#no stains on the carpet and no weird marks on the wall either

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

I know that I had a very different experience than a lot of other born-and-raised american diaspora jews, but sometimes I forget this and will mention things that I consider to be quintessential jewish culture and then every other jew listening to me is extremely confused. I am so sorry for forgetting that my experiences are not universal please forgive me. but fr though what do you mean every b'nei mitzvah wasnt at a shitty rundown arcade where everyone ate cheap, greasy food and whatever sides their grandma brought?

[zhongrin]

ok but now aine pointing out that hot af art:

You give Mafia boss Li the blowing of his life, he tells you to stay in his office, he'll be back once the job is done.

hours. you wait for fucking hours for what should have been a simple hit job.

Li eventually comes back, covered in blood, kinda feral look in his eye, turns out he went and took out the mark himself because he was so pumped after your service. proceeds to shuck his bloody coat, throw you over his desk and ehehehehehohohohoho

you're kidding me you're spoiling me you're feral and unhinged and i am supposed to be chilling here on Friday night drinking my goddamned osmanthus tea and snacking on strawberry chocolate matcha-

ps. tumblr hates me and i had to rewrite this so if some parts feel weird it's probably because of that lskdjflsjdlfkjsdf

the heavy door which you had trouble opening at the start of your negotiations hours ago slams against the wall, making you jump and spill some wine onto your shirt.

you don’t have half the mind to worry about the spreading stain on your garment, however, seeing as the state of morax’s own shirt is way worse. there are splotches of dark reds marring the pristine white cloth, which are unbuttoned enough to display his chest, teasing what lies under. his amber eyes are glowing as he finds you sitting on the seat he regularly sat on, and at once he’s stalking towards you like a predator that has found a most delectable prey.

his black coat haphazardly crumples against the leather sofa, and within seconds he’s right in front of you, hands slamming against the armrests on your either side. the slight sheen of sweat against his arms reflects under the grand lighting of the luxurious office, and though he’s of a leaner size you’re suddenly aware of his muscles, reminded of his authority and the regality of his aura.

with a squeak, you sink further into the seat and stare downwards at your lap. but the man follows, leaning in even closer so that you can feel his breath against your forehead.

“how bold of you,” one of his fingers tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “to sit on my chair. drinking my wine. when you have yet to fulfill your payment for your pesky client.”

“wha-but i did-”

“my, did you? why don’t you recite what i said regarding the payment.”

you try to rack your memories; with him so close, the scent of blood and his stupid cologne that fits him so well was so overpowering, your brain decided to turn into mush and remind you of how his seed tasted on your tongue, heavy and heady and-

“answer.”

“y-you said,” your breath hitches, “um… ‘if you can satisfy me, i will consider that as your payment instead’….?”

morax hums. his grip on your shirt tightening was all the warning you got before he ripped the material off your body, lips mashing together, tongue inviting yours into a dance. he tastes of iron and fragrant tea and the sinful thoughts of all your wicked desires that had grown immensely ever since you took his cock into your mouth. the glass of wine previously balanced within your grip thuds against the plush carpet, forgotten, and you moan against the kiss as the man pulls you even closer.

you almost don’t even realize that you’re lifted up the chair onto the wide desk until you feel them against your back. the size of it is absurd, just as everything else in this room; the chandelier, the vases, the paintings, the dragon sculpture, his girthy-

his hand trails up your inner thigh, and you shudder.

zhongli’s gaze rakes all over your body, his gloved hand faithfully following right behind it. you’re about to ask him whether you’re the most interesting paperwork he had to do on this desk, but the question dies before you could even utter a word, because while he’s keeping one of his hands on you, he’s biting on the other to slide them off, revealing his hands and the veins which run at the back of his palm.

he makes the action look like some kind of an art.

you don’t even realize that you’re whining at the sight of him taking them off in such a manner until his eyes lock onto you, with the leather still hanging between pearly white teeth (god, you’ve felt it from the kiss, but those little fangs are driving you crazy). the corner of his lips twitches as he gently places the material aside on the desk.

“i must have forgotten to tell you,” his bare hand tenderly swipes the lock of hair from your face and yet the expression on his face suggests that his next course of actions will be anything but gentle, “i am a man who can hardly be satiated by normal means.”

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Stabbed

Summary:  could you right something with Eddies daughter where she comes to Derry, and instead of stabbing Eddie, Bowers stabs her? 

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think! 

The disturbing atmosphere that hangs around Derry as a whole is not in any way lessened by the state of the old townhouse.

Sara is not a germaphobe on the same level of her father in any way, but the state of the hotel, if it’s even worth calling it that, leaves much to be desired. The flaked paint, carpeted flours where black marks are left on, creaking stairs with no elevator, and the complete abandonment of both the reception and bar did not claim this hotel was well taken care off.

Still, Sarah tries to ignore the warning signs and sits in the bar lobby, twiddling on her phone over a glass of lemonade, that she had to pour herself par for the course, and waits patiently. She’s not sure if she should be repacking or not, but her dad left without warning or explanation, so she stays put.

The stairs creak for the so many’the time, but she’s gotten so used to the sound that she doesn’t bother looking up. Instead she wonders if there’s anybody else in this godforsaken town, other than her father and his friends.

‘This is so stupid’, she whispers under her breath, letting out a deep sigh of resignation. She would go about and explore, to see all the places her dad had in his childhood, because she’s getting extremely bored now, and the urge to pace around and do something, anything is almost overwhelming. But, Eddie was panic-stricken at the mere prospect of Sara joining the group on their little adventure, so utterly terrified it left her shaky herself.

It’s weird to be in the town her father grew up in, but it’s even more strange to meet the people he was supposedly best friends with. They don’t seem like the type of people Eddie would be keen to hang out with back in New York, but maybe her father is just as good at hiding things from her as he is for her mother.

The more general idea of her dad and his friends bring up more questions than answers. Where have this people been for all her life. Why had they never hung out with her dad before? Why isn’t there a picture of them in her house?

She’s eager to learn more about them, but she heeds Eddie’s warnings, sinking further back in her chair. A few minutes later she rises, deciding to scout out the hotel at least – despite what horrible unsanitary things she might find, but a door opening stops her.

A woman, the only woman in her Dad’s group of friends stumbles in, her breath gasping and shaky. She searches around the entry way with her eyes, but sees no one, not even Sara, whose cover by the wall separating the bar and hallway.

‘Is anybody here?’ Beverly, she now recalls, asks, plucking a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket with severely trembling fingers. Out of her other pocket she grabs a lighter, but it takes her three tries before she can get the flame close enough to the cigarette, thanks to her tremor.

‘Shit’, she curses after the second time, and for a moment it looks like she’s about to put it back, but instead she aims again.

An instinctive part of her, the part that was raised by two people warning her about the danger of mundane things, wants to tell her cigarettes are bad for her. The part that saw how controlling her mother is towards her father, urges her to stay quiet. It’s not Sara’s place, but either way, the woman looks like she’s halfway to knocking on death’s door.

‘I’m here’, she calls out hesitantly, knowing that she’s not the one Beverly is looking for. Still, it feels weird to not acknowledge her, and to leave her be so crestfallen.

Beverly’s head whips around, and for a second there is no recognition on her face. Her face and eyes harden, almost like she’s preparing to battle, but then Bev’s brain catches up and her eyes soften.

‘Oh, sorry I didn’t see you there.’

‘It’s okay’, Sara assures, watching wearily as Beverly lets herself drop on the bottom step of the stairs.

‘Do you mind’, the woman asks, monitoring with her hand towards the cigarette. It usually does, Sara learned about the dangers of second hand smoke inhalation, but she’s not interested in starting a discussion. For a reason she can’t understand, she’s desperate for these people to like her, the same way they like her dad.

‘Are you okay?’ Sara dares to ask as she inches closer. She keeps a good distance away from Bev, so none of the smoke reaches her.

‘No’, Bev laughs without humor, ‘but no one ever is in this town.’ She suddenly looks Sara straight in the eyes, with the same intensity Eddie had when he firmly told her to stay put and not leave the townhouse. ‘You stay with one of us from now on, okay? It’s not safe to be here by yourself.’

Sara nods dumbly, feeling compelled to do so. She’s just about to ask for more answers, for the why and where and how, but a second ‘loser’ burst through the door, at least as if not more spooked as Beverly.

It’s Ben, who calls out for Bev immediately, and Sara may not know anything about the losers club, but she knows that Bev and Ben are it for each other.

‘Bev, are you okay?’ Ben asks without noticing Sara there. Sara flushes, feeling like a third wheel almost instantly, despite Ben’s apologetic look he sends.

‘Sorry I-‘

‘I’m going upstairs,’ Sara exclaims, walking up the stairs two steps at a time.

‘Sara wait’, Beverly bellows, trying to stop Sara before she gets too far.

‘It’s fine, I’m not alone, you guys are right downstairs. If somethings wrong I’ll just yell.’ Sara promises, barely glancing back at the two adults.

Ben and Bev make complicated faces, but eventually they both nod, turning back to their own conversation.

Sara reaches the top of the stairs, but there she has to pause for a minute. Though she has been unsettled this whole time, a whole new wave of eerie washes over her. She’s not sure what brought it on, but whatever it is makes her shiver down to her bones.

She considers going back downstairs, but Ben and Bev have picked up a new conversation topic, and she doesn’t want to disturb them. Sara vehemently ignores her own warning signs, and saunters towards her hotel room. While she does, she quickly peeks across the hallway, but sees no immediate danger -expect the black mold stains- there.

She opens the door, and the distant eerie feeling switches in a minute, into acute danger. Sara knows without a sliver of a doubt from the second she step into the townhouse that she’s in deep trouble. Unfortunately, her reflexes are not as quick on the mark as her senses, and she only notices the knife punching her way when the blade has already marked her skin.

She falls back, and can’t do anything to stop a second attack from striking it’s goal. A pocket knife breaches the skin of her cheek, straight through he tissue, and reappears on the other side. Sara can’t even scream before she scrambles up, hands pushing at her attackers chest to get him away.

Her attacker, a man with a mullet that appears like he hasn’t washed in multiple weeks, grins ominous and licks his lips.

‘Not who is was send here to kill’, he spits, reaching for Sara’s ankle and dragging her down when she tries to run. ‘But this isn’t so bad either.’

Before he gets another chance to do any other damage, Sara pulls the knife out her own cheek, smothering a scream, and holds it out in defense. She didn’t expect the man to thrown himself on top of her, plunging the knife in his own chest, but then again, he doesn’t seem to be in a right state of mind.

She can’t stop and think about it anyway, so she kicks his sluggish body away from her, and clambers upright. The man lays still face down, so Sara can’t see if he’s still breathing or not.  She can’t feel the wound, are any part of her body for that matter, and she can’t believe she just pulled a knife out of her own cheek. A strange tingling panic begins to trickle over her body, as she forces her feet to move.

‘It’s fine, it’s fine’, Sara whispers to herself as she back up, praying that she won’t trip, and that the man who just attacked her won’t jump up and try to attack her again. She can’t comprehend what just happened, thanks to shock probably, but she falls straight back into her survival tactic she uses at home.

If she ever got hurt there, she would keep quiet, and deal with that pain herself -or tell her after making him promise not to tell her mom-. To her shock filled mind, keeping quiet seems like the best option.

She continuous to stumble backwards until she’s out of the room. ‘It’s fine’, she continuous to implant in herself, ‘it doesn’t even hurt, if there’s no wound, I’m not telling anyone.’

Of course, as per usual, the instant she thinks that, blood starts gushing out of her cheek like a tap that just got opened. The copper taste of blood, overwhelming and disgusting, triggers her brain, and suddenly, the pain she thought wasn’t there, hits her full force.

She screams, this time in pain, and the scream alerts the people downstairs promptly.  

Their footsteps ruffle up the stairs faster than she can follow, so the first touch against her arm makes her let out a screech. Her dad’s face swims into her line of vision, blurred by unshed tears. Beverly and Ben are right behind them, their faces agape when the notice the wound and the blood streaming into her mouth.

‘Oh holy shit. Sara stay still.’ He insists with a panic filled voice. He brings his hand up, most likely to cover up her wound, but then seems to think the better of it with infection. Sara has seen Eddie in panic filled states many times before, but never had his face taken on the same greyish tone it does now, and never has lips trembled so much he can barely speak.

‘Dad’, Sara whispers, her voice cracking on that one syllable, blood gushes out like a waterfall. She pitches forward, knowing full well that Eddie will freak out at the idea of blood all over him, but not caring for a second. Eddie doesn’t care either, his arms wrapping around Sara’s heaving frame and pulling her as close as humanly possible. When her dad got here is a mystery, but Sara is so thankful he arrived when he did. The comfort he radiates, even with his stressed behavior, is enough to settle her back into her skin.

‘Fuck I- I don’t know what to do.’ Eddie strains, one of his hand cupping the back of Sara’s neck, trying to take a look at the wound.

‘I’m going to go get a first aid kit’, Beverly soothes as she scrambles away to go get the material.

‘Wai’t,’ Sara screams muffled, pulling back from her dad and reaching for Bev even though she’s out of reach. The departure of the woman suddenly reminded her of the man still in her room, and the fact that everyone was in danger.

‘The guy in my room’, she rushes out, pointing to the door. Her dad’s face lights up in a furry, more angry then she has ever seen him before. She would cower if she didn’t realize it was not aimed at her. Eddie presses a quick kiss to her forehead, gently towards her if anything else, but then sprints away into their room. Ben follows without question.

‘Wait, dad’, Sara whimpers, terrified that he might get hurt too.

‘He’ll be okay,’ Beverly says as she tugs Sara further away and then helps her slide down to the floor. The first aid kit is clenched tightly between her fist. ‘He’s tougher then he looks.’

She cleans up Sara’s injure the best she can, but she’s numb too it all. Only able to stare at the door opening and waiting for her dad to reappear.

She doesn’t have to wait long it seems, before the door flings open with a loud bang.

‘It was fucking Bowers’, he curses, going straight for Sara and inspecting the bandage without elaborating further. He sinks to his knees in front of her, one of his hands gripping her shoulder. He smiles comfortingly at her, but the fire behind his eyes has not dimmed.

The man, Bowers, must be known to all of them, because Beverly asks, ’Henry Bowers?’ And Ben hums approvingly.

‘He got away too, the fucker. Wait till I get my hands on him.’  

‘Dad?’ Sara asks, not sure exactly what she’s aiming for. She’s just scared, and she wants her dad to protect her and promise that everything will be alright.

‘It’s okay,’ Eddie assures, hauling her into a hug and squeezing her so tight it’s a little constricting. ‘I promise’, he says so fiercely Sara has no doubt in her mind he means it, ‘I won’t let him touch you again.’

[lemons-made-here]

Omgggggg I love the denki headcanons! Can you do some with hikaru?

Sorry Lemondrops,,, I went overboard on a few of these. As always my askbox and taglists are open, enjoy!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Hikaru is such a cuddler oml. After sex he just wants to hold you close, he prefers seeing your face, but anyway he can hold you tight makes him happy. Hikaru would rather clean the sheets later and focus on you, he almost always has water bottles and snacks like dried fruit near him if you need them. If you two got a little rough (Let’s be honest, this is Hikaru, you did) Hikaru will rub lotion or oils into your sore spots until you feel better.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Hikaru likes your lips and eyes, the way you chew your lips or how big your eyes can grow when you’re excited? He melts. On top of that, you know the exact look and just how to kiss him to make him a puddle in your hands

On himself however, Hikaru loves his arms. How he could throw you over his shoulder at anytime, how you giggle and swoon every time he goes in for a bear hug, or how you leave scratches down the length of his biceps everytime he thrusts into you

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Doesn’t have a preference other than your face. He likes to see your lovely face clearly as much as he can during the deed. But if you cum on him? He’ll savor it, he enjoys being marked. Your cum and juices on his face? It only gets him harder. But overall Hikaru enjoys cumming in you if you’re okay with it, he thrives to see his spunk dripping out of your worn out hole.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to fuck you in the music room when guests are still there. Maybe when things are slowing down and everything isn’t as busy, but still populated. On a couch further back, away from the crowds but you’ll still have to be caeful of the noises coming out of your mouth. Hikaru pushing you deeper into the club’s cushions, having your cum stain the couches he’ll use the next day.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Meeeeh He has a general idea, he’s been coped up in his room most of the time, so a high consumption of porn, but he understands that’s not how things always work out. He picks it up as you go along, more than anything Hikaru is focused if you’re having a good time, he’s quick to learn what you like.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Standard missionary for the most part, but for lazy morning sex when neither of you really want to move, he prefers on your sides with your leg over his for easy access so he can still cuddle while he’s inside you

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not goofy whatsoever, Hikaru wants nothing during sex but to shower you in love, adoration and leave you both incredibly satisfied. Though sometimes his “harmless” tickling and laughs leads to groping and feverous kisses. Hikaru’s more of a tease than a goof

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Completely waxed, as a model for his mother’s company its much easier just to get rid of it all together. But underwear model Hikaru? Punk/Peirced Hikaru?...... That kind of stuff... Its already in the works, just ask ;)

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Hikaru’s all about intimacy, taking care of you first is the easiest way of getting himself off, although you’d like to say you’re past the honeymoon phase, it doesn’t quite feel like it. Every time you cum Hikaru reassures you, he wants to make you feel special, because you’re his everything

J = Jerk Off (How often, what are they thinking about, …)

Hikaru tries to not masturbate as much as he did back when you two weren’t together, its kind of weird to him now getting off without you there, he’d much rather cum with you or just try to ignore it. However, there are times that he’s away with the host club or his family and he’ll go through his phone for older nudes or texts, but most of the time he’ll text you.

