to do for now.

Toast booked a room and the three shuffled into the small place. The inside looked about just as bad as the outside. With a pull out cot in the living room, a love seat, and a small kitchen with a stove that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Everything had a weird acrid smell to it, like it was damp. “The wonders of mold!” Colon had joked.

Toast decided to take the love seat with stiff, hardened cushions and let Colon and Spooker take the cot, which looked like a new king size mattress compared to the love seat, which made crunching sounds when you shifted on it.

Toast sighed, and stared at the ceiling while Colon and Spooker chatted. His anxious brain whispered to itself, making him upset, “Is this really worth it? Do Spooker and Colon think I'm the world's biggest idiot? I wouldn’t blame them if they did, I’m making them go on a goose chase for one of my stupid hunches.”

He turned over on the rough love seat and stared at his phone screen, no calls from Ghost. Not even a text. Toast blinked tiredly; why did his eyes sting? Ghost did say he wasn’t sure if he was going to come back, and he obviously didn’t want to be around him or the rest of the P.I.E gang.

“I failed him.” Toast thought sadly. He put down his phone, blinking away his tears. Why was he crying? Toast shifted his gaze to his golden wedding ring that stayed on his necklace. He delicately picked it up, reading the inside of it. “Till death do us part.” Toast could almost taste the irony.

He took a deep breath. He had had enough of having pitiful thoughts today. He took off his necklace and set it down beside his phone. Before closing his eyes, Toast watched as Spooker showed Colon a funny video on his phone. The two laughed and smiled, genuinely happy. Toast couldn’t help but smile at that. At least not everything about this “vacation “ was horrible. It made Toast happy when they were happy.

He closed his eyes, inviting the dark to consume him.

————————————————————————

Toast was in a white void, it smelled like freshly fallen snow. It was refreshing to his senses, not having to look at ugly greens and muddy browns like the inside of the motel.

He looked around, “Hello?”, he called out. A soft breeze flew over him, ruffling his hair. He then heard a familiar voice call out to him.

“Johnny?” A soft voice returned. Toast’s heart leaped in his chest, the voice both seemed to calm him and send him into a frenzy. What a weird effect.

He ran towards the voice, his shoes made a tapping sound on the floor, like high heels on marble. “Mary?!” He cried out.

His late wife’s figure became more visible as he approached, she materialized from the white. Her curly brown hair bounced off her shoulders as it did when she was living. Her soft hazel eyes gazed warmly at him. The breeze made the rim of her long red dress wave in the wind. Toast crashed into her, breathing in her familiar, yet forgotten scent.

“Johnny, it’s been a while.” She murmured to him, smoothing his hair. Toast fought the tears that welled in his eyes, but it was no use. He let out an ugly sob, which shook his entire body. Mary gave him a sympathetic smile, her own eyes filled with tears.

“You’ve come a long way since we last hugged.” She said, still combing her hand through his hair. “I miss you, my love. But I’ve come to warn you, and I’m afraid that I cannot stay for much longer.”

Toast looked up at her, her hazel eyes filled with a fierce love. He then heard yet another familiar voice through the misty white.

“Johnny!” Toast turned to see the outline of his friend. Ghost. Toast's eyes widened and he reached out for him.

“He’s not really here, I’m afraid. Just the powers of this realm making him appear here.” Mary said, taking his hand in hers.

“But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Johnny.” She turned him towards her again. She took both of his hands and looked at him.

“Is, is he okay?” Toast asked, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She nodded.

“If you mean is he alive, yes. But there’s more to worry about than if he’s alive.”

She turned serious, her hazel eyes boring into him with desperation.

“Protect your friends, Johnny. You are all in great danger.” She said. Mary’s figure became more distorted and transparent, but Toast didn’t want to let go of her.

“No, Mary. Please don’t leave me alone!” He cried out, still holding onto the fuzzy static of her hands. Mary’s hazy face smiled.

“Oh my love, I’m always with you.” She whispered. And then, with a gust of wind, she was gone. Leaving Johnny alone.

A sob choked Toast, getting stuck in his throat. He bent down onto his knees and sobbed, his black hairs falling in front of his eyes. He stayed there for a while, sobbing out.

And then a smokey scent filled the air, washing over him like a toxic blanket. He looked up from his hands.

A winged figure stood yards away from him, long black hair waving in the wind. Four wings sprouted from it’s back, feathers dancing. It’s face was also guarded with tinier wings, moth's wings creating eyes. It stared at him. Toast felt vaguely threatened by it.

He got up shakily, walking towards it cautiously. As he approached, ringing filled his ears. And then his dream exploded into fire and black, shattering like glass.

Toast lurked upwards, panic filling his chest. The smell of smoke filled his lungs and he looked around. Colon and Spookers' horrified faces filled his vision, Colon's hands were around his shoulders shaking him.

“Toast we have to go! Come one get up!” He yelled. The room felt hot, making them all sweat.

“What’s going on? What happened!” Toast asked, getting up. He grabbed his wedding ring and phone and put them away on himself.

