#my nails with such care and mumbled to fill the silence as i memorized the curve of your smile and your eyelashes sweeping your cheeks and

[puppyeared]

boys night

[plush-rabbit]

Homesick

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Mammon X Reader

A/N: I feel like MC’s homesickness is never talked about enough

There is much to say about living in the Kingdom of Devildom when you’re a human. It makes your stomach churn and twist with sickness when all other forms of demons look at you as a delicacy, a rare dish that walks around unarmed, only protected by the glares of Lucifer and the brothers who have grown attached to you. You walk around, accompanied by a brother, an angle or often the other human but they all hold a form of power- they’re not vulnerable like you, not naive like you and always keep themselves guarded because they can. They can protect themselves and you cannot. No matter how many times you’ve bared your teeth in the human world, how tightly you formed a fist and how you spat words of poison at others, you know you could never take on a demon, no matter how weak they were. Your bared teeth will be met with sharper, deadlier teeth, your fists with talons as sharp as the blade of a knife, your words would mean nothing when they could so easily open their mouths and take a bite.

Devildom is beautiful. Festivals that hold glowing lanterns and bubble blowers that send out bubbles  that are enchanted to swim through the air. Bright stars that shine in the night with falling stars that never seem to touch the ground. There's no sun, only a dark night sky painted onto the sky above, stars that twinkle and shine and you’re unsure if it’s an illusion or if Devildom really does have stars. Air that sometimes feels too stuffy, reminding you that you don’t belong here. Places that you are unable to travel to alone lest you get taken, gobbled up like you’re the last sweet on the plate. Demons who sneer at you and flash their fangs to frighten you. Brothers that are so nice that you often forget who they are until they laugh off a past torture, brothers who appear to be human until they get angry and show their true selves. 

It’s all so new to you. You don’t know how to handle it. You sleep in the night, protected by covers and the deep breathing of the brothers who lay dormant but you're aware of the power they truly hold, you've been on the receiving end far too many times that you have begun to wonder if you have a subconscious death wish. You sleep and wonder if they can hear it when you move on the bed, when you hum yourself a song from home, tears that slide down and wet your pillow. 

Days are easy here. You chat and laugh, are hugged and praised by demons who you've become to see as friends. You sit together at night and let them hold onto you as you start to doze off. You hug them and hold their hands, ruffle their hair and eat breakfast at the same table. 

Days are hard. You want to hide and curl in on yourself when others stare at you. You cover your arms when nails dig too far into your skin and scar you. You cry in the shower when you remember the people you love who aren't with you. You try to remember the warmth of the sun and the smell of rain when it all feels too empty in your room. You avoid the gaze of the brothers when you wake up with red and puffy eyes, too ashamed to admit that you fell asleep crying.

-

"Do you miss it?" He asks, his voice quiet and hesitant.

"Yeah." You let the word hang in the air and he waits for you to speak. "Some days it's really hard. Today was a hard day." Your eyes flutter close and your hand ghosts above your side. "I like it here, I really do but sometimes I just miss… things. I miss the sun. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss the food." Your voice cracks and you stop speaking, your eyebrows knit and eyes scrunch up before relaxing, the tears are blinked back.

His hand scratches at his thigh. "Are we not enough for you?" He hesitates and swallows his nerves down. There’s an underlying question to that, the real thing he wants to ask is obvious but even you know that it will hurt for him to admit it, to voice the words out loud, "Am I not enough for you?" 

"Mammon," you start, opening your eyes and trying to find his in the dark.

"I know we ain't exactly your family but I thought-" 

"Mammon, no." You rise from the bed, sitting in a criss-crossed fashion. "That's not it. It's different. I feel weird here. Like I don't know if it's acceptable for me to ask you for a hug or to just lean on you during a movie. I don't know if I can go to you when I feel nervous." It all comes out in one breath, your voice uncertain, pitiful and lost. There’s much more for you to say, words that you want to spill until you’re clinging onto him like a child, but you refrain, you bite your tongue and voice the trivial things.

He's silent for a while, the only sound that comes from him is his deep breathing. In the silence you realize that his breathing is deeper than yours, a low rumble deep in his chest, a deep vibration that fills your ears and you’re positive that if you were touching his chest, you’d feel it under your fingertips. 

His hands reach over to grab yours, his hand is soft- long, nimble fingers soothe over your knuckles, resting over the hand that is palm up, his fingers rubbing softly over your skin. 

His cooing has stopped, now replaced by a low whimper when you interlace your hand with his, squeezing it tight with full acceptance. “You can always ask for a hug,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and skittish, hands holding tight onto yours as he opens his eyes, azure colored eyes shine brightly in the dark and you wonder if he can see you in the dark just as well as he can see you in the light. “Of course you would want to hug The Great Mammon,” his voice raises in pitch, a sharp smile that is tugged to wide as he looks away from you. 

You scoff and roll your eyes, a wistful smile on your face as you sit up in bed raising to stand on your knees, your hand leaving his and you can hear his breath hitch, nails tickling your palm and fingers curling around yours but get shaken off. 

“Can I have a hug Mammon?” You ask, opening your arms.

He sputters for a second, his voice breathy and tone tense as he tells you of course, but only because you’re his and he has to take care of his things. He shifts in bed, standing on his knees and inching his way closer to you, arms spread and a face- that even in the dark- you can tell has taken on a different shade. His hands are stiff as they rest on your back, fingers jerking before coming to a still, hands splayed on you and he’s still. 

“Mammon?” You call to him, arms holding onto his shoulders as you pull yourself away from him.

His hands fall back to his side and you can hear the dejected tone in his voice, “What?”

You take a deep breath. “Hug me tighter, please?”

In the dark, he nods, and you’re close to him again, face buried in his shoulder and hands pulling on his nightshirt, trying to press him closer to you, desperate for the warmth of another being. 

He takes a second to relax into your touch- still and rigid, with hands that he has to hover above you or else you’d feel his shaking. But then you nuzzle into him, burying yourself deeper into him and he breaks. His arms wrap tight around you, always cautious of his strength, with hands that clutch your shirt, bundling it up in his hands, and he takes a shaky breath. He wants to pull you closer, he wants the hug to remind you, to show you, that he cares for you even if he can never find the right words, even when he says the wrong thing and misses his chance with you. You’re being vulnerable with him and if he can’t say the words to you, he’s going to show them to you, he’s going to do whatever you want as long as it proves what you mean to him. He hugs you tight, wanting to feel your body against his, wanting this moment of intimacy and trust to last forever.

“Days are hard here,” you mumble, thumbs rubbing along his back, “like really hard.” His hands loosen and scratch lightly at your back through your shirt. “You know, in the human world, there’s this thing called seasonal depression where you’re more likely to get depressed during winter cause of the lack of sun and all and sometimes I don’t mind not having the sun, but other times, I miss it.”

“I’ll take you to the human world someday soon. Promise.” He’d bottle the sun if he could, bottle the warmth and give it to you in a heartbeat. He’d move the sun into Devildom if he could. He’d do it all for you.

“‘Mon,” you whisper, sniffling and pulling away to look at him, hands moving to rest on his shoulders. “I wanna," the words are hard to say, you're both so different and so similar when it comes to the physical aspect of your relationship, "I- Can we cuddle?" 

He's glad you can't see him as well as he can see you. He can feel his cheeks flare, the tips of his ears burning hot and making him squirm. It's a silent answer that he gives you, the bed squeaking softly underneath as you two get comfortable, wrapping his arms around you and running his hands through your hair. He presses his lips against the crown of your head, it's a soft kiss that makes him want more, that makes him want to bury his head into you and lay there forever., to press his lips against yours and memorize the feel and taste. 

The silence fills the room is a gentle cover. The only thing he can hear is your breathing. Soft and even, the only indication that you're awake is how your fingertips rub his chest in slow circles. 

To him, this is better than the Celestial Realm will ever be. He didn't have you there. He didn't have your smiles, your gentle touch, your kind words. You weren't there. But you're here. You're a human and you're cuddled against the Avatar of Greed, putting your entire trust in his hands, giving him far more value than he thinks he's worth. 

If he could, he'd never let you go. He'd hold you in his arms forever. He'd make sure that you were at his side at all times, always protected and safe. He doesn't know what he would do if you got hurt. He can't bring himself to think about it.

"Mammon, is it okay if I ask you something personal?" Your voice is gentle, a whisper that breaks the silence and he's giving you his full attention.

"Go ahead," he replies. 

You lick your lips. "Do you remember the Celestial Realm?" 

He's silent for a moment. "Sometimes."

"Do you miss it?"

His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. "I miss the things." He smiles when you snort. "It was nice up there. Bright and stuff. The food was really good. Melted right in your mouth. Lemme tell you- the demons around these parts won't ever admit it but I'm positive they'd sell an arm and a leg for a chance of Angel's food."

"It'd be a good business to get in with Luke." 

"Nah. I tried. Luke didn't like the deal I proposed."

"Which was?"

"Eighty-five, fifteen."

"Let me guess, you get the eighty-five and he gets the fifteen."

"You see! You get me!"

You giggle and nuzzle into his chest. "Sh, Lucifer might hear and then we'd never hear the end of it."

"Shit. Right."

Its silent again. 

"You know if the human world, we have things called angel and devil food. I think they're cakes or something."

"A cheap attempt at the real thing." You hear something in his voice. Defensiveness? "You've had devil food. You tell me if it tastes the same."

"Yeah, you're right. Devil food in the human world is a lot better." You feel his hand lightly thwap at your back.

"You think we should sell some of the human delicacies? There's a place here that sells human food but it ain't the same right?"

You smile at the "we". "It's been a while since I've had actual human food but nah. It's different. Like you said, a cheap attempt." You chuckle. You shift, his arms hovering above you to allow yourself to get comfortable, only to lower and hold you close. Your eyes begin to droop and body sinks into the demon underneath you. “We had all these kinds of delicacies and snacks. Even thinking about it makes my mouth water.”

There’s a long pause in between your words, you’ve almost fallen asleep when his voice cuts through the silence. "Sometimes I miss the Celestial Realm." His voice is hardly above a whisper. "It was nice up there. Weather was always good and stuff." His grip around you tightens. "Here is good. I can do whatever I want here-" 

"As long as Lucifer doesn't catch you," you mumble, forcing yourself to stay awake.

"Tch. Minor detail." His hand waves off your comment, placing it back down on you. "It's nice here. Only shitty thing is all the packs. Everyone wants a taste of Greed."

"Being in a pack is a bad thing?" You whisper with furrowed eyebrows and the feeling of guilt inside of you.

He's quick to fix his mistake. "You aren't so bad. You hardly do anything even if you do have control over me." Your power over him has nothing to do with the pack. "It ain't so bad most of the time."

"I like being in a pack with you." You rub your hands over his sides in slow, lazy circles. “You’re my first.”

“Damn right I am,” his hands press you closer to him. “Good to know you finally understand that.”

There is no sun in Devildom, there is artificial light that does nothing to help when you want to curl in on yourself and beg for a moment of happiness only to rest for hours on end. But there is moonlight and the light from the stars which when cast upon makes everything appear divine. It makes the demons appear holy, your eyes wide and face flushed as you bask in their glory, feeling unworthy standing next to something so brilliant, feeling as if you’re tainting their light when you yourself are nothing like them, that you’ll never be even a fraction of their radiance. 

Right now, in the dead of night, with eyesight that is poor and bleary, you’re only awake to view the heavenly glow that seeps in through the blinds and covers the room in pearly, white light. With eyes that you try to keep open, Mammon lies in your bed asleep, with a glow casted upon his features. You forget that they are in fact demons, the most deadliest if you want to be accurate, but it often slips your mind that they were once celestial beings, that they were indeed untouchable and above you. He isn’t perfect by any means, he’s a demon after all, but with him asleep next to you, with strong hands on your body, lit up by the outside that had managed to enter your room, you remember that you’re allowed to touch him now, that he allows you to touch him and whisper words of praise and play with hair. 

You miss home. You miss your friends and family. You miss the food and the drinks. You miss the sun and the rain. But when you lie awake at night with the bothers smiling down at you, sometimes it gets easier to breathe. When you lie awake with the last bit of strength that you have, using it all to admire the Avatar of Greed, your heart doesn’t ache as it used to, it jumps and it flutters and you feel warm inside as you bury yourself closer to him, indulging in your own greed to just be near him until he awakes and flushes with a darker shade, stammering and praising himself and you. Until then, you’ll take what you have, the moment etched into your mind until all that you can remember is the way he hugged you and the softness of his voice.

[polaroid15]

Worst Date Ever

Summary: Peter and MJ go to the movies. Turns out, all it takes is an ex-Stark employee with a grudge and a sniper rifle to ruin the mood.

Read on Ao3 here :)

------

“That movie was terrible. Like, Captain America PSA bad.”

Beside her, Peter huffs out a small laugh. “Oh come on MJ, it wasn’t that bad.”

“It totally was!”

“But as bad as the PSA’s?” he stresses.

“Worse.”

“No way!”

MJ can’t help but laugh. It’s cold outside the theatre and she shoves her hands deep in her coat pockets to combat it. “Why’d he even agree to make those?” she asks.

Peter gapes at her for a moment. “Um. I don’t know. I haven’t exactly asked him.”

“But you could!”

And it’s true, crazy as it sounds.

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” Peter says, contemplating. “Maybe he was blackmailed.”

MJ hums in disagreement. They link arms at the elbows and start their long walk home, kicking up leaves from the sidewalk. “Do war criminals really have a good reason for anything?”

“Oh my God. You and Tony would get along.”

Tony. MJ smirks. “What happened to calling him Mr. Stark?”

Almost looking embarrassed, Peter shrugs deep in his coat. “Uh- did I say Tony? I meant Mr. Stark. Totally.”

“Right. And I definitely believe you.”

“MJ!”

“You know I’m messing with you. The fact that you’re on a first name basis with the Avengers is just-”

“Crazy? Hard to believe?”

“Well, duh. But I was going to say cool.”

Peter smiles again. It makes her stomach dissolve. “I guess.”

The streets are quiet, dark. It feels like they’re the only two in the world aside from the occasional flash of lights from a passing car. So what if she leans in a little closer, or tightens her grip on his arm?

Sue her.

“I had fun tonight,” Peter murmurs. He turns his head toward her but looks away just as quick. It doesn’t prevent her cheeks from heating.

“Me too,” she says. “Even though the movie totally sucked.”

Peter opens his mouth to respond but tenses before he speaks, eyes widening and head snapping towards the opposite side of the street. Feeling her heart rate spike, MJ digs her nails into his jacket. “What is it?”

His eyes narrow against the darkness. She can see his pulse jumping through his neck. “My- it doesn’t matter. Let’s just get out of here.”

With urgency, he slides his hand down to her own and grasps it tightly, moving to pull her down the street. They barely make it three steps before Peter jerks beside her, a sound like someone being punched hard in the gut reaching her ears. Before her mind can catch up to what’s happening Peter makes a low gasping sound and folds over like wet paper, dragging her down with him.

Her knees hit the cement hard, though she hardly registers the pain through the blind panic coursing through her bloodstream. Peter continues to gasp horribly, his hand leaving her own to clutch up at his stomach. “Oh- oh man-”

“Peter what happened? What’s wrong?”

“MJ-”

“Peter! Talk to me!”

“We have to- we have to go.”

“What?”

“Now.”

Then she sees it.

Red circles on the cement, growing steadily with each passing second. All the information snaps together in her head in one terrifying second and she forgets how to draw in air, tears of panic making her eyes sting.

“You got shot,” she concludes numbly.

“Don’t-” Peter whines, curling the hand supporting him into a fist. His gasps morph into short panicked breaths. “I can’t think about it, okay? Help- help me up.”

What? She feels glued to the cement, stuck forever in the whirlwind of the past thirty seconds. Peter isn’t Spider-Man right now. Getting shot shouldn’t have even been in the realm of possibilities-

“MJ please.”

“What?”

“I need- I need you to help me up. I can’t do it myself.”

Some semblance of coherence returning to her, MJ shakes her head vigorously and tries hard to separate her mind from her body. She sits him back and registers the growing stain above his hip bone before she’s pressing her palms into it. He bites back a scream at the pressure and tries to squirm away. “You need an ambulance!”

“No. No. Spider, remember? Just help me up before someone comes-”

“Peter Parker!”

“MJ! Trust me, okay?”

Their eyes connect for a millisecond. It’s all it takes. She nods, hands shaking as they release his wound and instead work to wrap around his arm. Together they manage to stand, though both of them sway once vertical.

“Tell me what to do,” she says, white spots eating away at her vision through her panic. She keeps looking across the street to where the shot was fired from, but it’s quiet. “I’ve got you Peter. Just- you gotta tell me what to do.”

Peter looks around deliriously, the skin under his eyes wet. She wonders in detachment if he knows he’s crying. “There,” he says finally, dipping his head towards a gas station on the corner. “Bathroom.”

Without wasting another second, MJ gathers her strength and helps Peter walk. He stumbles more than once, but she manages to steady him before he hits the ground. She ignores his slurred apologies and focuses on putting one foot in front of the other.

By some miracle, they make it. The bathroom needs a key but Peter breaks the handle clean off in his desperation to get inside. They collapse inward, laying gasping against the cold tile as Peter continues to fight for breath.

“Need- need to get it off,” he slurs. He crawls towards the sink and MJ lags, brain short circuiting. She watches him as he pulls himself up, eyes rolling for a moment before refocusing and turning on the taps. He lifts up his shirt with a shaking hand and throws the water against the gore on his stomach.

Move, MJ. Help him.

His breathing is getting worse, his face more pale than she’s ever seen it.

Move!

“Peter,” she wheezes, standing on weak knees and rushing to his side. She grabs his wrists gently and pulls them away from the water. He won’t look at her, fighting weakly. “Peter. Stop-”

“Need to get it off,” he says again, chest heaving. “Ben-”

Oh.

Tears returning to her eyes, MJ rests a careful hand against the side of Peter’s face, rubbing her thumb under his eye. It carries blood underneath it like the stroke of a paintbrush. “Peter look at me. Look at me.”

Slowly, he does, though she’s not sure he really sees her. “This isn’t Ben. You’re not there, okay? You’re going to be okay. We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Bleed- bleeding?”

Heart aching, MJ guides Peter to sit against the wall and maneuvers his hands to press into his side. When they stick, she rushes to the paper towel dispenser and rips out sheet after sheet until her hands are full.

“Where’s your phone, Peter?”

“Phone?”

MJ crouches down beside him, her knees sticky with blood. She moves his hands and pushes the paper towel over the wound, applying pressure until he grunts. “Yes, your phone! Give it to me.”

“Right.” Trembling, Peter wrestles it out of his jacket pocket and drops it before it reaches her hand. She picks it up off the floor and unlocks it, careful to ignore the way her thumb leaves an ugly streak of red against the screen.

“Come on, come on,” she whispers, her vision seeming to narrow down to a pinprick. She holds her breath until she finds the contact.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

“What’s up kiddo?”

MJ sobs in relief. Peter looks at her in confusion, reaching a weak hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She feels blood transfer onto her cheek from his fingers and shivers. “Mr. Stark? Thank God.”

“Who is this? Where’s Peter?”

“I’m- my name’s MJ. Peter’s hurt. We need help.”

“Damn it. Okay. Crap. Jesus. I’m on my way. What happened?”

MJ spaces. What happened? “We- we were at the movies. We were walking home. Peter- Peter sensed something bad and then- and then he got shot.”

“Shot?”

“Yes.”

Stark curses loudly. Multiple times. “Did you see who it was? Are you in danger?”

“No. They- they were across the street. I didn’t see them. I think we’re okay now.”

Whatever his response is, it’s lost to her ears as Peter relaxes under her hold, his chin dipping and eyelids fluttering. She yelps and shakes him, though perhaps too hard because he flinches hard, tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes.

“Ben,” he moans, lips wobbling. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a heavy silence on the phone, filled only with Tony’s sharp breathing. “Damn it,” he mumbles eventually, as if it hurts to talk. “Three minutes. I’ll be there in three minutes, alright? Try to keep him awake. Distract him from thinking about his Uncle.”

“Okay. Right. Sure.”

Peter curls his hand around her wrist. It leaves a bracelet of red. “MJ.”

“Peter. Oh man. I hope you know that you’re scaring the hell out of me right now.”

“Sorry.”

“No it’s not- nevermind. God, you’re annoying sometimes.”

At this, he smiles. There’s blood streaked on his face from where she had tried to comfort him, already on its way to drying. “At least- at least this is more exciting than that movie.”

Unbelievable. MJ huffs out an anxious laugh. “Are you kidding me right now Parker?”

“Memorable,” he slurs before his head dips again. MJ sacrifices a hand to catch it.

“Don’t pass out on me,” she says fiercely. “It’s rude to pass out on dates.”

“S’ry.”

“Tony will be here soon.”

Peter moans low at this, his touch around her wrist weakening. “Can’t- can’t invite dad’s on dates. That’s- that’s lame.”

MJ feels like she’s spinning. “Peter-”

Metal hits the ground hard from behind and she doesn’t need to look to know that Tony is here. He collapses at her side within seconds, his laboured breaths filling the small space and his hand reaching to cup the back of Peter’s neck. His other hand pushes Peter’s hair back in a movement more gentle than MJ could think possible.

Like a dad.

“Hey Petey, how’re we feeling?”

Peter doesn’t even try to look at him, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Been- been better.”

“I’ll say.”

“Bad date,” Peter murmurs, resting his head more fully against Tony’s hand. “Shot. Whoops.”

“Whoops indeed,” Tony agrees, “God, kid you’re a disaster.” He turns towards MJ. It’s her first time meeting the billionaire in person, though the shock factor is diluted against the fact that her boyfriend is actively bleeding out underneath her hands.

“You must be MJ,” Tony says, offering a hand. The fact that her own is covered in blood doesn’t seem to cross her mind as she reaches to shake it, feeling increasingly dizzy. “Sorry about all this. Parker luck, you know.”

“What-”

As if to steal back the attention, Peter gives one last guttural moan before his body goes limp. It takes both MJ and Tony to keep him from kissing the cement.

“That’s my cue,” Tony says, gathering Peter into his arms. Shifting the position, he looks at his watch. “Happy will be here in two minutes, alright? Do you know who Happy is? Actually, doesn’t matter. You can trust him. He’ll clean up this horror show and take you over to the compound, alright?”

After an inappropriately long pause, MJ finds enough sense to nod, distracted by Peter’s lax body in Tony Stark’s arms.

“Okay. You did good. Don’t freak out. Deep breaths. Stay here. Two minutes.”

She blinks, and Tony is gone.

Blinks again, and a flushed man in a black Audi pulls in front of the bathroom. She sits in the corner and can’t make out what he says to her as he pulls at the paper towel and mops away the blood. On the sink, on the wall, on the floor.

“Can you stand?” he asks when he finishes. It looks like Peter had never even been here. She looks at him through swimming vision. “What?”

“Stand. Can you stand?”

“Oh.” After a short nod, MJ makes it to her feet. The man’s hand wraps around her elbow, warm and gentle, and she lets him lead her out to the car.

-------

The Avengers Compound looks much bigger in person, she decides. She stares at it and shoves her hands between her knees to keep them from shaking. She smells like blood and movie theatre popcorn.

Happy tries to make conversation, to assure her, but her frazzled mind tunes him out to a dull static. Her teeth chatter with chills unrelated to the cold and she must lose time because the next time she becomes aware the car is parked and her door is open, the man named Happy standing in its place and talking. Surprised her ears have spontaneously stopped working, she fights to break the spell and blinks to clear her vision. “What?”

Happy sighs, though through his tough demeanor she sees a flicker of empathy. “You need to get out of the car.”

“Oh. Right.”

Nauseous, MJ stumbles out onto the driveway and from there allows Happy to guide her up to a set of double doors. The Compound is warm and for a moment, she lets herself relax.

“P-Peter?” she asks. “Have you heard anything? Is he- is he going to be okay?”

“It’ll take more than a bullet to take down that kid. Don’t worry. He’s in good hands.”

Though his words feign confidence, MJ remains unassured. They stop outside a large door, which Happy opens, and gestures for her to enter. “Clean the blood off. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a bathroom. She pauses at the door until the request processes in her brain. Then, strangely untethered, she nods and steps inside.

As soon as the door shuts she slides back against it, stars floating across her vision. She digs her nails into her scalp and forces herself to fill her chest with air.

“Oh God.” She crawls over to the toilet and barely has time to lift the lid before she gags.

She feels better.

Feeling more coherent, MJ makes her way to a fancy porcelain sink and twists the water until it steams. Then, without focusing her attention, she dips her hands under the stream and scrubs with lemon soap until her hands burn too badly to continue. She wipes violently at her face, at her arms, at the darkened denim at her knees.