From Hikaru: I need you so bad (N/N), I’m so hard it hurts

You: Is that so? Let me see

Hikaru sent an attachment

Voicemail from Princess💖

Just like that Hikaru, ooh your dick looks so good, you wish I was there don’t you? Wrapping my lips around your cock and sucking you dry, I want you to come all over my face, give me a pearl necklace baby, hold on for a little longer Hikaru, I want you to wait for me, you want to cum? Then you better beg for it

He has numerous voicemails just like it, its easiest for him to get off when he can hear your voice or smell you, so don’t be surprised when Hikaru’s packing for a trip and a few of your panties go missing

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Biting: Hikaru can get hard from the sight of hickies and love-bites littered over your body, Hikaru loves to make you squirm when you’re on his lap and starts to nibble on your collarbones, or better yet hold you down when he’s eating you out as he leaves not-so-gentle bites along your bikini line

Praising: From or to you, during the act Hikaru makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, deep down he’s a little insecure about his skills so it’d do Hikaru good to boost his ego,,,, just a bit

Exhibition: Hikaru loves the thrill of getting caught, in a hallway of his mansion, the music room a few minutes before an event starts or behind a curtain at a gala, if you do get caught, don’t expect him to stop.

Panty Theft: He doesn’t know why, but Hikaru can’t help but sneakily pocket a pair when he’s over or pick a pair off the floor the morning after. He’s says that he was just interested in style’s for the family business, or just conveniently forgot to give them back to you, but deep down he hopes one of two situation will turn out from this a) You finally break and make him replace the ones he’s stolen (He get’s to spoil you and see your new collection... its a win-win) or b) you don’t have any panties left,,, either way he’s going to show off that shit eating grin

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

As mentioned before, Hikaru really doesn’t care where (or when) you two do the do, there’s been more than once you’ve returned to an event or class with your hair in a mess and your clothes a little more wrinkled

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, little things go way farther than what you’d expect. How you stretch in bed every morning, the look on your face when concentrating or when a do a little dance or wiggle when you’re excited. Hikaru is also a bit touch starved, so running your hands over his chest when you straighten his tie or nuzzling is neck when you two are cuddling gets him going pretty easily too.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesomes, as often as he plays the brotherly card at the host club, he loves no one but you, and believes it should stay that way in the bedroom. In addition, aside from spanking, hair pulling or biting, Hikaru really doesn’t want to harm you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He’s doesn’t have a preference, but in his mind oral should be given with a balance, so its not only one party reciving. Although he doesn’t believe it, Hikaru is up there when it comes to skill, he mostly derives off of your sounds and breathing. If you can barely speak, then he’s doing his job correctly.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood, but most of the time Hikaru wants to feel every part of you, so he’s a bit on the slower side. Hikaru’s so big that the stretch of his dick inside you makes you breathless every time without fail. If you do go rough, Hikaru can’t hold back spilling praises and ‘I love you’s, but fast or slow, Hikaru wants to hold you throughout.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Hikaru isn’t opposed to a quickie if the time calls for it, he just finds it easier to be in a bedroom so clean-up is a little easier and the act is more comfortable with pillows and a mattress for example instead of a wall. Regardless, Hikaru is down for anywhere and anytime if you agree to it, if you two are that horny than he’s willing to fuck you into the floor.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Hikaru’s up for anything once, but if he doesn’t like something afterwards he’s going to tell you. As mentioned before, Hikaru thrives when in the face of getting caught, so something similar isn’t off the table in the slightest. As for other types of risks,,, let’s just say there might be a deeply buried breeding kink in there somewhere.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Hikaru is usually up for three or four rounds, depending on how long you can take it. Hikaru strives to get you to cum first, because its going to take him a while before he snaps, Hikaru can hold off for at least thirty minutes before he truly reaches a full climax, so be prepared for a long, exhausting night.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Hikaru is a big fan of toys, when he’s not spoiling you with clothes or exotic sweets, its with new toys for in the bedroom. On you or him he really doesn’t care, as long as you’re both having a good time. Don’t be afraid to rough him up a little with a cockring, handcuffs and a plug once in a while, not only does he love when you leave him really a little sire the next day, but you deserve a little pay back for all the times he’s teased you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Speaking of, Hikaru will tease you to no end. (Sorry I thought a drabble would be more adequate for this one)

You caught Hikaru’s eye in the sparse hallway, quickening your pace to finally clap your arms around his neck.

“You would not believe the day I had” You muttered into his shoulder, going on to explain the insanity of your lab partner and the test you nearly failed. Hikaru interlocked your fingers with his and continued walking you to lunch, stroking his thumb over yours as you continued. Once you were in the hallway block for the lunchroom, Hikaru walked himself toward you, until you were snugly pressed between Hikaru and the wall. Your head drooped with satisfaction as Hikaru began running his teeth along your neck and running his large hands up and down your waist.

“H-hikaru!” You whispered frantically, whipping your head around to see if anyone was watching,less than fifty feet away was the beginning of the line for students to pick up lunches, anyone could turn at any point and this hallway wasn’t exactly known for being unfrequented. “ We could get caught! We can’t just, just makeout in the middle of the hallway!”

“Oh, we can’t?” He chuckled, pressed his toned hips towards you, he wasn’t completely hard but you could feel the bulge of his glorious dick pressing into you. After a few sweet kisses from Hikaru to sooth his  previous bites, you began returning them, tugging on his tie to deepen the kiss and Hikaru sucked on your bottom lip, your breath became ragged and the heat from your core quickly began to overcome your fear from possible on-lookers. Hikaru dipped his dipped behind you to the small of your back, making small circles into your Venus dimples.

Suddenly, Hikaru pulled away, straightening the magenta bow around your neck and brushing off his slacks. As he began to walk towards the lunchroom Hikaru extend his hand behind him, signaling you to retrieve it. Still dazed from arousal, you took a minute before catching up.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Hikaru’s not a full-on screamer, but he’s not exactly quiet. Its heavy panting and moans for the most part. Hikaru’s dirty talk is on another level, he’s not afraid to pull out his dom voice if you’re being a brat.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Hikaru is quite the switch, he’s happy on either end of the spectrum. When’s Hikaru is domming he can be both an extremely hard or extremely soft dom. Putting you into your place and edging you until you cry, or adorning you with praises, gentle kisses and soothing touches. If he’s subbing however, you’ll have to get the brat out of him first, but beyond that he’s a pillow princess.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

As I have mentioned in numerous other headcanons, Hikaru is t h i c c about six and a half inches, but he’s so hot and vainy that your mind goes blank.

Your lungs seem to rattle as you let out another shaky breath, sinking down on to Hikaru’s cock, biting harder on your lip you try to hold in a sob as Hikaru rubs circles into your back, chest pressed against yours.

“(Y/N), I know baby, just breathe you’re doing so good taking me”

Your brain feels cloudy, hardly registering the praises Hikaru lavishes you with, you’re just so full. His dick throb so hard inside you, you can feel the pulse in your throat as you lift yourself up again and push down harder. The stretch feels like too much and just right all at the same time, as if you aren’t careful, he’ll split you in two. You push aside the thought and start riding him harder, yearning to feel more of him inside you; Hikaru meets your bounces and hits your cervix head-on. Your vision goes white for a second, heartbeat quickening as your ragged breath hit Hikaru’s shoulder.

“You’re so big Hikaru, so so good” You mumble into his neck, drunken off of pleasure you struggle to keep up your previous pace. Hikaru hums in response and flips you on your back and kisses your sternum

“Be good for me alright princess? Its my turn, so just relax, I got you”

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty average, if you’re in the mood Hikaru’s not going to say no, but he’s not the type to try and seduce you every three hours because he’s horny. If you do go at it for longer or rougher than usual, Hikaru is good for a day or two. Hikaru’s not going to leave you hanging or unsatisfied

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depending on when and where you do the do, Hikaru doesn’t necessarily need to sleep for a couple hours. But if you do happen to be completely limp from exhaustion, Hikaru will clean you up, make sure you’re hydrated and cuddle while you fall asleep.

[babyflossy]

nine minutes too late | l.ty

gif credits to owner

pairing: taeyong x reader

summary: they'll never get here in time is the last thought that crosses your mind as you start the stopwatch, they never do.

genre: anti-hero au

warnings: murder, blood, weapons, angst, kinda weird lmao

word count: 1.42k

you're six and your mother shouts for you from the house at the top of the garden. her voice light with laughter, staring in adoration at her husband. he pats your head lightly as you run into the house, knees and hands covered in mud. they scold you for getting dirt on the carpet but still help you wash it off with bubble-gum scented soap. the younger brother you had always wanted sits in his highchair, giggling at nothing and waving his hands when your mother tries to feed him.

you're eight, the boy who tried to look up your skirt is being shouted at by the school principle and your mother wraps her arm around your shoulders comfortingly. the scene replays in your head, the boy in question dropping a pencil in front of the bench you sat on with your best friend, leaning down to pick it up and looking at your legs. the memory makes you shiver, and you watch your mother glare holes into him.

you're ten, and the group of kids that stole your lunch money run away in glee, their laughter echoing down the halls and into your ears. with no money left, you sit in the bathroom and cry, too scared to tell the teacher; they'll get away with it anyway.

you're twelve and the only true friend you've ever had – a canadian boy named mark who chased bullies away from you in middle school – tells you his family is moving back to canada. you feel the air rush out of your lungs, and you think this must be what it's like to drown. your beacon of light is leaving you, the glue that keeps your fractured life from splintering apart.

you're thirteen, and the man you once called your father points the gun at your beloved mother. her whimpering is the only sound you can focus on, staring from the entrance of the kitchen. the brother you had always wanted is now eight and you make eye contact with him across the room. he has hot tears rolling down his face, sensing the impending dread. your heart stops when the trigger is pulled. either the flash of the gun or the shock momentarily blinds you and you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping it's a dream.

when you open your eyes again, the body of your dead mother is slumped over the dining table, the blood pouring from her wound mixing on the table with the red wine your father had spilt earlier. her hands are splayed out on the white tablecloth, the bracelets on her wrist still jingling from the movement. the man you no longer recognise is gawking at her, as if he can't believe she's really dead. but it's not in sadness, or regret. no, it's in happiness.

light reflects off the gun when he waves it around, pointing it at you. somewhere deep down, you wish he would pull the trigger. you couldn't feel anything. the muzzle shakes as your father starts laughing and you can't look at him. after an elongated second, he swings his body around, instead choosing to aim at your brother. you want to scream, to run at him and overpower him. but you don't; you can't. you can do nothing except listen to the bang and watch the last piece of happiness in your life collapse to the floor, face down. the thud is sickening, and the bile rises in your throat but you swallow it down, scared to so much as breath.

the sirens don't register in your head, the police officers staring in shock at the scene they walk in on. you can't feel the hands on your shoulders, you can't see the stunned but sympathetic eyes staring into yours. you can only smell the grotesque mix of blood, wine and gunpowder. this is their fault you think, and the hatred blazes through with inhuman strength.

now nineteen, the man crouched at your feet begs for you to let him go. you watch in fascination at the tears dropping to the ground, trying to remember what it felt like to care about something so much you cried. the hot pink pistol in your hands feels light, and you press it harder against his forehead, smiling in excitement when you realise what comes next. the last words of the man bounce around the room, reverberating off the cold stone walls. "please, have mercy." there is no one to hear him except you and the two other men in the room, one sat behind you watching the scene play out in glee, the other bound tightly next to him, a thick piece of duct tape covering his mouth. a slender hand runs through lime green hair, dark eyes staring intently at you as you pull the trigger.

it's like music to your ears. the blast and then the silence, his murmured pleas falling quiet. the body twitches momentarily, crimson blood rushing onto the floor and you jump back to avoid staining your new white boots. taeyong had bought them for you and his eyes travel lazily up your legs, biting his lip when he meets your gaze.

you spin around to face the others, eyes wide and crazed. the look on your face makes a smirk twitch onto taeyong's, the euphoric feeling radiating off you. the laugh you let out was diabolical and you hold out your hands to him after settling the gun into the waistband of your jeans. he slips his hands into yours, letting you pull him to stand. together, you focus your attention on the remaining man. his face is wet with tears, but you don't feel remorse, or pity. you feel alive.

taeyong stalks around the chair he's bound to, patting his head as the man shrinks away from his touch. "my turn," he whispers, pulling a knife out of his jacket. he grabs a fistful of hair, pulling his head up to face him, the whimpering he lets out muffled by the tape. skilfully, he rests the knife against the delicate skin under his chin, hushing the man softly. the man lets out what you can only assume are prayers for his life and you can't stop yourself from tutting slightly, stroking a finger down the side of his face, your hand coming back wet with tears.

"it's okay," taeyong reassures the man faintly, the blade flashing in the neon lights. "it won't hurt for long."

the promise seems to only panic the victim more, his cries getting louder and you huff in annoyance. taeyong hears you, silently agreeing the sound was displeasing to his delicate ears. his hand shifts so quickly and accurately, the product of hundreds of nights like this, that for a moment you aren't sure if he even cut the man. your doubts are squashed, however, as the blood pours out, warm and sticky, coating the white dress shirt he's wearing.

"time to run?" you offer with a twisted laugh. the bodies are left a crumpled mess on the stone floor as you both hurry up the stairs out of the basement of the warehouse. the heels of your boots click nosily, the only other sound the mix of both your and taeyong's laughter. you run hand in hand out the backdoor of the building, high off the adrenaline. once a safe distance away, you turn to watch the chaos. taeyong's arms wrap around you from behind, his head resting on top of yours, watching the blue flashing lights illuminate the quiet suburban streets. it's almost as mesmerising at the killing itself, watching the police scurry inside, too late to save anyone. they'll figure out in the morning it was you who had called them, knowing from the time of death being later than when the call came through. you had stood in the phone box at the end of the street, feigning horror as your mind floats back to that fateful day when you were thirteen.

you had called the police, screaming about how your dad was going to kill you all. it had taken nine minutes for them to arrive. nine minutes too late, you think, standing in the phonebooth, fingers clasping the silver pocket watch your father used to wear. you let the phone drop, hanging from the coiled cable as you stare at the watch with emotionless eyes. they'll never get here in time is the last thought that crosses your mind as you start the stopwatch, they never do.

a/n: this is kinda twisted but it was interesting to write

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 15

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Davin find closure, and Bucky leaves something for you to find.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Reference to assault

Word Count: 2.5k

AO3

Your apartment was exactly the way you’d left it the morning before going to work.

No lamp broken in half. No cracked wall plaster. Certainly no spilled ichor staining the carpet in pools of black nightmare fuel. The wizards had set everything right, wiping all trace that a demon had ever set foot inside.

Or had ever laid hands on you.

You couldn’t bear to look at Davin once you had returned to the scene of the crime. You didn’t blame him, not even a little bit. If anything, you were the one who felt responsible for what had happened.

“So…” You trailed off, voice flat. You had no idea what to say now that Davin was here, standing just in your peripheral vision. “Are you… okay?”

The question felt incredibly stupid once voiced. Of course he wasn’t okay.

“Yeah,” Davin answered, quiet. “Or… no. I will be, though, I think. They said there wasn’t any permanent damage…”

“That’s good.” You looked down at your shoes, the awkwardness forcing your shoulders to hunch in a protected posture. You felt like you should be doing something, be a good hostess and offer him a glass of water. Something to break up the tense silence weighing heavily on your head.

“I’m sorry.”

You raised your head, blinking as you finally met his gaze. Or tried to. Davin wasn’t looking in your direction, his eyes unwavering on the spot in front of the couch where he had… where the demon had tried to strangle you.

“Davin…” A sigh punctuated his name. “It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he responded immediately, as if knowing what you were going to say. “They were my hands that… that did it. I-I was awake the whole time. I felt it happening, felt you struggling. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him. I tried.”

You took a step towards him, wanting to reach out but instead letting your hand hang limp. This was exactly what you’d been afraid of. Him remembering.

“Davin. Look at me.”

Reluctant, he turned to face you, green eyes haggard as he frowned unhappily.

“This isn’t your fault. If anyone shares the blame, it’s me.” You took a steadying breath, attempting to sort your thoughts into words that would make him understand. “I don’t know how much you know or what the wizards told you, but that thing used you to get to me. You’re a victim.”

His gaze hardened as his frown deepened. “So are you. I wasn’t the only one with my choices taken away, and I’m not talking about that thing that controlled me, either. I’m talking about the other one.”

“What?”

Sweat beaded on your forehead and you wiped your palms on the silky fabric of your robes.

“What do you mean?”

“The other demon. Bucky. That’s his name, right?” His eyes narrowed at your lack of response.

You hurried to say something, anything, your bumbling words tripping over themselves.

“I… yes, but, what does he have to do with… with anything?”

Your heart was thudding in your chest like a spooked rabbit. You were scared shitless but your panic-stricken brain couldn’t pinpoint why—not until Davin said the words you’d been unconsciously dreading the most.