“The building’s on fire! C’mon we have to go!” Colon yelled, fear filling his voice.

A large pillar fell into the room, slamming on the floor. Flames engulfed it, reaching the cot and setting it ablaze. Orange and red danced in Toast’s vision.

The floor cracked under everything's weight. “I saw a fire exit down the hall when we got to this room! That’s our exit, let’s go!” Toast felt his anxieties in his brain but forced them down. Now was not the time to be having second thoughts.

The blistering flames grew and ignited around them, smoke filling the room. Spooker coughed, shaking his head.

The floor made a loud crack sound, and the large pillar sunk through the wood. A hole grew in the floor, the wood blackened at the edges.

Toast leaped over the hole, dodging the flames that licked and jumped at his legs. Sweat and smoke filled around him. He could barely see, feeling light headed. He reached out for Spookers hand.

“Come on Spooker!” Toast yelled. Flames roared like lions around them, screaming and wailing in Toast's ears. Colon nodded to Spooker, hesitantly, the young red head reached for his hand and jumped. Toast grabbed his hand and pulled him over. Spooker tumbled awkwardly onto the planks and reached the door. Toast ushered him out into the hallway, then turned to Colon.

The hole in the floor was wider, hot air and tiny flames growing from it. It gaped at him, taunting him. One mistake and his friend would be dead, falling into a pit of embers and coals. Toast shook his head, he wouldn’t let that happen.

The smoke was strangling him, making him cough and search for any clean air. He reached out his hand. Colon narrowed his eyes and got ready to jump.

Then, with the speed of a snake, a flaming piece of wood swung from the ceiling at Colon. His friend tried to swerve away from it but it floundered his jump. He landed on the crumbling wood, hanging over the pit opening below them. Panic surged through Toast and he bent down.

Toast hauled him up, the cloth of his friends shirt was rough and hot. Another piece of wood struck out angrily from the wall as it crumbled. “Colon, look out!” Toast cried, and pushed his friend out of the way.

The flaming wood dug straight into his leg, going into it like a knife through meat. Toast cried as the splintered wood buried into his flesh, awkwardly hanging out of his skin.

Colon looked at him horrified, but Toast limped out. Cinders spat at them, like the flames were cursing them. The two ran to the fire escape while Spooker waited by the door, looking anxious. The youngest swung open the door, and the three ran down the crumbling stairs. They ran to the street, and Toast’s leg couldn't handle the weight of himself anymore.

He fell down the cracked cement, scraping his knees on the jutting rocks. Pain surged through him again. “If they don’t use our taxes for fixing these damn streets then what do they use them for?” He cursed angrily about the road's condition. Spooker and Colon lifted him up and dragged him across the road, lying him down on the soft wet grass.

The three breathed heavily, watching as other civilians ran out in different directions. Toast's leg burned, begging for the wood to be removed from his flesh. The oldest coughed, wheezing for the night air.

He sat upwards, studying the injury. It was buried half way into his skin, blood seeping through his clothes. The wood was blackened and damaged, splinters hanging off of the sides where it had split from the wall. It hadn’t hit any bone or anything, but he knew he needed stitches.

He tried to block out the fire and calm down. His adrenaline rushed through his veins, screaming for his body to move. But he took a few deep breaths, the fire was starting to dissipate anyways, flickering still but weaker. “We’re okay. Colon and Spooker are okay. And Ghost probably is too. Everyone is okay.” He thought.

He bit his lip and took the fractured wood in his fingers, and began wiggling it out of the wound. His arms felt weak, and he grit his teeth. For what felt like a gruesome forever, he finally got it out.

Spooker and Colon watched as he took the piece of jagged wood and threw it into the street. It thudded on the broken cement, his blood splattering under it. Now, Toast needed a way to stop the bleeding.

“Guys, do me a favor and rip off one of my sleeves, please.” He said through gritted teeth. Spooker leaned over and ripped off the white sleeve on his button up. Then, handed it to his boss. Toast tried his best to smile at him, but the pain in his leg was too great. His eyes were welled with tears, and there wasn’t a doubt in Toast’s mind that he was crying.

He tied the white cloth around his leg, trying to slow blood flow. The red fluid stained his sleeve. It wasn’t great by any means, but it was better than nothing.

They stayed there for what seemed like forever, watching fire trucks put out the fire. No paramedics were in sight however, which wasn’t good. Toast would just need to power through until the morning.

The three stayed silent, staring at the rising smoke in the sky.

“Watch us survive all this and then we can’t even find Ghost.” Colon joked. Toast weakly laughed, feeling tired.

Spooker and Colon turned to him. “Thanks for not letting us die back there.” Colon said. Toast nodded, the pain in his leg starting to ebb away.

“No problem, that’s what good friends do.” Toast said. His eyes felt heavy, begging him for sleep. Toast gave into it, sighing.

Colon and Spooker watched him silently as he closed his eyes, their concern hanging in the air.

“Ghost, please be out there.” Toast silently thought, before falling asleep.

——————————————————————————

Whips and nae naes!!! Longest chapter!!!