Not sure how much time has passed, MJ exits the bathroom to find Happy standing in the hall, phone pressed to his ear as he paces. His eyes catch her and his expression softens. “I’ll call you back,” he says. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good news. Peter just got out of surgery. They have him all settled. I’ll take you up to see him.”

He begins to walk away, though MJ doesn’t follow. Her feet feel like bricks. “He’s really okay?” she asks.

Happy stops. “Yes. He’s fine.”

A sharp pain in her chest she hadn’t fully realized was there loosens at the confirmation. Lightheaded, she follows.

The hospital room is dimly lit, casting long shadows. Peter is laying in the center of the room, pale and unconscious but alive. Hardly able to register her relief, she freezes in the doorway as Happy wanders in, his face a picture of undeniable worry. Stark is sitting in a chair close to Peter's bedside, his eyes bloodshot and his hand resting protectively against Peter’s arm.

Happy stands beside the man, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other on Peter’s blanketed leg. They share a quiet conversation before Happy nods and moves to leave. He pauses beside her. “What are you waiting for?” he asks.

Then he hurries out into the hall.

It takes a couple of long seconds before she regains control of her legs. She drifts in and eases down in a chair on the opposite side of Tony, who regards her with sharp eyes.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks, which almost surprises her more than the gunshot.

“M-me? I’m fine. How’s Peter?”

“Also fine.”

“He wasn’t-”

“He is now.”

Stark is running his thumb across Peter’s arm, almost absent mindedly. MJ is transfixed by the obvious display of affection and feels, to some relief, the confinement of her worry slowly dissipate.

“Do you know who it was?” she asks. “That shot him?”

The man’s eyes darken, something like guilt passing through them. “Yes, actually. A bitter employee.”

“What?”

“Someone who used to work for me. They were- unethical, to say the least.”

Once again, MJ’s mind is spinning. “Why Peter?”

Tony frowns, but quickly trades it for a look of nonchalance. He doesn’t look at her. “Hurting Peter hurts me more than actually hurting me. He knew that- the bastard. Though how he found you guys in the first place-” Tony closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. This should’ve never happened.”

“Oh. It’s not your fault. All that matters is that Peter’s okay.”

“Right,” Tony agrees, regarding her weakly. “Thanks for taking care of him. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

MJ shrugs.

“No, really. I don’t know what I would do if-” Tony tapers off, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. “You know.”

“I know,” she says softly.

Clearing his throat, Tony shifts, though his hand never leaves Peter. “So it was a date then?” he asks. It’s so undeniably paternal that she can’t help but laugh in exasperation.

Before she can respond, Peter moans between them. He swats Tony with a heavy arm, eyes still closed. “Don’ grill her,” he slurs, words barely coherent.

“Oh lordy,” Tony grumbles. “Only you would wake up from a drug-induced sleep to stop me from talking about your dating life.”

But when MJ looks at him, Tony’s face is soft and painted in relief. For some reason, it makes her eyes water.

Peter swivels his head towards MJ, managing to pry one eye open to half mast to look at her. Fighting for courage, she grabs his free hand and intertwines their fingers. “S’ry,” he murmurs.

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Then, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Peter smiles, though it falls into a wince. “I owe you one.”

“Definitely.”

Face relaxing, Peter’s head dips before he catches in with a startled breath of air. Tony rests a hand on his forehead and pushes him back against the pillow gently. “Go back to sleep kiddo. We’ll be right here.”

Peter hums, far from the surface. His head lolls into Tony’s hand and his hand squeezes MJ’s weakly before growing limp. “Love you guys,” he whispers.

Her stomach jumps. She squeezes his hand back.

Love you too, loser.

Tony sits back in his chair. He looks at her almost apologetically.

“Welcome to the family.”

[wheeier]

fearless

Warnings: pure fluff

based off of taylor swift’s song <3

steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 1.6k

“this is the best celebration ever.”

—

you dressed up nicely, getting ready to hang out with your best friend, steve. he invited you to his house for a small celebration about him passing the test on english that you helped him study with. you glanced on the window, seeing the rain just stopped. droplets from the sky touching the glass, dripping down to the windowsill. you smiled to yourself-you always loved the rain. not the storm, just the rain. there's something in the rain you always love. it makes you feel calm and in peace. the way the ground seems like there's a glow off the pavement looks beautiful to you.

"y/n/n! steve's here!" you heard your mom called from downstairs who was watching a show on the television. you took your attention away from the window and headed out the room.

dustin noticed you as you went out of your bedroom, "y/n, where are you going?" he asks. "to steve's." you looked at him, giving him a small smile. "and you didn't tell me?" he asked in annoyance. "why? you already spent time with him for almost all week. it's my turn, bud. sorry." you shrugged and went downstairs, chuckling as you heard your brother curse.

you headed out of the house, grinning as you saw steve. "let's go?" he reaches for your hand and you gladly took it though you were absolutely flustered. you were glad he didn't notice. or did he?

both of you got inside his car quickly as the rain started to pour once again. steve shakes his head to dry his hair, brushing them with his fingers afterwards. a single motion of him that makes you want him more.

"someone's staring." he teases, taking you out of your trance. "shut up." you rolled your eyes as he chuckles in response.

you averted your eyes to the car window to watch the trees and houses passing by as he drives. the rain started pouring and a thought came to your mind. you always wanted to ask steve to dance in the rain, in the middle of nowhere. you always thought how romantic it looks in movies. maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if steve gets to be your first kiss-in a very memorable way as the music plays in the car radio. in fact you would treasure that memory forever, only if it would actually happen.

you seemed to be too lost in your train of thoughts that you didn't notice that you have arrived in front of steve's house and didn't hear him ask you a question, until he lightly taps your shoulder as he calls your name.

"huh?" you turned your head to look at him, seeing his concerned eyes at you. "are you okay?"

"y-yeah. i'm..i'm okay." you gave him a nervous smile, avoiding his stare. "are you sure? you seem a little off today." he questioned, searching for your y/e/c eyes. "yeah. i was just thinking." without waiting for his response, an idea hit you. this is now or never. you thought. you looked on the radio and turned it on, 'can't fight this feeling' was playing.

steve was obviously confused and worried. when you opened the car door, he started to panic. "w-hey, w-what are you doing? y/n, it's raining! are you insane? y/n!" you ignored his protests and got out of the car, not caring about ruining your outfit. you walked towards his side of the car and opened the door, grin plastered on your face.

"come on! it's fun." you reached for his hand but he backed away a little, staring between your hand and your eyes. you rolled your eyes, smile not leaving your lips before pulling his hand, letting the rain touch his hair, and eventually his whole body. the man was blushing at this point, not sure if it's because of the cold weather or because of you.

steve stood frozen, clueless on what to do next while you're in the middle of the street, embracing the cold raindrops falling from the sky. you closed your eyes, enjoying the rain pouring down your face. it felt calming. like everything is finally in peace–for you at least.

you slowly fluttered your eyes open, only to see steve in front of you. your heart skipped a beat. he didn't say anything, a comfortable silence filling the air-despite of the rain pouring and touching the ground. he held your hand, pressing his lips on your knuckles gently. the corner of your lips turned up as he pushed some of your hair and tucked it under your ear.

his eyes were twinkling, as well as yours, particularly when he stepped closer, faces only inches away. to him you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. he remembers everything that had happened for the past years, how cool you are hitting the demodogs with a metal pole as he hits some with his nailed bat, how you kneed the russian doctor where the sun doesn't shine as much while saving him and robin-from that he already knew he fell hard. he loves everything about you. god, this man is in love with you.

and boy, so are you.

everything happened so fast, steve grabs the back of your neck, connecting his lips to yours.

you were taken aback for a second before melting into the kiss. your hands travelled to his shoulders then to his hair. you finally got to touch his luxurious locks. you smiled into the kiss at the thought of it. it felt like you were in cloud nine, everything was perfect. this was exactly how you wanted it to be. the rain. song playing on the radio. your first kiss. steve.

the kiss lasted a few more seconds before you both pulled away, catching your breaths as you smiled at each other, your arms remained around his nape while his were on your waist.

"i gotta say, it was impressive of you to not overreact about your hair getting wet." your teased. "if it isn't for you, then i would." you laughed at his words that seemed music to his ears. "dork."

cold breeze touched your skin as you ran inside his house. you both took a warm shower-seperately, him going first so he can look for clothes for you to wear as you took a shower.

you got out of the bathroom, wearing his large grey shirt and black sweatpants. he didn't notice you got out until you spoke. "hey steve, do you have a comb?" he averted his eyes from the magazine he randomly found under his bed to you. his mouth agaped at the sight of you in his clothes.

"stop looking at me like that," you chuckled as you walked towards the bed. you sat down beside him as he sets aside the magazine. he gives you the comb beside him, not tearing his eyes away from you. "thanks." you muttered before combing your hair.

steve lightly shakes his head, going back to his normal self. "i'm sorry about this by the way." you started as you placed the comb on his night stand. "sorry about?" he furrowed his eyebrows. "for ruining our celebration. we were supposed to be eating or maybe cooking right now if i didn't let you come with me in the rain." steve's expression softened as he heard your explaination.

"no, no, no, y/n. this is the best celebration ever. it's way better." he smiles at you, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "thank you." you said just above a whisper as you lied down beside him.

the rain had calmed down, but the cold weather remained as you wrap your arms around steve's waist, his arms around your back-keeping you warm. "you know i'm actually glad you did that," steve mumbled, breaking the comfortable silence. you hummed in response, looking up at him. "yeah. i wouldn't have known that you love me too and-"

you love me too.

his words echoed in your head. you shot up, eyeing him suspiciously. "what's wrong?" he asks. before you could answer, it hit him. "oh, i..no, i mean.." he struggled to get words out of his mouth meanwhile you chuckled, scooting closer back to him. he continued to stutter as you put your hands on his cheeks, "steve?"

one word made him silent.

"i love you too."

when he didn't say anything, you brought your lips to his. this time he was the one who was taken aback, before placing his hands on your nape, kissing back.

it went on for a few seconds, his hand travelling to your back as you straddled his lap and not breaking the kiss. "hey," you mumbled in between the kisses. "as much as i want this.." you placed your hands on his shoulders as he continued to shower kisses on your jaw.

"babe,"

you called, making him stop to look at you. "babe?" he repeats, somehow shocked. "what, you don't like it?" you questioned. "no, no, i was just..i didn't expect you to call me that." you both chuckled. "anyways, as i was saying, i wanna continue but i'm too tired. can we just cuddle until the rain stops?" he nodded and you got off his lap, laying your back on the bed beside him.

steve puts his arm around your shoulders, giving you more room to scoot closer to him. "i love you." you whispered while your eyes were closed. he was still not used to you saying those words, in a romantic way. his stomach would flip everytime you'd say it.

soon sleepiness took over you, steve's lips on your forehead were the last thing you remembered before drifting off.

[charincharge]

Kiss and Cry, Part 8

jurdan figure skating au > masterlist

AN: Whoops, sorry this one took a while to get out. I’m hoping it was worth the wait, though? 

Madoc was in a foul mood, and Jude knew she only had herself to blame.

She sipped at her bone broth and slunk beneath the thick blankets on the couch as she ignored the angry whispers coming from the kitchen.

Jude had never taken a sick day in her entire life. She’d once gone to practice with a fever of 102.4, insisting that she was completely fine. So, she knew Madoc’s raised eyebrow at her claiming she needed the day off due to a stomachache was completely warranted.

She should have come up with a better excuse; she knew it was flimsy at best. But, she couldn’t stomach seeing Cardan again. Not when she still couldn’t stop thinking about his lips on hers. She must be ill to be so focused on something so appalling. She felt completely out of her mind. And she knew it wouldn’t be magically fixed by tomorrow when she’d absolutely be forced back to rehearsal, but at least she could have one day off to pretend. She burrowed further into her blankets as Madoc’s voice raised again.

“We’re losing an entire rehearsal day!” he hissed at Oriana’s insistence that Jude should rest if she needed to.

Jude knew she’d have to work twice as hard the rest of the week to make up for today, but that was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Oriana asked, placing a mug of ginger tea on the side table, as she perched herself on the edge of the couch to examine Jude’s face.

“Just tired, mostly,” Jude answered.

Oriana’s slender finger delicately traced the dark circles beneath Jude’s eyes as a prominent frown appeared on her face. She shook her head. “I keep telling him he’s working you too hard.”

“He’s not—” Jude insisted, but Oriana’s stern glare cut her off.

“If you keep going at this rate you’re going to burn yourself out.” She paused, her eyes growing wistful as she whispered, “You need to take care of yourself.”

Jude nodded in understanding. Oriana’s dreams of being a skater had been cut short, just like Nicasia’s with an unexpected injury.

“Why don’t you take that tea upstairs and rest in bed?” Oriana asked, smoothing Jude’s hair out of her face in a strangely maternal move. Jude accepted the comfort wordlessly. She and Oriana had never been particularly close – why would they? When Jude’s step-dad had remarried, someone nearly half his age, Jude hadn’t thought the marriage would make it to the end of the year. She was content to ignore the blonde completely. But here they were, nearly a decade later. “I’ll keep Madoc downstairs,” she said with a wry smile, and Jude forced herself to return it. She wasn’t sure if Oriana was being kind due to guilt or to piss Madoc off, but Jude would accept it. If only to keep herself alone for the rest of the day.

She grabbed the tea and headed back upstairs to her room. She pulled her sweatpants off, content to get cozy in her bed in just an oversized t-shirt. If she was playing hooky she was going to try and enjoy herself as much as possible. She set up her laptop and put on some mindless comedy to watch. But despite feigning sickness, Jude could feel fatigue dragging her under. Maybe she had needed a day off. Before she knew it, her eyes shut.

“Jude?” a soft voice pulled her from her fraught dreams, and she blinked sleep away as her eyes fluttered open, squinting in the mid-afternoon sun filtering through her window.

The face from her dreams peered down at her with curiosity, dark and probing, and Jude felt herself tense as she realized that Cardan was sitting at the foot of her bed.

She pushed herself upright, attempting to tame her wild sleep induced curls while simultaneously wiping at her eyes.

“Creep much?” Her voice was still hoarse from her lengthy nap. “What the hell, Cardan?”

He held up his hands protectively and smirked. “Calm down, I just got here.” He cocked his head to the side as he perused her room. “Your mom?” He asked, not knowing what to call Oriana. “Let me in.”

“Traitor,” Jude mumbled under her breath.

Cardan rolled his eyes and pursed his lips – the ones that had haunted Jude’s thoughts for the last two days. “I just had to see it in person. The infallible Jude Duarte, felled by sickness.” He chuckled as he tugged at the neckline of his thick black sweater. “I have to admit, I was relieved to learn you’d fallen ill, and that my presence wasn’t what caused you to vomit.” His lips curled into a wry smile, and Jude felt her cheeks flush unwittingly.

She grabbed at the edge of her blanket and pulled it over her head, hiding her face away from his haughty gaze. His painted nails peeled the blanket from her, tugging it down to reveal her face to his again, and it was much, much closer than she was expecting. Jude’s breath hitched, her eyes flicking down to his lips and back to his curious eyes again.

He tugged at his dark hair and sighed. “I know you’re not sick, Jude,” he breathed.

Jude couldn’t be looked at like that anymore. There was something about his gaze that managed to see through her always. She reached down and pulled the blankets over her head again.

“Why are you hiding from me?” he asked, his fingers dancing along the edge of her shoulder, through the blanket, slowly creeping up, letting her know he was headed to pull it down again.

“Because I kissed you,” Jude finally grumbled from beneath her comforter, and she frowned as Cardan tugged it down again, a pleased smile across his face as he leaned even closer to her.

“Oh.” Cardan stated, leaning impossibly closer to her face, his nose just a hairs breadth away hers. “Is that all? I get kissed quite a lot, you know,” he smirked.

“Exactly,” Jude huffed.  “It’s embarrassing.” She sighed, scrunching her nose in discomfort. He was too close.

“Why?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Jude admitted, her stomach swirling with nerves.

“Is that so?” Cardan asked, his eyes alight with desire as he let his nose brush against hers. Jude gulped. “I don’t blame you,” he said, his warm breath fanning across her face. “It was a very memorable kiss. One of my favorites.”

“Shut up, Cardan,” Jude said, and brought his lips down against her in a hard kiss. Their noses mashed against each other, until there was no room between them. Jude’s hand knotted in his dark hair, tugging him impossibly closer, and Cardan groaned, opening his mouth to her as Jude relished in the waves of desire that prickled across her skin.

This. This is what she had dreamed about. What set her on edge, feeling completely unhinged. What had kept her stomach in knots for the last forty-eight hours.

And when Cardan’s tongue softly brushed against hers, so starkly different from the harsh pressure of his lips against hers, Jude felt as if she’d been lit on fire.

She gasped for air, needing a break from the ceaseless feeling of drowning, but Cardan didn’t cease his affections. Instead, his mouth trailed across her cheek to wrap around the sensitive skin of her ear. She mumbled out something between an “Oh” and an “Ung,” – something so unintelligibly pleasure-filled that she could feel Cardan smile against her as he let his teeth nip at her skin.

Her hands trailed down his torso, pulling him closer until he was sprawled out above her, somehow kicking the comforter down until it pooled by their feet, revealing her bare legs and comfortable underwear, her t-shirt having ridden up around her stomach.

Cardan hovered inches above her body, and she inhaled deeply as his hand ran up her calf, bending her leg at the knee. His curious fingers swept in small circles down the side of her thigh, until they reached the band of her underwear. She shuddered softly as the tip of his finger edged beneath the elastic, just barely touching her where she’d never allowed anyone but her own hands before.

There was a pregnant pause between them, and Jude held her breath as his eyes seemed to ask the question, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

“I still hate you,” Jude said suddenly, breaking the thick silence that hung between them as Cardan’s hands perused her body. She expected his ministrations to pause, but he simply grinned, his eyes boring down on her, sparkling with amusement at her words. “And if you gloat about this, or tell a single soul, I’ll have you killed,” she added, heart pounding wildly at the gentle feel of his deft touch.

Cardan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, a nervous tick that betrayed his outer confidence. “I don’t doubt that for a second, my sweet nemesis.” His voice was low as his fingers slipped further beneath the fabric of her underwear, never stopping swiping back and forth against the sensitive skin of her hip.

She took a deep breath as her legs widened, making room for him between them, and they both exhaled as he let himself fall against her, a lithe finger finally sinking fully under the fabric between her thighs and caressing the skin of her folds.

Jude bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan at the feeling of his finger just barely swiping against her most sensitive part. Her hips lifted ever so slightly, bucking towards his hand, wanting more, needing more, as her feelings overwhelmed her.

Cardan watched her with interest as she squirmed beneath his light touch, legs widening further and hips lifting for more contact, but his finger used the softest of pressure, teasing her until she was panting for more. His obsidian gaze burned darkly as his hand moved beneath the fabric of her underwear, slow calculated movements, until she was a mess beneath him. He loved to torture her; that much was evident.

His finger dipped in further and pulled out just as quickly, leaving Jude annoyed and unsatisfied. She refused to beg him. She just wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, she let her own hand slide between them and join his in her underwear. She pressed his fingers against her palm, pushing them against her with all her strength. His eyes widened in shock at Jude’s motions, but she didn’t have time to appreciate it, because suddenly his fingers were inside her, and she felt like she was going to burn alive.

She fought against the moans that threatened to escape her mouth, panting loudly instead, back arched off the mattress as Cardan’s hand moved inside her.

“Please,” Cardan breathed quietly as his thumb pressed against her clit.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her as her orgasm took her by surprise, legs shaking and hands clenching at her bedsheets as Cardan’s mouth swallowed her sounds of pleasure. His hand never ceased until her twitching legs fell against the mattress with fatigue.

Cardan’s lips kissed hers over and over until her heartbeat slowed and her muscles relaxed, feeling like jelly.

Jude was still in a daze when Cardan pulled his hand from between her legs and licked his fingers, looking far too satisfied with himself. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care at this particular moment.

“Oh,” she breathed quietly, and watched as Cardan lifted a dark brow towards her.

“You’re not going to run away from me again, are you?” he asked, and Jude shook her head from side-to-side. She had a feeling if she tried to stand right now, her legs would wobble. She couldn’t run anywhere. “Good. Are you feeling better?” he asked, and Jude wasn’t exactly sure she knew how to answer that question. Was she feeling a sense of satisfaction and relaxation she’d never experienced before? Yes. Was she feeling a combination of confusion, self-loathing and anger? Also yes.

She couldn’t believe she’d let Cardan touch her like that. She’d never let anyone do that. Ever.

But with Cardan, she felt herself at his mercy, ready for whatever his hands and mouth wanted to do to her. She cringed, feeling a sudden pang of disgust with herself.

She pulled the blankets back over her, hiding her body away from his intense gaze.

“I still hate you,” Jude said again, but her voice was so breathy, she knew it rung false, even to her own ears.

“So you’ve said,” Cardan sighed, standing from the bed and straightening his sweater and adjusting himself within his pants.

A soft knock at the door interrupted their conversation as Oriana poked her head in with a relieved smile. “Oh, Jude. You’re looking flushed, I hope that means your fever broke.”

Cardan rested his hand against Jude’s forehead, which was clammy with the aftermath of their encounter. “You are looking better,” he said calmly. “I must be good for your health.”

Jude snorted far too loudly at that.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Cardan?” Oriana offered, and Cardan shook his head before Jude could even bother to protest.

“No, I’ll let Jude dear get her rest.” Oriana smiled happily at Cardan’s kind words. “But I’ll see you in rehearsal tomorrow bright and early.”

Jude nodded weakly. “Can’t wait.”

~*~

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[faulty-writes]

Hey you awesome humanoid you... Can I request a Shoto x reader, where the USJ incident happens and the reader, having a better understanding of her quirk and able to use it quite well due to her family ties with some Pro hero she helps Aizawa fight, and when Shoto finds out and sees her getting injured while trying to protect Aizawa he gets really emotional and decides to confess his feelings when he visits at the hospital. Thank you! 💖

[ Just so you know. I somewhat forgot about the details of the USJ incident and I’m too lazy to rewatch the episode so everything I know about it is coming straight from my memory with some added thoughts of my own. ] 

You hadn’t imagined this happening, it was supposed to be a simple training exercise. When that dark vortex appeared, it was almost as if the warmth inside the USJ disappeared. Replaced by a cold chill as those villains walked in. You were more than certain your fellow students had thought the same thing as you. That this was simply part of the training exercise, but Aizawa quickly told you otherwise.

It was almost memorizing to see how Aizawa fought, proving without a doubt that he was a true Pro Hero. However, you along with your fellow classmates couldn’t just standby and watch as your teacher fought to protect you. After all, you were heroes in training and your teacher was trying to take on the various villains by himself. However, as soon as you made the decision to jump in, you and your classmates were all scattered to various training areas of the USJ. You had landed in the water along with Tsuyu, Midoriya, and Mineta.

Tsuyu seemed to have the most level head while Mineta was freaking out and Midoriya was...being Midoriya. Mumbling to himself as he tried to think of a solution. However, your eyes were more focused on the land which you could see clearly from your position on the boat. Tsuyu had decided it was safer than being in the water, but it also made you sitting ducks. “Guys, I think we need to go back to Aizawa,” you explained before looking down at your hands, you had a strong quirk. Given you came from a long line of Pro Heroes and most of them helped you train when you had decided to enter U.A. so it was no doubt that you had enough confidence to take on the villains.

You stepped onto the railing of the boat before feeling someone grab your wrist, “Hm?” you turned, looking down at Mineta who seemed to be having a panic attack. “D-Don’t go! Y/n! You’re gonna get creamed by those villains!” you narrowed your eyes at him, “Aizawa is getting creamed right now and if we don’t help, it might mean the end of our teacher.” you explained and looked to Tsuyu and Midoriya. “Ribbit, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Y/n. Aizawa told us to stay out of it.” you couldn’t help the soft growl that came from your throat.

“Sorry, but I don’t follow rules that well. Feel free to join me, if you dare.” you looked at your fellow classmates before smirking and jumping off the side. The villains who still floated in the water were taken care of thanks to Mineta’s quirk and you were quick to avoid his ‘sticky balls’ as he liked to call them and climbed onto the shore. “Mr.Aizawa!” you called, quickly catching the attention of the villains that surrounded him. One of them even chuckled, “Oh, a little student coming to help Eraser, how sad.” you growled and snapped your fingers, a wave of what appeared to be energy came and knocked them back.

You watched in satisfaction as the rest of the villains gasped, clearly surprised at how well you could control your quirk. Aizawa however was glaring at you, his hair still up and his hand clenching his injured elbow. “Y/n.” he growled and you frowned, “Don’t tell me not to help,” you responded before a villain charged at you, their scream filling the air as they swung their fist at you. But you were quick enough to dodge and much like the last villain, you sent them flying. In the distance, you could see ice forming on the ground and could only assume it was from Todoroki.