“Remember how I said I was aware? I was trapped in my own mind like a prison, but I could still hear Yaegore’s thoughts. That’s what he called himself,” he explained seeing the confusion on your face. “That mark on your shoulder? He knew what it was and what it meant, and I heard it all. He wasn’t really… quiet in my head.”

All you could do was stare, words trapped in your throat as you tried to imagine the horror of being a prisoner in your own body.

Well, okay, maybe you could sympathize a little, but nothing to this extent. And if Davin thought your situations were even close to being similar—

“But anyway, the point is, Yaegore knew you were bound to another demon. It’s why he couldn’t make you his new host. He was pissed, I mean really pissed, and he… he made me hurt you. But it was more than that; he also wanted to force the other demon to reveal itself. And it did, but we—he couldn’t see it before I blacked out.”

The memories rose in your mind without your approval: Bucky’s armored arm snaking around Davin’s throat, pinning him across his chest as his struggles grew weaker. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Bucky’s face, you were sure of it, so why did he—

“While I was recovering, or…” He gave a humorless smile, “that’s what those people called it when they left me tied to a gurney. Had me hooked up to IVs and made me drink weird stuff. But I couldn’t—Yaegore couldn’t talk. They kept that mask covering my mouth, so he couldn’t escape, I guess.”

Davin rubbed the back of his neck, nails scratching into his short blond hair as he winced.

“He wouldn’t stop yelling. It was… bad. I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me—I’m trying to explain. He was scared. He knew they were going to find a way to get him out of me. But all of that fear vanished when he saw that demon. He was pissed. Because he knew this was the demon he’d been trying to draw out.”

“You…” You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Bucky went to see you?”

Davin nodded gravely, brows pulled into deep furrows.

“He… he spoke to me. Not to Yaegore. To me. He said…” Now it was Davin’s turn to look nervous, licking his chapped lips. “He didn’t threaten me, exactly, but he definitely made it clear I couldn’t tell the wizard’s the truth when I was finally free. He said if they knew about the demon pact, they would keep you there indefinitely.”

His next words were soft and unsteady as he said, “I couldn’t do that to you. So I stayed quiet.”

The air evaporated from your lungs as if you’d been sucker-punched in the gut.

Bucky knew. He knew about the bond and hadn’t said anything!

You didn’t know what was worse—that he had lied to you or that he had made Davin lie, too. You hadn’t even known Bucky had gone to see Davin, let alone spoken to him.

What else is he not telling me?

Davin took a step towards you with a grave expression, and you tried to focus your attention on him even as your thoughts twirled in a maelstrom of denial and shock.

“I need you to be honest with me,” he said. “I need you to tell me if you’re in danger.”

Danger? What was he talking about? The heigore was gone, why would he think—

“Did he force you into this?” His head tilted as he studied your face. “Are you under his control? I don’t really understand how it works, but Yaegore was pretty freaked out, and he was an asshole.”

You found yourself unable to speak once again. The idea of you being in danger from Bucky was too ludicrous, too impossible for you to even counter.

Davin gave you a sympathetic look and dug into his pocket.

“That wizard, Strange, he put the Sanctum’s number into my phone. I can call them right now if you need me to—“

“No!” You put your hand on his, curling around the phone he had clutched in his palm. “No, don’t.”

He said your name, kindly but with a steely firmness.

“I’m not scared,” he asserted. “If this is what it takes, I’m more than happy to do it. I figure, after dealing with Yaegore bitching in my head for the past two months, this other demon can’t do much worse.”

You were pretty sure he was wrong about that, not that Bucky would ever hurt Davin. But… you also knew Bucky wouldn’t react well if Davin wanted to expose your secret to the wizards.

“Davin, I appreciate it, really.” You didn’t let go of his hand, or his phone. Couldn’t take the risk he wouldn’t listen. “But it’s not like that.”

Are you sure? a tiny voice asked, insidious. Are you really sure?

“So… he doesn’t force you to have sex with him?” Davin’s voice was flat, inflectionless, but the sadness in his eyes made you drop your gaze. The hot-sick feeling of shame crept up the back of your neck, and you wished the ground would open and swallow you whole.

But it didn’t. So you had to speak.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” you said, the words tight in your throat. “Neither of us does. It just… happened, and neither of us wanted it.”

You lifted your head and met his eye. “We’re trying to figure it out on our own for now, so I need you to not say anything, all right? Will you do that for me?”

You knew it was unfair to ask, and it was more than Davin deserved on his plate, but you were terrified if the wizards found out. Davin had to continue to maintain the secret. Keep the lie intact. For your sake, if not for Bucky’s. You didn’t want to end up strapped to a gurney for the rest of your life. If they had done that to Davin, whose situation had been fixable, you didn’t want to think what they would do to you.

And you couldn’t bear to think about Bucky ending up in the wizard’s dungeon. Even if he was lying to you, keeping his own secrets, that didn’t mean he deserved to be tortured, and—and hung up on the wall like a grisly trophy.

Davin lowered his hand and you released it, exhaling in relief as he placed the phone back into his pocket.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked softly. “Anything at all?”

His words were unfairly kind and you knew you didn’t deserve them. Not after everything he had been put through. Still, despite all of that, Davin still wanted to help you.

Once upon a time, you’d had feelings for him. It was a relief to know that you hadn’t been wrong to have them, that you hadn’t misjudged him and that the last two months of creepy behavior hadn’t been Davin at all.

Before you realized what you were doing, your arms were around his neck and you were hugging him tightly, pressing your face into his shoulder as you squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Being so close to him, you couldn’t help but think about Bucky. How long it had taken him to wrap his arms around you, hesitant and almost shy. Davin didn’t take nearly as long; he pulled his arms around your ribcage and hugged back, as comfortable as if you did this kind of thing all the time.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m just glad you’re okay. That we’re both okay.”

You nodded but didn’t speak, afraid if you did your voice would be unsteady. Your eyes stinging and your throat hurting was a good indication it would be.

He sighed, the rise and fall of his chest felt against yours.

“Fucking demons and wizards. Assholes from outer space were bad enough, but this was just… completely insane. Maybe I should get out of New York while I still can.”

You snorted softly, pulling back as you attempted to give him a reassuring smile that didn’t tremble.

Davin released you, not just returning your smile but improving on it with the crookedness you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“So. You can summon portals, huh?”

You blinked like an owl, or maybe a blind-sided deer.

“No,” you denied immediately. “The wizards tested me, came to the conclusion I’m as magically dead as a doornail.”

“Hmm.” He made a face, scrunching up his nose while your expression remained impassive. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that. Yaegore couldn’t stop talking about you. The wonder child who could summon demons. Honestly, I think he had a crush. In fact, when he wouldn’t shut up and went on for hours and hours, I made fun of him for it. Got me some peace and quiet for a while, at least.”

He gave a self-deprecating shrug at your silent staring, valiantly trying to maintain his cooked smile. He was doing an excellent job for the most part, and if you didn’t know better, you would say the experience hadn’t rattled him at all.

But you did know better.

“Hey, if I can’t joke about my own possession, can I truly call myself a Millennial?”

Your sigh was loud and heavy but you rolled your eyes to show him you didn’t mean it. At least one of you still had your sense of humor. Yours had been lost somewhere in a wizard’s dungeon.

As weirdly easy as it was to talk to Davin now, probably because of your shared and very strange trauma, he couldn’t stay forever. You both had the shattered pieces of yours lives to pick up, but you promised to keep in touch. You, because you were worried after his experience with the heigore. Him, probably because of your experience with Bucky. You knew it was no use telling Davin you had no reason to fear Bucky, so you didn’t try.

After he left, giving you one last warm, parting hug, you were left alone in your apartment. The silence was damning, the apartment too cold, and you turned the heater up, afterwards heading for the bedroom for a change of clothes. Silk robes did nothing for the December chill.

There was a bundle on your bed, and a second bundle of fur on top of that. The bundle moved, stretched out while splaying claws, and gave a yawning mewl.

“Monster!”

You buried your face in his side, hugging him tightly. He bore the burden of your attention before wiggling out of your grasp, leaving behind the pile of clothing the wizards must have brought.

On top of your clothing (washed and dried but now covered with grey cat hairs), was a folded piece of white paper.

Curious, you opened the sheet, eyes widening as they followed along the short message.

1 Main St, Brooklyn

9PM

Ask for Jacob Miller

-JBB

The handwriting was in cursive, oddly neat but old-fashioned, but that probably shouldn’t have been a surprise considering who had written it.

Bucky was asking you to meet him somewhere, tonight. You didn’t know who Jacob Miller was, but the thought of meeting Bucky again after not having had a chance after so long…

…and knowing by the gauge of your body, like some kind of fucked-up clock tuned into your libido…

Your stomach twisted into knots but your fingers curled into fists. Bucky owed you a goddamn explanation. Not even the daunting idea of him having to feed from you was going to stop you from getting your answers.

With a resolution you hadn’t felt in a long time, you stripped off the silken robes and headed for the shower in preparation for what the night would bring.

Next Chapter

[serenzippity]

Terra

Words: 3324 Member: Jaebeom Pairing: Jaebeom/POC Reader Genre: Angst, Alternative Universe Warning(s): Death, blood, suggestive if you squint

Part 3 of Atrocitas

Cotonou, Benin

It was supposed to be a regular day, one where you woke up and resumed your everyday activities of catering to those who turned their nose up at you. Those rich businessmen and women who found themselves in your port-city—either by chance or obligation—overlooking you as they checked into the nicest rooms Cotonou had to offer. You were invisible and irrelevant to them, just a passing face in the crowds as they worked on shipping deals that were worth more than you’d ever see in a lifetime.

Rising with the sun and falling with the moon, you worked diligently and quickly in your receptionist role that melted the days into agreeable blurs. Despite the monotony, you were content with the lack of color in the monochrome world you’d grown accustomed to.

Wake up. Get ready. Go to school. Go to work. Go home. Eat with your boyfriend. Go to bed. Repeat. It was bland, but you savored the lack of spice.

The slow churn of the world beneath your feet stopped when an errand rock flew through your window at 2 in the morning, waking you from a dreamless sleep. The scattered glass-coated your carpet, and you felt the rare prickle of anger creep up the back of your neck. “Fucking kids,” you muttered putting your slippers and robe on to survey the damage. Making your way to the shattered window you calculated the cost of replacing the pane and gnawed your lip at the thought of having to dip into your humble savings account.

Benin wasn’t a rich country, the lack of streetlights in your modest neighborhood failing to light up your small second-story apartment to what was happening outside. Through the jagged planes you could see shapes moving in the darkness. Squinting through the inky night you could see four people moving quickly, the sounds of cracking concrete pouring through the broken glass. Three people, all dressed in black and blending into the night, were firing off guns at a lone fourth figure. Their silencers muffled the crack of the bullets, but you could see the tell-tale flash of fire each time a trigger was pulled. The fourth figure was standing behind a rudimentary wall of rock, and you had to strain your eyes to see that the wall was in fact made up of chunks of concrete and brick in the middle of the street.

Rubbing your eyes in a bid to dispel any sleep-induced visions, you hoped that you were still dreaming as you watched the rock wall shudder and grow in front of the lone man. You weren’t watching for long, maybe only a couple of minutes in stunned silence or so, before the wall shuddered and seemed to explode from an invisible force. Pieces went flying, most of them meeting the three gunners and crushing them with a sickening crack. Each break of a bone echoed up into your apartment and felt like a needle sticking under your skin. You could hear breathless gasps and the clattering of stone, but all at once it was silent.

With wide, glossy eyes you watched as the final pieces of stone stilled. The lone survivor stood there in silence, as the bodies before him broke under the weight of the rocks. It was obvious to you that the three people firing were dead, and a small cry of fear escaped your lips when your mind put the pieces together. This small noise carried through the broken window and out into the silent night, causing the survivor to sharply turn his head towards you.

In a flash of fear and panic you scrambled away from the window, the dark flashing eyes of the mysterious figure outside making you feel like you were dropped into a horror movie. A shard of glass embedded itself in your palm, breaking the skin and staining your carpet with crimson heat, but the pounding of your heart in your ears was drowning out every other sensation. Seconds ticked by as you huddled against the wall and out of the dull moonlight that shone through the window. You could feel the blood drip down your palm, but the terror you felt kept you from moving. It didn’t take long for any inkling of courage to get snuffed out as you tried to access what you just saw, a multitude of far-fetched scenarios making their way through your head.

You were contemplating if everything you just saw was a figment of your imagination when a loud knock echoed through your apartment. The thuds caused you to shriek in fear, heart pounding in unadulterated panic. The knocking quickly grew impatient, practically pounding through the thin door to the rhythm of your rapid heart.

Call it what you want—stupidity, curiosity, or a complete lapse in judgment—but the knocking grew in volume and you rose to your feet with trepidation seeping into your bones. The shuffling of your slippers on the dingy carpet was drowned out by the incessant pounding as you made your way to your front door.

Taking a deep breath once you stood in front of the door that seemed to be buckling right before your eyes, you gripped the knob with an uncharacteristic strength. Cradling your injured hand to your chest in apprehension—half to prepare yourself for the worst, and half to dull the pain that was starting to steep into your consciousness—you threw open the door not knowing what to expect on the other side.

It was definitely stupidity that took over at that point.

There stood a man, still shrouded by darkness but an inner light seemed to shine through his skin showing his handsome features and tattered clothes. Deep, glowing green eyes stared at you in what looked like pain and fear—two emotions you weren’t expecting to see. Another thing you weren’t expecting was the obvious iron scent of blood and the way it overpowered your nose. You thought you would open the door to see a supernatural murder ready to snuff the life out of your small body, not a handsome stranger with a pained grimace on his perfect features.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a pained groan before he collapsed in the threshold, his body meeting the ground in a harsh thud. He was half in and half f your small apartment, the blood seeping out of a clear bullet wound and onto the carpet. You were frozen in shock, mouth agape as you tried to fathom what you were seeing. A half-dead handsome stranger had just collapsed in front of you after building a wall of stone and killing three people who were firing guns at him—one of which seem to meet its mark. You were delusional and seeing things, not fully awake to truly contemplate what was happening. At least you felt delusional until the stranger let out a deep groan that shook the entire foundation of your building. The walls and floor shook like an earthquake was rolling through the city, knocking over the meager bouquet of flowers on your kitchen counter and shattering the vase. Wall dressings would have been knocked down if you had any, but the ripple of the floor beneath your feet resurged your fear coating you from head to toe.

As quickly as the tremors started they ended, leaving you vibrating in panic.

What the fuck just happened?

-x-

“Could I borrow this?” He asked, picking up your phone with a gentleness that looks uncharacteristic in his large hands.

“Uh, sure.” Turning back to your cooking you ignored the clicks on the screen as you stirred the chicken and vegetables in the searing pan. You and Jaebeom—JB as he preferred to be called—had slipped into a casual comradery ever since he fell through your door bleeding and alone. You dragged him in, spreading blood across your carpet as you tried to fell him onto your couch. Ever since that night when you gave him a rudimentary patch up job for his bullet wound you both felt a weird sense of attachment.

He was attached to you because you were the one who saved his life, and you were attached to him. After all, he was a colorful glimmer in your monochromatic world. This link made you both feel funny—neither willing to give the other up despite his secrecy and your relationship. He was essentially the best roommate you’d ever had and you were his personal guardian angel.

He hadn’t fully explained to you his genealogy or where his powers came from, but you also didn’t pressure him to explain the rock wall you saw that night. JB explained that he and his six brothers were descendants of a very old, magical race and you saw that as all the information you needed.

“Plausible deniability,” you said, a small smile coming to your face that both endeared and confused him.

Everything since that day was shared. Your couch had become his new home, while your fridge was now doubly full since you were feeding two people. It put a strain on your finances, but you picked up extra weekend shifts to make up for it. Your days were spent at the University or work in order to earn the extra income needed to feed the strange yet beautiful man living in your apartment. In addition your IUMA textbooks became a good escape for him to dive into, learning both English and Economics when you weren’t using them to study.

You both stayed out of each other’s way, showing infinite gratitude for the ease that came with living with him, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine your small apartment without him anymore.

Once your simple dinner was ready and plated you joined JB on the couch, watching him silently as he scrolled through the internet on your phone. His jaw was ticked and you could see his tongue poking his cheek, wholly engrossed in what was on the screen.

“Ya know,” you said with a chuckle as you set down your half-eaten meal onto the coffee table, “If you’re not hungry I can always save it for later?”

That snapped him out of the screen, and he looked at you with a sheepish smile. He didn’t relinquish his hold on your phone, but he used his free hand to shovel the food into his mouth. You both ate in companionable silence, not having to say much but enjoying it nonetheless. When you were both done you took the plates and washed them for later use, choosing to return to the couch next to him to read when they were properly put away.

You were maybe four pages in before JB jolted next to you, practically causing you to drop your book in sudden fright as he quickly leaned in close and held your phone in your face. “Have you ever heard of white and black cities?” He asked eagerly, like a child asking their parent for a cookie.

“Uhhhhh,” you said squinting at the small font of the screen. Quickly scanning over the words to garner what he was all excited over. “I mean they seem pretty straight forward.”