Hope yall enjoyed! Next chapter will be out soon!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXXV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: :c

Words: 4,500

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

The group divided in two and she was leading Ron, Luna and Ginny without having a clue of where to run next. 

Rodolphus Lestrange suddenly appeared ahead and she silently raised her wand, shooting a bolt of purple lightning directly into his chest.

"You know nonverbal spells?" Ginny panted.

"She can do that since our third-year," Ron responded. "Don't stop running! — Stupefy!"

"And you decide to use them until now?!"

"I've been using them all the time!" Mel argued, shooting towards another Death Eater. "But I'm obviously not going to walk around announcing it!"

She cleared the way and pushed Ginny and Luna through the door, then Ron pushed her and before he could close the door a dark something hit the side of his head and the boy stumbled back. Mel slammed the door close as Ron fell flat on the spot, she kneeled beside him.

She shook his shoulders but nothing happened. Ginny shouted something about footsteps getting closer. Mel pointed to his chest and used a reviving spell to bring him back, Ron's eyes sort of cleared, but only for the briefest moment, he stared at her with a stupid smile.

"Haha... Mel," He giggled. "You have two heads..."

"Great," She groaned. "He's been confunded... At least he's awake — We need to move."

"You go ahead, Luna and I will carry him," Ginny replied, grabbing her brother.

Mel advanced carefully and as quickly as she could, a new pair of death eaters ran into the room and started to throw curses. One charged up to her, caught off guard by his sudden actions, she fell backwards and cut her face with the edge of a table.

"Get off!" She shouted, placing both hands on the man's chest. A burst of energy sent him flying across the room. Mel wasted no time, the other death eater was fighting with Ginny and Luna.

"Reducto!"

The shelf next to him exploded, giving the girls enough time to push Ron out of the way. Mel grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the next room, closely followed by Ginny and Luna.

The group ran all together into the next room. Mel suddenly felt her feet being lifted from the ground.

"Space," She gasped.

But this couldn't be the real thing, since she could breathe and the planets were all her size.

"Avada —"

"Petrificus Totalus!" shouted Luna.

Ron was floating around and having a laughing fit; she pushed to get closer to the boy and shield him. A planet exploded a few feet away, she landed on top of Ron, who laughed louder.

"My foot!" Ginny growled behind her.

Mel pushed the hair out of her face.

"Take Ron, you three keep going —"

"But —"

"Do as I say!" Mel yelled as she lifted Ron from the ground with Luna's help. "I don't need to use my wand!"

Ginny ran to the door, broken ankle and everything. Mel forced Luna to walk out of there with Ron, and with both hands, she conjured a stunning spell strong enough to hit the three remaining men. She didn't wait to see the results and turned around, rushing out of the room and slamming the door close.

"Ginny?" Harry's voice took her by surprise. "What happened?"

Ginny fell to the ground and held her leg tightly, Mel walked up to her and crouched.

"Ferula!" She exclaimed, Ginny's ankle quickly got wrapped in bandages.

"I think her ankle's broken, I heard something crack," Luna explained. "Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets, it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating in the dark —"

"Harry, we saw Uranus up close!" said Ron. "Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus — ha ha ha —"

"What happened to you?" Erick asked when he saw her. "You have a huge cut on your —"

"Doesn't matter," She moved his hand away from her face.

"It does matter!"

"Everyone here is hurt!" She replied harshly. "You have a massive cut on your lip — Neville, dear Merlin, Neville's got his nose broken and — What's wrong with Hermione?" Mel walked up to her unconscious friend.

"And what about Ron?" Harry asked them, holding Ron so he wouldn't fall.

"I don't know what they hit him with," said Luna, "but he's gone a bit funny, I could hardly get him along at all... Mel woke him up — It's been lucky that she was with us, she took down three of them at once."

"Harry," Ron snorted, "you know who this girl is, Harry? She's Loony... Loony Lovegood... ha ha ha..."

"We've got to get out of here," said Harry. "Luna, can you help Ginny?"

"Yes," said Luna.

"It's only my ankle, I can do it myself! Mel fixed it!" But even with all the fixing, Ginny couldn't stand on her own.

Harry tugged Ron's arm over his shoulders. Neville pulled Hermione closer and Erick quickly approached to help him. Mel was the only one left who still had no extra weight to carry.

An invisible mantle had fallen onto her unexpectedly, now it was her duty to make sure everyone would leave this place in one piece. She almost wanted to fall to her knees and cry like a baby, she knew that people would eventually need her to lead, but it had been too soon, too sudden.

"There they are!" Bellatrix yelled.

Mel lifted a big magical division between them.

"GO!"

Harry kicked another door open and went inside, closely followed by Erick, Neville and Hermione. Mel started to walk backwards as Luna helped Ginny move forward, trying to maintain the spell for a bit longer. Two figures appeared on her sides, Erick and Harry were back in the room, helping her keep the protection. As soon as they reached the door, Erick yelled 'Now!' and the three of them ran for it.

"Colloportus!" Harry shouted, just in time to hear the adults crash into the entrance.