You knew from experience he was one of the more powerful quirk users in your class, though he was quiet. When he did speak, his words were honest and true. You knew he was the son of the number two hero Endeavor, but you never held that against him. Todoroki was a mystery to most people, though he had feelings for you. Of course, you had failed to notice this. But you could feel his stare on you during class and training, you tried to push it off as nothing. Just believing it was your imagination.

“Hey, hey now Eraser. I thought you’d do better than to make a child fight in your place.” a scratchy voice sounded and you turned your head, your eyes widening when you saw him. He appeared to be the leader of this attack, dressed from head to toe in black. Apart from his shoes which were red in color. He had silver shoulder-length hair but the thing that made a shiver run down your spine was the fact that he had several hands on his person. Including one that hid his face.

Either way, you swallowed down your fear and spoke, “A hero always helps someone who is injured!” you snapped before charging at him, however, he chuckled at your heroic attempt and snapped his fingers. You stumbled over your own feet as a horrid screech filled the air, you winced and covered your ears which you swore were bleeding by the time the noise ended. “Heh, you like my Nomu?” the villain questioned and your eyes widened when you saw the monstrosity next to him.

It was some kind of strange creature, bulky and intimidating and it looked like its brain was exposed. It had sharp jagged teeth and a strange-looking muzzle. You swallowed, staring at it in awe. “W-What the hell is that thing!?” you questioned before it let out another shriek and you once more covered your ears. A loud ringing sounded before you dropped your hands and got into a fighting stance. You didn’t know what this creature was but damned if you’d let it do any more harm.

Nomu stretched its arms out before charging and for a moment, you believed it was going after you. Yet, it jumped clear over you causing you to turn on your feet. “What the hell!?” you snapped before realizing what it was doing. “Eraserhead!” you screamed before using your quirk to propel yourself forward, Aizawa’s eyes went wide and though he was in no condition to fight. He was more than determined to try, as any Pro Hero would.

But you couldn’t let that happen and before you registered your own actions, you had pushed your teacher out of the way. You heard him hit the ground before Nomu’s large hand wrapped around your waist. You gasped and immediately latched onto the creature’s hand, kicking your legs in an attempt to get free. Your quirk surrounded you, but it didn’t seem to affect Nomu and you felt its grip tighten around you. Your jaw clenched and you narrowed your eyes on the creature, angry that you couldn’t break free.

“Y/n!” you heard someone call and turned your head, hearing the cracking of ice before the creature gave another cry. A small dribble of blood seeped down from your ears, but you ignored it and looked down to see its feet had been frozen to the ground, you didn’t need to say who was responsible for that. Todoroki stood a few feet from the creature, his arm covered in a thin layer of ice and his eyes looked menacing. “Put her down.” he threatened with a hiss, damned if he’d let the person he loved get hurt.  

Nomu didn’t seem to take well to the command and you hissed softly as you felt its nails dig into your skin, though not enough to pierce through. Its head was turned to face Todoroki and for a moment, you thought that the creature would actually listen. But you were proved wrong when it let out another cry and lifted one leg, easily breaking Todoroki’s ice. The boy’s eyes widened as he watched the ice shards scatter, “What the?!” before he could say anything more, you let out a scream as Nomu brought you to its mouth. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw those sharp teeth and you let out a scream as they sunk into your shoulder, immediately piercing the skin and your warm blood began to soak through your shirt.

You hardly had time to react before Nomu suddenly retracted its teeth, causing you to cry out yet again. “Stop!” Todoroki’s shout came, his palm facing out as he shot ice at the Nomu’s arm. Watching as it crept over its skin but Nomu seemed to protest and before you could register or predict its actions. You found yourself being lifted into the air. Your nails dug into the creature's wrist and you looked at Todoroki before the world blurred around you. The Nomu threw you with such force, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. “Y/N!” you heard Todoroki call, but there was very little he could do at the moment.

You assumed that you were thrown back in the direction of the water as you saw a blurred pink object try and catch you. Tsuyu must have tried using her tongue, but at the speed, you were going. It was easy to miss, you screamed out when you felt the impact of the water. Pain shot down your spine causing precious air bubbles to escape as any further noises were quickly silenced by the gentle hum of the water. Though your shoulder was still bleeding, which caused the water to turn dark around you. Your hand reached out, you could still see the sun shining on the surface. But there was no way you could swim up to it, not in your condition and lack of air made your lungs begin to burn.

You pressed your lips together, feeling how they quivered as your vision grew dark. “Todoroki…” was the final word you spoke, the last of your air bubbles floating in front of you before everything turned black. Of course, the fight outside the water still continued. The fellow Pro Heroes showed up, effectively stopping Shigaraki’s attack. But Todoroki wasn’t satisfied, despite Class 1-A having been instructed to return to the entrance. He had made the choice to try and go after you, only to be stopped by Cementoss. “You don’t understand! Y/n! They fell into the water, they’re injured! I have to save them before-” he had tried to run only to be blocked by another cement wall.

“We’ll take care of it. Return to the entrance with your classmates.” Cementoss instructed and Todoroki clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. “You’re just going to give me instructions like that!? I don’t see any of you going after her!” he snapped, though the Pro Hero seemed rather unphased by Todoroki’s anger. In fact, his eyes were more focused on Denki as he came running toward them. Laying his hand on Todoroki’s shoulder, “Hey, come on man. They said to-” Todoroki growled and shrugged Denki’s hand off, causing the blond to grow confused. Though that wasn’t a hard task, “Don’t touch me.” Todoroki hissed as he brushed past Denki. “Gees what’s up with him?” the still confused boy questioned if only he knew how Todoroki was feeling at the moment.

He had tried to save you, but he failed, or rather, he was being told to back off by the fellow Pro Heroes. What the hell did they even know? This was ridiculous, a deep growl escaped him. Was this his fault? He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing. His chest felt heavy and his heart sank. He had never felt this way before. Not about anything or anyone. Before he had entered U.A. he had a clear goal, to become a hero. Though unlike the kind of hero his father wanted him to be. Yet, when you came into his life. When he set his eyes upon you, something in him switched.

His life slowly became about you, thoughts of you, dreams he wanted to share with you, and possibly even a future. But now, he was forced to leave your life in the hands of Pro Heroes who weren’t acting quick enough. Even if they got to you on time, it was highly likely that you would be sent to the hospital and if you were. Then Todoroki had decided, he would finally tell you how he felt. He needed to, else it would drive him mad and continue to distract him. Maybe it was selfish, putting his own needs ahead of yours. Especially when you were injured, but part of him didn’t care and part of him was afraid of what you’d say.

The days that passed seemed sluggish and an awkward tension was in the air. U.A. itself seemed to be on thin ice and there were talks about students getting transferred to a safer, more kept hero school. Todoroki however, didn’t pay much attention to the rumors or anything for that matter. The only thing he cared about was you and though he had visited the hospital the day after the incident, he was turned away because the doctors claimed you weren’t in a stable enough condition to see anyone. It angered him some, but at least it gave him time to think of how he could possibly go about telling you how he felt.

He could just blurt it out, but that wasn’t like him. He was honest and whenever he did happen to speak, it was always with purpose. He didn’t like wasting his words. He debated inside his head for the next few days, eventually settling on the idea that whatever happens happens. Still, he couldn’t help but nervously twiddle his thumbs as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital. One of the nurses was going to instruct him when he could see you, apparently, you were getting a check-up at the moment. He sat there with his head hanging low. Just replaying the moment that damned Nomu sank its teeth into your shoulder. He should have done more, yet at the same time, he knew it wasn’t worth worrying over.

The past was the past, what was done was done. He couldn’t change it, but hopefully what he was about to do would make it better. “Todoroki.” he heard his name and snapped out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at the nurse. “You can visit your friend now, but remember she’s still recovering. So no excitement.” Todoroki rose to his feet, nodding. The nurse smiled before motioning him to follow which he did without hesitation. It seemed rather quiet in the hallway, apart from the few doctors and patients that were being rolled to God knows where. He stopped short when the nurse came to a door at the end of the hallway. “Here we are.” they said, “Remember the rules.” Todoroki nodded once more, “I will, thank you very much.” he said before bowing which for some odd reason caused the nurse to giggle before they walked away.

Todoroki leaned back up and looked at the door, a certain warmth filling his chest and he felt his stomach twist with what could only be described as butterflies. He took a deep breath, hoping to settle down his nerves before he gently knocked on the door. “Y/n! It’s Shoto Todoroki,” he said, though it might be awkward to announce yourself like that. He was raised with manners, much to the amazement of being Endeavor’s son. He paused a moment before sliding the door open. His eyes settled on you, though you looked fine for the most part. A few bandages were scattered on your face and neck. But he could see even with the hospital gown that your shoulder was wrapped up and he assumed you had gotten stitches.

“Todoroki,” you said with a smile, though you were a little surprised to see him of all people. You didn’t think he would be that concerned about you, but he was the only one that saw what happened. So maybe he just wanted to make sure you were okay. “Hello,” he said before walking over and pulling up a chair, you hissed at the sound the metal legs made as they scraped across the floor. Somehow it reminded you too much of the noise Nomu made, why did it shriek so damn much? You just hoped you wouldn’t run into it again anytime soon. When Todoroki finally settled down in the chair, he looked at you. Somehow those eyes always made you feel strange yet there was an odd warmth to them.

“How are you?” he questioned and you couldn’t help but chuckle, before reaching up to brush a piece of your hair back. “A bit sore, I can’t use my shoulder for about two or so weeks. At least that’s what the doctor said but um,” you paused and latched onto your bottom lip. “I was actually hoping to see you, I mean I didn’t think you’d come here. But, I just wanted to say thank you. For saving me, you were pretty brave to face up to that thing. Hell, you even yelled at it.” it was kind of funny to think about now. But Todoroki didn’t seem to be smiling, in fact, he looked as serious as ever. “I have something to tell you as well.” he replied, “Huh?” you looked at him with a confused expression. “What do you mean?” you questioned, what could he possibly have to tell you?

You watched him shift in his seat, his eyebrows cross and his hands looked to be clenching one another. You wondered if he was alright or if this was bad news. It was strange to see him like this, more so uncharacteristic. “Are you alright?” you questioned and Todoroki nodded in response. “Y/n I…” he trailed off and that’s when you noticed the slight quiver of his lip. However, you failed to take into account the way his eyes traced your face, settling on your mouth. “I…” he tried again before letting out a frustrated growl and rose from his seat. The action causing the chair to tumble back and hit the floor with a loud bang. You jumped in your bed. “Todoroki!” you snapped, perhaps you were a bit on end because of what you had been through. But somehow every loud noise you heard began to scare you, maybe it was an aftereffect of Nomu's screeching. You weren’t sure and you weren’t about to admit you were afraid of loud noises.

However, Todoroki seemed unphased and simply leaned down, his hands reaching to gently grab your face and tilt it up. He leaned close and you could feel his nose press against yours and the heat of his breath. “Todoroki…” you whispered before feeling the ghost touch of his lips against yours. “Forgive me, I don’t know any other way to express myself but directly.” you were about to ask what he meant when his lips pressed against yours in a selfish kiss. Your eyes widened, Todoroki was kissing you? Your hands remained by your sides, simply too shocked to move. The kiss lasted only a few moments, but the ticking of the clock made it seem otherwise. 

You took a shaky breath when Todoroki finally pulled away and you noticed that soft flush across his face. “Todoro-” he interrupted you as he stumbled back, “I…I apologize.” he stuttered out before turning on his feet, quickly exiting the room. “W-Wait!” you called out, your hand extended out to him but he was already gone. You heard his frantic steps running down the hallway. You blinked and lowered your hand, what was that about? You looked down at your lap before pulling your legs up and wrapping your arms around them. “Mm…” you could feel the heat continue to radiate from your cheeks and the fact that your heart was racing inside your chest left very little explanation.

After all of this, did Todoroki have feelings for you or was he feeling guilty over what had happened? Frankly, you were left confused by the sudden kiss and run. “How am I going to face him in school now?” though part of you wanted answers, you knew you couldn’t go anywhere without the doctor’s okay. Yet, you knew once you were healed. You’d go straight to Todoroki and demand an answer.

[pit-and-the-pen]

25 and 54 from the prompt list you posted with Neville Longbottom please? If you don't write for Neville, could I get Ron maybe? Thankyou!!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I don’t trust myself around you”

“I’m sorry but it’s very hard to focus when you’re dressed like this

A/n I tried to make this  longer as a sorry of this taking so long to get out. Hope you like it, lovely!

Also, I know I write the whole “I don’t think I’m enough” troupe with Slytherin! Readers. It’s mostly because I want to remind yall that no matter what people think you are all wonderful people and I’m sorry if it doesn’t come off like that. But that’s what I was trying to do. I promise

-Queen of taking should be suggestive lines and making them anything but. 

Taglist:@thoseofgreatambition @ickle-ronniekins @summer-writes @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrysweasleys

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You’re Too Sweet- Neville x Reader

To say this year sucked would be the biggest understatement in all of history. Hogwarts resembled a prison more than a school and every time you walked under the “educational decrees”, you felt yourself wanting to scream. 

The one highlight was that Harry had started to teach some people and you were actually learning a lot from him. Plus you got to see your friends without that miserable toad looming over you. Speaking of which, you definitely had some homework you needed to do for defense. 

Packing up your bag, you decided to head over to the library. Hoping that will give you any motivation to do your work. 

Walking in, it seems like every single other student had the same idea as you. All the tables are filled. You groan and start scanning the room, looking for anyone you knew and could sit with. 

That's when your eyes spot Neville sitting all by himself. The two of you had started hanging out at DA meetings and he was really sweet, and when he wasn’t stumbling over his words, as adorable as that was on its own, he was really funny. Turns out the two of you both really like herbology and find that a common topic to always talk about. He seemed to have every book on plants memorized and it was always really interesting to hear what he has to say. 

“Hey. Care if I join you.” You whisper and he jumps before looking up. “Sorry” You say trying to hold back laughter.

“Uh. Hi y/n..Ye..Yeah. Of course.” He stammers and closes a couple books to make room for you. You smile at him as a silent thank you and set all of your stuff down. 

The two of you sit in silence, the only sound is papers shuffling and quills scratching on parchment. Finally, you finish the essay you’ve been working on and you deflate in your chair. Neville looks up at you, raises an eyebrow before he looks back down at whatever he’s working on with a slight smile. You give his foot a gentle little tap underneath the table and he looks up at you again.

“It’s getting late. Maybe it’s time we called it a night?” You say noticing how it’s just the two of you in the library. “At the very least, I’m going to leave.” 

“Wow. Didn’t realize I’ve been in here for that long.” His eyes are a little hazy and you reach over and close the book he was reading. The front has a picture of a very intricately carved tree. It’s not one you’ve seen before. 

“Yeah. It’s definitely time to wrap up.” You say with a laugh at his dazed expression. The two of you pack up as quickly as possible, both not wanting to get caught around this late at night. 

“Do you want me to walk you back to..?” He asks trailing off at the end. Every now and then he seems to remember that you’re a Slytherin and trips over himself when he does remember. 

“That's sweet, but I think I’ll be good. Have a good night Neville.” You say softly. He just smiles and waves as you walk away. It might be the long night but you swear you hear him mumble “I guess there are good ones after all.” 

You decide to brush it off and try to keep the tiny out the tiny skip those words threaten to add to your step. 

You knew you were in deep trouble. The smile that you couldn’t wipe off your face evident of that. But was it really that bad if you were falling for Neville?

Tension just seemed to keep rising throughout the castle as Umbridge kept cracking down and O.W.Ls fastly approaching. The only thing that made it any bit bearable was DA. It’s not because you get to see Neville

You kept trying to say to yourself. 

A few of your friends started to notice you two sitting in the library all the time now and how you were always waving at him, blushing like crazy when he looked away. 

“Of all the people. Really?” One of them commented which you just responded with “piss off”. You knew it was probably useless anyways. The odds of him, basically the poster boy for a perfect Gryffindor would never see you that way. That feeling would always hang around in your gut but you tried so hard to ignore it. 

You finally reached your breaking point one day, in DA you all were practicing simple disarming spells. After Neville finally seemed to be getting the hang of it, Harry decided to pair you two up to work on it a little more. 

“Expelliarmus” He tried again, voice shaky. Nothing happened. You tried not to focus on how his voice sounded. You were used to nervous Neville, but he sounded 

That probably hurt more than anything he could ever do with a wand. You fire the spell back at him and his wand goes soaring backwards. 

“Maybe I just need a new partner?” Neville says to Harry as he comes up to see what the issue is. 

That was it. You’ve had it.

“Damnnit, Neville. Why won't you duel with me?” You all but scream. “If this is because I’m a sl..” 

“I don’t trust myself around you” Neville shouts over you, effectively stopping whatever you were going to say. The whole room goes silent. Neville never raised his voice, they all seemed just as shocked as you were. He obviously meant it in the most innocent way possible but your cheeks still redden. “I’m miserable at all of this and I don’t want to hurt you if I do it wrong.” He continues. 

Your eyes flicker over to Harry and he tries to redirect the group's attention as you walk over to Neville. 

“You’re not miserable. You just don’t trust yourself. Plus, if something happens, I heal.” You say, trying to hide the fact that you’re just happy it’s not because he thinks you're going to hurt him. In fact it’s the exact opposite. 

“You’re actually doing really well. Up until you got paired with me, you were nailing it every time.” You say grabbing his arm lightly. “Just pretend I’m like everyone else.” Winking as you say this, you catch a glimpse of his ears getting pink. 

“I really don’t think I can do that.” There's no way he just said that. Your whole face heats up and you're thinking of something witty to respond with when Harry dismisses everyone. 

“That’s all for today. Good work today.” He says and starts to walk over to where the two of you are both still frozen. 

“Everything okay?” He says, looking to Neville. When neither of you respond, he looks at you and all you can do is nod. Sensing there’s something going on, Harry crosses his arms.

“Neville?” He says, a little more serious. You look at him and he just has this mortified look on his face and something in you breaks a little. Snapping you out of whatever fantasy you thought you were living in.

“Yeah. Harry, everything is fine.” Even you can hear the iciness of your voice. “Don’t worry. I know you didn’t mean it like that.” The tears are burning in your eyes and you have to get out of there before you start crying. 

“y/n!” Neville calls out as you grab your bag to get the hell out of that room. You pick up your speed as you feel the first tear drip down your face. 

“Y/n! Please!” He calls one more time. You freeze and turn around to see him running after you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He says, panting as he catches up with you. That makes you let out a mix between a sob and a laugh.

“You didn’t make me upset. No. I did. For thinking this could be a thing.” The tears were falling faster than you could wipe them away. 

“What do you mean?” His voice is small, smaller than you’ve heard before.

“I don’t know. I just got my hopes up for a second that maybe you felt the same way about me.”

“Yo...You. Like. Me?” Every word punctuated. 

“Would I be sitting here crying like this if I didn’t.” You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. You were just being kind like you always are.” A laugh slips out and it’s a genuine one. Realizing just how crazy it had been to think something would come of this. 

You turn to walk away when you feel him grab your hand.

“Please tell me you're serious. Like you’re not just messing with me?” His voice is shaky, like earlier. You only shake your head to let him know you were, in fact, far from messing with him. 

He lets out a deep breath and you see him visibly relax, he lets go of your arm.

“When I let that slip out earlier, you just froze. I thought I had read the whole situation so wrong and felt awful. Then you snapped at Harry and I just didn’t know what to think.” He starts to ramble. 

“OKay now you have to be messing with me.” You interrupt him.

“Y/n/ I’ve liked you since I first saw you. I just never thought you would notice me.” You can tell he’s serious. “You started talking to me in club and I knew it was only a matter of time until you saw how utterly pathetic I was.” You decide to just go for and leave a soft kiss on his lips to stop that sentence. It was short and sweet but it made you both smile. 

“Let me take you to hogsmeade this weekend to make up for all of this. For making you cry.” He says after a few seconds of you two just staring at each other. The only thing you trust yourself to do is nod and the smile you get in return could knock you off of your feet. 

You feel so stupid. Somehow your friends were actually really excited for you and spent most of the day playing dress up with you. Settling on a too-low-cut for your liking sweater dress with some tights underneath. It was winter afterall. Your friends refuse to let you walk by yourself and the whole time you just feel the nervous butterflies in your stomach and you are starting to regret the whole thing. You’re just waiting for the moment when you wake up and realize this whole thing was going to be a cruel dream. 

When you get to the door of the three broomsticks, you freeze. Your friend shooting you a concerned look. 

“You can always turn back around.” Your best friend chimes.

“No. No. I want to, just..Do I look okay?” You can't keep the nervousness out of your voice. 

They all just laugh and open the door as you walk into the warm crowded bar. 

Neville is sitting with someone, talking. You catch his eyes and you see him freeze. 

You shoot him a smile and the guy he was sitting with, who you vaguely think is Dean Thomas, nudges him on the shoulder before getting up to go sit with whoever he came with. 

Your friends giggle behind you and go grab a table somewhere else.  

“Hi.” You giggle at his still shocked expression. 

“Hi.” He says back, standing up. You unbutton your coat and he asks you what you want to drink. Responding back with butterbeer, he smiles and you sit down. Looking for your friends, they all shoot you a double thumbs up and you laugh again. 

He comes back with two tankards of butterbeer. He looks up at you and suddenly seems to trip over nothing. Spilling both of them onto the floor. You laugh before going over to him and offering a hand to help him up. 

“I’m sorry but it’s very hard to focus when you’re dressed like that.” He exclaims and you blush. As he stands up, you give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“You’re two sweet.” He gives you a big dopey smile and you laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. 

“I’ll grab the butterbeers this time.” He laughs and you go up to grab a replacement for the two glasses. When you look back at him, you notice him watching you. 

You could definitely get used to this.

[writingformadderton]

Proposal

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 2089

Summary: Taron and Richard both think it’s time to propose and go shopping. Taron takes Sophie with him hoping she can help to find the perfect ring, Richard takes Joe with him. They go on a date and think it’ll be the perfect time to propose. What they don’t know is that their better half is planning on doing the exact same thing...

Additionial Tags: FLUFF, proposal, date, soft

Richard’s eyes scan the section of jewelry, admiring the way they reflect against the light of the shop. He bites his lip, dropping his gaze to one ring before moving onto the next. The sound of light tapping can be heard directly next to him, but he doesn’t pay it any attention until a throat is clearing, almost in a tone of annoyance.

“Yes?” Richard turns to look at Joe, giving him his full attention.

“We’ve been here for well over an hour. Do you have anything in mind?” Joe gestures to the large section in front of them.

“I’ve got a few,” he walks to the far right corner of the small shop, pointing down at a particularly expensive wedding band. “this one specifically.” A smile spreads across his lips.

“I like it, too.” Joe places his hands on his hips, clearly hoping for a settlement on the ring.

“But I also like--”

“Rich. Go with your heart. What would Taron like most?” He asks, leaning lightly against the counter.

“Taron wouldn’t care, honestly. It’s always been hard to tell with him. He never tells me whether or not he likes a certain brand, or even a simple promise ring. He says he doesn’t care, and he’s said it for so long that honestly,” Richard pauses, thinking. “I believe him.”

Joe stands still for a second, considering. “Then go with your gut, mate.”

Rich nods, and waves the shop clerk over.

 -

Taron bites the skin around his nails, feeling his nerves kick in as he begins to realize what exactly it is that he’s doing. His eyes scan the large section of wedding attire, hoping to find the perfect ring for his lover.

“Taron,” T turns his head to give Sophie his full attention. “I think you should go with the one that you spent twenty minutes inspecting.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that same thing,” he pauses to bite his lip. “I just want this to be perfect. Rich, he-- he’s perfect. Our relationship is perfect. This proposal needs to be.”

“Taron, Richard loves you. He won’t care what the ring looks like, because he has you. You know that better than anyone, I shouldn’t have to be telling you this.” She smiles gently, earning that in return from T.

“You’re so right. Okay, yeah. Let’s do it,” He leaves to find the employee on the other side of the counter.

_

“Rich, I’m home.” Taron calls out and kicks the door shut behind him, his arms full of groceries.

“Hi, beautiful.” Rich jogs to the front door, smiling at the sight in front of him. It’s nothing new, but it’s him. It’s his Taron; his love. The man he fell in love with all those years ago.

“How was shooting today?”

Rich hums and places a light kiss to his lips, “Actually quite good. We finished some costume measuring toward the end of the day, so I got a bit of a break.” He grabs a good chunk of the groceries while saying this, giving T some relief in his arms.

Taron smiled at this. “Good, you deserve a break.”

“What about you, Mr. Lazy Pants? Get anything productive done?”

Taron scoffs, “I won’t answer that. You just called me lazy.” He pushes past Richard jokingly, placing the bags of groceries on the table.

“Oh no, not tonight. I’ve missed you too much.” Rich turns to follow Taron just in time to scoop him up off his feet and into his arms, earning a yelp in surprise from the younger man. He plops himself down onto the couch, bringing Taron down with him.