“Exactly!” He whooped completely leaning into you closer with every passing second. The close proximity that you were used to was welcomed, but this was something entirely new. With your bodies pressed so close JB was pretty much laying on top of you causing your breath to catch and your heart to stutter. Butterflies began to take flight in your stomach as his torso touched yours and you felt like you couldn’t move. “They are cities of magic! Each city is either made up of light magic or dark magic, and they attract beings of both types to them!” His zealous rambling was accompanied by a shine in his eyes that made them glossy with emotions.

He looked at you, bringing his face within a hairsbreadth of yours. Your heart was pounding at how close he was and a small part of you realized that you only had to move of couple centimeters to close the distance and—no. You shook the thoughts out of your head before they could form, reprimanding yourself at the dangerous thought.

“W-what does that mean?” You asked, hating how you stuttered just from being this close to JB.

His mouth stretched into a dazzling smile, showing all of his perfect teeth and causing his eyes to turn into little smiles themselves. “It means I know where my brothers are!” JB was so excited that you don’t think he fully thought out his next move, but in his reverie he completely crashed into you. Winding his arms around your body he pulled you into a tight hug that had him invading all your senses.

His strong arms held you against his chest, and the fluttering in your stomach increased ten-fold. It felt natural to be in this position with him and it didn’t take much for your own arms to wind around his waist. You could feel his deep chuckle reverb through his chest and you couldn’t help but bury your head into his neck at the vibrations. The hug felt different from that of your boyfriend—you felt like you belonged there like your bodies were two puzzle pieces who had just clicked together. The thought made you both nervous and content at the same time.

“I’m happy for you Jaebeom,” you whispered into his neck, silently wishing that he would never let go and that this moment in his arms would last forever.

-x-

It may have just looked like a simple hug on the outside, but on the inside you were raging. Emotions that had you feeling like stupid schoolgirl boiled to the surface every time you simply looked at JB. And considering he was your impromptu roommate those emotions were often clouding your consciousness. You toss and turned that night coming to two conclusions: One, JB would eventually leave you so you needed to quash anything you felt for him. This meant that for the last two weeks you had limited your time at home to the bare minimum. You only came back late at night, to cook dinner for you two and immediately retired once the dishes were clean. You blamed your crazy boss for maximizing your work schedule, but in reality you asked for every shift available. You were at the point of collapse, but you held fast to the idea that you could breakdown after JB left. He had taken notice of your lack of interactions, and whenever you would reject any invitation to spend time with him his soul ached more and more. He missed your presence and he wished you would stop flitting around like a ghost he couldn’t grasp. JB’s chest constricted when he saw you and everything you did to avoid him hurt more than he knew it should.

The second conclusion was that you had to end things with your boyfriend. You were adamant about not staying with him if your emotions weren’t in it, and since JB came into your life you knew that your heart no longer beats for him. He took it relatively well and it ended quickly much to your relief. There was no animosity so you were easily able to put a checkmark next to that task.

One epiphany down, another left to deal with.

You thought you were doing well at quelling the hormones raging through you, but every synapse in your brain fired off one night when you returned home later than usual. There was a faint smell of food in the air as you unlocked the door. Peaking in, JB was nowhere to be seen which had you on edge the moment you stepped through the threshold. The apartment was silent and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up at the stillness. Creeping in you made your way to your bedroom door in a quick effort to once more limit any contact with JB.

You didn’t go far.

Eyeing the neat couch suspiciously, you didn’t notice JB silently come out of the bathroom in the hallway. You didn’t notice his bare chest until you ran into it with a small oof. Blinking in a daze, the first thing you saw was JB’s perfectly sculpted chest that was slick with water. Blinking in a daze you followed the flawless skin up and up until you were looking at his face, the distance practically nonexistent between you two.

JB was about to lose it. Your big eyes were looking at him with both innocence and fear, and he swore he could see constellations in their depths. He could vividly see every crevice and pore on your beautiful face and he savored the sight to recall later. Your dark skin was taunting him with how it seemed to glow from the inside calling him forward like a siren on the sea. If he leaned down a couple of centimeters he could claim your lips as his, and it took all his willpower to not do so without your permission.

He tested the waters, hoping to possibly move forward in some way from the awkward dichotomy between you two for the last couple of weeks. His hand reached up to cup your cheek gently, soft and delicate in his touch that felt featherlight against your heated face. The contrasting colors of your skins were so enticing to him, like day and night in the world’s foremost paradise. To him it seemed to work naturally and easily he was just hoping that you felt the same in some way.

His touch felt right. Your mind was reeling, but your heart was thrumming a rhythm that sang a song only you could hear. It told you that this was meant to happen and it was perfect. It told you everything was fine and for once in your life it was okay to not act rationally.

So in response to your singing heart you turned your head to nuzzle JBs warm palm.

He took this as an affirmation, either foolishly or not, and swiftly leaned down to connect your lips. Stealing all the air in your lungs, the forceful kiss caused you to squeak in surprise but you began to kiss him back within seconds. When he felt you reciprocating his body felt like it was floating. He’d wanted to kiss you for a couple of days now, coming to terms with his feelings for you when he began to feel the sting of distance as you avoided him. JB realized that he was falling for you when he realized he was losing you and this moment right here affirmed everything he felt in his tortured soul.

He knew he wasn’t good for you and that his life was constantly covered with a dark cloud of danger, but for one singular moment he let reality slip away. His arms wound around your waist, drawing you deeper into his naked chest. You hummed in contentment at the feel of his skin and you couldn’t help but brush your hands all over his upper body in appreciation. The air went from tentative to fiery in a matter of seconds as all of the unresolved emotions and thoughts from the last two weeks bubbled to the surface.

Pent up and frustrated after spending days walking on eggshells around each other, you and JB moved in sync to your bedroom in an effort to spend the night exploring these emotions swirling between you two. For the night JB was able to forget everything that plagued him day in and day out, whispering affirmations into your naked skin that no matter what happened to him you would now be the center of his entire world.

JB was a rock that was now floating happily within your orbit.

A/N: JB’s is done! I kept rewriting this, trying to figure out what worked. But I felt like this one was a good way to show the extent of their powers and explain why each city was chosen for each member. Every city in each installment is a “magical” city of either Black or White magic. 

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 20

Masterlist

Summary: Five hundred years before Feyre Archeron is born, the world is much different from the one she lives in. Humans are slaves, seen as little more than animals by the Fae who rule. But things are beginning to change. Talks of rebellion is spreading and on the Continent, some Fae territories begin to consider the potential gain of War. All it takes is one spark and everything will explode.

----

The Autumn Court is beautiful, but its beauty is a strange one. The forest is full of colours, so vivid that Miryam barely knows where to look, yet the entire land seems laced with a scent of decay.

Absentmindedly, Miryam tugs at the sleeves of her dress, wishing she had brought something warmer. The Autumn Court is not cold by any means, but Miryam was born in a desert country. Next to her, Helion waves a hand and she is immediately warm.

“You okay?”, he whispers. Miryam nods, but he still gives her a questioning glance. “You seem worried.”

Well, what can I say? My lover is just meeting with one of Hybern`s deadliest generals and trying to seduce her. So yes, I may be slightly worried.

Before she can think of an excuse, though, the guards pull open the huge doors to High Lord Beron`s Forest House and she is able to step inside, Helion half a step behind her.

The wealth that greets her inside would be enough to make most people stop and gawk. Golden chandeliers, silk carpets on the walls, doors made of pure gold. Miryam only gives her surroundings half a glance before she continues walking. She does her best to ignore the guards trailing them, staring at her. All of them are High Fae, there is not a single faerie in sight. Mor`s warnings are ringing in her ears and make her senses go on high alert.

The walk to the throne room seems endless. Helion links his arm through hers and leans in to whisper into her ear, “A joyful place, right?”

Miryam smiles and nods. “Have you been here before?”, she asks.

“Once or twice.” Helion is grinning, but there is a tension in his face. Strange. Miryam doesn`t know of any tension between him and the Autumn Court, but she isn`t stupid enough to ask here, where the guards are sure to report their words back to Beron.

Finally, they reach the throne room. Two guards open the door for them and Miryam walks in, head held high.

High Lord Beron is sitting on a throne made of antlers at the end of the long throne room. His red hair looks like living flame, the red aura of his magic is glowing brightly around him. There is a cruel cast to his mouth, though, that has Miryam become even more cautious.

Miryam steps forward and inclines her head. “My Lord. Thank you for inviting us.”

Beron doesn`t reply. He just watches her. Sneers. Miryam holds his gaze.

“Look at that”, he finally drawls, “Is the Alliance running short of proper politicians, or is there another reason they are sending a child to represent them?”

“My Lord, I am-“, Miryam begins, but he cuts her off with a wave.

“I know who you are, girl. Don`t take me for stupid.”

She bristles. “If you know my name, then perhaps you should use it.”

“Careful”, Beron hisses, “I am a High Lord – I do not allow half-breed filth to talk down to me.”

Helion takes a step forward, but Miryam holds out a hand to stop him. She says, “And I am the emissary to the human-faerie Alliance. You`ll find that I do not take kindly to being insulted, either.”

Beron studies her for a few seconds. “A witch alright”, he says with a smile that sends a shiver running down Miryam`s spine. “We shall discuss business later. But first, allow me to show you the pleasures my court has to offer.”

He claps his hand and a band starts playing. Courtiers begin milling around. Beron turns to one of them without sparing Miryam another glance.

Helion laughs and links his arm through Miryam`s to lead her away. “Could have been worse. Do you want me to stay with you, or-“

“Go enjoy yourself”, Miryam says. She remembers Mor`s warning, but she doesn`t want to look weak in front of these people and hiding behind her Fae companion will certainly be seen as a sign of weakness.

Helion winks at her and vanishes amongst the assembled Fae. Miryam spends the next few minutes in tense conversations with courtiers who either look at her like she is a piece of dirt staining their pretty palace, or a particularly pleasant meal. Typical High Fae arrogance.

Finally, Miryam has had enough and pushes her way through the crowd to a quiet corner. From there, she has a good overview of the throne room. She spots Helion almost immediately. He is talking to a pretty Autumn Court female with red hair. Or rather flirting with her. He keeps casually touching her arm and smiling with enough heat to make the female blush. Only after a moment does Miryam recognize her as the Lady of Autumn. Indeed, Beron is watching the pair as well, his lips pressed together into a thin line. What in the Mother`s name is Helion thinking?

Miryam is about to go over and do her best to prevent a disaster when she gets the weird feeling of being watched. She looks around the room until her gaze settles on a young Autumn Court male whose aura marks him as the Heir of Autumn. Eris. When he notices Miryam`s attention, he smiles slightly and dips his chin. She frowns in return and he begins making his way through the crowd towards her.

Once he is standing in front of her, he bows to the waist. “May I have this dance, my Lady?”

“I`m sorry, but I do not dance.” At least not with you, you pig. It is a struggle to keep the disgust out of her voice. She tries not to think of Mor, or the part this male played in her suffering.

Eris smiles. “Make an exception. You won`t regret it.”

“The lady said she doesn`t dance.” Suddenly, Helion is standing next to her again. “You heard her.”

Eris smirks. “A pity”, he says and stalks off.

Miryam turns to Helion. “Thank you”, she says, “But I-“

“You could have handled yourself. I know.” He grins. “I would have expected nothing else of Miryam Godsblessed.”

“Oh, don`t call me that.” Bad enough that the soldiers keep whispering that name behind her back. Miryam sighs. “Well, I`m still glad you`re here.” She nudges him in the side. “How is flirting with our host`s wife in front of his entire court helping this diplomatic meeting?”

Helion gives her one of his dazzling smiles. “Oh, it is absolutely vital.”

Miryam arches an eyebrow. She doesn`t buy that swaggering bullshit for one second. Something is bothering Helion, she can tell. But before she can find a subtle way to ask, Lord Beron`s voice rings out over the crowd.

“Helion!”

They both turn to face the throne. The High Lord is holding out a letter.

“Your uncle is asking for your presence in Day. There appears to be an emergency.”

Helion frowns. He barely skims the letter Beron hands him, then turns to Miryam. “He says it`s important.”

“Go. Just don`t forget to pick me up later – if I get stuck in Prythian because of you, I`ll be pissed.”

“Thank you”, Helion says and rushes out of the room.

Miryam returns to her corner. It doesn`t take long, though, for trouble to find her. Eris Vanserra stops in front of her, an expectant expression on his face.

“What is it?”, Miryam asks.

“You still owe me a dance”, the male says, smirking.

“I told you: I don`t dance.”

“I don`t believe you. Why won`t you dance with me?”

Miryam hesitates, then says, “I`m friends with Morrigan.”

She wonders if she imagines Eris flinching. A second later, his arrogance is back. “A pity”, he drawls, “I thought you had class.” Miryam bristles, but he just laughs. “Come on, now, I`m your host`s son. Refusing to dance with me might be considered a slight.”

The worst part is, he is right. There`s no polite way for her to refuse. So Miryam grits her teeth, takes the hand he offers her and lets him lead her to the dance floor.

She almost immediately regrets it. Being this close to Eris, having him tough her, makes her skin prickle. His hands are on her waist, pulling her closer. Miryam`s first instinct is to push him away, but she can`t do that – it would be a political nightmare.

“Not so bad, is it?”, Eris drawls.

Then, he leans in closer until she can feel his breath on her neck. Miryam doesn`t think she`s breathing. She wonders how her feet are still moving when she is all but frozen with fear. Too close, too close, too close.

“Now, you listen to me”, Eris whispers into her ear, his voice so soft she can barely understand him, “And if you want to survive this night, I`d suggest you do exactly as I say. This is a trap.”

----

Jurian awkwardly sits down on a rock next to Clythia, but he makes sure that there is still lots of empty space between them. This female is a general in Hybern`s army. She slaughtered countless humans – his people – without mercy. If his spy`s reports are anything to go by, her sister and her delight in torturing humans before ending them. Yet, he is sitting next to her like nothing is wrong. His every instinct is roaring at him to draw his sword and just kill her.

“I know you`re hesitant”, Clythia says, breaking the silence.

“Not so much hesitant as confused.” And repulsed. “I got the impression that you don`t hold humans in the highest regard.”

Clythia waves a hand as if dismissing the comment. “You`re different. Not at all like the other mortals. They are worms, but you…”

It doesn`t seem to occur to her at all that Jurian might mind her insulting his people. That he might not want to be considered an exception or spend so much as a second in the presence of a female who considers his kind to be less than animals.

“What about me?”, he asks, hoping that his tone doesn`t show his anger.

“You belong with me.” At least she doesn`t say belong to me, but Jurian isn`t sure if she sees a difference. “I`ve seen it – seen it long before I ever heard your name. We will be together.”

She says it with such certainty that Jurian shivers slightly. If she`s a seer and she`s seen them being together… No, she has to be wrong. Or maybe she`s lying. This can`t be his future.

He pulls himself together. He`s a soldier, for Cauldron`s sake. This is just another mission. He shouldn`t let it get to him.

“Well”, he says, “what an interesting future. You may have heard, though, that I am in a relationship. Happily.”

Again, that dismissive hand wave. “Inconsequential.” Clythia smiles. “I`ve been a seer for three centuries now and believe me: The future does not lie.”

Jurian briefly considers her words. She is sure of herself. Obviously believes that she has won already. Jurian knows opponents like that. They are usually arrogant and don`t look past the first impression. Easy enough to trick. Even better, she doesn`t seem to consider that Jurian might be seriously opposed to the idea of this relationship.

As if to prove him right, Clythia puts her hand on his leg.

Jurian makes himself give her his best lazy smile. “Why don`t you show me what that future`s going to be like, then?”

----

“That`s not possible”, Miryam whispers. She keeps dancing, keeps her face neutral, even as her mind begins to race. “I`m a guest in his house – he wouldn`t dare harm me.” Not even Ravenia, for all her cruelty, ever broke that rule.

“Continental rules”, Eris replies, “They don`t hold as much sway here. And he doesn`t need to harm you himself – he can just stand by as others do.”

“Why?”

She can feel Eris sigh. “Is that really the pressing thing to discuss? We only have minutes!”

But Miryam still hesitates. She doesn`t trust Eris. He might well be lying and if she acts on his words only to find out that he was tricking her, it will be her who jeopardizes this alliance. If she acts and turns out to be wrong, it will be the biggest mistake she ever made as an emissary – it might cost her any standing she has within the Alliance.

“Why?”, she repeats.

Eris groans. He twirls her around, then pulls her close again. “The Loyalists offer quite generous terms – far better than anything the Alliance could give us. Your head is the asking price. I assume you know why.”

“What`s the plan?” Miryam has to keep from glancing around in the room to look for anything that seems out of place.

“That letter to Helion was forged – they wanted to get him out of the way. A group of soldiers will arrive to take you away in… five minutes.”

Miryam curses. If he`s saying the truth, she is really and truly in trouble. “What do I do?”, she breathes.

“On my note”, Eris says, “you will shove me away. Make a scene. Then, you storm out of the room. You need to go down two flights of stairs. There is a carpet with a huge deer on it. Behind it, you find a hidden room. Wait for me there.”

Miryam nods. They keep twirling around each other. Then, Eris pulls her close again.

“Now”, he whispers.