"It doesn't matter! There are other ways in — WE'VE GOT THEM, THEY'RE HERE!"

"Decide quickly!" Mel yelled. "We can seal all the doors or run, but we have to do it now!"

"We keep going, but we seal half of these first. You and Erick watch over the others," Harry said. "Luna — Neville — help me!"

The three of them tore around the room, sealing the doors as they went: Harry crashed into a table and rolled over the top of it in his haste to reach the next door.

"Colloportus!"

There were footsteps running along behind the doors; every now and then another heavy body would launch itself against one, so it creaked and shuddered. Luna and Neville were bewitching the doors along the opposite wall — then, as Harry reached the very top of the room, he heard Luna cry, "Collo — aaaaaaaaargh..."

"Get Potter!" Bellatrix shouted.

"Stupefy!" Mel said, hitting another death eater across the chest.

"Hey!" said Ron, somehow he'd escaped Erick and Mel's protection. "Hey, Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn't that weird, Harry?"

"Ron, get out of the way, get down —"

"Honest, Harry, they're brains — look — Accio Brain!"

"DON'T—" Erick started, but it was too late.

"Ha ha ha, Harry, look at it —" said Ron, watching it disgorge its gaudy innards. "Harry, come and touch it, bet it's weird —"

"RON, NO!"

"Harry, look what's happen — no — no, I don't like it — no, stop — stop —" The tentacles wrapped around his arms and quickly crawled up his chest.

"Diffindo!" yelled Harry.

"Harry, it'll suffocate him!" shouted Ginny, before she could reach her brother a spell got her and she fell unconscious on the ground.

Erick did one swift movement with his wand and the death eater who'd gotten Ginny flew back against the wall.

"STUBEFY!" shouted Neville. "STUBEFY, STUBEFY !"

"Immobulus!"

Mel got the brain around Ron's torso. The thing stopped at once and fell limply on the ground, but Ron was half-gone already. Only Mel, Erick, Harry and Neville remained.

"We cover," Mel said. "You and Neville run."

"But —"

"I can do more than you," She said tensely. "Protect that bloody orb — Do what I say."

Harry and Neville ran while Mel and Erick shot at the adults all the curses they could remember. Some of them bounced on the walls and she realized how dangerous this could be for her fallen friends. She had no option but to follow Harry and Neville so this room could be left alone.

They were back in the room with the stone archway, Harry stumbled down and Neville was nowhere to be seen, the terror in Mel's body started to show through her magic, thin dark lines started to spread around the back of her hands.

"Children, your race is run," Lucius Malfoy pulled off his cloak. "Now hand me the prophecy like a good boy..."

"Let — let the others go, and I'll give it to you!" Harry panted.

"You are not in a position to bargain, Potter. You see, there are ten of us and only three of you... or hasn't Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?"

"There's ford obf us!" Neville shouted from the top of the stairs.

"And I can assure you Dumbledore taught me way more than just numbers," Mel replied, holding her wand firmly.

"Neville — no — go back to Ron —" Harry urged desperately.

"STUBEFY!" Neville shouted, trying to take down as many people as possible, "STUBEFY ! STUBE —"

One man launched over him and seized his arms behind his back.

"It's Longbottom, isn't it? Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause... Your death will not come as a great shock..." Lucius started.

"Longbottom?" Bellatrix asked in delight. "Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy..."

"I DOE YOU HAB!"

"Someone Stun him!"

"No, no, no... No, let's see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents... Unless Potter, Dumbledore and the traitor want to give us the prophecy —"

"DON'D GIB ID DO DEM!" roared Neville, she would've been proud hadn't been for the fact that they were all about to die. "DON'D GIB ID DO DEM!"

"Crucio!"

Neville fell to the floor in agony, Erick tried to curse Bellatrix, but four different death eaters attacked at once. Harry and Mel managed to protect him from most of it, but he doubled abruptly, blood staining his uniform.

"That was just a taster!" said Bellatrix. "Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way! And eventually the rest of your friends. The nasty traitor will bleed out, and nutty will join us to be the Dark Lord's little pet..."

Harry and Mel stood side by side, it didn't matter how strong she was, she couldn't fight ten people ready to kill. Harry hesitantly stretched out his hand, but before Malfoy could grab the prophecy, the doors burst open and Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley entered the room.

Harry grabbed her wrist and yanked her down, she seized Erick and dragged him too. The three of them crawled all the way up to Neville.

"Are you okay?" Harry shouted.

"Yes," Neville said shakily.

"That was really brave!" Mel cupped his face, examining his injuries. "And really stupid, Neville! You were supposed to stay close!"

"And Ron?" Harry asked them. "And the girls?"

"All out," Erick panted, he was holding onto the side of his body and was getting paler with each passing second. "But alive."

"I don't know how to heal cuts that deep," Mel said in worry. "Stop moving!"

Harry suddenly got lifted onto his feet by a man.

"Give it to me! Give me the prophecy —"

Neville stood up again and stabbed the man's eye with Hermione's wand. He let go of Harry and Mel shouted: "STUPEFY !"