“Why are you like that?” T sits up so that he’s sitting in Richard’s lap.

“Like what?” Rich tilts his head to the side, running his hands up and down Taron’s hips lightly.

“I don’t know. So easy to love?” Taron lowers his voice as his green eyes meet Richard’s blue ones.

“Ditto, babe.”

The two share kisses for a while, talking about their days and what they have planned for the upcoming weeks. Taron eventually leans his head down so that it rests in the crook of Richard’s neck, sighing in content.

“T?” Rich mumbles.

“Mmm?” Taron hums in response.

“I wanna take you out for a nice dinner on Friday, if that works for you. It’s been so long since we’ve been on a proper date.”

“That sounds lovely, Madden.” Taron sits back up and smiles, cupping Richard’s cheeks admiringly.

“So it’s a date?”

“Yes, definitely.” Taron nods, but his mind is racing with the thought of proposing and how the timing will be perfect and the setting will match the mood for getting down on one knee and oh God should he get down on his left knee or his right knee and should he wear something nice or something casual or should he ask Richard what he’s wearing…

Richard is in the exact same head space, so the two sit in a comfortable silence for a while, unaware that they both are thinking the same thing.

_

The week flies by after that, and Friday night comes far too quickly. Taron feels his throat clench as he stands in the mirror, looking himself up and down, questioning. He feels gently in his coat pocket to be sure that the ring is there, in its box, where it belongs, and sighs in relief to feel its presence. Richard appears behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, kissing his neck before leaning down to place his chin on Taron’s shoulder.

“You look stunning,” he spins T around to get a better look at his handsome boy. “my handsome boy.” he brings his left hand up to gently trace over the light stubble on Taron’s cheek, earning a furious blush from the other man.

“So do you, as always.” Taron replies.

“Are you ready to go, then?” Rich pulls away to stand at the door.

“Just about, yeah. Go wait in the car, I’ll be there in a few.” He gestures toward the stairs, and Rich nods.

Giving the mirror one last glance, he inhales deeply before shaking his hands loose, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. You’ve got this, he thinks to himself.

You’ve got this.

_ 

The ride to the restaurant is full of giggles and small innuendos, causing both men to loosen up a bit. The nerves are forgotten and the smiles take over any suspicious facial expressions that could give anything away. Richard watches admiringly every time Taron speaks, struggling to keep his eyes on the road. Taron does the same thing, not caring where his eyes wander due to the fact that he’s in the passenger seat.

“Alright,” Richard pulls the car into park. “We’re here.”

Taron narrows his eyes before they widen slightly, then turns to Rich with a look of disbelief written everywhere. “This is…”

“Mhm.”

“This is where we had our first date, yeah?” Taron recalls that time. It was years ago, four to be exact. But it feels like it was just yesterday, with how wonderful it was.

“Is this alright?” Rich mentally crosses his fingers, praying for a positive reaction.

“Of course it’s alright, you idiot. It’s more than that. It’s perfect.” He leans over to press a kiss to the Scottish man’s temple.

“Alright, let’s head in then, shall we?”

Richard practically races out of the car to open Taron’s door for him, earning a chuckle along with a small ‘love you’ in response. They walk into the front doors of the restaurant and are met by a friendly waitress who shows them to their table, which happens to be much further back than Taron expects. In fact, she takes them outside, onto the private patio.

“Can I get you started with any drinks?” The waitress-- Louisa, her name tag reads-- asks.

“I’ll have a Rosé wine.” Rich smiles.

“I’ll have the same, thank you.”

Louisa nods, “Alright, I’ll be back with you shortly,” she pauses on her way inside to turn around. “we are quite busy tonight, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit of a wait.”

“It’s no problem, we’re in no hurry.” Richard waves it off and she nods, giving him a side glance before heading inside.

“Busy, huh?” Taron begins, picking up his menu and flipping through options. “honestly didn’t seem too busy when we came in.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.” Richard chuckles nervously, hoping Taron can’t tell how worked up he really is.

“What are you thinking for food? I remember our first time here, I got--”

“Taron,” Richard’s voice shakes slightly, and he mentally curses at this.

T raises an eyebrow, “Yes?”

Well, it’s now or later, Richard thinks, because if I do it later, I’ll surely throw up my food.

He slides off the chair, and everything suddenly feels so real. The fairy lights twinkling around the backside of the restaurant, the sudden silence that fills the air. The way the wind has calmed down, and the moon is shining brighter than usual-- it’s all perfect. So, he gets on one knee, and Taron’s eyes widen.

“Taron, I,” he chokes on his words slightly, already feeling tears well up in his eyes. “God, I’m sorry. I just love you so much,” he pauses again, taking a deep breath. “When we first met on the set of Rocketman, I could tell right off the bat that something about you was different from anyone else I’d ever met. You treated me as though we’d known each other for years, and we got along so well, so unrealistically well. I found soon into shooting any scenes between the two of us that I was falling for you, so trust me when I say that the love scene was torture,” he laughs. “I could go on and on, I actually memorized a lot more than this, but,” he pulls out a small black box from his pocket, and Taron still hasn’t moved a muscle. He opens the container, revealing a beautiful wedding band that will suit his boyfriend perfectly. “Taron David Egerton, will you marry me?”

“Rich,” It was Taron’s turn to allow his voice to shake. He stands up quickly, startling Richard. He fumbles around in his coat pockets, momentarily forgetting which one held the prized possession. Once he felt it, he ripped it out without hesitation, and held it in front of his lover.

“No fucking way,” Richard’s eyes lit up about as fast as he stood from his spot, hand covering his mouth in shock. “There is no way.”

“I-- I thought this was such perfect timing, and, fuck.” Tears well up in his own eyes now, and he sniffs slightly.

“I’m hoping this means yes?” Richard is crying now, and once Taron nods enthusiastically, he joins right in.

“Yes, yes, yes. Absolutely, yes.” He gently pulls Richard in for the most surreal kiss they’ve had yet. The entire moment still feels unreal, it feels as though it’s for a movie, and the director will yell cut, but no. No one yells cut, and nothing ends. It’s all real, and it’s all perfect, just like both men wanted it to be.

When they pull away, Richard giggles as he gently slips the ring onto Taron’s left finger, and both men are shaking by the time Taron places his purchase onto his fiancé’s.

“I love you so, so much.” Taron whispers, still crying.

“I love you, Taron.”

Louisa steps outside with a smile on her face, and Richard laughs, “Oh, I forgot! Taron, this is my friend, Louisa,” she smiles and shakes hands with Taron. “She may or may not have been in on this, too.”

“I saw the whole thing, sorry to be a creep. But it’s incredibly rare for two people to have a proposal planned at the same time like this. You guys have something special.”

The wind picks back up, but just enough to leave a slight breeze. The moon is covered by clouds once again, and the sound of cars honking in the distance returns. But somehow, their fantasy still feels so real. It feels as though it’s all just beginning.

“Yeah,” Richard wraps his arm around Taron’s waist, tugging him closer. “I sure do.”

@taron-eggmcmuffin @sarahegerton96 @multicoloredchicken @primaba11erina @anxiety-at-the-classroom @maddertonmyheart @madderton-obsessed @naptitimadderton

[crapitskizaru]

My Pirate. (Eustass Kid x Reader)

Warning: filth, lil bit of weird roleplay, slight descriptions of gore scenes in a horror movie

Word Count: 1,9k

The darkness of the Halloween night behind the window would have been disturbing if it wasn’t for the close warmth beside you and a strong arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Even if someone with ill intentions wanted to give you a scare, they would fail miserably - there was simply nothing scarier than the man you were currently cuddling with. You silently wondered if there was a safer place on Earth than the one you were in - his protective embrace.

“What a coward,” your boyfriend snarled. “You gotta find a weapon and fight. I wouldn’t ever run away, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” You moved your focus back to the screen. “But I think any murderer would rather be the one running away. You’re simply too scary to handle.”

His grimace turned into a smirk as he whispered into your ear. “But you can handle me.”

The voice he gave you was flirtatious and bluntly hinting at what it was that he wanted. But it didn’t take you by surprise, he was always like this. And so the TV screen consumed your attention once more.

The main protagonists in the movie were, to put it lightly, having a hard time. There were screams and jumpscares involved every few seconds, the unsettling music seemingly running down your veins with each turn of the camera and each location the murderer appeared in.

It didn’t bother your boyfriend at all. He laughed at the scene where teeth were brutally snatched out from one of the main character’s gums, he cheered the murderer on during their numerous attempt on skinning their victim alive.

In his amazing costume that resembled both a pirate and a New Romantic fashion, it felt as if Kid was born for Halloween. Ever since you’d gotten into a relationship, you always spent the night with him - and he always made sure to make it a memorable experience.

A moment of suspense from the sudden, lingering silence on-screen was abruptly cut off by a faint sound of a text message.

“It’s Killer,” Kid muttered, mindlessly scanning his phone. “Says he’ll be at least an hour late.”

“Mmmh...” Your casual stretch not going unnoticed by your boyfriend as he scooped you closer. “That’s good, actually. We’ll be able to finish the movie.”

“What movie?” His words were barely audible with how his lips were already in your neck, eagerly catching your skin.

“It tickles!” you laughed, grasping his hair. “Oh my God, at least wait until the movie ends-”

“What movie?” he repeated with a grin, huge body obscuring your vision of the screen as he moved to your mouth, massaging your tongue with his own.

He went from mildly interested in all the sophisticated torture methods and gore scenes to being as enthusiastically turned-on as possible in literal seconds, it was difficult to catch a breath.

Your body only reacting after a few moments spent near his warmth; your mind dizzy with agitation and slight anxiety, there was no time to gather your thoughts.

His lips were cold against yours, your body numb with too many sensations - your boyfriend’s hand on your thigh, his chest pressed up against yours, his licking tongue and his whole frame that you struggled to grasp in your embrace.

Your palms rubbed feverishly around the nape of his neck, only to slide down and come around toward his front, mouth reaching to keep up with the pace of the kiss.

“I wanna have sex so badly,”‌ he groaned, parting and exhaling against your ear. “We can fuck before Killer comes.”‌

To give yourself some time to think the response through, you caught his lips again and tried to calm your racing thoughts; all of them currently busy with telling you how hot Kid was and how you could spend the whole night just making out with him on the couch.

“Let me just-” you finally breathed out, touching your forehead to his. “-go to the bathroom real quick.”‌

“Don’t take too long. Else I’ll just start jacking off on my own and cum in five minutes.”‌

After cupping his face and giving him a teasing peck, your legs felt shaky when you went upstairs for some time for yourself. There was no denying the hungry pool in your stomach that just ached to be satisfied by your boyfriend.

The trip to the bathroom was indeed as quick as you could make it, as you found yourself in the bedroom - wondering just which toys to grab for this particular night.

Before you could as much as evaluate the possibilities, your gaze landed behind the window. The darkness had been replaced by faint light reflecting from the moon, revealing the busy streets; all around there were spooky decorations hanging from the roofs, covering the gardens and driveways, shining on the lamp posts.

There was a distant feeling of longing in your heart at the sight - the chilly October weather, the soon perspective of the New Year, the veil of the supernatural in the air, it all added to the chills that ran down your spine.

You couldn’t wait to go out with Kid and his friends onto the streets and relish in the eerie atmosphere while admiring the costumes of passing-by strangers, all while taking attempts to frighten one another with scary stories.

“Changed your mind?”‌

Your heart skipped a beat, your face and chest heating up in surprise. There he was, his tall figure standing in the doorway.

“Hm?‌‌ Sorry, got a little…lost in thought,”‌ you smiled as he walked closer, his arms enveloping you from behind. “Just look, isn’t the night magical?”‌

“It is,”‌ he hummed. “But not magical enough to leave me hanging for so long.”‌

“Didn’t you say you would start jerking off on your own?”‌

“I’d rather you did it.”‌ He gave you a smirk. “Besides, I‌ had to check on you. What if I was a vicious pirate? What would you do?”‌

His tone was getting more teasing as he sent a few licks down your neck, the previous hunger and impatience seemingly lost. You had to admit - imagining your boyfriend as a pirate was as ridiculous as it was exciting, making the arousal in your gut heat up once more.

“You?‌ A vicious pirate?‌‌ You’re far too soft for that,”‌ you cooed and flushed your back against his chest harder. “You wouldn’t harm an innocent being. And I, sir, am as innocent as a human can get.”‌

“And the fact that all of our sex toys are displayed on the bed‌ is supposed to be the proof of that?‌‌”‌

You tried to hide the embarrassment by reaching up and tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling his face into your neck once again.

He just chuckled. “Very innocent, indeed.”‌

“Even if you were a pirate…I’d have captivated you with my natural charm,”‌ you muttered while pressing your butt against his groin. “And took it from there.”‌

His satisfied grunt was followed by the harsh dig of his nails into your hipbones, hands already moving to get rid of the costume you had on.

“What if I was very vicious?”‌‌ One movement exposed your skin to the chilly air of the room that was soon forgotten when his warm palms kneaded your butt. “Vicious and cruel. And savage.”‌‌ He accented the last word with a harsh bite to your neck.

You couldn’t stifle the moan that was breathed out as soon as you rest your head back against his shoulder.

“I‌ would have begged that pirate.”‌‌ Your body responded to your needs faster than you’d have imagined as it rubbed along your boyfriend’s in a needy manner. “I‌ would have begged and pleaded for him to take me.”‌

“And if that pirate would make you scream your name?‌ Would you still want him?”‌

“Yes,”‌ you whispered, closing your eyes and heightening the sensations of his warm body near yours, his hands roaming around your chest, lips taking care of your neck. “Yes. Please.”‌

You could feel him rubbing against your backside, the slow rolls of his hips so distant to his usual manner. The window in front of you acted as nothing else than a way for you to support yourself as the weight behind you suddenly disappeared, only to come back to you after a few seconds.

Kid poured the lube into his hand, pants already down to his ankles, the slicky sound of it being spread along his cock cutting through the silent, dark room and digging deep into your gut in anticipation.

You rested your hands against the windowpane, spreading your legs open as if to offer yourself up to him completely.

His name was whispered when one of your hands got ahold of his hair again, your mouth catching the corner of his lips but soon flying open when you felt him pushing himself inside of you.

Hips snapping against your skin, he set the pace as rough but oddly slow, his breath on your ear.

“That’s not very vicious,”‌ you hummed, resting your forehead on the window glass. This time your senses were far too distracted to pay attention to the lovely sight of the Halloween night.

“You just wait.”‌

You felt his length poking and rubbing inside, the pleasure already starting to wake in your gut. His fingers dove forward to stroke your thighs and in between them - wherever he reached, your legs seemed to give out and start to tremble from the amount of stimulation.

His warm skin touching yours kept on sending sparks up and down your spine, and his words - those being whispered and mumbled so intimately - made you feel like you two were the only people in the universe, right at that moment.

You tried to lean on the window to prevent yourself from sliding down, but there was hardly any strength left in your body. The matter being quickly disregarded when your boyfriend hoisted you up and pushed himself even deeper.

He grunted with pleasure. “I‌ fucking love how you feel around me.”‌

His thrusts began to slide harder inside, his pace even - the friction and delicious sensation of being filled started to set your whole body aflame until its burst was laying within your reach.

“I‌ love you,”‌ the whisper stumbled from your lips before you could stop it, but you were too lost in Kid’s presence to care. “I‌ love you.‌”

“‌I know,‌” he smirked, his cock rolling into your inside relentlessly and drawing a sharp breath each time. “Who wouldn’t?”‌

The teasing tone earned him a quick bite on the lip as you pulled him into a kiss, it being the last impulse you needed to gasp his name out loud and reach your high.

You fell forward against the window, worn out and still shaken by the roaming pleasure between your legs. Your boyfriend was also near his release, as he suddenly pulled out and came on your back with a breathless groan. “Oh, fuck!”

His body was soon slumped over yours, his heavy breath heating up your skin even more. You felt a soft kiss on the back of your neck.

“I would do anything for you.‌ You little shit.”‌

“I know,”‌ you laughed weakly and turned around to face him, finally able to give him a proper kiss. “‌Who wouldn’t?”‌

[highfivecalum]

Dark In Your Heart {CEO!CH} 10

Previous Chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine 

◈◈◈

Maddie sighed tiredly and happily as the water warmed her cold body up. She was warm all night, with Calum’s arm draped across her waist and his body weight and heat keeping her warm, but once she rolled out of bed to pee and brush her teeth with the toothbrush the hotel offered, her naked body was covered in goosebumps and nothing sounded better than a hot shower.

She left Calum in the hotel bed, sound asleep and looking so peaceful, and turned the water on. He was a hard sleeper, she remembered from the first night they spent together in his house, so she didn’t think the shower would wake or disturb him. Though, his voice echoing throughout the huge bathroom told her otherwise. “Showerin’ without me?” She spun around, licking her lips at the sight of him; still bare, bed head, and neck covered in marks from her mouth.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Her eyes never left his as he opened the glass shower door and shut it behind him, the water instantly warming him up due to the waterfall shower head. 

“Wouldn’t have minded bein’ woken up to this.”

Maddie turned around to wash the rest of the shampoo out of her hair and her breath hitched in her throat when she felt Calum behind her; semi-hard cock pressed against her ass and his hands on her body. She tilted her head back, resting it on Calum’s chest, and let his hands roam her body like they were trying to memorize every inch of it. Which, unbeknownst to Maddie, they were.

Calum’s lips attached to Maddie’s neck, sucking yet another mark onto it, and she moaned when his fingers found her clit. He spun her around, backing her up until her back was pressed against the glass door of the shower and admired her with her eyes closed and head tilted back.“So pretty.” Calum mumbled against her skin, his fingers moving at an agonizingly slow pace. “So pretty like this. So pretty always.”

Maddie still couldn’t believe it had happened. Couldn’t believe that she was tangled in sheets with Calum, again, and couldn’t believe that she was being fingered in the shower with Calum. With her boss. She wasn’t sure what it would lead to; if it was just sex or more, but as he slipped his length inside of her and moaned out her name, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

◈◈◈

“So,” Calum cleared this throat, finally saying something after driving in complete silence for an hour. The only thing being heard since they got into the car was the radio. Maddie looked away from the window, seeing that Calum wasn’t looking in her direction, and her stomach filled with nervous butterflies.

After they had sex in the shower, they finished getting ready, packed their stuff, and checked out of the hotel rooms. It was all done in silence and even though it seemed Calum wanted her as much as Maddie wanted him, she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. 

She didn’t know if it was just sex or if he genuinely liked her, felt something for her, and saw something with her, like Maddie did with him. And she was too scared to ask. Too scared of rejection. 

“We should probably talk, yeah?”

“That would be good.” Maddie mumbled, nervously picking at her black nail polish that was freshly painted just a few days before. They were now only ten minutes away from her apartment building and with it being a Sunday, she knew this conversation would have to happen before she got out of the car. Neither of them wanted to have it in the office.

“I don’t- I don’t really know where to start, honestly.” Calum admitted with a sheepish laugh. He slowed the car down, stopping at a red light, and looked at Maddie. She looked adorable in his hoodie and a pair of leggings on, her body practically swimming in his green Empathy hoodie that looked much better on her. “I’m not too good at this kind of stuff.”

“Well,” Maddie cleared her throat and sat up, no longer hunched down in the passenger seat. She was on high alert now, her nervous and anxiety eating away at her. “I mean, what do you- do you want this?” Maddie gestured to her and Calum. “Like, us?”

Calum licked his lips and pressed on the gas once the light turned green again and turned left down Maddie’s street. He thought silently. Did he want her? Want that with her? He knew on the physical spectrum he wanted her more than anything else, but something serious? Calum couldn’t get his thoughts in order.

Taking Calum’s silence as hesitance and indifference, Maddie nervously spoke up again. They had already slept with each other, a handful of times now after last night, what else did she have to lose? Her job, maybe. But she could always find a new one of those. “Becau-Because I like you, Calum. And if you don’t feel the same way-”

“I never said that,” Calum effectively cut her off, Maddie’s words dying on her tongue as she swallowed nervously. Calum sighed, pulling up outside of Maddie’s apartment building, throwing the car into park. He ran a ring clad hand through his hair and sighed. Looking at Maddie, he couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, it was way more than just physical attraction. “I like you, Maddie, I do.” She could sense a but coming.

“But?” 

Calum thought, but what? There weren’t any ifs, ands, or butts in his head. There usually was, but with Maddie, it was different. She knew him, in and outside of the workplace. Knew what made him tick, what he liked, how he operated. There weren’t any buts. “But nothing,” Calum finally exhaled. “I want you. All of you. And- and okay, well, maybe there is a but,” Calum smiled sheepishly the dreaded word came and Maddie rolled her lips into her mouth, gnawing on her bottom one as Calum furrowed his brows together. “But, I don’t wanna rush anything. I don’t wanna announce it or put a label on it just yet. I want to know that this is real and that it’s going to work out, you know? I don’t- I don’t want the office to find out before we really know this is happening.”

At that, Maddie was relieved. The only thing she was worried about was the office; everybody finding out and their reactions. She knew they would jump to conclusions once they heard about her and Calum, they would all say how she fucked her boss to get her job, and although she did fuck her boss, it wasn’t to get her job. She was completely capable of getting that good of a job on her own. 

“I’m so glad you said that,” Maddie laughed happily and smiled.

“Yeah?” Calum’s smiled mirrored Maddie’s and he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and kissed the back of her hand. He didn’t want to drop her off, he didn’t want her to go home, he wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted- no, needed- to know her better. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he barely even knew the girl he was so infatuated with. “Don’t go inside. Come over? I’ll cook us dinner.”

“You cook?” Maddie cocked an eyebrow at him.

With a wink, Calum put the car into drive, and spoke, “I do a lot of things, love. You’ll learn.” 

◈◈◈

“Tell me, Madeline,” Her mother licked her lips clean of the wine she had just sipped and laced her fingers together, resting her chin on her hands, as she looked at her daughter whom she hadn’t seen in weeks. “How is everything? We’ve barely had time to talk about it.”

“That’s because you never call me back.” Maddie pointed out, biting the piece of lettuce off of her fork, not even flinching at the way her mother's smile fell. It wasn’t a secret that Maddie and her mother had a rocky relationship. It happened when Maddie’s mother and father got a divorce, and not even two months later, her mother was remarrying. And then another marriage. And another. “How’s husband number five? What’s his name? Clark?”

“Clark is fine, Madeline, but we’re not here to talk about him. We’re here to talk about you.” Maddie fell back in the chair she was in and gulped down her wine. Maddie’s mother, Heather, was hard headed and bossy, and as Maddie would call her: a bitch. “Are you seeing anybody? I know it’s only been a few weeks since you and your last boyfriend split, so,-”

“It’s been over a month, almost two, and his name is Eric, mother.”

“Right, of course.” Heather smiled although it was fake and Maddie knew it. Being the youngest child out of three boys, Maddie being the only girl, she got tired of her mother trying to force a relationship that she knew neither of them wanted. “That doesn’t answer my question. Are you seeing-”

“Yes,” Maddie cut Heather off. “I’m seeing somebody. It’s- it’s new.”

“Oh?” Heather’s eyes lit up. “What’s his name?”

“Calum.” Maddie found herself smiling at the thought of him and how just thirty-six hours ago they were completely forgetting about the spaghetti Calum was eating and going at it on every flat surface they could find, the kitchen island they ate on included.

“Calum what, dear?”

“Hood. Calum Hood.”

Something clicked in Heather’s mind and she was slowly bringing her wine glass away from her mouth, staring at Maddie who was too busy moving the lettuce around on her plate, thinking about him and how deep she was in already. 

“Sweetheart.” Heather placed her hand over Maddie’s stopping her hand and fork and pulled her eyebrows together in confusion. 

“What?”

“Isn’t Calum Hood your boss?”

Shit, Maddie thought. She remembered the brief conversation she had with her mother, telling her about her new job and name dropped Calum a few times, telling her that he was a hard ass, but she enjoyed working for it. She couldn’t believe her mother had actually remembered that.

“Oh, good lord.” Heather pinched the bridge of her nose and Maddie bit the corner of her mouth as she awaited her mother's response. It wouldn’t be good, that much Maddie knew. In all honesty, Maddie couldn’t believe that she had forgotten she told her mother about her job and her boss and her mother, out of all people, remembered and not her. “Have you slept with him yet?”

“Mom!” Maddie exclaimed. Her sex life was none of her mother’s business, but she knew that her mother had a way with things and one way or another, the truth of Maddie and Calum’s sexual history would come out. “Yes. We have.”

“Don’t tell me you’re just with him for his money, Madeline. Nobody likes a gold digger.”

The fork in Maddie’s hand dropped, clinking against the glass plate her salad was in, and she nearly scream-laughed in her mother’s face. Talk about irony. “You’re joking, right? You’re the biggest hypocrite in the world, mother. You are literally the definition of a gold digger.”