Miryam doesn`t hesitate. She shoves him away from her as hard as she can – which, given that he`s Fae and she`s not, barely makes him stumble. Around them, people stop dancing to stare at them. Miryam darts forward and slaps Eris. (She can`t quite contain a feeling of satisfaction at the surprise on his face.)

“You bastard”, she hisses, “How dare you touch me?”

She turns around to glower at the Fae who are snickering around them, then turns to Beron who is watching her from his throne.

“I need some fresh air”, she snaps.

Without waiting for a reply, she stalks out of the room. The guards at the doors do not stop her.

Instead of trying to go to the meeting place, Miryam lingers by the door. She paces like she is simply a female annoyed at some male`s behaviour during the party, but keeps shooting glances through the doors. She can`t leave – not without being absolutely sure that this is indeed a trap. It might be reckless, but anything else would be political suicide.

She doesn`t have to wait for long. Only a few minutes pass before a group of people appear in the middle of the throne room. All of them are armed and bearing the Black Land colours. Miryam stumbles back a step as she recognizes the male at the front.

Artax.

For a second, Miryam is frozen with old fear. Then, her instincts kick in. She spins around and runs. Thank the Cauldron, none of the guards reach out to stop her. Miryam dashes down the stairs. She already took the first flight when she realizes that she is going to lead Artax straight to the meeting place and if Eris isn`t waiting, she will be done for.

So instead, she turns to the right on the first landing and sprints down the corridor. She hears steps following behind her, almost lazily. She has nowhere to run and they know it. Artax probably enjoys the chase. She needs to buy herself some time, but how is she supposed to do that against the head of the Witcher`s Guild?

Miryam dashes around the next corner. The guards follow her with their eyes, but don`t move. Apparently, Beron`s twisted view of guest`s right means that his guards won`t touch her.

The next corridor is empty. Then, out of nowhere, a female steps into her way. She is dressed in servants` colours and marked as a faerie by the antlers poking out of her brown hair. It is too late for Miryam to jump aside – she crashes straight into the female. They both go crashing to the ground.

“Sorry”, Miryam gasps.

She pushes back to her feet, but then, she pauses. The female had to have come from somewhere. Indeed, there is a small door in the wall, almost invisible. The servant`s corridors, of course – those existed in the Black Land as well. Steps are approaching from behind. Miryam pushes the door open and slips through. She pulls it shut behind her the moment Artax rounds the corner.

The corridors much smaller and darker than the huge hallways of the palace. Miryam keeps running. At each crossroad, she takes a different turn. Soon, she is completely lost, but she can still hear steps following her. She looks back over her shoulder to see if Artax is already in sight, and –

Suddenly, the ground is gone from under her feet. Miryam barely has time to yelp before she is falling.

She lands in something soft. Clothes, Miryam realizes. She is lying in a pile of clothes. High above her, there is a hole in the ceiling – likely used by servants to dump the laundry into. Miryam quickly rolls to the side and presses herself against the wall.

It doesn`t take long for Artax` face to appear in the hole. Miryam doesn`t dare breath as he looks down onto the pile of clothes. After what seems like an eternity, he continues on the corridor. Miryam sags with relief.

Even though she got rid of her pursuers, it takes Miryam almost an hour to get to her meeting place with Eris. The Forest House is a maze and Miryam has to avoid anyone who might see her. She has just begun to believe that she`ll never find the hidden room when she rounds a corner and comes face to face with the carpet.

She pushes past it and into the room beyond. The carpet falls back into its place and a flame flickers to life – right in front of her face. It illuminates Eris`, who pushes off the wall he was leaning against.

“Finally”, he hisses, “I thought you had been caught.”

Miryam is shaking, but manages to glare at him. “Just take me out of here, please.”

“Not so fast”, Eris says and takes a step back. “First, I`d like to discuss my conditions.”

“Your what?”

“Well, I´m risking quite a lot by saving you. It would only be fair if you were to repay me.”

Miryam glances towards the door. She is sure Artax is still searching for her, and if he finds her here… “What do you want?”

“A favour”, he replies, “to be decided later.”

“No.” How stupid does he think she is? “You could ask anything. I won`t do it.”

“It will be within reason. And I don`t see how you have much of a choice. You can stay here, of course, but you`ll find that you`ll have a hard time winning this war if you`re dead.”

Miryam hesitates. Damn that male, he is right. “Nothing that harms the war effort”, she says.

“Alright.”

“And I won`t sleep with you.”

Eris snorts. “I honestly don`t know where you get the idea that I´d have an interest.” He holds out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

There are steps approaching outside. It might just be guards – or it could be Artax.

“Yes”, she says and takes his hand. As soon as their fingers touch, he winnows them away.

They land in a forest that looks as old as this land. Miryam is shivering in her too-light dress. She doesn`t know where she thought Eris would take her, but she certainly didn`t expect this.

“Where are we?”

“The Middle. I´ll send word to Helion that he can pick you up here.”

Miryam nods. Something about this forest seems off, but she tries to tell herself that it can`t be so bad. She survived the trek through half the Continent on her own – she should be able to last a few hours here.

“Why?”, she asks, “Why save me?”

Eris gives her that insufferable smirk of his. “Your death would have been a waste. Alive, you may yet be useful.”

“Of course”, Miryam mutters, “How could I believe you`d ever help my for any reason other than your own gain.”

Any amusement vanishes from Eris` face. “I had my reasons. Back then, I mean.”

“You left a girl of seventeen in the forest to die. You truly believe any reasons you might have had make it fine?” Miryam hesitates for a heartbeat, then adds, “I thank you for your help, though.”

Eris gives her a mocking bow, then vanishes, leaving her alone in the forest.

----

A/N: I thought quite a lot about how to portray Eris. On one hand, it is made pretty clear that he is not as horrible as he seems. But I also really didn`t want to dismiss Mor`s suffering or excuse his actions, so I choose a middle ground (I mean, I don`t like him, so I wrote him as a kind of self-serving asshole, but still not as bad as his father.) I hope that worked out!

I also feel like I should probably tell you that I don`t write sex scenes. I don`t like reading them and I certainly don`t feel comfortable writing them, so all sex scenes in this book will be fade-to-black.

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas

[mayve-hems]

Amnesia | Luke Hemmings

Type: IMAGINE | ONE SHOT | MULTI CHAPTER

Summary: After his girlfriend killed herself, Luke is forced to come to terms with her death and her funeral

Word Count: 4.4k

Note: A sad and possibly triggering story. It’s short and not my best work, but I’ve tried my hardest and I hope you’ll leave a like! I’d like to thank my friend Jo for proofreading this story! Also, this is not my gif. 

Warnings: Cussing, mentions and scenes of self-harm, mentions of parental abuse, depressed Luke Hemmings, angst, suicide

Normal

Flashback

-

Luke presses part of the soft pillow to his ear, trying to drown out the thoughts flooding his brain. His head is pounding with thoughts from months ago, imagining her body right next to his. The blood pouring out of the wound, staining sheets, and his clothes. The shirt he wore that night was left at her house, discarded right there when he had to lift her dead body off the mattress. She was light in his arms; weightless like an angel floating in thin air. His blue -for some reason he wore blue that night- jeans are stuffed in the corner of his closet, soaked thick with blood down the front.

"You're an idiot," Y/N giggled, shoving a spoon into his mouth. His top jaw fell onto the metal, freezing his gums with frozen yogurt. "Is it good?" Y/N had the most beautiful smile Luke had ever laid eyes on. Her teeth bit down on her lip when she smiled, bringing her boyfriend's attention to the plump skin. Luke absolutely adored Y/N. She caught his eye in middle school, finally gave him a chance in high school, and had been dating since. Liz Hemmings described the couple as inseparable and loving. Every time Y/N had to go home from Luke's house, he'd walk her the seven-block distance, kissed her under the moonlight, and would walk home while on the phone with her.

Luke nodded his head, confirming what Y/N thought of her favorite frozen yogurt flavor. "Tastes just like you," Luke leaned forward to connect his lips with Y/N's. She tasted the yogurt on his lips, basking in the sweetness mixed with Luke. Her hand grabbed onto the collar of his shirt when he tried to pull away. Just to keep him close for a little while longer. Just a few seconds.

Luke bit into the skin on the back of his hands, suppressing a sob. She was gone so quickly; it took her almost no time to bleed out completely. Too much blood gone, and her heart was dead. There was nothing Luke could do to stop the bleeding. He regrets not opening her door sooner- he regrets waiting for her to say it was okay to go into her room!

"Is it hot in here or is it just you?"

Luke shoved Y/N's shoulder, pushing her into the grass a little bit as he continued down the sidewalk. "I hate you," Luke laughed off.

It's all his fault!

"Are you sure you're not tired? You've been running through my mind all day!"

"I am tired, Hemmings, but it's because it's the middle of the night,"

"Way to ruin it, dork,"

Luke rolled over, suffocating himself in a bedspread and duvet. His bare torso is hot and sweaty, but on the inside, he's frozen and cold, breathing in pieces of ice. He looks at the wall next to the side of his bed- the bed Y/N and he had pressed against the wall just days before her death so they could hang polaroids of them both. They made a heart out of the polaroids right next to Luke's windows, with 'Y/N & LUKE' written right above it. Though there were pictures of Luke with all of his friends too, most were of her. His favorite- a picture of her sitting on him with her head thrown back in laughter, wrapping her right arm around the back of his neck. She was smiling- cackling with laughter from a stupid pickup line. Ashton took it on Christmas. Luke remembered only because of her brand-new skinny jeans; she had gotten them that morning and tore them the same night. He wants to rip it off the wall, into pieces, and set every last bit on fire.

The only reason he didn't is that they're all he has left of her.

"What do you call a cheese you can't have- Wait!" Luke let go of Y/N's hand and turned to face her. She was buried in his favorite hoodie, letting it reach to her thighs. Luke just stared at her for a moment, forgetting his joke. He admired her: messy hair, ripped skinny jeans, combat boots, and his hoodie. He couldn't imagine an outfit that would make her look better. "What . . ." Luke shook his head, trying to resurrect the memory of the joke. "What's the cheese that you can't have?"

Y/N smiled that smile where her eyes would close. The smile that proved just how in love with Luke Hemmings she is. "What, Homo?"

"Nacho Cheese!"

Y/N tucked her face into her hands, laughing from idiocy, hilarity, and how excited Luke was to get it right. Luke pulled her hands away from her face, forcing her close to him. They kissed before continuing their walk around town. "You're stupid."

"Yeah."

Luke covered his head with the duvet. His mum taught him that if you're under a blanket for too long, you can suffocate. No new airflow- only carbon dioxide. He hopes he'll suffocate with her memory sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"Luke?" a voice came from behind his bedroom door. Somebody rasped their knuckles against the wood. "I know you're awake." Luke didn't dare make a sound or move. He wanted to be left alone without anybody bothering him. "Get up or I'm coming in." No reply. Calum shoved his way into Luke's room. He pinched his nose immediately. "Gross! You stink. When was the last time you showered?"

He showered the blood off his skin and from under his nails the morning that Y/N was pronounced dead. The sun was barely up, and he was mourning the death of his long-time girlfriend during a sobfest under cold water. Since that day, he has drunk a bottle of water in total and gone to the bathroom. "Get out." Luke's voice was raspy from dehydration and lack of speaking.

"Take a shower."

"I said get out!" Luke screamed. He clutched a pillow from his floor and shot it towards Calum as hard as he could. He hasn't eaten in a week; he has no strength to get the pillow hurled painfully at his friend.

"Take a shower," Calum said in a calm tone. He wanted to reason with his younger friend rather than anger him again. "Eat what your mom made you," Calum stared at the snacks Liz had brought to Luke over the past few days. She'll step into his room while he's sleeping and place something fulfilling on his nightstand and pray that he consumed it. "Her funeral is today. You have to go."

"You don't think I know that!"

"Luke," Calum whispered. "I know it's hard, but-"

"-But what, Calum?" Luke was on the verge of crying. Calum had only seen his best friend like that a few times in his life. "She's dead. The love of my life is dead because of me!"

"Luke," Calum whispered. The room was filled with emotion nipping at Calum's seams. Luke's feelings tore at Calum's nerves, feasting and shredding them until he was practically crying along with his friend. Calum swallowed hard. The older of the two restrained all of his feelings. "Please just get up and eat something. We're all worried about you."

Luke slid over in his bed a little bit. Calum sat down on Luke's grey sheets and opened his arm. Calum and Luke don't show emotion that much, though everyone has a breaking point. Luke drifts into Calum's body, shoving his head into Calum's chest. The olders arm falls and pats the younger body. "It's all my fault!" Luke violently sobs. He's soaking his friends' white shirt, but Calum doesn't mind.

When Luke first laid eyes on Y/N he had to do everything in his power to learn her name. His hand shot up in the middle of Mrs. Montgomery's math class, asking for the new girl to be his partner. Y/N smiled and nodded her head to the teacher, confirming that she wanted to be with Luke.

In her leather jacket and skinny jeans, she sat down right next to Luke. She moved a braid over her shoulder and leaned in really close. Luke could smell mint on her breath. "What's your name?"

"Luke," Y/N smiled at him. "What's yours?"

"Y/N!"

"That's really your name?"

"Yeah," Y/N snickered. "My parents were a little weird."

"There's nothing wrong with weird."

"It's not your fault Luke," Calum whispered. He continued patting the emotional seventeen-year-old. "It's none of our faults. You didn't know-"

"-Calum shut up," Luke whispered. He pulled away from Calum's shirt, feeling bad about leaving a trail of tear marks on the right breast. "You don't understand. I loved her so much, and it's all my fault."

Calum met Y/N before she met Luke. Calum thought Y/N was gorgeous too, but she liked Luke more than Calum. Her death had a huge impact on Calum, one of her best friends, along with Ashton Irwin and Michael Clifford. Luke didn't know that Calum had been in love with Y/N since they were young too. He wouldn't ever tell him that either.

"What if we pushed our Minecraft beds together," Luke whispered from behind Y/N as she stirred a pot of pasta. He wrapped his arms around her fragile body, resting his hands on her ribs. She laid her head against his on her shoulder. "Just kidding . . . . unless?"

"You're stupid," Y/N rolled her eyes. She tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the black pot before setting it down on the counter. Her body flipped around to face her boyfriend. "But we should. I want a bigger bed to sleep on. I'll make you sleep on the ground." Y/N kissed Luke.

"That's not what I meant, Y/N,"

Y/N smirked and got on her tippy-toes to kiss Luke again. "I know."

Calum convinced Luke into getting out of his room. Liz almost fainted seeing her son walking through her house shirtless and without complaining. Luke stared at the ground as his feet shuffled further and further against the carpet. Liz perked up when her youngest son caught her eyes, but Calum's face told her that he was only out of his room by force.

"I'm gonna' go take a shower," Luke muttered, shoving back his greasy hair. He made his way into the cold bathroom and closed the door behind him. He didn't even turn on the light; he let the window in the shower illuminate the small room. He shoved his pants to the cold ground and stared at his dark reflection in the mirror.

Dirt stuck under his fingernails pretending to be black French tips. His nails would be longer, but he chews them off in his sleep when he remembers what she looks like. In the daytime, he gnaws on his raw fingers without realizing what he's doing. Luke's belly caves in on his ribs; his legs seemed to be a shade dark with dirt; his hands feel weak and bloodless.

"You have such a babyface,"

"Fuck off, Y/N,"

"You do!"

Luke brushes his hand over his rough face, feeling the facial hair just barely growing.

"I'll grow a beard just for you!"

"You could be growing that until the day I die and it still won't show up!"

"Try me, Y/N!"

He flipped around and punched the wall behind him. A dent doesn't form from his fist but red marks form on his knuckles. How could he just let her go like that? He continues punching until somebody knocks on the bathroom door. Luke halts his actions, feeling tears roll down his cheeks.

"I'm fine," he tells whoever is behind the door. "I'm perfectly fine."

-

Returning to his room, Luke feels weak and like he's on the verge of collapsing. He closes his door behind him and falls onto his freshly-made bed. It smells like laundry detergent and Y/N's favorite perfume. The smells seem to be mixed in a blanket Liz picked from his closet and threw onto her sons' clean bed. Luke sat in the shower long enough for Liz to tidy up his room- he's forever grateful that she did that for him. Though, he feels terrible that she's the one that had to clean.

"I'm cold," Y/N giggles. Her hair tickles the underneath of Luke's child when she snuggles even closer to him. "Why do you keep it two degrees in here?"

Luke breaks his concentration of Deadpool playing on his flatscreen. His sparkly eyes look around the room to search for a blanket. He tucked in his duvet and bedsheets when Y/N said she was coming over to watch a movie, and he didn't want to mess it up. He reached for the blanket just under his bed and laid it over his girlfriends' small shoulders. "I like the cold,"

Luke does like the cold, but when Y/N said she was on her period, Luke looked up different things to help. They had snacks laid out in front of them: chocolate, chips, doughnuts, fruit, pizza, leftover pasta, and nachos that Y/N said she was craving. Something told him that your body temperature goes up, so he turned the thermostat down and put joggers and a hoodie on. He'll give the hoodie to Y/N when she's almost asleep so she has something to clutch onto.

He never got that hoodie back. The blanket, though, now sits on his bed, covering the mattress. Luke can't cry though; he's cried so much in the past few hours all he wants to do is fall asleep. He resists the urge, though, when he sees the outfit Liz picked out for him on his bed.