Harry yelled 'Thanks!' as he stood up, but he slipped on Moody's eye, who was now unconscious a few feet away. Dolohov stared at them with a nasty smile.

"Tarantallegra!" He yelled at Neville, making him lose balance. "Now, Potter —"

"Protego!" Harry shouted.

Mel lifted Erick's white shirt that was now sticking to his body and did the first thing she could think of: She cauterised the cuts.

Her friend screamed in pain, she apologized hurriedly and kept going as Sirius and Dolohov fought behind her. When she finished, Erick was no longer conscious. Harry helped her stand and stared at him worryingly.

"He's not bleeding now," She tried to dry her tears, but only managed to smear Erick's blood across her face.  "I can't do anything else — I don't know if he'll live..."

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry yelled over her shoulder. Dolohov fell backwards.

"Nice one!" shouted Sirius forcing them to lower their heads. "Now I want you to get out of —"

Tonks fell a few feet away from them.

"Take the prophecy, grab Neville and Erick, and run!" Sirius ran towards Bellatrix.

"Can you stand?" Harry asked Neville.

"Hang on," Mel pointed her wand towards Neville's legs and ended the jinx.

"Put your arm 'round my neck," The boy told Neville, then turned to her. "You're sure you can take him?"

She pointed at Erick's limp figure and made him float a few inches above the ground.

"I don't need brute force," Mel said, pushing her friend's body forward.

Just as they started moving, Malfoy launched himself towards Harry and both fell onto the ground. Harry kept his hand up in order to not crash the prophecy, Mel let out a growl.

"The prophecy, give me the prophecy, Potter!"

"No — get — off — me... Neville — catch it!"

Harry flung the prophecy across the floor, Neville spun himself around on his back and scooped the ball to his chest. Malfoy pointed the wand instead at Neville, but Harry jabbed his own wand back over his shoulder and yelled, "Impedimenta!"

"Round up the others and GO!" Lupin yelled, standing in front of Malfoy to keep him from attacking.

Neville approached her.

"You grab dis," He handed her the prophecy, surprisingly warm at the touch. "You're a better dueller."

"You're okay?" Mel asked.

"I'b fine," He said fiercely.

"Come on!" Harry yelled.

Neville pushed the Slytherin's floating figure, Mel looked down at the prophecy and froze.

'S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D'

She recognized the initials.

"That's how he knew..." Mel whispered. 

"Mel!" Harry yelled.

The prophecy was dangerous and they had almost let it fall onto the wrong hands... but there was a way to make sure this wouldn't happen, and it didn't necessarily mean both sides would lose.

She held the orb firmly and smashed it against the ground.

"NO!"

A white misty figure appeared wearing a pair of glasses that she knew all too well, a triumphant expression appeared on her face while Harry rushed back to her side.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

Her hand now had pieces of broken glass encrusted, but she couldn't feel pain, the adrenaline kept her working, the strange dark lines were slowly spreading across her skin. Harry looked down at her hand and shook his head, still unable to believe what she'd done.

"Let's get out of —"

"Dubbledore!" gasped Neville.

"What?"

"DUBBLEDORE!"

Mel's heart went from being in the depths of despair, to high above the clouds, now they had a chance to leave the Ministry in one piece: Albus Dumbledore had arrived, and he was angry.

It was an impressive display of power. A few death eaters ended up tied and wandless in a matter of seconds. Sirius and Bellatrix continued fighting, not noticing the battle was almost over.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius taunted.

"He shouldn't be here," Mel pulled a piece of glass out of her palm. "Sirius shouldn't —" 

Before she could finish, a spell hit him right on the chest. Sirius' eyes opened in shock as he stumbled back. 

Mel was vaguely aware of Harry as he ran down the steps, her body went numb as she witnessed the man falling further into the veil. She couldn't see his face from where she was standing, but she saw his body fall, not quite touching the material hanging from the archway. The veil moved slightly, and then engulfed him.

"SIRIUS!" Harry screamed. "SIRIUS!"

Lupin caught the boy before he could go too far, Mel's fists tightened and she felt the pieces of glass piercing deeper into her skin. 

"There's nothing you can do, Harry —"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"It's too late, Harry —"

"We can still reach him —"

"There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone." 

"He hasn't gone! SIRIUS! SIRIUS!"

"He can't come back, Harry, He can't come back, because he's d —"

"HE — IS — NOT — DEAD! SIRIUS!"

Something inside Mel snapped, the glass shot out of her palm and she walked back into the fight, attacking every dark shape her eyes would encounter. 

She wanted to hurt, to make them regret Sirius' death. Dumbledore slowed down her movements when he realized Mel had lost it, the girl looked down just in time to see faint, black lines vanish from her forearms.

Mel wouldn't remember much of it afterwards, all she knew was that her wand was extremely warm once she'd finished with the remaining death eaters and her fingers had a grey mist coming out of them. 

"What..." She stepped back clumsily, crashing against her great-uncle.

"I warned you," He said quietly. 