“Madeline-”

“Rick? A plastic surgeon. Robert? A lawyer. Andrew? An orthodontist. I could go on.”

“This isn’t about me, Madeline Hazel. You really think a man as successful as Calum Hood is interested in his assistant?” Heather scoffed. “Please, Madeline. He’s probably gone through dozens of assistants, sleeping with them and kicking them to the curb. Don’t think you’re any different.” 

“Wow.” At that point, Maddie had had enough. She could wish and wish for her mother’s approval and support that she had secretly always wanted, but she knew she would never get it. She wasn’t her brothers. So, standing up, Maddie threw her coat on and grabbed her purse. “This has been really nice, but I’m leaving now.”

“Madeline!” Heather called after her but Maddie didn’t turn around once, she kept going, determined to leave the restaurant without turning back and causing a scene that would get both of them kicked out.

Maddie was paying no attention to where she was going as she burst out of the doors of the restaurant and pulled out her phone. She clumsily bumped into someone and looked up to apologize, only to see Ashton standing there with a surprised smile on his face. 

“Maddie?”

“Ashton, hey.” Maddie had cooled down a bit, the anger from her mother not radiating off of her like it was when she left the restaurant, but she still looked a bit flustered. She was still in her work outfit that consisted of a high wasted black skirt and a white button up tucked into it with a pair of black heels. 

“You look like you just got off of work.”

“I did, kinda. I met my mom for dinner right when I got off.”

“Where are you headed now? I’m meeting Cal and some friends at the bar down the street if you want to come?”

Maddie thought it over. If it were under different circumstances, and if she and Calum hadn’t slept together and hadn’t established an offical-un-offical relationship, she would have instantly declined the offer of just showing up at a bar that her boss was at, but now it didn’t seem like such a crazy, nerve wracking idea. And she could definitely use a drink or three.

“That sounds great.”

◈◈◈

The bar wasn’t too packed, just a few dozen groups of people, and Ashton and Maddie made their way through the small crowd to the end of the bar where Calum, Luke, Michael, and some of their other friends were. “I found a friend on the way here!” Ashton announced as he slung an arm over Maddie’s shoulder. Michael and Luke were thrilled to see her, but Calum? Not as much as Maddie would have liked him to be and she wasn’t sure why.

Until she saw it.

A gorgeous, model-like woman, all over Calum and watching him enjoy every minute of it as if she wasn’t even there. Sure, they hadn’t made things offical, they weren’t ‘going steady’, but it still hurt her to see him with another woman just days after they slept together, again, and he confessed his feelings to her.

Maybe her mother was right, after all.

◈◈◈

Taglist: @novacanecalum @roselukes @kinglyhood @cantbehandled-ever @hereforlukescruff @astroashtonio @monsteramongmikey @gosh-im-short @emma070900 @youmaycallmemrshemmings @cosmocalum @cakesunflower @asht0ns-world @singt0mecalum @lockthisheartinchains @cheyenne-in-wonderland @babyurart @blahehblah @inlovehoodx @softboycal @hopelessxcynic @ashtoniwir @calumsmermaid @lukewarmwoda @meganmisc @neonweeknds @kenopsia-falcon @blue-sunset-oreo-lover @foolishcal @ayee-style @itsmeempar @outofmylimitcal @mariellelovescupcakes-blog @post-traumatic-mess @damselindistressanu @tapolesarebabyturtles @noswagswag @scarapoison @sugarcoatedcalum @notsooperfect @trustmeimawhalebiologist @klb967 @littlebear1353 @cal-king @manicpanicbaby @colormekaykay @geeksareunique @nostalgia-luke @badguycal @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @cuddlemcalx @mpadge33 @bitchinbabylon @wilsondanvers @it-was-a-lie @panicforashton

[hhemeraa-a]

(( A clean up and edit of an old drabble. lmao Remember when I used to write in my canon? Remember when I used to write drabbles? Remember when I used to write--))

     Death.

     It had always been something that was a possibility, but nothing that ever truly settled in as a reality for Hemera.

     There had been a time Myles wished for death - trapped in a white room with white walls, strapped to a chair with doctors and nurses in crisp white uniforms asking him to just breathe, but how could he when a tightness was forming in his chest and every time he went to inhale it caught in his throat only to wheeze out black substance that was blocking air’s path. His once clean patient’s robe now stained black with flaking bits of dried blood from having been at this for hours, reliving the process of muscle spasms, cold sweats, the uncontrollable aggression, the pain, and the questions- those fucking questions –

     “How do you feel? Does this hurt? Can you make a fist? On a scale of one to ten—“

     It was always a ten.

     White-hot searing pain would make him black out for minutes -- hours -- at a time only to come to still strapped down to that fucking chair. More needles. More injections. He didn’t need to put up with this.  He could just give in, just end it all, was this worth it? He couldn’t even remember what he was there for anymore. A test he had been suckered into, signed paperwork that was clearly forged with his name. It didn’t matter.

     Nothing mattered.

     They would nod unsympathetically as he spat out mixture of black and red onto the ground, pooling at the corners of his mouth only to dribble in a patchwork mess at his chest. The few moments he was conscious, he would memorize the fine lines of the doctor’s face knowing for a fact that if he was ever released from this room, from this chair, from this hell that he was be the first to die… but of course he would always pass out at the point when aggression was at it’s highest. Looking back on it all, that was the whole point, wasn’t it? The blinding pain something he was no longer capable of putting up with, he kept hoping that each time he passed out he wouldn’t wake up.

     But he always did.

     And one day – it stopped.

     Hemera woke up to the sound of hushed whispers, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly through the bright surgical light hanging overhead expecting to see a familiar face, but there was nothing. Craning his neck to see about the small space, there was no one there, and just as he was about to call out, the whispers grew louder.

     These weren’t human voices. This was no language he knew. They were mumbling to him, speaking to him. Something was happening, the voices wanted him to do something and they grew frantic the longer he didn’t obey, but even as they grew louder, a ringing started screeching, piercing its way across the forefront of his mind and before he could cover his ears and to shout to make them stop – there was silence. Quieted only the sound of the door unlocking with nurses and doctors shuffled in. There’s realization on his face in this moment of clarity and the painless silence that it brought that he needed to keep this. He needed to keep this pain away and the voices secret less they try to peel back his temple again.

     He wouldn’t tell them. Not a single word of what happened.

     When asked again on a scale of one to ten… Hemera smiled for the first time in what felt like months. Myles was quickly and neatly tucked away, a part of his humanity stored for safekeeping and he gave a cold, dead smile with pleasant eyes as he flexed his fingers against the armrest. Deep breath of air sucked in that he hadn’t been capable of in a long time and he confidently answered an arbitrarily low number despite the soft alien whispers that dug their sharp nails into the base of his skull.

     The pain had finally stopped. The relief made his fingers tremble then still. Hemera refused to let Myles die and he told himself he’d never allow himself to go back to that room, back to those doctors. He wouldn’t allow himself to be back in that chair or strapped to that bed. He needed to protect himself and thus the first layer of walls were built. Day by day, brick by brick, Myles fell deeper and deeper into the comforting darkness while Hemera learned the art of pretending to be nonthreatening human. No one could know. No one could enter.

File path \ Tantalus.Missions\recorded_side_effects.pdf

Sickness, vomiting, fever, bleeding from the eyes and/or ears and/or nose, blacking out, lack of appetite, numbness in the hands and feet, death

          Frequency: unknown

     Hemera mentally ran through the horrid list of side effects of his “condition”.  The consequences of what he was taking its toll bit by bit, day by day, and no matter how many times he went over his own files, he knew there was something missing. Blond had yet to experience anything of concern.  The occasional sleepiness, the random spikes in temperature, light headedness – nothing that he couldn’t push through or hide or, if he experienced anything worse, excuse himself to deal with in private.

      But there were times he wasn’t so lucky. Hemera played the game of hide-and-seek so well that few, if any, ever saw the ugly parts. That was the whole point, wasn’t it. The sickness he was masking behind harsh words and a distant attitude. No one never saw the bloody nose that leaked with something stranger than just red or the quiet whispers that took him down hallways to places he’d never been convinced that he was supposed to be there, or the sharp pains that followed that were blinding, hiding wincing agony until it passed, silently screaming into his communicator for Troy to come and get him because he had no idea where or who he was.

     This time however... this time the one he clung to wasn’t Troy. Myles was unable to escape to a place of solitude, to leave in time before the wave of numbness set in his legs, falling just as the vibrations in his neck started with a scorching pain the came with an intensity he had yet to feel, only to have a fear set in that maybe this time would be his last.

     Death had always been a possibility, never a reality.

     As he clung white knuckled at the other’s arms in panic, shame, and terror, all at the thought that they had to see him like this, he hoped – it would pass, it would pass, it had to pass—but next he knew, he was lying in bed in med bay, clenching and unclenching his fists to the rhythm of his uneven breath. 

     At first he was nervous –back in a hospital room, back to the familiar buzzing of sterile white lights and nurses in crisp white uniforms, but he wasn’t strapped down, he wasn’t being poked and prodded… not that it stopped him from recoiling at the nurses touch when she came to observe him or exhale small hisses at mystery liquids and pills they tried to give him. He would attempt to refuse, he didn’t know what it was, he’d be fine, he just slept walked, that’s all--

     But by now he’d been there just over 24 hours under observation for mysteriously fainting, brought in by companion which Hemera immediately told them to refuse access to.

     He would not – could not – see them again.

“Please tell me you’re sorry… I need to hear you say it.”

     Now all that sat before the other was Myles, his heart open and raw, hazel eyes flickering in a panic at the amount of hurt the man was radiating through his words, through his body. He had hidden this part of him, hidden it away for good reason. He didn’t like what he’d become, he didn’t like what he was, and to bury it down deep and ignore it was his only way of coping, especially now that someone he cared about was in the picture.

     He felt cold.

     What did he want him to apologize for? For being weak? For hiding?  For refusing to let him see him in the med bay? To apologize for lying? That he was ok, everything was fine?

     Nothing was fucking fine. On a scale of one to ten – it was always a ten.

     But the man in front of him, caring eyes that looked at him as if he abandoned him, that pleaded with him to care – oh if only the blond knew how much he cared…

     Myles’ mouth opened and closed, uncertainty filling his lungs – air caught in his throat and slender fingers trembled as they reached out, unsure of what to do with the emotions that were set before him. He just had to say it, he just had to form the words—

      Myles was pulling himself closer, closing the distance between them and chest swelled in a way he hadn’t felt in eons. Thick walls were dust at the man’s feet and painful expression filled his face as if he was processing a multitude of emotions he’d never had to deal with at once. It only amplified the exposed soft outer rim, revealing the delicate freckles on flushed skin, and he leaned in with such care that he felt he’d break if the man tried to move. Blond strands of hair draped themselves over other’s shoulder as he rested his head on top, terrified that if he tried to touch him any more than the small space where his forehead met that he would recoil in anger, knowing he’d feel the uncontrollable tremble that was beginning to spread through him.

     A hush, a whisper, it wasn’t loud, but it was deafening in Myles’ ears, the words he spoke were volumes trapped in a single phrase and the blond hoped with all his heart that the other would understand the magnitude of what he was saying, the small subtleties between the dots, the true meaning behind his words

     “…I’m sorry…”

[minttoy]

all that we lost (end)

CHAPTER FIVE (END)

Summary: Five years since the war has passed. Five years since she joined the Dragon Guard. Five years since she saw either of the princes. One of them is a King now. Rayla doesn’t consider herself blessed. How could she lose so much of herself and gain nothing back? The war has come and gone, and still she’s counting her losses. Amidst this fractured peace, she returns to Katolis to make up for lost time.

Pairings: Callum/Rayla

Genre: Romance/Angst

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

For Chapter 1:

Chapter 1 (FF.net)

Chapter 1 (AO3)

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Incense burns and fills the air with flagrant smoke.

Ezran’s on his knees, head bowed in front of his mother’s alter, palms pressed together as he mumbles in hushed prayer. Rayla kneels on the dirt beside him, hands folded neatly on her lap and listens. She offers her silence and respect to the alter instead.

In front of her, Queen Sarai is carved in stone, delicately molded to capture her beauty and heart. She’d heard many stories of the woman, spread and spoken by civilians and her own two sons. She noticed all of them vouched for her courage and kindness. As far as Rayla’s concerned, she’s grateful for the woman. The war would still rage if not for the way she raised her sons.

In the far horizon, the sky bleeds orange and yellow hues of warmth. A whisper of a breeze grazes her cheek. Combined with the earthy scent of doused incense, the atmosphere is soft and soothing. Ezran’s voice eventually hushes into silence.

“You know, if I could be granted a single wish, I’d wish they were still here,” he starts, not necessarily with a sigh. For a second, he also glances towards his father’s alter. “For guidance, mostly. I always fear I’m not doing enough as king, even though I’m just trying to do what’s right by this kingdom.”

When she looks over sidelong, he looks younger somehow. Underneath those royal garbs and golden crown, she sees the boy forced to grow up too fast.

“What more can you do? Is that not enough?”

Ezran shrugs loosely. “I’m not sure. It’s just…I feel overwhelmed sometimes.”

She places a hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay. Just remember, your parents loved this kingdom and everything in it. That means your job now is to protect it. So long as you keep that in mind, then I’ve no doubt you’re doing it right.”

He remains silent, unmoving. She can’t see on his face if her words are finding their mark, but his shoulders are relaxed and the hardness on his face has lifted slightly. He’s silent for a moment longer and it makes her wonder just how much he’s listening.

“How about you, Rayla?” he pipes up, shifting course. “If you had one wish, what would it be?”

Her lips pull to a small smirk. The concept is almost childlike, like a stretch of imagination, or based in fantasy. She’s had to ground herself in the soreness of reality for a while now. Her reality. But strange enough, she knows her answer.

“I wish my parents were here too.”

She doesn’t hesitate because she’s known for years. But her wish is largely different from Ezran’s. “I want to apologize to them. For a long time, I called them cowards. I despised them for what they did. Having been through it now…they didn’t deserve any of it.”

His expression is thoughtful, appreciative. She’s gotten better at being honest. He pushes himself up to his feet, catching her attention. “You should forgive yourself.”

She nods. For once, her voice is clear and calm, “I know.”

Ezran’s smile is radiant and proud, but he faces the side so she only sees the corner of his lips. He gazes out into the quiet horizon. “Your last day, right?”

“That’s right.”

“You should come back soon then. You’re welcome anytime here.”

Rayla stands up and follows his gaze. “I will.”

There’s an air of certainty this time, unlike the last. Ezran tips his head towards the direction of town. “Callum said he wanted to see you before you go. He might be waiting at the stable.”

She nods, but not before getting one last final look. She memorizes the curl of his hair, each line and crinkle of his smile, the way he stands up straighter now that he’s king. She commits it to memory.

“Thank you, Ezran. For everything.”

----------

The morning air is still crisp and cool. The streets are nearly empty this time in the morning, but remnants from yesterday’s festivities still remain.

Rayla’s already mapping her route back to Xadia, recalling the stops she made along the way. She fast-walks towards the stable, ties up her hair and slips into a loose coat. Remembering where she is, she pulls out what gold she has left to tip the keepers. Even now, she still finds the custom rather strange.

Sure enough, Callum is there when she arrives. He’s in the midst of dozing off, or was, because he pushes himself off the post with a jolting start when she walks into view.

She smirks and waves a casual hand. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

He straightens up slowly and yawns into his hand. “Apparently not. What about you?”

Rayla shrugs. It’s not hard to compare, especially when the comforts of a proper bed is infrequent in the Guard. She’s used to sleeping on the ground. “Pretty good, actually.”

She watches with mild amusement as Callum valiantly fights another wave of drowsiness threatening to crash over. His lids are half-open, and he forces himself to yawn again, just to keep them from closing.

“You should have slept in. You seemed exhausted last night,” she ventures, crossing her arms. She knows him well enough he won’t admit it. He’ll resort to stubbornness if it comes to that.

“But I wanted to see you off,” he says, but his voice is groggy. It gives him away. Perhaps his exhaustion, or maybe even a mild morning hangover, is interfering with his filter.

She follows up with a sigh. “Then could you sit down, at least?”

As if she just gave an order, he does just that.

Now that he’s in less danger of tripping over himself, she brushes past him to where her horse feeds on grains and roughage. Rolling up her sleeves, she hefts the saddle on the worktable and gets started on untangling the cords and untying belt loops.

Callum watches quietly, listening to the sounds of squeaky leather and clinking metal, mesmerized as she inspects the saddle for wear and tear.

“I still don’t know why you left, you know,” he pipes up suddenly.

She pauses her task, and when she turns her head over her shoulder, there’s no strain or discomfort in her expression, just confusion.

“I never told you?”

He shakes his head.

With a sigh, Rayla turns and leans against the table. She closes her eyes, contemplating how bizarre it is that she’s going to talk about her parents twice now just this morning. Already her day is filled with unusual happenstances.

“I’ve brought up my parents with you before, haven’t I?”

“A few times.”

She looks down at her palms and rubs the calloused spots, the way she does when she talks about something slightly uncomfortable. “They were part of the Guard too. I never saw them after that and eventually, they become strangers to me. As you know, I was raised by someone else.”

He remains silent. He already knew. Perhaps it was always that simple. She’d joined out of familial obligation and tradition.

She makes a cutting motion with her hand. “It’s not why I joined,” she adds, as if reading his mind. He blinks, appraising the hardening expression taking over.

She continues, “All my life, I’d always been curious. I wanted to know why they did it. Why they left. Why was the job so much bigger than me?”

Callum gulps, sensing where this is going. Part of him regrets bringing it up now.

“I used to rack my brain thinking about it. As a parent, what was so important out there in the world, that you would leave your child? Someone you’re supposed to love, right? Neither of them stayed so I was kept in the dark.” A hollow smile surfaces, followed by a defeated sigh. “And then the war ended. Right in front of me was an opportunity to solve my life’s greatest mystery.”

He peers at her cautiously. “You followed their footsteps.”

She swallows hard. He’s hit it right on the nail. “Imagine. Going through all of that just to find out it’s not worth it,” she says reflectively, bitterly. She bites down the memory. “I suppose I really am their daughter, aren’t I? Ironically, it meant leaving behind someone important and dear to me as well.”

Silence stretches between them. It doesn’t take him long to realize she means him.

Her expression crinkles a little and morphs into something apologetic. “I’m sorry I tested our relationship like that. It was selfish. I didn’t stop to consider how it hurt you,” she says, inwardly hoping this apology is her last. How horrible it feels to be so full of sorry and have nothing to show for it.

Callum looks more awake now after her small revelation.

Rayla pushes herself off the table and focuses again on the saddle. “Mind if I borrow a hand?”

He fishes himself out of deep thought and rushes to her side in a matter of seconds. Together, they tackle her mount with the worn-out saddle and Callum decides he won’t prod about her parents any longer. At the same time, he remembers how familiar this feeling is. The thought of her leaving again, with no timeline for return, puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

He ambles over to her side and pats the mare softly once they’re finished securing the bolts.

“I guess I’m good to go,” she says, stepping back to appraise the steed. She turns to him. “Anything else you want to know?”

He supposes a proper goodbye is in order. “Nothing else. Just…be careful out there. Keep your eyes on the road, take shelter from rain, get some rest…things like that. I know you’re more than capable, but can you promise me you’ll look after yourself?”

Rayla looks up at him, eyes gentle and bright. She knows he’s only asking for his own sake and assurance.

This time, she’ll give it to him.

When she reaches up to kiss him, it’s light as air, like particles meeting and separating. And yet, his lips are warm and so are hers. He soaks in the feathery feeling of the moment, her earthy scent filling his senses, her hand on his chest, her lips on his, even for the small and miniscule moment before she pulls away.

Afterwards, he’s caught between confusion and bliss.

She smiles, one last effort to convince him she’ll be steady and careful. “I promise.”

Callum watches as she hoists herself up on her steed.

“Any chance I could convince you to stay?” he asks coyly, perhaps for old times’ sake.

He expects an eye-roll or a scoff. Something along the lines of ‘Not again’, but he doesn’t get one. Instead, her face is instilled with contemplation.

“One day,” she finally says. From her perch, she smirks down at him. “…but not today. Maybe if you ask me later?”

He stares with wide eyes and raised brows. “Later? How long are we talking?”

She shrugs. “A year, at most?”

“Just a year?” he echoes in disbelief.

For some reason, Rayla finds his shock rather amusing. “Well, I have a few things to sort out at the Guard. I can’t leave my comrades in the dust just like that. That’s not how it works unfortunately,” she explains as a matter-of-fact.

He still hasn’t processed his disbelief yet. “I was prepared for another five.”

Now she scoffs and gives him the eye roll he expects. “It’s entirely up to you.”

She decides to leave it at that. A promise to both princes. She’ll do better fulfilling them this time. With a small kick, she prompts her creature to an unhurried trot out of the open gate. She shoots Callum one last look. He understands her better now. That alone makes the visit well worth it.

“Take care.”

“See you soon.”

Somehow, she leaves Katolis with renewed hope and vigour.

Somehow, her despairing soul is rocked to quiet waiting.

Somehow, she’s found it – amnesty, sealed with a promise. How lucky, for someone who doesn’t consider herself blessed. Even as the cold breeze caresses her skin as she rides off, her bones and chest are filled with warmth.

----------

Now that it’s finished, I want to thank all the lovely and wonderful readers who’ve taken interest and left their thoughts! Regarding the ending, perhaps down the line, I’ll make an epilogue forwarding a few years later. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed it! - Mint

[rizzizzsins-blog]

From the Ashes, Ch. 3

Wanna read the fic on Archive? Click here.

 Finally. 9 PM. Asher grabbed his things, pulled his regular clothes on, and signed the discharge papers. It was time to go…

 Go where?

 He really didn’t want to go home, even though Theo had demanded it. He was a grown-ass man, and he didn’t need Theo leering at him until he went to work. Nonetheless, he needed to change clothes and shower, so home it was.

 Gabriel had told him not to drive today, and Theo had the car anyway. He opened his rideshare app. Was Scamp around? He could use a couple of jokes and uncomfortable advances right now.

 Thank fuck. He was. He presses his profile picture and waits for a reply.

 Ping! Scamp was on his way. His phone went off again. Theo’s live picture feed. He was already out on the town, posing with some nightmarish, inebriated frizzhead of a woman. Of course. All that bitching that Asher wouldn’t come home, and Theo had started his night before 9:30.

 Fuck that.  Fuck Theo.   He changed his destination to go straight to work.

 BEEP BEEP. Scamp pulled up right in front of him.

 “Hop in. Daylight’s a wastin’, nyeh heh.”

 “Fuck daylight,” Asher mumbled, before getting in.

 The drive was quiet for a while. Asher’s work was on the other side of Ebott.

 “Cigarette?” Scamp asked. He seemed as content with the silence as Asher was. It was nice. They didn’t need to fill the quiet with bullshit.

 “Can’t. It’ll kill me even faster than you.”

 “Hey, these are nicotine free.”

 “Smoke is smoke when you’re a walking tree,” Asher got the last word.

 Was Scamp pulling over?

 Asher got a notification. The driver had canceled the ride and he’d gotten his money back. Was Scamp going to kick him out of the car?

 “What’s wrong?”

 “Why do you care?” Asher grumbled.

 “Who said I cared? Satisfy my curiosity and you get a free ride,” Scamp smirked.

 “I don’t wanna share. There’s no point.”

 “What’s that mean?” Scamp pressed on, amused.

 “Look, if you can see that I’m feeling like shit, why are you harassing me about it? Just let me out. I’ll walk.”

 “Nope. Spit it out.” Scamp rolled down the window and blew out a puff of smoke. “UEbott’s janitorial night shifts don’t start for another hour or so. Your head’s busted open and you want me to take you straight to work when I don’t even know if you’ve eaten dinner. If you die, the rideshare service will find some way to dump the responsibility on me, so tell me what’s going on so I can cover my ass in court.”

 Okay, that was funny, if a little cold. Asher snickers a bit.

 “My partner said I needed to be home by ten. Turns out he went clubbing at 8. I don’t even know what clubs are open and full at 8 pm, but Theo finds a goddamn way. I got the bump on my head from Sparkby Embers himself.”

 “Sparkby punched you? Be thankful you’re not dust, kiddo. What did you do? He usually just throws people out of the bar and kicks them around a bit. If he punched someone, it meant they really fucked up.”

 Asher hesitated.

 He didn’t want to seem like some kind of white knight.

 “You don’t seem like the type to get into fights easy, especially if you let your boyfriend walk all over you. So what did you do? I’ll throw in some fert if that makes you feel any better.”

 Fertilizing capsules? How was he affording those by being a discount chauffeur and smoking half his paycheck?

 “... he was talking shit.”

 “About you?” Scamp shrugged.

 “.... About you.”