He thinks of himself as a little kid- mommy had to pick out his outfit. He can't bring himself to make fun of it though. He just isn't feeling like it. He dresses in the black button-down and black slacks and attaches the dark grey suspenders to the front of his pants, then the back. It's not his style, but it's what Liz chose for the funeral. It still boggles his mind that he’s attending Y/N's funeral.

"What are the six elements of art?" Luke asked Y/N, resting his chin on the top of her head. His hand dipped into the purple bath water to wrap his arm around the front of her body. Y/N had a huge art final in the morning, but needed relaxation and to review. Luke's first plan was to take a dip into the ocean. The chilly air prohibited them from even thinking of resting their toes in the water under the moonlight. Luke drew a scorching bath and threw in essential oils he knows Y/N favors and the only bath bomb that he could find underneath the sink; she rested in his arms, on the verge of sleep.

Y/N thought about her answer. "Color, form, shape, space, texture, and-" her brain was buffering, forgetting the last element she had to study. She turned her body so her shoulder was up against Luke's chest, their legs still tangled into a mess on the bottom of the porcelain tub. " . . . uh?"

"Y/N, you know this,"

She looked up at her gorgeous boyfriend through her eyelashes, clinging onto the memory of Art I. She ran a wet hand through his quiff, dampening the strands of hair down to his head. "Your hair is so soft." He laughed, but still pressed further for the answer. "Line?"

Luke leaned his head down to press his lips to hers. "Correct."

Luke stares at his hands while he sits at the breakfast table. Calum and Ashton shove a jar of jelly between the two of them. Calum sets the jar on Luke's untouched plate. Luke stares inside at the fruit-flavored gelatin without responding. The glass canister is almost empty with a full serving left at the bottom. It clings to the sides with a spoon mark on the bottom where somebody just shoveled it straight out. It's Y/N's favorite flavor- the type he only bought for when she was hungry.

Her voice is screaming at him. "This is all your fault, Hemmings!" She's screaming at the top of her lungs inside of his head- he's ears are the only ones that hear her screaming. Luke's skull throbs while she screams. He can't even hear Liz asking if he's okay. "This is all your fault!" Y/N continues to scream. In an attempt to make her screaming stop, Luke picks the jar from his plate and drops it into the trash can. With a booming sound, the glass breaks into pieces at the bottom of the bag. The screaming continues; she's all he can hear. "You killed me, Luke!"

Liz turns her son away from the trash can. His body jumps in surprise at the feeling of somebody's hands touching him- he's a killer. He doesn't deserve love. Her mouth opens and she speaks, but her voice is absolute silence to Luke. He squints at her. He can barely make out her frame, feeling the world spin on a single point. Luke feels dizzy, about to fall over on top of his mother. Liz barely catches her son and guides him back to his seat. His head falls into his empty plate where the screaming continues.

"We should adopt a dog!"

"You can barely take care of your little brother, Y/N,"

"Yeah but he's an unlovable prick. A dog is different."

Luke tries to telepathically tell his recently-adopted dog to come to jump into his lap. Frank ignores his father's fake telepathic abilities and continues laying underneath the table. Frank's an old pug, abandoned at the animal shelter. Y/N's house didn't want it and the Hemmings did. Frank is a Hemmings no matter what.

"I want to run away,"

"But I'll miss you."

Everybody is a Hemmings.

"But I hate my parents and the way they treat me!"

Luke wraps his arm around Y/N, cuddling his head into her neck. They're constantly cuddling, laying together, kissing, or just holding hands. Luke is affectionate and wants to just show how much he loves his girlfriend.

Including Y/N.

"We only have a few more years. Then we'll be out, living in Paris and enjoying tea and crumpets at the top of the Eiffel Tower,"

"I hate tea."

"Mhm,"

Luke gave her a promise ring over a year ago; a beautiful silver ring with 'HEMMINGS' engraved inside of the band in his handwriting. On the outside was her last name in her kindergarten handwriting. Luke was close with Y/N's parents before her death to the point he'd spend time with her little brother when she was at practice or out with other friends. They would play Fifa, or watch TV, or do something stupid. He was always welcomed there- and her parents expressed such excitement when he asked for Y/N's young handwriting. They thought it was adorable and would probably get her out of the house quicker if she had a high school sweetheart.

"You killed me!" Y/N screamed in Luke's mind.

"I love you, Lu,"

"I hate you, Luke!"

The last thing that Y/N ever said was 'I love you, Lu,' with a kiss seconds before her heart stopped and she continued bleeding out. The images of blood shown in Luke's memory. Both of her arms had been stained red from the non-reversible wounds she inflicted on herself. The goddess-like teenager didn't leave behind a note, didn't tell anybody, didn't even give off a sign that she would follow through with self-inflicted harm. Luke only went to her house against her will because he wanted to calm her down from crying.

"What's your favorite . . . drink?"

"I'm really into water," Luke smirked before dripping his head under the surface of the ocean. His long body dove down and grabbed her ankles. The giraffe lifted her feet from the sand and forced her into the Aussie water. She smashed into his legs after a loud splash.

"Luke!" everybody at the table screamed, catching Luke's attention from Y/N's screaming. His head shot up to stare at everyone. Calum's different shirt; Ashton's perfect hairstyle; Michael's black hair; Andrew's black suit; Liz's fancy dress. They all just stick into his mind and grasp his attention long enough to hear what they're pleading out.

"What are you thinking about?" Michael finally asks.

"It's my fault." Luke chokes out before shoving two pieces of crisp toast into his mouth. Bare toast- without butter or jam. He has to swallow hard through the scratchy feeling of toasted bread falling down his dry throat.

"What's your fault?" inquires Liz.

Luke ignores her. His hands reach for another piece of toast before he stands up and scurries back into the comfort of his bedroom.

-

"Woah, Hemmings," Calum wavered his hand towards Luke to grab the bottle of tequila out of his quivering hands. "Calm down there, man. You'll get alcohol poisoning." 

Luke wanted to tell Calum that was his plan. On an almost-empty stomach, Luke was developing a drunk sense, quickly. From just a few chugs out of a fifth of tequila, his head was starting to feel fuzzy and his thoughts were beginning to blur. He swung his feet back and forth off the ledge of the rock he planted his butt on. He studied the water below; a dark blue color with rocks surrounding the edges of the ravine. "How deep do you think the water is down there?" Luke asked, pointing towards the blue. With Calum distracted, he grabbed the bottle back and took another swig. "Twenty, thirty feet?" 

"No clue," Calum replied before snatching the bottle away from his drinking friend. A bit of it spilled down Luke's face and onto his dress shirt. Payback for Luke soaking through Calum's with tears. "Supposedly if you jump from here you'll be killed instantly. Either that or you'll drown before you get help." 

"Huh," Luke answered. Ashton sat down right next to Luke with another bottle of alcohol. Michael was on the opposite side of Calum, messing around with a game on his phone. All eight of their legs continued dangling down the side gorge, touching their feet to nothing but actual air. "Ash, how deep do you think the water is-"

"-Luke I have no clue," Ashton interrupted. He handed Luke his personal bottle and let the golden blond chug until he could no longer swallow. It didn't take that long. The elder took the bottle back and let the younger lay drunk head on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

"Not a single bit," Luke whispered. He thought he could hear the sounds of water hitting the rocks. "My girlfriend killed herself and it's all my fault." This was the place they'd always get drunk; Y/N, Ashton, Michael, Luke, and Calum would sit right here on this exact rock and drink until they couldn't walk. Michael hates tequila, so they'd always choose him as a designated driver after they'd all be wasted. "I wish I could wake up with amnesia." 

"Why?" 

"To forget everything," Luke shrugged. He didn't want to remember a single memory. Not a single thing, but every little sliver of the gorgeous girl was running through his brain on a slide show. "Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to her or-" Luke swallowed the memory on his tongue. "I can't escape the memories, Ash." 

"None of us can, Lu," Ashton replied. He didn't mean it in a hard, Get Over It, way, but it slipped out of his mouth. Luke must have not taken it that way because he continued staring at the sunset. "You're never around anymore. We miss you." 

"No, you don't." Luke took the bottle away from Ashton for another chug, trying to kill the hardest memory. "If I woke up with her right beside me like this was just . . . a twisted dream," Luke pressed the lip of the bottle to his mouth and began drinking again. He broke the seal on his mouth when his eyes began watering. Luke pressed the bottle into Ashton's chest. "I'd hold her so close and she would never slip away."

"Luke," Michael called out. Luke shot a look at his black-hared friend wearing a backward snapback. Michael's eyes connected with Luke's. "It's going to be okay. You'll be able to get over this." 

Luke laughed. "No, I won't," 

"Y/N?" Luke knocked on Y/N's door for the fourth time in a minute. She didn't answer, just like the three times before. She let out a strangled cough and another cry. "You called me crying. I . . . I brought you some flowers, and my hoodie, and-" Luke looked down at his hoodie. He dropped the flowers to the floor so he could peel the sweatshirt off his body. It's her favorite one. "Please," Luke groaned before knocking again. She didn't cough, or cry, or do anything. That's not right. 

"She called me before she slit her wrist," Luke looked out to the sunset. "She called me!" He screamed with all his might. The alcohol was wearing off. "And I waited outside of her bedroom door to be let in, while she was dying." 

"Y/N?" Luke knocked again. Y/N made no sounds. That's not like her. He pushed open the door to see the worst scene right in front of him. She was laying on her unmade bed with blood pouring out of her skin, surrounding her body in a puddle. Luke dropped everything in his hands to grab her body. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tore the blanket away from the wall to soak up blood and press into her wounds. Her mouth made a stinging noise as he screamed to the emergency operator. 

"I waited to go into her room, and I killed her." 

"She didn't kill herself because of you!" Calum yelled. "It's not your fault, Luke! Her parents made her feel bad and-" 

"She called me to talk and I said that I was busy!" Luke screamed with such emotion Michael felt it. "As I said I would come over, she ended the call. So it's my fucking fault, Calum!" 

"She killed herself because of her parents," Ashton whispered. "Not because you couldn't talk. They proved that while you were on the phone she was already bleeding out." 

"I could have saved her!" 

Y/N died in Luke's arms right after pressing a cold, bloody kiss to his lips. He tasted metallic and in the next moment, she was limp. 

Luke stood up from the rock formation. He was teetering dangerously close to the edge. "I just wish . . . " Luke swallowed. 

"Luke, step ba-" 

"-I just wish that I could wake up with amnesia." 

"Luke!" Ashton called out. "Step back from the ledge before you get hurt!" 

Luke turned towards his friends. Ashton's hands reached for Luke, but the younger boy batted his hands away. Calum and Micahel tried to reach for Luke's arm, but Luke shoved everything stretching towards him away. He didn't want to be caught; he didn't need somebody to hold him. "I wish that I could wake up with amnesia and forget everything." Luke's heals were barely on the Earth anymore. He stretched his arms out beside him as if he were balancing on a beam. His eyes shut. He friends reached for body parts to grab and clothing to catch, but it was too late. He was already falling into the water.

-

Request here

[masqueradelydia]

Maladjustment

Summary: A continuation of Adjustment. Remus prepares for and delivers a new performance.

Characters: Remus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, some characters I made up whose names aren’t important (The last names are different)

Warnings: None

Ships: N/A

Words: 5754

(Adjustment is here: https://masqueradelydia.tumblr.com/post/186685098818/adjustment-to-personhood if you want to read it first, but it isn’t necessary to read this piece.

           Remus swallowed. Something in his lower intestine begged to flip his organs inside out as he stood up from the little table in front of his fold-up bed and broken lampshade. Papers were strewn about, carefully kept away from the open cans of preservatives, baked beans, and littered Snickers wrappers, along with several tissues that had hardly been aimed anywhere near the trash can. He’d tried to keep them away from the part where the ceiling leakage would drip to the floor and where that ever-growing mold sliding along the edges of the wall, and away from any cracks where something could crawl through and nibble at them. These papers piled up in droves by his feet and around his ankles like mice waiting to scatter around his apartment, but Remus had meant to keep them on the table as he pored over the notes and sketches written on them, trying not to recite the lines on them loudly enough to receive a haranguing from the man next door, or receive another attempt at a hole being punched through his door. It wasn’t his neighbor’s fault after all that Remus couldn’t ever sit still long enough to be quiet.

           Remus should’ve thrown away all of these old papers, but they were still a part of the first project he’d done that would send him towards the life he’d stayed up all night for. His feet wouldn’t stop tapping as he wrote, as if the light from above some stage was getting ever so much closer to them, wanting them to step forward, despite his worn sneakers having so many holes he could feel the concrete through half of the right sole and his nicest jacket being frayed at the sleeves and the collar of it was almost completely detached from the rest of it. His hands wouldn’t stop moving either as he wrote out extra details to his stand-up routine for the night.

           He didn’t think about the sweat building up so much that he felt like it would drip into his eyes and ears, or the faces his friends made the first time he ran his routine by them, the way that Em’s eyes shifted as she cracked the faintest of smiles, or Cal’s drawn out sight and wide-eyed shake of his head as if he’d sat through a lecture. He wasn’t think about Silas’s hands circling his own beer bottle, his face thoroughly transfixed by its design during Remus’s quips and queries. He was going over his routine as it was right now, with its timing and phrasing, elaboration and cuts just enough to give him time to flash a certain kind of grin, the new stories he’d tell cut to their bare essentials and just enough punchlines where they needed to be. He nodded to himself as he looked up to the door, which was about to come off of its hinges from all of the knocking.

           “Remus! Come on out, our flight leaves in two hours,” Silas’s silvery voice sing-songed from the other side.

           “Finish up your makeup, bitch,” Em called out, a certain twang to her tone.

           She’d probably collapse laughing if she’d ever seen how he’d worn it back in the day, at least, when he still had access to it. She was always insistent on dressing her best, even if that just meant an old tank top and a nice haircut. Silas, on the other hand, preferred to show up exactly as he was with his hair up and the occasional wristband.

           Picking up his last draft covered in coffee stains, different colored pen marks, and a little bit of sweat, more than he’d like to admit, Remus went to open the door and was pulled out of it by his collar. One more tear wouldn’t hurt it. Silas slapped him on the back and started to lead him down the hall, the three of them ignoring the person twitching in her sleep a few feet away from them.

           “Look at you, you actually showered,” Silas chirped.

           “And early, too. If we were late, I would tear my eyes out and eat them, and throw them up with all of my guts!”

           “Eugh, we get it. I guess this is understandable, being nervous or whatever, but your set better not make me regret missing my third beer tonight,” Em added with a grumble.

           “You’ll never want to drink again,” Remus assured her.

           This got him a light chuckle from her as they reached the front door and headed for Silas’s truck covered in key marks and fading paint, and some old food residue by the tires. Silas had hauled the other two home drunk on multiple occasions in it, and Remus would count today as the first in months that he wasn’t told that if he threw up in this thing that Silas would kick him out and he would have to walk seven miles back to his apartment.

           Then again, if he hadn’t been out in the snow on one of the many days Silas had followed through with this threat, he wouldn’t have found Gossamer Scruff, a small rat he had hoped would have been alive for longer than a week had Cal not dropped him down the sewer, but today, Remus did not want to remember mourning a three-day old rat he would have not cared for at all three years ago. Cal didn’t see anything worth bemoaning, and Remus supposed it was strange for him to consider it, especially considering that he’d eaten more than one rat on occasion of a few relentless dares.

           “Did you fix up that story about that actor breakin’ your rib,” Silas asked, poking his chest and bringing him back to the present.

           He winced, still not convinced the pain that came with it was normal.

           “Down to the millimeter,” Remus announced, sitting up straight and crossing his arms.

           “You look like a cat when you smile like that,” Em said.

           “Like the Cheshire Cat? Or those weird hairless ones with the wrinkles—”

           “Like one that couldn’t scratch me if it tried,” she finished.

           Silas didn’t let him reflect on that for more than a second.

           “Hey, what’d I tell you? Took you forever, but look what you’re doing! You’re finally scraping up something I haven’t been falling asleep to.”

           “Don’t tell me that my old stuff didn’t at least give you one nightmare, come on, now.”

           Silas put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in as if telling him a deep secret. The smile starting to creep towards the corner of Remus’s mouth halted itself as Silas declared,

           “It gave me visions of nothing but static. I’d rather have my ass run through with a shotgun. At least I’d have something to look at.”

           Remus sat back and avoided slumping as Silas turned the corner. That old stuff had turned into something that Silas still hadn’t fully heard, although he had a good lot of it run by him. It wasn’t a choice out of nowhere for Remus to follow all of Silas’s advice, and Silas would know from holding concerts that were so popular that it resulted in people lining up at the doors hours before it had started, and why Remus could never get past the middle rows, and why Silas couldn’t hear him cheering him on.

           Silas, of course, wasn’t the only influence. Every minute of each day, Remus repeated parts of his routine to himself, tweaking it according to every rule of comedy and performance he knew that he admitted could be of use to him. He repeated it and kept those rules in his head, even if Roman’s occasional criticisms fell in with it, not letting him forget that Thomas could do better if Remus didn’t try to step on Roman’s toes all the time whenever he so much as looked at a playbill.