"Harry? Mel?" Neville had reached the place where Harry was standing, the boy had an absent look on his face, and he was unable to look away from the archway. "I'b really sorry... Was dat man — was Sirius Black a — a friend of yours?" 

Harry nodded, looking completely lost. Mel realized someone had managed to slip away from her outburst: Bellatrix was still fighting with Kingsley. Anger rose up to her chest once more, but Dumbledore didn't let her move forward.

"Let me have her!" She yelled.

BANG!

Kingsley fell flat on the ground, Bellatrix tried to run for it and Dumbledore threw a spell, but she was fast enough to avoid it.

"Harry — no!" 

"SHE KILLED SIRIUS!" Harry ran. "SHE KILLED HIM — I'LL KILL HER!"

Mel pushed Dumbledore aside and shouted 'Protego!' before anyone could try to stop them. They ran across the brain room and into the room full of doors, but this time neither Mel nor Harry had time for guessing.

"Where's the exit?!" Harry shouted. "Where's the way out?!"

The door behind them opened and they reached the elevator just as Bellatrix was leaving, Harry pushed the button to call a second lift and once inside Mel crouched, struggling to breathe. She didn't know how she still had the energy to do all this, but she didn't care as long as they could end that woman. 

Bellatrix was in the middle of the entrance hall, she threw several spells their way but Mel made them bounce away with flicks of her wrist. However, a potent spell pushed her back, and Harry dragged her behind the fountain before Bellatrix could take advantage of the momentary slip.

"Come out, come out, little kiddies! What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin! You were doing so well downstairs, you nutter!"

"We are!" Harry yelled.

"Aaaaaah... did you love him, little babies?" Bellatrix let out a peal of manic laughter. "Well, you're not the little babies, that filthy newborn is! Lucky for us we killed the father before he could ruin it! If we kill the mother too, we could raise their bastard on the right side of the family!"

Mel's stomach dropped, how did Bellatrix know about the baby? Where was her mother?

"Crucio!" Harry stood at the same time as her.

Mel once again lifted a protection spell around them, but this one came out slightly weaker. 

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" Bellatrix was now talking to them more like equals and less like infants. "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain — to enjoy it — righteous anger won't hurt me for long — I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson — Crucio!" 

Mel pointed her wand to the woman's feet and the ground exploded, causing her to lose balance and stumble back.

"You cannot win against me! I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant, I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little children, can never hope to compete —"

"Stupefy!" 

"Protego!"

Mel and Harry only had time to crawl back behind the fountain.

"I am going to give you one chance! Give me the prophecy — roll it out toward me now — and I may spare your life!"

"You're in no position to bargain," She said, the same way Lucius Malfoy had done it. "And we have bad news for you —"

"— You're going to have to kill us because it's gone!" Harry said, and he glanced briefly at Mel before wincing in pain. "And he knows!" 

Mel couldn't feel this, probably because she was already hurting as well.

"Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone!" He panted. "He's not going to be happy with you, is he?"

"What? What do you mean?" 

"Mel smashed it! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?"

The girl raised her injured hand and waved it around.

"See? I crushed that thing until there was nothing left!"

Her hand stung badly and she lowered it to rub it, smearing more blood on her skin. 

"LIAR! YOU'VE GOT IT AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME — Accio Prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!" 

"Liar?" Mel spoke over Harry's insane laughter. "I'm a nutter! Crazy people never lie!"

"Nothing there!" Harry shouted. "Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that —"

"No! It isn't true, you're lying — MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED — DO NOT PUNISH ME —"

"Don't waste your breath!" Harry continued as Mel tried to heal her hand. "He can't hear you from here!"

"Can't I, Potter?" 

She still remembered him from her visions, but it was nothing compared to the live version.

Tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring... Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move.

Mel knew then that she would not survive, she was starting to feel tired.

"So you smashed my prophecy? No, Bella, they're not lying... I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind... Months of preparation, months of effort... and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again..." 

His eyes moved to Mel, she used the remnants of her strength to keep him out of her mind and closed her eyes tightly, breathing heavily, Voldemort let out a quiet hiss. 

"Miss Dumbledore, how nice to finally meet you... I see the rumours are true... Unfortunately, you're too young to be a real threat. Since it's been you who destroyed my prophecy, I'll have to kill you, but at least I'll make it fun to watch..."

"Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!" Bellatrix kneeled down in front him, Mel found the scene revolting. "Master, you should know —"

"Be quiet, Bella. I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?"

"But Master — he is here — he is below —" 

"As for dearest Potter," He continued, ignoring the woman. "I have nothing more to say to you. You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

[...] The headless golden statue of the wizard in the fountain had sprung alive, leaping from its plinth, and landed on the floor with a crash between Harry and Voldemort. The spell merely glanced off its chest as the statue flung out its arms, protecting Harry.

"What — ? Dumbledore!" 

Mel's uncle was standing in front of the golden gates.

The statue of the witch ran at Bellatrix, who screamed and sent spells streaming uselessly off its chest, before it dived at her, pinning her to the floor. Meanwhile, the goblin and the house-elf scuttled toward the fireplaces set along the wall, and the one-armed centaur galloped at Voldemort, who vanished and reappeared beside the pool. 