 “That’s it?”

 “Yep. Happy?”

 Scamp burst into wheezing, uncontrollable laughter. It was half cough, half laugh, and for some reason, Asher didn’t mind the sound.

 “What’s so goddamn funny? Stop laughing or I’ll start laughing, and my laugh sounds like nails on a chalkboard,” Asher snorted a little.

 “You took a punch. From Sparkby. To the face. Because he was saying filthy shit… about a hooker! I don’t      wheeeeeeze    think I’ve ever heard a more stupid way to bust your skull open! Asgore on a cracker, you’re hilarious, rugrat!”

 Oh.

 So the rumors had been true.

 “Even so! He’s the one who hired you, so… I said it said more about him if he had to hire someone to blow him.”

 Scamp was still mid-conniption, when, on a particularly strong inhale, he sucked his entire cigarette right into his gullet.

 “Oh my gods, are you okay?!” Asher panicked.

 “Hey. Ashy. Check this out.”

 Scamp turned around, and blew rings of smoke at Asher through his eyesocket. Normally Asher would have been pissed, but the amount of smoke was negligible, and the stunt had impressed him.

 “Can you do it out the other one?”

 Shit. Asher immediately regretted asking, having temporarily forgotten the patch over Scamp’s other eye. “I’m s--”

 “Yep. Look.”

 He blew smoke up until the eyepatch lifted a bit, then timed it with the whistles of a steam train.

 “Choo choo, motherfucker. One Eye Express, coming in hot,” Scamp managed, before wheezing and laughing again. Asher had to wipe his eyes; his stomach was hurting from laughing so hard.

 “Aw, man. Still can’t believe you almost dusted yourself to defend a whore’s honor. That’s one I’ve never heard.”

 Asher shook his head. “It wasn’t about honor. People shouldn’t talk that way about anyone they’ve slept with, even once. It’s just not okay.”

 Scamp sighed, kicking his feet up.

  “Lots of shit in the world isn’t okay. There isn’t a damn thing you can do but smoke and work till you die, so try to make it last. Don’t do that shit again. You’re a fun passenger who puts up with my shenanigans, and I wanna drive you around some more, okay?”

 Asher grinned. It was nice to have someone care, or even pretend to like Scamp was.

 “Got it. Get me to work. You promised me a free ride.”

 “Right on it, Cap’n.”

 Scamp gently eases the pedal into ridiculous speeds, maneuvering through alleys and potholes to get Asher there as soon as possible. His eyelight seemed to brighten when they were cruising down the lanes. His cigarette went out, and he didn’t even light a new one; he was enthralled with the drive, and Asher kind of was too. He was a little sad when the car came to a stop.

 “Nice. Didn’t lose the left windshield this time,” Scamp grins. There’s a bit of a spark to that smile.

 “Not gonna lie, that was awesome. Stay out of trouble, though. You’re a meter maid’s wet dream,” Asher gently warned him.

 “Heh. As if they could catch me. Only Edge and my big bro can keep pace with my Nadine.”

 Of course he named the damn Lada.

 “I’ll see you later, Scamp.”

 “See ya.”

 And he was off, just as fast as he’d come to get him. Asher felt a little empty. Why was that?

 He pushed it aside, scanned his card, and hopped in the elevator. He liked to start from the third floor; by the time he reached floor one, it was time to clock out, and he got to walk right out the door. It was already nice and dark, the glow of his soul the only light in the building. It was all he really needed to see anyway. He opened his closet, pulled out his cart, and took a deep breath.

 Time to do the only thing he could ever fucking do right.

 The Biology wing was first. There were ten lab/classroom combo rooms and a large lecture hall for the building. It was best to get that out of the way first, because cleaning the lecture hall carpet sucked.

 The repetitive work put Asher’s mind at ease. The sound of the carpet foam, the whir of the vacuum wheels. The clink of quarters as he bought himself some canned coffee; in the quiet of the night shift, it was all music to his ears. He was half asleep, half dead, half angry, but none of that mattered. All he had to do was go up, row by row, spraying the foam, till he reached the top, then he vacuumed on the way down when the foam dried. Any trash he found, he could pick up with a vine and toss in the can; any pencils or pens, he could keep.

 There was one more thing Asher did that wasn’t in his job description; when he’d first entered his new job, he’d noticed how barren the halls and classrooms felt. Throughout his first year, he’d been sneaking large potted plants into places throughout the building. It had been four or five years since then and everyone had assumed the plants were supposed to be there. Of course, Asher didn’t put them in labs or places where they might contaminate something important. He gave them water when they needed it, and just a touch of his own magic, to keep them nice and vibrant.

 Seeing wilting leaves perk up to his touch made him feel like he wasn’t a complete failure.

 Eventually, the Biology wing was finished, and the biology offices were next. These were kind of easy. All he had to do was unlock each office, wipe down the floors, and not knock anything over.

 Most of the professors were human, and of little interest. Asher just cleaned their offices, tried to ignore their family pictures, and moved on. But the few monster offices were more interesting. It was cool to see where they came from, what they were up to. He at least understood their whiteboard notes a little better. All this talk of organs and systems made his head spin. There was a reason he chose Intro to Monster Bio to fulfill that particular prereq. It was easier to memorize a hundred species than to remember the difference between Squishy Lump #1 and Squishy Lump #2, much less what each one did.

 Occasionally, he ran into other janitors on his shift, but it seemed like tonight wasn’t that night. Thank goodness. He knew the building wasn’t exactly his, but he treasured the solace and hated intrusions on it. Even professors working late made him a little uncomfortable.

 He pulls a small speaker out of his cart. He’d kind of made a secret compartment for it, so that it’d always be there no matter who used his equipment. With one last look around, he turned the volume up.

 The rhythm of the music moved his feet and gave him a second kick of energy during that “one-third through my shift” slump. He was through with the offices in no time. Time for the second floor- the Psychology and Chemistry floor. Asher was especially careful with the “don’t knock anything over” rule in the chem labs. There were things that would give a regular monster a nasty rash that would outright kill him. This floor wasn’t too hard, since psychology labs required little special treatment, and the chemistry professors and students were extremely thorough about keeping their spaces clean.

 Normally, he didn’t pay tooo much attention to the names of the professors he cleaned for, but wasn’t that Clemm’s room at the end of the hall?

 Now he had to go inside. Well, he technically had to go in either way, but he was very invested now. What kind of man was he? How did he decorate? Why didn’t he have his office in the Philosophy building?

 As he approached, he could hear the faint sound of music, so he turned his own off. If Clemm was working late, Asher would rather avoid direct interaction. But all the lights were turned off. He reached for the doorknob; the office was locked.

 Apparently Clemm had left music playing in his office by accident. Wow, his office was incredibly nice, a corner office to boot. Asher had seen it before, but he had context for who worked in it now. The walls were painted the shade of pumpkin soup, and a couple of Himalayan salt lamps sat unlit. One on his windowsill, and one on his desk. He had a fancy coffee machine and an expensive tin of rooibos and black tea, with a dash of cinnamon. Asher almost wanted to spend his breaks in this space. It was so relaxing, with the faint scent of some essential oil in the air.

 He felt kind of bad for being such an abrasive little shit now. Maybe he could leave a note.

     Professor Clemm,  

     This might be a little out of place, but I’m Asher from one of your PHIL 101 online classes. I do the night cleaning in the building. I wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude in my first assignment. I’m going to do my best to be a bit more open in future assignments.  

 That should do it. Certainly better than his cold as ice email before.

 Now for the first floor- Physics. For some reason, this level took the longest to clean, even longer than the Biology lecture hall. Turned out physicists were messy people. There were several smaller lecture halls on the first floor that needed upkeep. The first floor bathrooms saw the most traffic, so they took longer to tidy than the others.

 Finally. The physics offices were a goddamn nightmare to clean.

 Especially the offices. Papers everywhere. No way of knowing what was trash and what was important. There was only one office that wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. Asher was always relieved to reach it; it meant his shift was almost over.

 Wait…. Who did the office belong to? Asher squinted at the nametag. A “Dr. Crimm Gaster”. Was this the interdimensional travel physicist he’d been mixing up Clemm with? In his defense, Crimm and Clemm weren’t that far apart sounding. He’s about to open the door when…

 “Can I help you.”

 “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Asher yelped, vines immediately wrapping around the object of surprise. If he was human he would have shat his pants.

 Asher’s query easily teleports out of his grip.

 “I would suggest that you refrain from suddenly attacking unknown monsters in the future. You do not know where some of us are from, or what we might do if startled.”

 It was the professor from earlier in the library. He was still as frigid and stiff as before, but in those red eyes burned a cold, calculating fire that chilled Asher to the roots.

 “Y--Speak for yourself! You just snuck up on me!”

 The professor blinked. “Hm. Your alertness could use improving. I passed you several times this evening. I suppose you were too busy with your little song and dance to detect my presence.”

 Oh, now      that    was embarrassing. Asher reminded himself to never have fun again.

 “Well… would you like me to clean your office?”

 “Is it not sufficiently ordered?” Cripes, was that a pointed question.

 “N-no, it’s the most organized room in the department. I still like to mop the floor just in case, that’s all.”

 “Then I would prefer that you refrain from entering. I expect my request to be respected.” With that, Dr. Crimm slipped into his office and closed the door, not even saying good night.

 There was only one space left to clean, and it was the worst part of Asher’s night.

 The VOID collider.

 He despised everything about the room. It was too spacious, had too many warning signs on it, as if the university knew they shouldn’t have built the damn thing in the first place. The door had to be unlocked with an alphanumerical password. It as 198X, when the first accident with the VOID had been rumoured to happen, a sobering reminder to not fuck around with this machine.

 The door opened silently and closed just as quietly. The familiar indiscriminate hum of noises emanated from the machine’s ventilators and cooling system.

 The monitors and computers were on. Asher did his best to ignore it. It just meant he’d have to be even more careful, if such a thing was even possible. The scent of licorice, air dust, and ashes filled Asher’s nostrils. Tonight it was especially strong, to the point that he almost gagged on it. Regardless, such a thing happened sometimes. From what he could see, the machine itself was firmly in the OFF position.

 The floor had to be cleaned first, with a special friction-increasing spray to help prevent slip-and-fall accidents. The keyboards usually needed to be cleaned, but Asher passed on it, since the computers were running. The last thing he needed was some professor ripping his branches out because he’d ruined a crucial calculation.

       Ç̸̢̪̞̩̯͖͖̜̗̟͖̫͐̊ͅǫ̸̣̠̞̩̱͊͜m̶̯̞̹̺̪͉͙̘̥͔̟͑̄̇́͑̂̓̓̅̔̚͠͠ȅ̸̟̼̎̉̊͆̏̋̈̐̈́̃̈͒͝ ̴̡̘̖͂̾̈͐̄̈́̊̅̍̑̐̈́̈́̿̚j̶̨̼̤̼̖̯̣̰͎̲͖̫̤̮͛̌̉̒̈́̒̅͗͝͠͝ȯ̷̡̝̜̠͚̩̲̋͊̑̈́͑͛͐̓́͐͜i̵̢̨͍̞͍̥̬̬͎͐̈́́̿ṇ̵̢̛͚̰̩̠̗̖̜̊̌̎̍̿̅̄̓͗̂͐͜ͅ ̸̮͕̝̲͉͈̤̤̎̐̆͌͘͝ṯ̷̡̢͎̮̰͈̭͋̈́͐̽̅͂̓̾̅͒̓ͅh̸̛̰̖̫͒̓̇̈̽̀͛̓̋͐̂̅̕̚ę̸̹͉̝̗̲̹̲͈̭͎̐͐̀̐̀͊̈͠͝͝ͅ ̶̨̢̩̮̟̰̖̥̬̠͇̹͖̬̻͒̒͂͆̄̈́͘͠f̶̦̖̍û̷͖̖̼̦̝̘̞͙͎̙̩͖̣͂̇͊̃̃͜͝ͅn̵͈̝͋͗͌̽̅̓̾̾̑̾͌̅.̶̮͍͚͔̩̪͚̟̼̬̪̈́̎̈̇

       What the fuck was that?

 Asher’s soul pounded in his chest. From time to time, the humming of the machine sounded like voices or other noises. The same thing happened when Asher listened to white noise for too long; he would start picking out voices or even music that wasn’t really there.

 It was fine. He just needed to breathe, to think about being safe and warm in bed…

 And to clean the inside of the collider.

 Fuck, this was the worst part.

 First, Asher stripped down to nothing but his underwear, leaving his phone and clothes in his cart.

 Next, he used the same passcode to open the protective gear vault. Several spacesuit-like objects waited for him. He found the one closest to his size and stepped into it, one piece at a time. First, the bodysuit. It zipped loudly, so that people would know it was secured shut.

 Secured. Check.

 Then, the helmet. He set it on his shoulders and twisted it until it locked into place. Check.

 Lastly, the gloves and boots. He connected the fasteners tightly, so that they would stick to the rest of the suit properly. Perfect. He would be protected from the background contamination of the collider.

 He opened a smaller cabinet with one of his keys and took out a large, cherry red, fire-hydrant looking sprayer with about a hundred labels on it. It was inspected daily.

 WARNING: CAUSTIC TO MONSTERS.

 WARNING: USING D.T. CLEAN FOR ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN INTENDED USE WILL RESULT IN DISFIGUREMENT, LOSS OF SELF, AND MAY CAUSE OR PREVENT DEATH.

 LAST INSPECTED __/__/__AT _:__ __

 Y̶̼̝̲͖͇̣͐̿̾o̵̢̱̩͙̣͑ṷ̸̬̲̮͈̂'̴̧̯̳͙̥͛l̷̯͔̠̱͇͕͊̉̉l̵̝̏͐̒̎̃͠ ̷̲̤̱̳̭̞́͋̑͒̆b̷̧̻̙͚͚̤́͆̓̍͌̑e̶͉͈̙̭̬̎͐͐̕͠ ̸̜͉̱̺̠̼͂͠w̷̧̙̹͇̱̠̿̋͋i̷̛͚̰͖͊̇̌͘͘t̸̘͐̐͋̏ḥ̵̾ ̶̤͕͊̐͑͆͝u̶̫͇̼͐͂̿́̽͒s̴͕̍̃ ̷̖̪͖͊͊̈ş̵̜̰̤̼̜͒h̶̡̩͕͔͉͔̃̄o̶̞͉̲͍͇̊̾̍ř̶̢̤̝̤̫͗̆t̵̛̫͉̝͐̈̈̿l̸̦͕̈́̾͝y̸̞̞͍͈̾͐̔̽̑͝ͅ.̵̼͎͓̲͑͒̉͒͠

 He really needed to stop letting himself get distracted.

 Before entering, he checked all fifteen safety locks. All of them were active. Good.

 He put in a much longer passcode, and the black glass doors of the collider slid open with a hiss of compressed air.

 They shut behind him with the same sound. Asher pulled out his special, titanium wool scrubber, and put his hand on the D.T.C trigger.

 R̶͉̍U̸͓̹̎N̵̩͔̣̔̃N̶̺̒I̶̧̥̔̆͝N̴̝̦G̵̨͖̫̏̈́͐ ̸̼̩̀͗P̸̠̰̫̓R̷̦͒͜O̴̦̠̓͋̈́Ć̷̭̘̱͂È̵̡̦D̷͔͚̮̆̏Ű̵͓͠R̶͎̓͠͝Ê̸͕̅ ̵͈̺͉̈̑̈́Ṉ̷̹̑A̸̗̼̺͋̎̕M̵͐͜É̴͇̭̔ ̸͙̇_̷̣̈_̶͚̹̩̔͌̅_̵̼́͂͠_̷̢͛̈̚_̸̗̌͌̎_̶̣͍̐

 ̵̩͐C̸͎͗Ö̴̠̘͍D̸̛͈̲̘͝E̴͙̱̋ ̴̻͈͐̐͝F̴̖̥̒̉͝Ơ̵̑͜R̷͉͎̙̃̌ ̶̮̅̇̔Ȧ̷̲͕P̸͓̈́P̵̺̳̈́̐̚Ṛ̴͋͒Ô̷̠̹̎V̴̰̈́͒A̵̼L̵̜̲̼̈́ ̷͕̾͊R̵̟Ẻ̸̙̜̦̏̑Q̸̙͖̄̋̈U̸̘̣̎́͊I̵͖̖̊R̸̨̺͇͂̈́͝Ḛ̶̦̣̾̌D̶̮̜̠̍

 ̶̡͈̂C̷̠͛Ŏ̷̹D̴͇͕E̸̞̥͔͊̏ ̵̤́͠O̸̥̦̎V̶͓͓͜͝͝͠Ę̷̰͠ͅŘ̴̘͓͓R̵̰̕I̸̡̤͂̌D̸̨̮͕͂Ę̷̳̖̏͒Ň̷̫͇̠

 ̶̨̦̪̀Ẽ̷͕͘R̸̹̍Ṟ̴͌̉O̷̫͉͊̎R̷̢̰̓͛̅

 ̸͖̐̔C̶̰̝͗͐ͅO̴̻̱͆M̵͕̆̽̑M̷̪̳̾̆͒E̷͚͆N̶̢̤͕͐̍Ć̴̫̖̠̂̕I̸̧̩̎͊N̸͕͋̈G̸̳̮̙̑̓.̸̺͐.̷̓̈͜.̶̫̿̊.̷̗͌.̸̻̮͝.̵̙͗ ̸̡͎̟͑̏P̸̹̈́L̵̼̂E̷̼̅Ȧ̸̦̪S̷̩͇̥̈E̴̠͐ ̴̢͇̳̐́͝B̸̧̩͍͠Ạ̷̤͕̾̾͠C̸̼̪͙̋͂͋K̸̩̈́̓̿ͅ ̵̛͉̓͜Ą̴̼͔̇̅W̶̲͚̽̔̎A̵̛̼̜Ȳ̸͎͖͚̚͘ ̷̺͎̔̆̊F̴̣͚̅Ȑ̶̳͓̩͐͠Ó̸͔M̶̜̝̿͐͝ ̷̡̺̎̂C̸̯̺̀̂̎͜Õ̸̤̪̟̑̎L̴̖͕̥̂̕L̷̻̙̋͑Į̸̧̈́D̸̡̢͋̚E̸̙̒Ȓ̵͎̅ ̶̲̤̃͐D̵̲̾ͅÒ̷̪͕̇O̵̺̘̕Ṟ̴͇͂̈̋S̶̟͈̣̒̉̅.̴̻͋̕

 Wait what the FUCK

 Ş̸͚̂C̴̫͉͖̏A̷̻̅̈N̴̰̓N̶͉̩̝͠Ȉ̴̟̘̄͌N̶̮̆Ģ̵͓͉̈́͂ ̸̦̉̃F̴̢̋̈́̇O̷̹͌̽͌ͅR̸͎̈́̍ ̵̢̟̫̈́͝Ĺ̵̜̉͘I̶̤̤̞̾̈͐V̸̢͚̿I̴̺̋̌Ň̸̡͇͙G̸̟͙̺̋ ̴̡̬̍̃Ỏ̴̰Ḅ̶͚̦̈̈́̌J̴̜̪͇͌͝E̸̘͚̓͠Ċ̵͚̺T̸̥̻̓̉͋S̶̨̲͙̅̚.̷̟̰̓̌ ̶̞͑̎̈

 ̶̞͖͋1̴̛͙̮̞͋͑ ̷̮̝̉̈O̸̭̬͊͐͝B̴̖̼̣J̴̹̈́E̵̥͎̝̒͌C̷̬̅T̶̯̉͗͐ ̷̤͈̱̋̈̏F̷̫͑̿Ō̶̭̫͋̀ͅU̴̢̥̔N̷̨̺̱̅Ḋ̷̤.̸̨̛̞̍

 ̵͓̂Ạ̷͚̊L̴̝̘̜̋̿L̷͎͗̿ ̸̳̒͗̕C̷̡̗̈L̸̈́̓ͅḘ̴͖̔͒Â̴̧̻R̵͙͛̓͒.̶̛̼̕

 ̴̰̗͋Ċ̴̢̺͂̽Õ̷̟̥̔Ḿ̶̫M̶̻͔̒͝E̵̩͇̟͊̃N̶̥͕̒͝C̵̛̯̠̀̂I̴͓̯̝͛͐͘N̴̳̠͑͠͠Ĝ̸̭͙̝̂ ̷̦̅I̷̧͂̽̾ͅN̸̤͎̻̿̍ ̸̺̑̈̓5̴͈̮͗͑̕

 “HELP! PLEASE HELP ME! SHUT IT OFF, SHUT IT OFF!”

 Asher hurled himself at the EMERGENCY STOP button, slammed it down once.

 4̴̡̙̬͛͛

 Twice, three times, four times, countless times. Nothing was working nothing was working

 3̷͇̺

     “HELP ME! DEAR GODS, FUCK, PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!”  

 2̴̱̬̍̓

 Asher screamed until his throat was hoarse

 1̴̨͖̇̈́͝ ̴̪̦̠̽͝:̵̡̦̅͠)̴͇̊

 But nobody came.

[thatlongspringnight]

Not so Secret Tryst (Kanetsugu/MC smut)

My submission for @slbp-sidepiece-summer (and nearly late too!) 

and a continuation of this office fic

tagging: @han-pan @tinydadkanetsugu @pseudofaux AND @fraeuleinfulltime (whose Kanetsugu art had me feeling all sorts of things today)

as always smut under the cut!

The storage room was cramped. Old binders of information, hopefully long since scanned into the online database, piled high against the walls. Reams of paper and boxes of supplies littered the ground, nearly tripping you as you stumbled in, the door closing behind you with a resolute clang.

You didn’t like this room. Only ever relegated to this place when you discovered something Kenshin had forgotten.

So well…More often than you’d care to admit actually, you found yourself in here.

But now-

Context was everything as they say.

The lock shifted, ensuring your security as you looked up, catching the hungry gaze of the man in front of you.

“Kanetsugu.” You called to him, hands on the fine material of his suit jacket. “Come here and just kiss me already.”

“Last time we did this, you nearly gave me a heart attack about locking the door.” He huffed, words parceled against your lips. You suppressed a laugh, silenced neatly by his mouth on yours. Your mouth lingered on his, hands trailing over his chest in a well memorized game, buttons would pop easily under your nimble fingers, if you wanted them too, allowing you to graze your nails against the build of his chest.

But you didn’t want to, at least not yet. Instead you hummed against his mouth, using your fingers for more…pressing matters, like undoing his belt, the satisfying snap making you grin.

“Not so fast.” He nipped your bottom lip, snatching the belt from your hand. “It’s a little naughty of you to drag me in here, you know? I have a very important phone call I am missing.” His large hand grasped at your wrists, holding your arms together.

“And you have a meeting in thirty minutes.” You teased, fighting the blush on your cheeks as he tightened the belt around your wrist. “I’m such a bad influence.”

“A siren, even. Drawing me away with the sound of your voice.” Arms above your head, you steadied yourself by lowering them, letting the press against the wall behind you.

“Don’t you get enough of me at home?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see if Kageie can handle meeting with one of the fabric suppliers on his own.”

“That is his job, dear.” You deadpanned. “Even if you do it for him.” Kanetsugu groaned, his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

“Please don’t remind me.”

You giggled, nuzzling his cheek in affection.

“I wouldn’t be having to if you got to it, I mean, Kenshin will be back from his lunch break soon, I’m sure and I’m pretty sure he knows about our little interlude on the desk a few months ago. He’ll definitely put two and two together and-“

He kissed you again, the faint taste of your generic cherry chapstick lingering between the two of you.

“Believe me, he already knows.”  Kanetsugu’s chocolate brown eyes glittered in the faint artificial light of the room. His smile was genuine, soft even, an odd match to the situation. But that was him, your heart tugged fiercely at the thought, a softhearted man always. Your gentle lover, if there ever was one.

Even if he liked you tied up, and well, even if you liked him to tie you up.

You pressed a soft kiss to the outside of his mouth, another sloppily to his cheek. The pace of the moment seemed to intensify, Time was always slower when you were alone with him, more meaningful. Like he had brought color to a dim world. Of course, your sweet thoughts were juxtaposed by him removing your underwear, pushing your skirt to rest bunched at your hips.

Nevermind the fact that the cost of your dry-cleaning had nearly doubled since you had started dating him. Mostly because of all the wrinkles he was putting in your clothes.

“Love.” His voice was low, sweet and seductive. “You’re so beautiful, especially like this.” His hand brushed your face, fingertips trailing goosebumps down your skin as he brought them down your neck.

“Mmmhmm.” You would have replied, but it was cut off by his other hand, brushing against your soaked core.

“And always so eager.” Amused and perhaps a little proud of himself, he chuckled softly. “At this rate I might make it back in time to save the company.” Your thighs clamped around his hand, a pout firmly planted on your lips.

“We both already clocked out for the day, Mr. Naoe.” You glowered at him, which only made him laugh, his fingers wiggling against your thighs.