           Perhaps in the Mindscape everything seemed so sugarcoated because of the way that they would all tiptoe around everything, but afterwards, the realization that everything was crafted in a curiously particular way for the reason of nuances that he did not quite hold became clear. It could have been much better if he had been more involved, perhaps even more nuanced, but neither he nor Roman were given the gift of subtlety. At least, not when they were still getting their bearings. Roman had learned to grow into it and embody the façade of subtlety over years of scrutinizing himself and participating in Thomas’s acting career. Pretty soon, it started to appear after Remus had been on his own that his insistence on shining light on the heavier aspects of life was just that. Insistence.

           Without the chance to mimic the things that both he and Roman could have used, even separately, if he were able to peer through the crack of the wall that kept him hidden, he found the echoes he could manage to make out of Roman scrutinizing himself in the voices of his own acting instructors, with sometimes a certain flick of their head sending something unpleasant down the center of Remus’s spine and a sickly sweet taste in his mouth. He was different, though, he told himself. He was not using it to create something that people will tell their children as lighthearted bedtime stories. He was using it to grow his artwork into something that would actually stick with people, that would bore itself into their minds in the middle of the night and give them visions in their sleep that would frighten and entertain them in a way that could not be explained away just with words. Remus did not want to create his work based upon cheap fairytales that people would forget about, even if it was easier for most other people, even if those things brought them joy instead of irritation, and even if everywhere he looked since he’d come into existence, he’d seen those who’d chosen that path walk the red carpet and bask in the light of everyone who loved them. Ingenuity didn’t matter to them, did it?

          Remus latched onto every change he made to his routine and diagnosed it for anything that Silas or an esteemed director would so much as blink disapprovingly at in order to polish it up. It required ignoring how much his chest hurt when he turned a certain way to sell a few little pauses, and reciting and experimenting on his inflections was a part of the process until his throat felt raw. Most of everyone he knew wouldn’t be pleased to fall off of the back of their trash truck at work and almost be thrown off of it in frustration minutes later because he was trying to craft nuance on a particular part of his piece, but that is a story for another day.

          Em leaned on the back of his seat, pulling on a piece of his hair as if inspecting it for fleas after looking down at his phone bumping every few feet. It had several cracks in it, but still managed to work. If they were lucky, Silas’s car charger would get it up to fifty percent once they had reached the airport.

           “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you dyed your hair again, didn’t you? I guess I’m getting used to it more since you cut it above your ears.”

           “Grey doesn’t make a massive impression like this does,” Remus told her, gesturing to the two green streaks over his brown hair.

           There had been more grey to cover up since when he’d first moved here, and he’d found himself considering that fact more often than he’d have liked to once he’d started performing his first, for once, growing stand-up routine as the littering of grey over the front of his bangs had started to encroach further and further towards his roots, weaving itself through the sides of his head and down to the hair that grew towards the back of his neck, and was the first of it to reach his shoulders before he had finally decided to get a proper haircut instead of working with a pair of safety scissors over his sink, leaving them in the bowl of it to try again each day over the course of about a week and a half to get it right.

           “It’ll certainly turn a few heads. Keep your head straight and meet their eyes tonight.” Silas added.

           “I’ve timed it all out. I’ll stare at them until they want to run on stage and chop my head off to get me to stop it.”

           This received a “Mmm,” and a low “Hm,” from both of them.

           “Within reason,” Remus tacked on, trying to stare at both of them as he felt his voice drop off towards a bit of a growl.

           They took a short stop at the dry-cleaners to pick up Remus’s suit jacket, made with diagonal, fat green lines running up from the waist to the shoulder and arms. Putting it on, Remus had almost felt like he’d grown into it over the past two weeks. Why this was, he wasn’t sure. He’d come up with the basic idea himself, although Cal and Em had been the ones to help him pay for it. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d been getting a little more used to seeing bigger and bigger crowds at his own shows, and people cheering his name after he’d opened for a few comedians who had already made quite the name for themselves, at least, in the local area. He got used to seeing Silas crack a bright smile and let out a real laugh at more and more of his punch lines, and Cal had even dropped his bottle out of his hand from being a little more enraptured by Remus’s story about the time that he had manage to distract an angry group of hecklers at one of Silas’s concerts by demonstrating his ability to pop his shoulder out and pull a condom through his mouth after snorting it up his nose. Em’s head shakes had turned a bit more playful rather than disdainful as well. While Silas had decided to wait in the car for them, Remus’s tailor prattled to Em and himself.

           “You know, my son wanted to become a comedian when he was little. He thought he was going to be the next Conan or something. Do you two ever watch that show? I think it’s a little bit over-dramatic, but I wouldn’t know all that much about it.”

           “Thanks for the help, Donny,” Remus started. “But if we don’t leave now, my agent is going to have my ass on a stick.”

           “Oh, you don’t have to elaborate any further. I know from my son how important punctual-ness is, he would always get in a tizzy if he wasn’t the first to show up at his improv classes.”

           “We really can’t—”

           “Em, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you before your shift’s usually over, you look nice today. I know you usually do, but today you look like you’ve really put on your face, if you know what I mean.”

           “I do what I can, you know,” Em said with an eye roll as she ushered herself and Remus out the door and back to the car.

           Remus knew that Donny was a little bit chatty, but it felt like it was almost half an hour before he had let them leave. Despite this, he had almost forgotten to be surprised that Donny had not at least told him to break a leg that night, as he usually did whenever they saw him. Must have slipped his mind.

Em had her ears covered at the sound of the jet engines whirring in all of their ears while they climbed the railing, up to a small seating section. The pilot, keeping her eyes forward as she ran her fingers over the many buttons and switches on her control panel, cleared her throat and pointed to the seats behind them and the champagne in their cupholders.

           “We’ll be lifting off in precisely five minutes, so please take your seat, Mr. Morgan. Your stewardess will be with you shortly. Please refrain from using any electronic devices while you’re at it.”

           Remus nodded and followed Em and Silas towards the leather seats. Remus’s agent, Ellis, was already sitting in the front seat, looking over his sunglasses at all of them.

           “I see you’ve decided to bring your little friends along, eh? I guess a little moral support can’t be a bad thing,” he sneered, narrowing his eyes at Em and Silas.

           “Get the stick out of your ass, it’s so far up I can see it through your teeth,” Remus joked, sitting down next to him.

           “You’re the first person who’s made it this far without one up your own.”

           “I can find something more exciting than a stick to—”

           Ellis held up a hand, using the other to adjust one of his cufflinks keeping his impeccable black suit to a standard Remus didn’t even consider before he had met him.

           “Save it for the show, hot-shot.”

           “Fine.”

           “Where do you think they get this leather from,” Silas wondered out loud.

           “They skin cows for it, I think, and then they rip out their organs and bleed them out, and then they turn their skin into leather,” Remus told him.

           Em gagged next to him.

           “How the hell do you know that?”

           Remus shrugged, suddenly wanting to reach into the back of his mind to remember who had particularly taught that to Thomas, and how he had managed to remember it.

           “Some teacher in middle school told me,” he started, gesticulating as he began to elaborate. “I wanted to know all the details, it was—”

           “Remus, shut up for a second, I just remembered something!”

           Silas pointed to Remus’s phone, which had been thankfully charged enough to last him the rest of the night.

           “When you were in the dry cleaners, you got a bunch of voicemails. I think they’re from some people you know. They wanted to talk to you, but I told them you’d talk to them after your set.”

           Remus sat up straight, his face now perplexed as he twisted himself around.

           “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Who called? What do they want from me?”

           “I don’t know, I wasn’t paying much attention, I was taking a smoke when they called. You weren’t going to be able to talk to them anyway, I don’t think it was important. It was probably just some scammers.”

           That got Remus to sit back and lean his head on the seat.

           “Oh. You should ‘a told them to go fuck themselves for me.”

           “You can do that yourself when we land. Don’t hold your breath, it’ll be about six hours.”

           “Eh, I have bigger fish to gut anyway.”

           Em would have corrected him on his phrasing, but didn’t feel like speaking up as she prepared herself for a nice little nap.

           Ellis frowned at the sight of Remus’s routine in his hand, refusing to touch it with his own as Remus tried to hand it to him.

           “Don’t shove that at me, it’s covered in coffee rings.”

           A little scoff from him told Remus that no matter what he did, Ellis would not be convinced to pick it up.

           “Do you want me to read it to you, then?”

           “No, I want you to throw it out the window. Yes, read it! You told me you changed at least half of it last night, I want to hear how you’ve done that. This is your jumping point. If you nail this, I guarantee you will have your own television show and your own Netflix special by next August.”

           The next six hours were spent with Remus reciting his routine from perfect memory, trying to change his gyro graphical stability in the process of the jet’s movements in order to ensure that his own were held the exact place he wanted them, keeping Ellis’ every flick of the eyes in mind. While this caused him to stumble quite a few times and hit his head twice and distract his friends when he’d landed on his ass, this didn’t stop him from getting back up and picking it up again, even if it required repeating a few certain lines over and over again.

             Ellis nearly shoved him off of the jet once it had landed and the door had opened, covering his head with a black sheet. Remus was partially thankful for this as he felt nearly blinded by the camera flashes, and didn’t know which way to look. He was getting a little bit more used to hearing his name said so loudly, but this was the first time he’d heard it from so many paparazzi trying to clamor over them as they squeezed into the limousine waiting for them. He could hear Ellis shouting at Silas and Em as they veered off to grab a taxi. Soon enough, he would get used to this, and it would become some sort of routine for him, wouldn’t it? Maybe in a few weeks he would even take the time to scroll through his phone instead of keeping his eyes on Ellis rapidly repeating directions to the chauffeur.

           After repeating this process, he was led down a small red carpet towards what he assumed to be his dressing room. He almost stopped in his footsteps as he looked down at it and the ropes holding back the paparazzi again flashing cameras in his face. This was just the first step of what he had been looking for since he had come into existence. It was the start of everything he could only hope to hold himself back from really thinking of during his time sitting in a nearly light-less room in the Mindscape, listening to everyone talk over each other and hardly have the energy to pay attention to any of them. He had no time to dwell on this as Ellis pushed him forward and through a door that someone had pulled open for them.

           “Come on!”

           Inside, a small crowd of people all dressed in black carrying makeup brushes, clothing racks, speakers, wires, and set pieces. A gangly woman with a handful of makeup brushes ran towards him and pulled him into a rolling chair towards a mirror, turning him to face her and looking him up and down.

           “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before you go on. Tilt your chin up, you look much too pale.”

           He did as she instructed, finding her hand keeping his jaw shut as she held his face still, smearing his face with foundation, layering it over with bronzer and brushing his eyebrows with a small tool he’d only seen Em use.

           “Jake, come fix his hair,” the woman called.

           It only took about three seconds before a shorter man bustled over and ran a brush through his hair, followed by a fine comb and pushing it so that it stayed out of his face when the hairspray came. He pulled on it when Remus coughed.

           “Sorry, should’ve given you some warning, kid. Give me a second.”

           He gave Remus a few more tugs and another puff of hairspray before bidding him good luck and running off somewhere else. Remus didn’t want to say he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror, because he did, but he still felt a little bit dissonant from his reflection. He knew why he was here, and had been kept up on so many nights wondering what this would feel like, looking at himself backstage of a performance of this scale. He knew not everyone rose to be on The Late Late Show in such a short amount of time, but it wasn’t as if he had just woken up yesterday and thought it would be fun to do stand-up.

           He had fifteen minutes before he was on. He didn’t have time to overthink things, he thought, as he pulled out his phone. Huh. He had three new voicemails, but they weren’t from scammers. Nearly dropping his phone in his haste, he put the phone up to his ear and played the first one. An enunciated voice spoke through.

           “Hey, uh, I’d start with asking how you’re doing, but, eh, it seems I don’t have to! You’re doing pretty well for yourself after all, aren’t you? I heard about you all the way out here in Los Angeles! Well, I guess you’ll be here too by the time you get this, but, uh, I want you to know something. I won’t be there tonight, I’ve got an interview, but I know I never really listened to you back in the day. I don’t even know if this will mean all that much to you, after all of, whatever people call it, sibling bonding, we missed out on. I knew you could’ve done something like this, if you pushed yourself. And you did. You made us all look a bit foolish, didn’t you? I guess we had it coming to us. We had it coming.”

           A pause.

           “But that’s not the point. I’m… I’m proud of you. Break a leg.”

           Thirty seconds passed before Remus could register what he’d just heard. A voice he hadn’t heard since the last time he’d heard Roman screeching at him to pretend they’d never met, to scrape by on his own and taste what it feels like to deal with the consequences of being who he was. And now, this. Something pumped its way back into Remus’s lower intestine as the corners of his mouth reached up for his ears. The word, Proud, sounded almost different when someone said it to him, and he was not prepared for what it would sound like, with Roman’s voice cracking and breathing it into the microphone as if he had been waiting forever to say it. Remus swallowed again and let himself take another thirty seconds to collect himself as he played the next voice mail. It began with a long sigh.

           “So, you’re hot shit now. That’s fantastic, I guess. I got a call from someone telling me all about you being on The Late Late Show or something like that. You went from being a disease to whatever you call this. Congratulations. I’m… I’m rooting you on from Dark Owl Records. It sounds stupid, but I actually have a couple of my friends in here at the bar. We’re watching for you right now.” The voice softened. “You’ve got this.”

           He was surprised Virgil had bothered to call at all, but hung onto his long drawl. Virgil had never claimed to be a nice person, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be when he wanted to be. And one of those times was for Remus. Maybe a rare moment, but maybe it would be worth it if Virgil could see the look on Remus’s face that even he himself couldn’t see, turned away from the mirror.

           The last voice mail practically had music coming from behind it, a bouncy piano that had before sent Remus running to his room before he was told to stay away from the family.

           “Remus! I can’t wait to see your face on TV! I knew you could turn yourself around if you just put away all of those bad impulses like I told you to! Oh, it took you so long, but you listened! You listened, and look at yourself! Don’t you feel so much better? You should, you should feel over the moon! Give it a ‘moo’ for me! A-hah! You’re going to do great! Remember to take deep breaths before you go on, okay? I’ll talk to you later. Break a leg, K—”

           Patton must have ended the call before he could finish. It didn’t feel quite right hearing such encouraging things from Patton, as if he were just doing it because—he didn’t have time to think about that, Remus thought. He didn’t really know Remus very well despite their time in the Mindscape, not really, but he at least put in the effort. He was doing his best, after all, according to everyone else. The olive branch went out to everyone, Remus supposed. And that was enough for him right now.

           Remus had to focus. He ran over his lines in his head, turning back to the mirror. He didn’t feel distant from his reflection anymore. He was present, grounded, and just a few minutes later his face would be visible to people who he never thought would meet him. Strangers, people who philosophized at night about such things he couldn’t even wrap his mind around who watched this show to wind down. People his age who were studying hard to pursue their college education, high school students in so many clubs that Remus wouldn’t be able to count them all. People his age who would not look at him two months ago because of the bruises on his neck and the gash running down his arm. It didn’t seem like a big deal then, but suddenly now it was. His own ingenuity was coming to the curtain.

           “Remus, you’re on!”

           He stood up, not knowing where the voice was coming from, but was quickly pulled up to the curtain. He breathed deeply and felt it in his hands, the fabric much lighter than what he’d expected, but this was television. It was not a theater stage. He shut his eyes, counted to three, and listened for the host.

           “And now, everybody, you know him already, let’s give a warm welcome to Mr. Remus Morgan!”

           Remus opened his eyes and pushed open the curtain, walking out expecting a microphone and a large stage, and the host sitting at his usual desk against the cityscape backdrop.

           Confetti flew into his face as party favor noisemakers bombarded him, a few of them landing at his feet. He looked above and below himself, finding the floor and walls of a warehouse, and a ceiling stretching up to several fans. He looked in front of himself and saw Cal, Em, Silas, and several people who he’d seen coming to his shows all smiling back at him. They waited for a second to let their noise die down before shouting one single phrase in unison.

           “The joke’s on you!”

           Remus took a step back and looked here and there at all of these faces, looking down again to register that he was not standing on a platform, and there were no bright lights over his head. He wanted to pinch himself. He wanted to say he’d walked through the wrong door to some place he had just imagined, something he’d conjured up in one of his own dreams that he just hadn’t slept through yet. Above the heads of his onlookers was a large white banner, painted in shoddy writing to say, “Joke’s on Remus,” and two plastic wine glasses were attached to each side.

           “Wh—”

           “We did it! We had you eating out of the palm of our hands,” Em cut him off.

           He tried again, but couldn’t get anything out before—

           “All of this is fake! Everyone here is an actor! They’re all paid actors! We got you, Ree! All of your shows were a prank,” Silas shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear.

           Remus stepped back again, gripping the curtain in his hands to keep himself steady, only for it to rip. He’d stayed on his feet, thankfully, as he stared back at all of them with an open mouth and pulse beating upon his ears. That was it. He couldn’t take all of this in at once, and at the same time, his mind had forced him to. His mouth was dry, and he felt something bubbling up in his stomach, choking it back down his throat to keep it from spilling out all over the floor. He tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was air. Just air.

           “You’re wondering why we’re doing this, aren’t you,” Em asked.

           He just looked at her, his eyes starting to blur. He felt like he was going to pass out.

           “Your comedy career is going nowhere, pal. This is the best you’re ever going to get! Oh, and those phone calls? Your other friends, they were in on it! They knew the whole time!”