For some reason, none of the statues charged towards her, and Mel had the strange thought, that it was because her uncle knew she was done fighting.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," said Dumbledore. "The Aurors are on their way —"

"By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!

Dumbledore flicked his own wand. The force of the spell that emanated from it was such that Harry, though shielded by his stone guard, felt his hair stand on end as it passed, and this time Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining silver shield out of thin air to deflect it. 

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore? Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom. Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit —"

"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!"  

"You are quite wrong. Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness —" 

[...]Fawkes swooped down in front of Dumbledore, opened his beak wide, and swallowed the jet of green light whole. He burst into flame and fell to the floor, small, wrinkled, and flightless. At the same moment, Dumbledore brandished his wand in one, long, fluid movement — the snake, which had been an instant from sinking its fangs into him, flew high into the air and vanished in a wisp of dark smoke; the water in the pool rose up and covered Voldemort like a cocoon of molten glass —

For a few seconds Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass —

Then he was gone, and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.

"MASTER!" cried Bellatrix.

The girl tried to walk towards his uncle, Harry moved out of the statue's grip. 

"Stay where you are!" Dumbledore ordered.

Both froze, waiting for something, anything... Then Mel's body burst into flames.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

[yandere-wishes]

Aquaphobia //Yandere Leviathen x reader//

Oh, have I never mentioned that I am MORTIFIED of water and literally any sea creatures...no? It must have slipped my mind.

For this story, I'm making a few assumptions. 1) Levi can turn into some sort of sea monster-like thing I'm assuming it looks like a cross between a Megladon/Giant squid/ Sea serpent. 2) He can communicate with sea creatures. 3) The giant horrifying aquarium that basically makes up his back wall is in reality linked to either an ocean or somewhere that houses a bunch of dangerous sea beings. 4) In addition to sea animal communication Levi posses Aquakinesis

------------------------------------------------------------------------

For as long as you can remember water has always haunted you.

The large bodies of H2O particles have never failed to shake you to your very core. 

In every single nightmare you ever recall, you are drowning in one of those shallow blue celestial bodies. The colorless liquid invading your mouth, clawing its way to where your lungs rested, joyously filling and choking them. 

Sea roamers of all kinds flocked to your drowning corps, millions of eyes drinking in your defenseless form, from the beady black shark eyes to the yellow cyclops eye of a giant squid. A fraction of a second later and those beastes were sinking their fangs into your tender flesh, large tentacles wrapping themselves around an arm or leg and tugging it until it detached from the rest of your corps. 

But in the end, you always woke up, always resumed your day as if nothing had come to pass the night before, back then you knew that it was only a nightmare....however this time you weren't so sure. 

Out of all seven brothers you'd always dreaded Leviathan the most. You had nothing against his "otaku" like ways or his unkempt appearance. No, it was simply what he was that made you keep your distance. 

Yet the third born seemed to have other plans for you. Leviathan hates "normies", the average demons and humans that overpopulate the earth, mocking those like him who have hobbies and likings that are "abnormal" in their eyes, forcing them to live shameful lives of isolation. Due to the superiority of normies in all three realms Levi had never once come across someone as abnormal as himself...that was until the new exchange student had arrived. At first, they had seemed to be just like anyone else, a normal human with absolutely nothing extravagant about them. But as time progressed Levi became aware of just how similar the two of them were. She would spend hours talking to Mammon about the newest anime or the latest level of the video game she was playing. Her tone was always so excited and pure, eyes gleaming and radiating happiness. But Mammon never understood, he simply scuffed and made some degrading comment about her being a nerd or worst then Levi. 

Maybe it was then and there that Levi had decided you were the one. That if anybody angel, demon or human would ever understand him, ever be this alike to him, it would be you, it had to be.

You didn't want to go to his room. You'd avoided it like the plague after Mammon had described the bathtub bed and giant aquarium that drew its water from one of the Devildom's massive oceans. The avatar of greed had even vividly described how the ceiling tiles could pull away, reveling yet another large aquarium for a roof. 

It sounded worst than any haunted house, a place you would never dare venture into. But this time you didn't have a choice, try as you may you couldn't get out of this. 

Earlier that day you'd awaken to something cold and yet trailing down your visage. The mere texture of the substance had jolted you from your slumber, the fear of the colorless liquid had bounded itself deep into your body's habits and subconscious. Eyes dilate, body frozen, tears at the brink of falling. A moist want reached out and cupped your chin, turning your neck too briskly that you were sure you heard a few bones "pop". A squeal escaped your lips only to be met with an instantaneous "shh, be quiet".  Your (eye color) orbs landed on the third born, his eyes housed a sort of sick glee it matched the sadistic twisted smirk he dawned on his face. Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, maybe it was the fact that you'd just awoken and your brain was still partly asleep. Either way, you could have sworn that Leviathan's teeth had somehow changed. They where long and jagged, bending at roots were they sprouted from his gums, to top off the horror thin lines of thick juicy crimson highlighted the tips and betweens of his shark life teeth. 