“I know, I know.” He dipped down, kissing your frown in apology. “I wasn’t being serious, well, I wasn’t being completely serious at least.” You only raised your eyebrow at him. If it was one thing he was good at, it was working off the clock.

“You’re killing me, Kanetsugu.” You whined, letting your legs fall back open. His strong hands met your thighs, tugging you closer.

“A little death?” There it was again, the subtle huskiness that lingered in his voice, quieting your banter. You stared up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. “I think I can manage to give you one of those.”

His jacket was cast to the far corner of the room, pants unbuttoned and slung low on his hips, revealing that delicious V, his bulge was visible, even more so as his hands slipped to the line of his briefs, shifting them down in a fluid motion.

A sound left your mouth somewhere between a groan and a whimper as you looked him up and down, suddenly wishing your hands were free to touch.

“Take off your shirt.” You mumbled, letting one of your legs press against his, trying to nudge him forward. “Let me see more of you.”

His cheeks flushed, a pretty pink that you adored, but he knew your game.

“We don’t have that long in here. Off the clock or otherwise.” He stepped forward, hips pressed against your core. He slid in easily, the fullness that had become a familiar pleasure taking over. His murmured ‘I love you’ was almost lost in the moment.

You nearly toppled over as he moved, the awkward angle catching you off guard. The only thing that kept you upright was him, hands firm on your waist.

He didn’t stop though, merely pulling your legs up so that they were wrapped around his middle, pressing you firmly against the wall.

All thoughts you had, mostly about why you kept having sex at the office, were silenced by his movements.

Kanetsugu was forceful. Both in work and in life. Though his sweet smile and thoughtful actions often overshadowed that in your relationship.

With sex though, with sex it was ever present. Whether he had you pressed against wall in a cramped storage room or with your face buried into the soft sheets of his bed, he was nearly unmerciful.

You wondered if it was the sexual equivalent of how he had to treat Kenshin.

Which was not a sexy thought, inherently, but in the moment, with him buried in you to the hilt, it made sense.

Your arms, pressed against the wall almost to the point of discomfort prickled behind you, and you found yourself digging your fingers into the leather of the belt as he pounded into you.

“B-Babe.” Your trembling voice seemed louder than it should be. “Please-“He pressed his forehead to yours, something you noticed he seemed to do at moments like this.

“I’ll give you what you want.”

“You always do.” Your thighs were trembling, the angle he put you in both amazing and exhausting.  His mouth was on the skin of your collar, teeth tugging the fabric of your blouse down so he could press light kisses to the sensitive skin there.

He was careful not to give hickies, at least not that far up, and especially not where people in the office could see. Not after last time.

You’d have to wait for another opportunity if marks were what you wanted.

Your body twitched, a gasp leaving your lips at a particularly hard thrust.  Your eyes fluttered closed, letting you drown in the sensation of his body pressed against yours, filling you to the brim.

His mumbled endearments turned to soft sounds that he muffled into your skin, his body rocking against yours more frantically now.

Higher and higher, till his lips found yours, silencing your cries.

You felt limp, languid. A jellyfish even, by the time he finally pulled out. You were spent and a little messy, grateful for the fact he managed to clean you up, smoothing your hair and straightening your clothes even now. You held out your bound hands, relief coming as he undid his bed, rubbing the reddened skin in apology.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him quickly, before making quick work of his own clothes, till he looked like he hadn’t just been giving you the time of your life in the storage closet.

He pulled his phone out of his jacket, a quiet curse leaving his mouth.

“What is it?” You hummed, leaning to look. Two text messages.

Kageie: “Could you two keep it down? We’re in a meeting.”

Kageie: “I’ll take that loud bang as a no.” 

“Shit.”

[kanekikenunot]

A Rainy Day

Summary: Touka helped him more times then he could count and it was time for him to return the favor.

Pairings: Touken

Words:  2023words

Rating: T

AN: HAHA I MADE IT JUST IN TIME FOR THE HOLY DAY THAT IS CHAPTER 125′S ANNIVERSARY. This is a short fluffy fic about my favorite Touken art that Ishida Sui drew over a year ago which you can see here

Read on AO3

Kaneki was tired when his shift ended, maybe it was the rain that had started in the past hour, or maybe it was because of the nightmares that kept him awake most nights. Since Kaneki had become a ghoul he suffered from nightmares of himself becoming a sadistic killer, and him being sadistically killed by an ever-changing cast of ghouls. Those nightmares made falling asleep daunting and staying asleep impossible, leaving him in a constant state of exhaustion. That fact made him feel silly and naive at the fact he looked so forward to collapsing in his bed when it most likely wouldn’t amount into the sleep he so desperately needed.

   Kaneki watched the rain fall down the window from his seat at an empty booth, dreading the fact that he didn’t think to bring an umbrella with him. He could wait the hours that it would take for it to stop, or he could just bear it and get soaked on his trek home. Both options had there pluses and minuses, on one hand, he would stay dry but he also wouldn’t be able to go to bed for hours, or he gets soaked and uncomfortable but gets to be in his bed quicker.

“ You know we have a closet in the break room filled with spare umbrellas.” Koma-san eventually called out to him from his spot at the counter breaking Kaneki’s train of thought.

“ I honestly forgot,” Kaneki admitted sheepishly pushing his hair back from his forehead in embarrassment.

   Kaneki slides out of the booth and made his way up the stairs carefully opening the door to not disturb Touka who was already on her break in the breakroom. Kaneki immediately regretted opening the door when Touka’s eyes met his immediately.

“I’m sorry for bothering you Touka-chan, I just need to borrow an umbrella.” Kaneki apologized standing completely still at the door.

“ You’re fine idiot, you don’t have to make a scene of it,” Touka mumbled pointing to the closet. Touka stopped acknowledging him not a moment after going right back to reading the book in her lap.

   Kaneki was actually shocked that she was reading after she made her disinterest in the subject known. He found himself getting completely distracted from his initial goal to just trying to understand the picture before him. She was reading like she was in pain, her face scrunched up and the occasional sigh escaping her lips as she reached for what he assumed to be a dictionary.

“What are you reading?” he asked surprised that the question

“It’s just a stupid short story for school.” she half answered not taking her eyes off the book kinda waving him off. Kaneki rolled her eyes at her answer not letting her nonanswer bother him too much. Kaneki just from his short observation could tell that she was really struggling with whatever short story she was reading.

“Touka-chan do you need help. I don’t mind staying around if you need it?” Kaneki asked her gently trying not to intrude but also let her know he was there for her.

   Touka’s face flushed at his offer, and it seemed to strike something within her because her body language immediately turned harsh. Kaneki felt in that instant that he made a small error in his decision to offer her his help. Kaneki immediately felt his body jump back nervously at the sudden change in the air. Touka took a deep breath and squeezed the book in hands before she looked up at him.

“Does it look like I need your help? She glared up at him her harsh voice striking Kaneki. A part of him wanted to spite her himself getting cranky from lack of sleep, it was obvious that she was struggling. But, he also didn’t want to make Touka anymore upset than he already did.

“No it doesn’t, you know me I just like books.” he smiled at her, trying his best to de-escalate the situation as he reached up to rub his chin. His words seemed to work as Touka visibly softened biting her lip as she went back to her reading. Kaneki quietly went to the closet trying his best not to disturb Touka anymore than he already did. Kaneki grabbed one of the umbrellas and shut the door, and he started to take off his tie to put away when Touka sighed again. Kaneki out of a curious habit turned around and looked at her. Touka held her face in her hands and looked the most vulnerable Kaneki had ever seen her

“ I have a quiz on this story tomorrow,” she admitted quietly slightly muffled by her hands. “ And I can’t read half the Kanji so I have to keep stopping and it’s so frustrating.”

   Kaneki paused for a moment not shocked by her confession but shocked that she actually admitted to it. Touka sound so defeated and it was such an odd sight to him because she was always so strong to him. He didn’t want to ask if she needed help again, so he timidly walked over to the sofa Touka moving over slightly to make room for him.

“Can you tell me what this says?” she asked pointing to a group of Kanji on the page she was reading.

“Oh that's exuberant it’s another word for happy,” he told her without hesitation as he wrote the hiragana above the Kanji for her lightly in pencil.

“How can you tell?” Touka asked confused.

“Oh, whenever these two Kanji are together they make up the reading for exuberant,” he informed her with a small smile. “ It could mean something else but in context, he’s very happy to see her so it can’t really be anything else,”  he added thinking over her question for a moment.

   Touka just nodded her head at that and continued to read a few more words before she made a loud sigh lifting the book to him, her finger pointing to the kanji she needed help with.

“ That's cloudburst, and its exactly what's taking place outside,” he said pointing at the window.

   Kaneki just sat beside her feeling his body relax into the close contact answering any questions that came up during her reading. Eventually, though she seemed to refill her frustration meter and pushed the book away from her.

“ God I’m so stupid, this should not be this hard.” she groaned out eventually shocking Kaneki out of his sleepy state.

“ You know you aren’t stupid Touka, for not knowing how to read some of these Kanji,” Kaneki tried to calm her down. His words made her freeze and chew at her thumbnail, as she turned to look at him with disbelief

“Yes I am, it's why I’m barely passing Japanese Literature when everyone else in my class brags about how easy it is.” She told him with a huff, looking downcast.

“ You’re not dumb Touka-chan.” his voice rising more than he was used to causing Touka to jump a little bit in shock.“ You’re not dumb.” he voiced again a more firmly.

“There is a huge difference between being stupid and being behind. Stupid would be you not trying anything to get better, being behind is missing the building blocks in a subject. Touka-chan you haven’t been in school your whole life until now. You work hard to look at how much you taught yourself, you aren't struggling with any other subject.”  He told her passionately.

“Kaneki..” Touka mumbled out her face turning red.

“You can do things that I can’t like give back the correct change without looking at the cash register,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Literature is a lot of memorizing words and that takes time, time you haven’t had you will get better and I don’t mind helping you get there.” he gave her a giant smile

Touka gave him a weird look as she continued to bite her nails like she was still absorbing his rambling. She just kept staring at him and Kaneki felt himself start to blush at the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

“ Thank you,” she told him averting her gaze. “ But you don’t have to be so sappy about it, jeez,” she told him with a small smile, which calmed Kaneki’s beating heart.

“Can we get back to work now?” she asked grabbing her book placing it between both of their laps. Kaneki nodded at her and pressed his back against the sofa again leaning slightly on Touka to stare at the words on the page. They sat like that for hours after Yoshimura told Touka the cafe wasn’t busy enough for her to stay. They didn’t really talk besides Touka’s occasional questions and his answers. Kaneki found it intensely relaxing and he found himself started to slip in and out of sleep until he finally stopped waking up.

“ Hey, Kaneki what does he mean by this?” Touka questioned not looking up at Kaneki until he didn’t answer her like normal. Touka turned her head and saw that he was fast asleep. Normally she would have been annoyed and would have woken Kaneki just to tease him. But, he looked peaceful, and in all honesty, she would feel like an asshole after all that he had done for her. She wasn’t ignorant enough to not notice the dark circles under his eyes since he’s worked at Anteiku. As much as his ghouls are monsters attitude bothered her he had gotten better, and this change must have still been hard on him. If she was completely honest though he has been making her feel soft lately. She enjoyed their time together even if it was apparently gonna stem to sleeping around each other.

“If you’re gonna take a break I might as well join you,” she whispered to the sleeping man. Touka placed the book as carefully as she could on the coffee table careful not to disturb him as he had started to lean on her in his slumber. Touka then leaned back into Kaneki herself and closed her eyes quickly falling asleep to the rain and Kaneki’s light snoring.

   Both of them didn’t stir when Nishiki entered the breakroom for his break, nor did they wake when he started to laugh and take pictures of the two of them.  They would only wake when Yoshimura lightly shook them awake when Anteiku was closed, so they can finally go home. By then the rain had long vanished, and the umbrella Kaneki had come for stayed on the floor.

“Hey, Kaneki can you help me again?” Touka asked as they headed out of the cafe together

“Of course Touka-chan.” Kaneki didn’t even hesitate to answer. “ Would next weekend work for you?”

“Gonna make me spend my day off with you?” Touka teased crossing her arms.

“Well we can do the most work then, and I feel like it would be better if we had no distractions so you can really absorb what we go over.” Kaneki started to ramble.

“ I’m only kidding next weekend sounds great.” she laughed waving at him as she left the cafe in front of him.

   That weekend never came for the two of them, because a few days later her brother broke the same window that slept in front of and he was taken why all she could do was lay on the floor. She never got to show him the 90 that she got on the quiz, and she never got a higher grade on a quiz after. Kaneki never got to return to Anteiku, first by choice and second by Anteiku burning to the ground. The only proof of their time together became the picture Nishiki originally took as a source of blackmail. It was a sweet and embarrassing photo of the two of them fast asleep on each other took of them on that couch. Years ago Touka would have gotten mad and cursed Nishiki out for it, but now it was a somber reminder of what could have been. As well as a promise of faith for his return that was answered by a pudding haired man with a blinding smile.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Obsidian VI

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Taehyung (V)

Rating: 18+ (sex, violence)

Word Count: 7,103

Summary: The world of magic is divided into dark and light, witches and warlocks, choice and fate. You’re a prodigy of light, a witch who works within the police force. You’ve heard of Taehyung in passing, spoken in whispers as the warlock of dark who has the world holding it’s breath.  All this changes on the night you’re assigned as security for a mysterious singer named V and you come face to face with Taehyung himself. What happens after that might be fate.

Yoongi looks up but instead of speaking, grunts. He pulls down a second glass and waves a finger, watching both glasses fill with amber liquid.

I blink when the second glass appears in Taehyung’s hand.

Yoongi arches his brow. “You look like you could use a drink,” he says. “You’re going to need it, after what we have to tell you.”

Taehyung’s other hand tightens in mine.

Deep in the city, there are shadows darker than night. In between buildings there are spaces where death meets living and silence slithers free. These are the alleys you pass, the ones you walk through looking over your shoulder. These are the places most avoid.

In one such alley as this, a man stands. 

He faces the wind, drawing breath through his nostrils while lowering himself to the ground. He draws a circle, painstakingly; his fingers tremble, since he’s messed this up twice before. The body he needs for tonight’s ritual is on the sidewalk, though the man doesn’t care to look at it. Whenever he looks, he feels – and this is to be avoided, at all costs.

The man lowers himself to his heels, sprinkling salt on the circumference before laying metal in the shape of a pentagon. Metal binds; each slab is representative of a different appendage of the body – head, two arms, two legs. When the stones are in place, the man looks to the side – next, the body.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the man attempts to shake fear from mind. He can do this; must do this, since no one else is strong enough. Once he succeeds though, once he raises a demon, no one will ever dare question his strength again.

Nodding, the man pushes himself up from the ground. He weaves a cloaking spell dragging the body from the curb. Tonight his victim was a woman, her hair thinning and silver in the moonlight. An elderly woman, who lived alone. She suspected little, when the warlock posed as an electrician on her doorstep. She let him in willingly, barely even noticed before his hands were wrapped tight around her throat.

Remembering, the man shudders. He does not like to kill – truly, he doesn’t. It’s necessary though, for the greater cause. A cause which he alone, can accomplish.

Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, the man prepares. He’s memorized the incantation, knows the words backwards and forwards – even though he’s failed before, tonight he won’t. His brow lowers, stretching one hand over the human and inhaling deeply. A cold wind sweeps the corridor.

The alleyway is cliché, but unavoidable. Few other locations exist which offer the right circumstances for a summoning. The summoner must be surrounded by cold and damp, the sky must be visible and there must be no trace of life on the ground. Demons love alleyways for these reasons – they love the dark and damp, which is why the warlock stands here tonight. Arms flung wide, waiting to call upon a savior.

The incantation begins – softly, like so many things. He mumbles the first words, gathering strength until he feels a sudden shift in the air. A pulse, echoing round the clearing and shaking the pavement below. The splayed woman’s chest rises and falls, thudding to the ground and the warlock’s eyes widen, before narrowing in on his victim.

The edge of his circle glows, white-hot flames erupting from within. Groaning out loud, the warlock tries to backtrack – this shouldn’t be happening, not yet. He hisses, struggling to regain control because this is always where he fails, always where he stops. The circle should glow, not flare – the demon should rise from within.

The kind of demon the spell brings, depends on the victim. It depends on the offering’s brightness, the strength and vitality and goodness of the being. The warlock selected this victim carefully, killing only the humans which fit a certain criteria. They must be of rigorous faith, righteous virtue, whose definition of good still outweighed the bad. This kind of person is a rarity though, in a city like this.

The flames shoot higher, as the woman’s veins darken – the warlock nearly screams, in frustration. Heat slams outward and he stumbles back, catching himself on a trash bin. When he regains himself, when he rights the spell – a shape spins slowly in the embers.

The man’s pulse flickers, since this has never happened before. When he moves, foolishly reaching for the circle – the embers burn bright, blaze high. The shape doesn’t solidify, which isn’t what the man imagined but – his heart leaps, seeing it move. The warlock reaches again, wondering if he’s finally done it, and –

“Youu insubordinate, foolishhh warlock.”

The voice sends a shiver down his spine. Deep, sinister, utterly terrible – each syllable falls from air, weighted with ancient purpose.

“I,” the warlock pauses, steeling himself. “I have called you tonight, because –”

“You,” the thing hisses, and the man’s lips clench. “You called me nowhereee. I came to see who touched me. And now that I have,” the thing laughs, a noise like thunder, “I would ratherrr go back to sleep.”

Standing before the circle, the man’s eyes darken. His fists clench, nails digging into the skin of his palms. “You cannot,” he declares. “I command you to stay!”

Silence.

Then the shadows shift, almost solidifying as they drift to the edge. Beneath it, the warlock can see his offering’s face turn white. Her skin is ashen, while the thing sucks her dry. “You do not command meee,” the demon purrs. “I see through you, and I know you will never command me.”

Then it disappears.

The alley plunges into darkness, sulfur and brimstone snuffed out like candles. The man stands, limbs shaking as his right knee collapses to the pavement. He seethes like that for a moment, fingers smoking on the concrete. Rage, despair, anger. Each courses rapidly through him. Each suffocating, slamming into him one after the other to wring him dry. The man must lose his mind, since he suddenly screams, head thrown back to render the night.

Abruptly, he sobers. 

He shouldn’t have yelled. Shouldn’t have made noise, since he knows the police are looking for him. Knows the light community is inches away from finding him, likely weeks from cracking his trace. When he hears movement behind him he whirls, scanning the walls to spot the beam of light.

The man pushes to his feet, coat catching on the curb to send him stumbling forward. He waves at hand, collecting the metal and salt before scuttling a step – his belt catches on the same trash bin, something tumbling from his pocket but doesn’t have time to see what. Instead the man turns, vanishing quickly into the night.

When the woman enters the alley, sees the victim lying hapless on the ground – the alley is empty.

Taehyung plunks himself down in the closest chair. “Okay,” he frowns, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Let me get this straight.”

I arch a brow, leaning on Yoongi’s counter. “Go on.”

“You,” Taehyung looks my way. “Are the greatest witch of our time.”

Yoongi nods. “True.”

“And I,” Taehyung continues, gaze moving to Yoongi. “Am the greatest warlock of our time.”

“Right again,” Yoongi agrees.

“So, we,” Taehyung points between the two of us, “can’t be together because if we fall in love, I’ll somehow betray us all and destroy the world.”

Yoongi thinks about this for a second, then nods. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Okay.” Taehyung leans back, exhausted. “That’s not super vague, or anything. I mean,” he gripes, pushing a hand through his hair. “Why couldn’t the prophecy be clearer? Why can’t oracles ever say what they mean? ‘Light’s chosen heir,’” Taehyung repeats. “What if they really meant, ‘light’s chosen hair.’ Much different meaning, huh?”

“Even so,” I cough, interrupting this (pointless) train of thought. “The whole, ‘raise demons from the madness’ part seems pretty clear, given the circumstances.”

Yoongi ignores this, draining his whiskey. “You done, warlock? I, for one, would love to have a reasonable discussion about this.”

Taehyung lowers his head. “I just don’t understand what you want from me,” he mumbles, almost to himself.

“I want you to stay away from Y/N,” Yoongi responds, and Taehyung’s head snaps up.

“Not going to happen,” I interrupt, calm. 

Both turn and while Yoongi seems stunned, Taehyung’s expression softens. His lips rise, curling to a smile as he sends an image my way. Craving my touch, wanting me close – I blush, seeing the rest of it. 

“No,” I grind out, and he pouts in response.

“Why not?” Taehyung whines.

From over the top of his head, Yoongi looks as though he might vomit. “Because,” he butts in, closing both eyes. “This isn’t some game, this isn’t word play or a joke – this is life or death, dark or light and if you two idiots don’t start taking things seriously,” Yoongi inhales, hands curling to fists, “I swear, I’m going to lose it.”

The lights flicker, while Yoongi’s energy sweeps the room – I quickly turn, placing mu palms flat on the counter. “Yoongi,” I say, waiting. This used to happen a lot, when we were kids. Yoongi bottles things up, keeps emotions inside – he hides them all, until it becomes too much and he snaps. “That’s a lot of assumptions to make, about the prophecy.”

Yoongi inhales, trying to regain control – and when he does, the brightness of the room fades. “Like?” he ventures, gulping in air.

“Like the assumption that I’m heir of light,” I say quietly, and Yoongi opens his mouth.

“But,” his energy dissipates, distracted by the thought. “If not you, then who? What other light witch or wizard has half your power, half your skill?”

“Well, there’s you,” I point out, as Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Then Hoseok, who always was second-best in school.”

“Second best,” Yoongi points out. “Not first.”

“That was just school, though,” I exhale, crossing both arms. “This is life. No matter how good I am, talent doesn’t make me ‘light’s heir.’ For that matter, why do we think this prophecy is talking about now? That prophecy could be related to any number of years – any decade, any century.”

“Well, I don’t know how many times the world has been threatened by a demon summoning,” Taehyung points out, when I turn to look. “You have to admit, that’s pretty spot-on.”

“Right,” I sigh. “Let’s just say, this is happening. We still don’t know if I’m the heir. Not to mention, the prophecy mentions someone I love and I,” at this I hesitate, unable to voice the words aloud.

Silence lengthens, as Taehyung rises from his chair. “You don’t love me,” he concludes, cocking a brow. “Is that what you meant to say?”

I blink back at him, unsure. “No,” I respond, words pulled from my chest. “I can’t – I, it’s too soon, to say that.”

Taehyung stares at me for a moment, then nods. He looks to Yoongi instead. “Why are we assuming the prophecy is referring to romantic love? It could be the love of a friend, family member – anyone, really,” Taehyung waves a hand. “Not just someone they’re in love with.”

Yoongi pauses, considering. “That,” he allows, uncertainty entering his voice, “could be true.”

“Wow,” I stare, wide-eyed, between the two of them. “Maybe the prophecy is true, since – did the two of you just agree on something? The world must be coming to an end.”

Taehyung makes a face. “Apparently. It’s oddly unsettling.”

“Right,” I nod, trying to hide my smile. “Is it too peaceful? O Prince of Darkness, Lord of Chaos and Evil – do you need to argue, to stay alive?”

“Hey now,” Taehyung places a hand over his chest, offended. “You act like the dark is so uncivilized. We’re domestic, we like the suburbs. Who do you think makes all those awful cable boxes? That’s us,” he tries, and fails to keep a straight face. “Who do you think sneaks into your house while you sleep and ties your headphones into knots? Pure evil,” Taehyung grins, tapping his heart.

Yoongi stares for a long moment. “O-kay,” he manages, drawing out the syllables. ‘I’m going to brush past that. Heard it, acknowledged it – moving on. Anyways,” he exhales, pouring himself more whiskey. “What now?”

Taehyung crosses his hands behind his head, looking out the window. “What do you want me to do?” he asks softly. “I want to help.”

Yoongi’s gaze was cold but looking at Taehyung, he slowly withers to uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he admits.

I uncross my arms. ‘I think,” I interject, voice low, “the main problem is the murders.”

“Ah, the murder rate,” Taehyung quips, sounding morose. “Absolutely terrible. Horrible problem. Especially,” he gestures to nothing, “in the tragic streets of Chicago. I heard that on FOX News. Our dear president is concerned.”

“I swear,” Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you quote that overgrown pumpkin to me, one more time –”

“It’s called irony, Yoongles.” When Taehyung grins, the gesture is wicked. “Try it, sometime. Although,” he then pauses, pursing his lips. “FOX News is owned by a rather nefarious warlock.” 

“Yoongles?!” Yoongi blurts out, stuck on the nickname.

Diving between them, I throw up shields on both sides. “Enough!” I yell, struggling to keep Yoongi back. To my right, Taehyung is laughing, since he’s just messing with Yoongi. The problem is, my best friend doesn’t trust him enough to see that. “You,” I snap at Taehyung. “Sit down, and shut up.”