By now you had begun to sob, tears flowing non stop from your puffy red eyes. Your body was frozen you dared not move, vocal cords had given up and your tongue laid dead at the bottom of your mouth.

"Hello, princess sleep well?" Despite it seeming so innocent there was a sort of mocking laced into the question.

You noticed something in his other hand. A large familiar blue-colored plushy with a gasmask was suffocating in this grasp. That was a rare collectible you'd somehow managed to win from a Crain game back in the human world. You never slept a night without, feeling safe whenever you held it in your embrace. When you'd arrived in the Devildom you'd practically begged Lucifer to retrieve it for you. It had taken all so many tears and tantrums, in addition, to agree to take over his chores for the course of two months. The day the firstborn had carelessly tossed it to you, had probably been the second happiest day of your life. 

Levi let out a cruel giggle as he brought your prized possession closer to your face. His long nails dug into the fabric of its forehead as he dangled it before your eyes. "It's kinda cute, what show is it from?" This time round he sounded genuin, no inanity to be heard. Yet you didn't speak still petrified and stiff. 

One heartbeat

two heartbeats

three heartbeats--

"Fine! What you won't talk to me cause you think you're better than me?!" You shook your head slowly, the gesture barely being noticeable. Yet he picked up on it. He let out another string of offensive giggles "You're scared, right? Afraid the big bad sea monster will eat you?". Oh, God how desperately you wished you could run. Find Mammon or Lucifer and cling to them. To find any means to get away from this monster. 

His fingers fell from your face, he turned without saying another word and made his way to the door. As he opened it, he called behind his shoulder. " If you want it back, come to my room at midnight and come alone" He then slammed the door abandoning you to your thoughts and terrors. 

In short, that was why you were standing in front of the door that would lead you to your personal hell. You had no desire to step foot into his room and yet it was the sole means to retrieving your stuffed monster. Hesitantly you lifter your hand to knock, your finger had not touched the wood when the door creaked open and something slithered around your arm and dragged you into Leviathan's room. 

"I-I'm h-here know p-please give it back--"

Your back collided with the cold tiled floor. You let out a scream of pain before Levi's hand was shoved over your mouth. 

"Be quiet would ya?" His orange and purple orbs gazed into your wide mortified eyes. He let out a sigh and his gaze softened. "(Y/N)...I-I've never felt this way about anyone before...well maybe Ruri-chan and Sugar Frenzy's lead singer for a short period of time, oh and this one...nevermind! Look I-I feel like your something different okay. I g-guess that I have a little crush on you. Noting big alright! But-but what do you say (Y/N) will yo be mine? We'd make a great couple! We like the exact samethings, share practically the same opinions. We are meant to be one!" Slowly he lifted his hand from your mouth, an excited smile playing at his lips, his eyes sparkled with joy and exhilaration. Maybe if you'd have time to think this trough you would have felt bad about what you next words where. 

The second his hand was removed from your mouth you shouted.

"NO! No no no no no! Never! I can't I just can't your a freaking sea monster you--"

No sooner had the words left your mouth that you felt your head accelerate forward and then get smashed on the wet hard floor. The notion repeated again and again. You where sure you were bleeding, some sort of concussion must have formed, your sight was blurry and spots were dancing everywhere. 

"You stupid normi! You tricked me! I thought you were like me! That would actually love someone like me! You made me freaking fall in love with you, you bitch!" 

He twisted your head to the side and pushed your face into the floor. "You're scared of water aren't you? Your sacred of what lives in the water too right? Is that why you don't love me (y/n)? Cause I'm some sort of water freak? Well? Damit answer me!"

"Yes" you choked out "y-yes L-Leviathan, I'm scared of you!" He let out a furious sigh, his tail wrapped around your neck and hosted you up pressing you into the glass of the aquarium. An odd noise filled to room, something alike to buzzing yet..somehow very different. "You know what's funny (y/n)? I may be some sort of freak, but I'm also the only thing keeping you safe from the horrors behind the class." 

Something was swimming closer and closer, it's figure getting bigger and bigger. The teeth and large snout and hulking dorsal fins soon became evident what was coming toward you. You screamed, the noise echoed and bounced from one wall to the next. Your throat started to bleed and go raw, your mind blank with the loud ringing of alarms or was that your heart trying to break your ribcage and runaway?

As the monstrous shark swam only a few centimeters away from the glass, you could feel the sensitivity and life drain from your corpse, blackness taking over. You tried to remain awake to grip on to conscious, darkness was not friendly for it only showed the monsters face, the image burned permanently into your brain. 

As you slipped away into a stygian dream world, Levi brought your limp body to his chest cradling you gently and sweetly kissing your forehead. He waved a hand dismissively at his "pet" and watched for a second as it swam away. He lifted you up and brought you over to his bed. Placing you carefully inside. He placed your stuffy next to you and stood up admiring the aesthetic of your sleeping form. You were so gorgeous when you weren't scared or defensive. 

"You're mine (y/n), finally! I'm never going to let anyone else come near.. you never!"