Taehyung abruptly sobers. His eyes glint with displeasure as slowly, he sinks down in my chair. When he obeys this, I freeze – flushing, as he sends a tendril of thought my way.

Just you wait, Taehyung murmurs, arching a brow.

I ignore him, glancing pointedly at Yoongi. “And you,” I sigh, dropping the shield. “Will you just believe him, when Taehyung says he wants to help?”

“I just,” Yoongi’s gaze moves doubtfully from me to him. “It’s hard to believe.”

“What is?” I frown, trying and failing, to understand.

Yoongi exhales. “It’s hard, to believe he’s changed. It’s too fast, too sudden,” he protests. “People don’t just shift, due to someone else. People don’t change their mentality, their personality, their ideology – just because they’ve fallen in love.”

There.

There it is. The phrase I refused to utter, hanging in the air between us – Taehyung doesn’t refute this, looking at Yoongi. “What makes you think,” he says, oddly calm, “that I’ve changed?” 

You pause, exchanging a glance with Yoongi. This isn’t what you expected. 

“What makes you think I’m different,” Taehyung asks quietly, “after meeting Y/N? I suppose I am,” he allows, glancing my way. “Not in the way you might imagine, though.” When his statement is met with silence, Taehyung exhales. His expression, his arrogance start to fade. “Look,” he allows, and – the world changes.

Taehyung lifts his hands. As he does so, light pours from his palms. It brightens his expression, changing Taehyung from night to morning. His expression remains uncertain, tenuous and I dimly recall that Lucifer was once called the Morning Star. Both light and dark, the merging of day and night – Taehyung’s breath catches, staring at his hands. When he closes them, the light in the room fades to normal.

Yoongi stares, wide-eyed. His gaze darts from Taehyung’s face, to his hands. “I – you. How?” he blurts, seemingly at a loss.

Taehyung licks his lips, suddenly nervous. “Ever since I was little,” he admits. “I could command both. My father beat me for it, was ashamed and thought he could stamp it out of me. When that didn’t work, he went after my brother. My mother,” Taehyung adds, voice breaking. “Eventually, I just stopped trying altogether.”

He’s silent, for a moment. “Falling in love didn’t change me,” Taehyung announces, quiet. “It just made me want to try, again.”

I’m so absorbed in this, I almost miss the significance of his words. I’m too focused on Taehyung – on his light, memories. My throat is burning, holding back anger and I almost miss the significance of what he says. When I realize though, I start. His eyes stare back, wide and shocked – because Taehyung loves. Taehyung loves me.

Stanger yet, is the fact that Taehyung doesn’t take this back. He remains firm, fingers curled at his sides. Staring at me, his gaze is fierce, staunch in his declaration.

It’s Yoongi, who speaks first. “Well,” he hesitates, as we slowly look his way. “Maybe I was prejudiced.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond, which is surprising. He just looks at Yoongi, no snarky comment to say. 

Yoongi sighs, considering the bottom of his glass. “It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong. Mostly,” he muses, biting back a smile, “because it happens so rarely.”

Groaning, I lower my face in my hands when Yoongi starts to laugh – though he quickly sobers, looking at Taehyung. “I don’t want Y/N hurt,” he admits, quiet. “No matter your power, no matter your background – it’s what you choose to do, that defines your identity. Honestly,” Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “I haven’t heard anything good about you. That’s why I don’t like you, not because you’re dark. Still,” Yoongi hesitates. “I’m willing to try.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, just a fraction. Then his face rearranges to the picture of composure – for just a moment, his relief shone through. “I – thanks,” Taehyung mumbles. “I appreciate that.”

The room is quiet, until I clear my throat. “So,” I cough. “What now?”

“Right. The murders,” Yoongi muses. He stirs his glass. “We continue to investigate, I guess. Continue to search for a culprit – assuming it isn’t Taehyung, of course – and kill them, before they kill us.”

“Right,” Taehyung bruhes past Yoongi’s whole, ‘assuming it isn’t Taehyung’ remark. “I know a lot of people on the black market. I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s heard anything.”

I nod. “I’ll keep doing my job. Yoongi, could you visit Seokjin? He seemed to like you, maybe he’ll say more if I’m not there.”

Yoongi looks pained, and Taehyung seems surprised. “Seokjin?” he repeats, vaguely alarmed. “Like, the shopkeeper?”

“Yep,” I nod. “He just loved Yoongi.”

Taehyung smirks, biting his lip. “You know, I hear Seokjin is a good time. If you’re looking for fun, Yoongles.”

Yoongi just glares, narrowing his eyes. “Thanks, I’m taken.”

“Ish,” I point out, completely unhelpful. “Jo doesn’t even know that you like her.”

“I’m trying,” Yoongi gulps, shaking his head. “Anyways,” he tips back the rest of his drink. “That’s enough small talk for the evening. I’m off to find Hoseok, I’ll see if he’s heard any rumors on campus. Those young witches and wizards sure do know the darndest things.”

Arching a brow, I nearly laugh when he struggles into his pea coat. “You must really want to go,” I observe archly. “Normally I have to drag you to Hoseok’s University. Yoongi hates anything to do with the youth,” I explain to Taehyung.

“Sure,” Taehyung shrugs, deadpan. “Who doesn’t?”

“It’s true, I hate them,” Yoongi pulls a face. “But I think I hate Taehyung more.”

Then he disappears, before either of us can respond. Yoongi is gone with a slight pop of air, while my mouth drops open. “Well,” I shut my jaw. “I guess we should – oof!”

Taehyung disappears, reappearing to press me to the wall. He smiles slowly, hands caging me lazily at my sides. “Hello,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” I whisper, breathless.

One of his hands slides to my waist, anchoring me between his legs. Taehyung stares back, brow arched with anticipation. “You yelled at me,” Taehyung pouts and a second, he’s not the most dangerous warlock in the world. Right now he’s just Taehyung – someone who just said they were in love, and has yet to hear anything back.

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Did you like it?”

His smile glimmers, before frowning. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh?” I tease, entering his mind. I slide magic up the curve of his thigh. “Then what is the point?”

As Taehyung shivers, he grips my waist. “The point,” he sighs, voice small, “is that you’re right. I don’t know how to make this work. Getting Yoongi on our side was difficult enough. Although,” he pauses, gaze hopeful. “We did get him eventually. He didn’t try to kill me, which I consider a good sign.”

“Sure,” I nod. “But then, Yoongi is a marshmallow. He wouldn’t actually hurt a fly.”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung frowns, remembering. “He got in some punches, earlier in the alley.”

This memory makes me smile – though I falter, when Taehyung glares. “Yes, you’re right,” I nod, automatic.

“Y/N,” Taehyung complains. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not!” I protest, though I giggle when he kisses my neck.

“You are,” he mumbles, pushing his hips to mine. “I missed,” he whispers, nipping the base of my throat, “you. I missed being inside you. Your sweet little cunt. Your thighs, wrapped around me, and I missed those perfect lips, begging for more.”

Shit. “I don’t,” I groan, eyelids fluttering as Taehyung does something completely indescribable with his mouth, “think you’re remembering correctly. From what I recall, you were the one begging me.”

When Taehyung chuckles, it sends vibrations through me. “I’d love to give you a history lesson,” he offers.

His lips move up, to find mine. Taehyung doesn’t waste time, tongue sweeping forward to claim my mouth. He pushes me back, pressing me tight to the wall – even as my phone beeps, loud in my pocket.

“I have to get that,” I grab anxiously for my pocket. It might be work. It might be a lead on the case – though Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice, trailing wet kisses over my collarbone. He dips a finger beneath my blouse, tugging gently aside.

“Hello?” I answer, somewhat breathless.

Taehyung’s hand slides between my legs, pushing my feet apart.

“Yes, hello. Is this Y/N?”

Dropping to his knees, Taehyung slides his nose up the inside of my thigh. I stiffen, struggling to concentrate while his hands wrap tight about my ass.

“I – ah, yes. This is she. Who is calling?”

“This is Patricia, Taehyung’s assistant. I don’t know if he’s with you – something to do with the case, I’d imagine – but if he is, could you please send him this way? Sound check started an hour ago, there are already people lining up outside. The concert is sold out, we can’t keep them there forever!”

Taehyung must hear the panic in her voice, but he ignores his assistant. Arching a brow, he studiously unbuttons the buttons of my jeans. When he tugs these past my thighs, expression innocent – I freeze.

“He,” I manage, before Taehyung slides a finger beneath the band of my panties. He pushes this inside, curving upwards to hit my g-spot. I clasp one hand over my mouth, managing to stifle a groan. “I need to check with the other officers,” I manage, rocking my hips against his finger. “if I see Taehyung,” I breathe, “I’ll let him know.”

Hanging up, I toss the phone aside and yank Taehyung upwards. “Bedroom. Now,” I command, shoving him down the hall. “You have exactly ten minutes to fuck me, since you’re already late to your own concert.”

Taehyung just grins, letting himself be led away. He turns into shadow at the end of the hall, taking me with to appear in his hotel.

I lied. It’s thirty minutes later, I let him leave. Taehyung rolls from bed, shrugging on a shirt while zipping up tight, leather pants. I stare at this, thoroughly displeased. Torn between jealousy and admiration, at the way his ass naturally curves the material.

“Why do you have to wear those,” I pout, flopping on his pillows. The sheet only partially covers my body, sliding higher as Taehyung’s gaze follows the motion.

“Because,” he groans, dropping one knee to the mattress. When he kisses me, it’s slow and thorough. “The masses expect it of me. Don’t you worry,” he muses, kissing the tip of my nose before pulling away. “You’re the only girl I stick my dick in.”

“Charming.”

“I try,” Taehyung grins, undoing another button and ruffling his sex hair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he steps back, bowing. “I must stun the world with my beautiful voice.”

He disappears.

I can’t help but smile, falling back on his bed. My smile disappears, considering the events of today. Everything Taehyung said, everything he revealed – it’s too much, isn’t it? How he feels, the intensity he has – I bury my face in his pillow, sighing. It might be too soon, true – but I feel the same. I can’t deny this any longer, can’t ignore this pull towards him. I can’t deny the overwhelming rightness I feel, whenever Taehyung is near.

It might be obvious – but magic users, as a community, believe in fate. We believe in prophecy, in destiny, in the idea of certain events being foretold and foreseen. Between all this, lie several grey areas. Things which might be, things which could be –  things which have never been definitively proven, only thought of. One thing that falls into this category are soul mates. 

It’s not something I’d ever given much thought to, because I never considered the idea of one for myself. It didn’t seem applicable, important enough to concern myself with growing up.

Girls in elementary school discussed it on the playground, boys in high school groaned in the locker rooms. Children played games, wondering who they’d be with, what they’d be like – but I was never interested. I thought the idea of soul mates childish, a waste of time – though now, I’m not so sure.

I remember a conversation I had with Yoongi, back when we were teenagers. Oddly enough, Yoongi believes in soul mates. When I asked why, he took a long time to answer. This is something Yoongi does. He walks away, he takes his time to think out a response. The first few times this happened, I thought he was mad at me. Mad, or simply didn’t hear – then he came back days later, to surprise me with his thoughtfulness.

“Soul mates,” Yoongi announced, as we were boarding the bus a few days following. Though I was confused, I nodded – I wanted to hear what he had to say. “I don’t think they’re what we think they are,” Yoongi responded, leading the way down the aisle. “I think ‘soul mate’ is more of a concept. I think it’s someone we’re connected to, by magic. There are things about magic we still don’t understand. It’s a living, breathing thing – why wouldn’t it understand the magic of others?”

This thought stumped me, struck by his conclusion. “So,” I frowned. “You think soul mates aren’t matches between people, but between magic?”

Yoongi nodded, then shrugged. “This is just speculation, of course. I don’t have any reason to believe this. It just seems that magic understands the world better than we do. It tells us all kinds of things – why not this, too?”

As I sit here now, face buried in Taehyung’s pillows, I can’t help but remember these words. It feels like a neon sign, hanging over the room and I can’t help but shiver, wondering if he’s right. Soulmates. What if Taehyung – that wild, brilliant, intoxicating Taehyung – what if he, his magic are meant for me? Sitting up straight, I slide my feet onto the floor. Wrapping the sheet tighter, I pad into his bathroom. Flipping on lights to look in the mirror.

My skin is flushed, cheeks glowing – and I turn his words over, in my mind. He loves me.

My reflection smiles back at me.

Tonight is different.

Tonight when Taehyung rises through that stage – he can’t help but think of the first night you met. That concert afterwards, when he left and the air felt strange around him. The electricity of the audience rushed through him, dark and vibrant. His magic was tempestuous – almost more than he could bear. He remembers the feeling of being alive, though.

Tonight is like that. It’s hard to think, hard to contain himself since Taehyung feels as though he’s bursting. There’s so much energy in him, so much light within – Taehyung can’t possibly hold it all in. He’s high, on a rush and wonders fleetingly how he ever thought the light was boring. The world is distant below and he’s terrified, terrified of crashing back down.

But what a view. 

When Taehyung used to sing, it came from a place of anger. It came from bitterness, from hurt and a never-ending drive to prove himself. Taehyung liked to drown in his pain, to swim long enough to breathe and then sink below the surface. Now he’s floating. Now he’s pulled on by a current, your line towing him in. Taehyung grins, squinting up at the light. How corny. Him – Kim Taehyung. Corny.

He used to enjoy the light, Taehyung remembers. As he stares across the sea of faces, he weaves his magic down rows and remembers. He used to want change – wanted light, not dark. He wasn’t always this way. Wasn’t always a bitter man. It was only after years of disappointment, that he became one. There were decades of conditioning, of training, of being taught that humans were unworthy and uncaring. No matter what Taehyung did, no matter how positively he tried to think – each time he offered a human the wrong choice, they took it.

Humans liked to be bad. They enjoyed living on the edge, liked the rush which came from evil. After a while, Taehyung stopping believing it was his job to fix them. He drenched himself in darkness, since not caring was easier. Complacency, overall, is simpler than fighting.

Taehyung’s voice lifts, soaring over the rafters – he sounds no longer sinful, no longer tempestuous. Now, he is life. Now he is joy, rebirth, hearth and love. Taehyung gives into it freely, eyes burning when he walks offstage. He sang until he could sing no more and when he strides down the hall, he realizes he sang an hour later than normal.

Hushed compliments follow in his wake, wide-eyed humans scurrying out of the way. Taehyung keeps his head low, cheeks flushed while he wanders the hall. In his mind, he’s already with you. Already in your bedroom, his body curled around yours, losing himself in the feel of your body, your lips, your words. His heart soars, dizzy with happiness – he almost doesn’t notice, pushing open the door.

He’s not alone.

The Dark Council looks up when he enters. “Hello, Kim Taehyung,” a woman murmurs, setting down her glass.

Taehyung stares, dressing room door falling shut. The silence is deafening, a million thoughts running through his mind. What they’ve seen, what they know, if you’re in trouble. Taehyung fears they’ve come to reprimand him – or worse, to issue a command.

Taehyung swallows, remembering his past commands.

The Dark Council is head of the shadow government, leader of warlocks and sorceresses alike. Most don’t know this, most are surprised to discover the truth. Dark is assumed to be chaos, but this is only what the dark wants you to think. The dark is organized, there exists a very strict hierarchy and while Taehyung is visible, he is not the top.

The Council is the top. The woman who spoke first stands; long, black robes billowing around her. “It was an,” she pauses, tilting her head, “interesting concert.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. He takes his fear, guilt and nerves – he shoves these into his stomach, covering them with his boredom and insolence. Wandering further, Taehyung waves a hand. A glass appears in his palm, as his other hand tilts wine into the cup.

“How may I help?” Taehyung asks, placing his bottle back on the table. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

The man on the couch smiles. “This won’t take long,” he allows – at the sound of his words, Taehyung recoils. His voice is like sandpaper, so scratchy and thick, it scrapes the insides of his ears. It makes Taehyung want to leave, possibly by crawling out of his own skin.

The man smiles, as though aware of his effect.

The Council is comprised of five individuals. Five members, though their number tends to fluctuate. There could be more than five, less than five – it all depends on the need for dark, for fighting the light. At the moment, the Council is three women and two men.

The first who spoke seems in charge – at least, this is how she carries herself. She smiles at Taehyung, not in a nice way. “What do you think your purpose is, warlock?”

Sipping his wine, Taehyung considers. He can think of many answers, though he knows none are the right one. “To spread the dark,” he murmurs, lifting his glass. “To hasten the rise of our glorious shadow.”

Two of the members who haven’t spoken yet, a man and a woman, exchange a glance.

“Not quite,” the first woman responds, while Taehyung arches a brow.

“No? Then what is my purpose?” he asks, dry as ever. “This is what you taught me, this is our mantra.”

The first man exhales. “Our purpose is more complex,” he allows, pushing himself upwards. “Our world exists in perfect balance. There are opposite forces pushing, pulling us together. Each exists in delicate balance, not to be overthrown by the other. They are yin and yang, dark and light, shadow and sun.”

Taehyung just stares. “What… do you mean?”

For the first time since he entered the room, Taehyung is curious. The Council is a symbol of old. They are the enforcers, the restriction. They appear at your door in the middle of the night to inform who will die in the Games tomorrow. Taehyung shivers, remembering. Tonight feels different.

A second woman steps forward. This one appears younger than the rest. “The dark and light are entwined,” she speaks, voice like bells. “Magic itself is neutral. Magic is neither light nor dark. It is only through the actions of its user, magic chooses.”

Taehyung pales. “But,” he looks down at his hands. “The two magic are different. One exists as shadow, the other as light.”

“Yes,” the woman nods, pleased. “This is true. That is only because you choose to wield it a certain way, though. At it’s base, your magic is one and the same.”

Taehyung looks up, shocked. The woman spoke her words purposefully. She said how he chooses to wield, which means –

“Yes,” her lips lift. “I know you are able to use both.”

Glances are exchanged around the room, though no one comments – which makes Taehyung’s body tense. They should not be accepting this. They should not be okay with him, with this.

“It’s not a bad thing,” the woman continues. “What is bad, are your recent experiments.”

Taehyung frowns, not understanding. “My experiments?”

Casting his thoughts back, Taehyung recalls nothing. Perhaps the woman is referring to you, to his love for you. This is dangerous, certainly – the figurehead of dark, loving that of light. Oddly though, Taehyung doesn’t think this is the case.

When the final woman speaks, Taehyung shivers at the sound of her voice. . “The summoning’s,” she purrs, each word frozen on her tongue. “You must not summon an Archdemon. You cannot – you will not – summon such a beast into being. It is forbidden, it is abhorrent to the law.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, shock showing. “You think I’m the one summoning demons?”

Now, the youngest frowns. “He seems surprised,” she muses, looking to the first man. “Odd.”

The first man nods, equally puzzled. “We found your family token at the site of a murder. Luckily, we got to it, before the light did,” he informs, holding out a hand. Inside his palm, rests a thin, black oval. “You left this when you ran.”

Taehyung stares, while his entire world closes around him. He recognizes the token. He knows the object well, having grown up with this symbol of hate. Taehyung’s father was a dark fanatic, he convinced warlocks and sorceresses that they were a master race. He thought their power marked them as higher beings, ones who deserved more than the rest. He sought to eradicate humans and light because of this.

Taehyung’s father had many followers, and all of them carried that token. In Taehyung’s house, it was a symbol of hatred. It symbolized power, might and while Taehyung has not touched one since leaving – he knows someone who does. Someone who carries it with him as a reminder, a warning against the strength of others.

Taehyung swallows, unable to process. His gaze flicks up, to the Council. “I,” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. I recognize the token, yes – but many carry the symbol. It’s hardly an indicator of guilt. Besides,” Taehyung’s brow furrows, “you know my trace. Did you find it, at the scene of the crime?”

“No,” the first woman responds slowly. “Your trace was not there. The trace was not one we recognized.”

“You could have hired someone,” the first man adds, blunt. “You could be starting up your father’s cult again.”

Taehyung feels slightly sick at this thought and moves to speak – but is interrupted. The final member of the Council moves, crossing the room to stop before him. “If an Upper Demon is summoned,” he says, gaze shrewd. “It will blot out the world. It will swallow us, both light and dark. An Upper Demon is pure chaos – it makes no distinction between either. It cares not who we are, only about our unraveling.”

Taehyung stares back, slightly defiant. “I understand,” he says stiffly.

“Good.” The man looks sideways. “If you hear anything, reach out to us immediately. We’ll be in touch,” he nods – a promise, not a request. A card appears in his grasp, shaped from darkness as he slips this into Taehyung’s palm.

Taehyung nods, accepting the card – as one by one, the members of the Council disappear.

When he’s alone, Taehyung stares blankly at the cinderblock wall. He tries to breathe, thoughts edging around the ragged certainty of one, single notion – until he can take it no more and gives in. He sinks into himself, giving in while his knees – first one, then the other – hit the ground.

“This is it,” Yoongi declares, staring into his mug – but doing nothing.

“You can do it!” I cheer, tapping fingertips against the edge of the table. “It’s just dinner. You’re asking her out, you’ve dealt with much scarier things before.”

“Right,” Yoongi nods, still not breathing.

“Yoongi,” I lean forward. “You’ve fought demons. You’ve gone up against fucking sorceresses and won. You’ve dealt with things of nightmare, and this is just asking out a girl.”

“She’s more than that,” Yoongi insists, head snapping up. “She’s Jo, and she’s perfect.”

“Right,” I nod, placating. “Which is why you need to ask her out.”

Yoongi exhales, chest deflating. “Okay,” he nods, though he remains rooted to his chair. “Did I do it,” he mutters, staring into his cup. “Am I moving?”

“No.”

Closing his eyes, Yoongi bites his lip. “This is so hard.”

“That’s what she said.”

Yoongi opens one eye, repressing a smile. “You’re entirely unhelpful.”

“True,” I agree, dumping sugar into the coffee. “I don’t try to pretend otherwise. Now hurry up, I only have twenty minutes before I need to get to work.”

Yoongi sighs, nods – and falls into deep silence.

Last night was another murder. Stirring my coffee, I stare at the chattering customers. It could have been them, I think, unease growing. Any one of them could be the next victim – which makes me feel as though I’m missing something. Whenever there’s a case as blank as this, it means the answer already exists. It’s already beneath my nose, and I keep reaching through it.

The shop is bright, noisy and cheerful with the daily rush of people. Jo hurries from table to table, tucking hair behind her ears as she jots down orders. Yoongi keeps looking her way, though he tries not to. He’s clutching his mug tightly, holding onto a lifeline while steeling himself for future conversation.

Jo whirls, hurrying behind the register. She adjusts a record on the wall, nearly bumping into someone sitting at the counter. “Oh, sorry!” she smiles, turning around – and almost knowing a mug off the counter. Yoongi neatly catches this, hand darting to grab the handle.

I blink, not having seen him move. Yoongi stands close to Jo, frozen only a few inches away. Jo doesn’t move, gaze darting from his eyes to his hands. Unable to stop myself, I project – leaning forward, to listen in on their conversation.

“Here,” Yoongi sets the cup down on her counter. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.” He’s still staring though, and she’s looking back at him – when she opens her mouth to respond though, Yoongi speaks. “Do you like dinner?” he blurts, wincing.

Jo’s fingers freeze on her apron. Not an apron – more of a smock, since Jo isn’t a frilly person. She stares at Yoongi before venturing, “In general, or as a concept?”

“No,” Yoongi takes a breath, moving closer. “Would you like to have dinner with me, sometime?”

From my perspective, the moment is short. I imagine it seems much longer to Yoongi. Longer than anything he’s ever felt, longer than anything he will feel. This moment is soul-baring, a showing of his entirety – which is something Yoongi rarely does. He’s currently handing his heart over to Jo, and I pray to God she doesn’t break it.

As I watch, she starts to smile. When she nods, several strands of hair fall forward. “I like dinner,” she agrees, then laughs. “I like dinner with you even more.”

Yoongi’s smile brightens, looking at her. He stands there, letting the world turn on around them – as the door opens, banging the wall beside me.

“Y/N!”

The voice is male, loud and I turn – alarmed, slightly surprised to see Taehyung’s younger brother. “Jaewoo?” I ask, leaning in. I reach for him, stopping myself when he flings himself into Yoongi’s empty chair. “What’s happening?” I demand, searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

Jaewoo sinks lower in the seat, breath frantic. His eyes are wide, blood-shot with hair spilled haphazardly across his forehead. “It’s,” he gasps, chest rising and falling. “I –”

“Hey,” I scan his face. “It’s okay. Just,” my stomach twists, already imagining the worst. “Start at the beginning. Tell me what happened – is it Taehyung?” I ask, lowering my voice. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s the Council,” Jaewoo gulps. He appears calmer, enough to blurt, “The Council visited him after his concert last night. Y/N, I think Taehyung is in trouble.”

[Master List]