           He wouldn’t have believed them if he hadn’t checked his phone and found that all of them had still had him blocked. He couldn’t see their numbers, and it was as if they’d never existed in his phone at all as it dropped to the floor. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess his knees were about to buckle right about now, and it was all he could do to keep himself from hurling his guts out all over them. He couldn’t think about whether they deserved to be thrown up on now. One hand was on his face, keeping his head from pounding so hard that he really would pass out, and the other was forming a fist.

           The voice that came out of him didn’t sound like himself. Not really, but he knew it was. He never wanted them to hear it like this, but he couldn’t change it now.

           “What are you all expecting,” he asked, trying to keep his voice somewhat similar to how he’d presented it only last week. “Are you expecting me to fall apart? To cry? To crumble at your feet?”

           A few murmurs rumbled through the crowd.

           “Are you—”

           A sort of… hiccup kept him from continuing. Somewhere in another universe, he wasn’t watching every good vision he’d had of himself fizzling out, dissolving into a melted mess of wax, quickly wrenching itself from all attainability and taking his throat on the way out. Somewhere in another universe, he was not currently denying everything he didn’t want to admit while simultaneously doing just that. Somewhere he was finding his fist flying right into Silas’s face, taking one of the chairs in front of him and using it as a ballista. Somewhere else, he wasn’t currently trying to put his voice together as it fell out of his mouth and rushed to the ears of everyone in the room. Somewhere, someone was proud of him.

A/N: The plot of this is piece based off of the episode The Gang Breaks Dee of Always Sunny. I don’t take credit for the idea since it came from them first.

[deathbyseventeen]

Unknown to Us: C.2 A Million Nights Begin

Title: Unknown to Us || Halloween 2018 || Haunted House / Ghost Hunting AU  { Part 1: C.1 || C.2 - A Million Nights Begin || C.3 || C.4 || ……. }

Genre: Horror, Thriller, Romance, Angst

Member/s: Joshua x Reader1 ; Woozi x Reader2

Words: 1.611

Summary:

It all leads up to October. It always leads up to October.

‘Let’s go ghost hunting at Pact Mansion.’ You were never one to take up an opportunity to trespass on private property. But the puppy eyes of one of your best friends has never been something you’ve been able to resist. Now, you along with four men related by fraternity, are about to find out that some things…are just destiny.

A chorus of giggles traveled through Ledis Forrest accompanied by the crumbling of dead leaves. Through the foliage of the trees, slivers of moonlight traveled to illuminate the forest floor; and in those slivers the owners of the giggles could be seen momentarily, walking in pairs and pushing each to trespass even farther.

The animals of the forest, bright-eyed and alert, watched as they made their way through the forest, silently. It was their way to mourn.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Joshua whispered to you, bending down as he walked so that he could whisper it into your ears.

You and Joshua walked behind the rest of the group, Minghao, Wonwoo, and Seungkwan. It had only been a couple of hours before that Minghao had walked into Joshua’s room and told him that Wonwoo and Seungkwan wanted to help him with his ghost hunting plan, even if the rest of the Brotherhood had decided they weren’t going to.

At first, he had said no to him because he knew Seungcheol would be mad if he found out. But it had only taken word that you had agreed to go if he said yes to Minghao, to get him to agree. Then, at exactly 12:00 am, midnight, the four of them got up from their beds, dressed from head to toe in black, made a bundle under their bed covers to look like their bodies, and snuck out through the basement.

You, outside your own residency building, waited under a streetlamp with your arms crossed. The sweater you had put on had turned out to be too thin, but just as you were about to turn around and head back to your dorm to grab something warmer, Joshua pulled up in his car.

“I know.” You laughed, nudging him with your elbow, “I was so sure you’d say no to Minghao.”

“What? You didn’t want to come?” He said quickly, a rose-like blush spreading over his cheeks.

“No. No.” You whispered back hurriedly, “I did! I just...well it doesn’t seem like you to go against Seungcheol’s decisions.”

Joshua chuckled hesitantly and rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly, “Well you never know.”

“Guys we’re here!!” Seungkwan screamed as they neared the clearing in which Pact Mansion rested.

In the amount of time you had spent talking with Joshua, somehow, you and he had managed to get so behind the rest of the group that you could barely just make out their figures. You smiled at Joshua and nodded for him to follow before taking off in a sprint.

You came into the clearing of the home almost tumbling over your own two feet. For a second, you thought you had felt someone push against your lower back and that was what had caused you to nearly trip. But, with Joshua’s footsteps getting louder and the other boys lingering on the porch of the house...you wrote it off as a moment of clumsiness.

“That...doesn’t look much like a mansion.” You said, head tilting as you studied the building.

Joshua coming to a stop next to you, nodded, “That’s ‘cause it wasn’t built with our concept modern architecture.”

“Josh!” Minghao called out from the porch, waving at him frantically to come over.

You followed Joshua up to the house, noting how the paint had blacked and chipped, and how the wood looked worn out. Under the new found weight that you all added, the house creaked oddly and caused everyone to freeze. You gulped. A creak as strong as that made you feel like the house was just waiting for someone or something for it to finally collapse.

“We’re gonna die in this house aren’t we,” Seungkwan said, chuckling sadly.  

“Not if we can’t get in.” Minghao shot back, giving Seungkwan a funny look. “The doors and windows all have padlocks and deadlocks on them. People really don’t want anyone coming in here.”

You glanced at the door and sure enough, there was a second door frame with a metal slab over the original door, connecting them and closing off the house with a large iron padlock.

“That… doesn’t look like something that can be picked easily.” You said, frowning.

“No worries,” Joshua smiled coyly, “I have deadbolt cutter in my backpack.”

“And I,” Wonwoo smirked, coming up from being Minghao who was peering into the house’s window, “know how to pick all types of locks.”

“I won’t even ask.” You shook your head amusedly and walked towards the window to give Joshua and Wonwoo space to work.

As they worked on prying open the door, you copied Minghao’s actions and cupped your hands around your eyes to peer into the house.  The windows, both inside and out, were coated in a weird, yellowing dust. It stained your hands for a moment before you started to rub your hands to get it off.

“Here.” Minghao said, pulling out a stack of handkerchiefs from his pocket, “I brought a lot since I thought the house might be infested with dust.”

“Thanks, Minghao.” You laughed and took one  from his stack, “I’ll make sure to use it wisely.”

When you turned back to the window, you cleaned inside the marks that your hands had created. Then you peered inside, and even though you couldn’t see entirely since the other side of the window was still coated in dust, you found yourself staring in awe at the furniture that seemed to have been placed there when the house was constructed.

Wood paneled walls, funky chairs, carpeted floors, of which the previous two seemed to have been brightly colored, could be seen just in the living room.

“Wow.” You said, still studying the interior. From the corner of your eyes, you noticed that there seemed to be a black lump on the love sofa. You felt your throat close up— no air came in nor out.

A sliver of it, long and thin, seemed to protrude from it, growing longer until it seemed to be reaching out towards you. Closer. Closer.

“Y/N—” You jumped. The owner of the voice and the hand that had just been placed on your shoulder— Joshua, as it turned out when you whipped around terrified, let out a breathy laugh, amused at your jumpiness. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You grimaced and let out a small laugh yourself.

“Well, we got the door open, so…” He grinned.

You shook your head happily, forgetting about what you had seen through the window, and followed him through the door.

The inside of the house, you noted, looked just as bad as the outside made it seem. All of the furniture was either covered in dust or had moth-created holes in them — and you were only in the main hallway, you could only imagine the rest of the house.

“I’m telling you. I don’t think it’s such a good idea for us to be here.”

“Why not? You haven’t given us one good reason why.”

“We’re trespassing.” Seungkwan hissed at Wonwoo as you walked into the living room.

“What’s going?” You asked, coming up to Minghao who was staring at the both of them.

“Seungkwan wants to leave.” Wonwoo groaned.

“Why?” You asked Seungkwan, looking at him inquisitively.

He floundered under your gaze and hesitated to tell you the truth. But soon he sighed and gave in. “I’m getting a bad vibe, like….like there’s something bad here.”

“The house is old and decaying. I’m sure it’s just because no one has been here in a while. It’s cold and  desolate, no one has been here to make it warm.” You laid a hand gently on his right shoulder. “But if you want to go home, it’s alright.”

“What? No!” Wonwoo interjected, ready to start arguing.

You turned to Wonwoo and glared at him with eyes you had no idea could pierce through people's souls and thoughts.

Wonwoo in return stopped and glared at you too, his teeth biting down against each other by the look of his squared jaw and thin frown.

“No. No. It’s okay—” Seungkwan began, shaking his head as he spoke and trying to fall into your gaze, “you’re probably right. It's just the house being colder than normal homes.”

“Speaking of homes…” Joshua jumped in and handed Seungkwan a camera.

“I think it’s time for ‘Shua to give us a little history lesson. Isn’t that right?” Minghao with a small camera already in his hands aimed it toward Joshua. A small green dot and white light emanated from it. It was recording.

The hunt was on.

“Right you are, Hao.” He answered with a goofy smile, shooting finger guns at the camera.

You stifled a laugh.

“We are in Pact Mansion,” he began, smiling widely, “A house not home for the owners of this house never got to live in it.”

A slamming door hushed you all. You gulped.

“Wasn’t that the front door?” Seungkwan asked, his voice coming out in a whisper.

“I think so,” Minghao answered him although he had twisted around to look at in the direction of the front door. After a couple of seconds, he shuddered and turned around again, this time to point the camera back at Joshua.

“You don’t think it was a—”

“Ghost? Ghosts don’t exist, Seungkwan. But they might after I tell Seungcheol that you guys went against fraternity vote.”

Jeonghan’s came slithering in from the hallway and into the room, they sat in before he himself was seen stepping into the room. There was an iciness in his stare that sent shivers down your spines and sent you reeling into the couch behind you.

[gyeomgotme]

Youth

Request : I'd like to request a scenario with Mark where he meets by chance his young love? and make it smut if possible? 

Genre : Smut & Angst

Length : 4 818 words

Warning : Contains love/hate sex, rough sex and strong language.

Description : After a hard break with Mark and 4 years of absence you finally come back to your old town. What will happen then...?

A lot of memories came back to you instantly as you walked through the door of your childhood house. You hoped to see your parents again, sitting on the sofa, arms in each other's arms, but the harsh reality had hit you so hard when you realized the coldness of the place. Your parents weren’t here anymore, living separately from each other now, and you had to take care of selling that house which was once yours. You never imagined that being a real estate agent one day you would sell your parent’s house the day they would divorce.

You walked around the house, each room reminding you a part of your past. As you entered your teenage room you realized that nothing had changed. Your parents didn’t touch anything since the time you had argued with Mark and left to move in town. The lamp you had thrown that day was still on the floor, pieces of glass scattered around it. You remember rushing to get some suitcases and taking your most important stuffs, not wishing to stay here any longer. Mark behind you begged you to stay, melting into apologies but you weren’t listening, just acting like the stubborn teenage girl you were. Even though your decision turned out to be the right one in the end, you were able to do the studies you had dreamed of and find a job that suits you perfectly.

But still you couldn’t help but wonder what Mark had become during these four long years. When you were together he was the kind of person to live from day to day, never thinking about the future.

“Y/N? Are you upstairs?” you heard the voice of your colleague calling you from downstairs.

“Yes, I’m coming” you said as you were going down the stairs quickly, not wanting him to discover this part of your youth. He looked at the living-room with a curious eye, his hands in the pockets of his suit.

“Your parents were really serious when they said they had almost nothing to bring back, why? Don’t they want to keep the sofa, or even the TV?” he looked at the almost never used TV and then looked at you.

“Well, they had quite a hard fight and they don’t want to retrieve objects belonging to the past” you walked around the sofa to gather the glass fragments that were on the floor, beside some family pictures that had been broken in an excess of violence “at least that’s what my mom told me but they both asked me to pick up some of the furniture.”

He nodded “I see, but the house will still be sell as furnished right?”

“It will Jackson, don’t worry. You can go now you know? I think I’ll stay a little more to take a look of what I will have to do during the next days.”

“Fine, I’ll wait at the hotel then but don’t stay too late okay?”

You nodded and he got out of the house, leaving you alone in this big house full of memories. You got up from your position and took off your jacket, throwing it on the dusty sofa. Heading towards the kitchen you took a few garbage bags and started picking up the pieces of glass and broken frames. You took one of the boxes you brought and put the photos in it as well as the books that were thrown to the ground. So you started putting the books on the shelf, in the boxes and the time began to pass by quickly as you were packing up.

You didn’t check the time until you heard someone knocking at the door, it had already been two hours you were here and the night had started falling outside. You got up, wondering who could come here and you saw a face that wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

“What a surprise” you exclaimed “Dorine Tuan!”

“Oh my god, Y/N! It’s so good to see you again” she took you in a warm embrace. You invited her to come in and she did it without hesitation. You didn’t expect to see the mother of your ex boyfriend but especially the one that used to be your baby-sitter you when you were little.

“So how did you know I was here?” you asked, curiously.

“Your car” she smiled and sat down “actually I thought it could be your mom but it’s even better to see you again. You became such a pretty woman.”

She was almost looking at you in admiration and you sat down, next to her “thank you, it actually feels good to see familiar faces.”

“I see you started packing” she looked around “it will feel weird to not have your parents around anymore.”

“I guess you’re right” you sighted and looked at the time a second time, finally realizing that Jackson was probably waiting for you at the hotel. You took your phone out of your bag and saw the battery had died. “I think I should go now, I’m at the hotel with a friend and he’s probably waiting for me.”

“Of course sweetie” you both got up and you pulled on your jacket, taking your car’s key “how long will you stay? I can still see you right?”

“Actually yes, I planned to stay a couple days so I can pack on everything” you got in your car and lifted down the window.

“Good then, I’ll come tomorrow” she kissed your cheek and you waved goodbye as you drove away, well, at least tried to.

Your car first made a weird sound as you were turning the key over and over “come on, don’t let me down now stupid car.” You didn’t stop trying until you saw a thick black smoke escaping from the hood of the car. When you got out of the car, Dorine was walking back to you, probably because she had seen you struggling.

“Seems like you need help” she said a smile of sympathy on her face.

“Seems so yeah” you sighed while going out of your car “can I borrow your phone?”

“There won’t be that much persons working at this hour, let me call my son” she took her cell phone out of her pocket and made you a sign to follow her home, in the house in front of yours. As she was talking to the phone you had so much questions going through your mind, why was she calling Mark?

She opened the door of her house and you were surprised that nothing had changed here. The stain on the white leather couch on which Mark had bled after a fight was still here. As well as the one on the carpet near the chimney, only God knew what you used to do on this couch when his parents weren’t here. You had as many memories in this house as in yours and you felt a little pinch in your heart as Raymond Tuan stepped forwards you, arms wide open.

“Y/N it's great to see you again, you're beautiful” he said caressing your back gently as Dorine looked at you, a broad smile stuck to her face. You had always considered them like a second family and seeing that nothing had changed gave you the feeling of going back four years earlier.

“It’s great to see you too, I see nothing has changed here.”

“You’re right” Dorine said “by the way, Mark will be here in a couple of minutes, you’ll leave soon don’t worry.”

You couldn’t help but ask the question that burned your lips “why Mark?” your question probably sounded a little rude but he was actually the last person you wanted to see right now.

“Our Mark works in a garage, at Franck's remember?” you nodded, remembering the only garage that was present in this town “He is a mechanic there.”

“Oh I see” you said, wandering in your thoughts “can I borrow the bathroom quickly?”

“Of course it’s upstairs-”

“Besides Mark’s room, I remember” you smiled and went upstairs. You weren’t really surprised to see that the horrible pink wallpaper was still there, as well as the huge mirror at the end of the corridor. You knew what was behind all the doors in this corridor and the one where Mark’s name was written on it was tempting you. Hand on the doorknob you entered the room where a lot of your teen memories were still trapped inside. You weren’t surprised to see that nothing had changed here either, it was still the room of the teenage basketball fan. What surprised you the most is that there was still this place on his wall above his bed where he hanged all of the Polaroid you both took together.

Seeing all of those pictures made you feel nostalgic, you thought he could have probably thrown them away, just like you did. But he didn’t, he even kept the frame near his bed where there was a picture of you two at the beach, hugging each other.

“Y/N sweetie, Mark is here” you heard from downstairs. You quickly got out of the room, not wanting anyone to see you and went to the living-room. Immediately your gaze landed on Mark, god he was handsome. He had always been good looking, sometimes making girls in your school jealous because he only had eyes for you. As you were coming down the stairs he turned to you, revealing his face. Your breath was stuck in your throat while you saw him smile, looking at you.

“Hey Y/N, it’s been a while” he said approaching you, ready to take you in his arms. You put your hand on his chest to prevent him from hugging you, being too uncomfortable to do it after all these years and especially after your hard break. The atmosphere was now awkward and Mark lost his smile, making you regret your movement.

“Hum let me show you my car” you finally said, breaking the silence. He follows you outside and you open your car so he can take a look. He looks very professional in the way he acts and it's strange to see him as serious and focused. You only notice now by looking at him that he’s wearing an overall and it’s making him even sexier. When he lifts his head you look away, hoping he didn’t see you.

“Okay so, I think we got a problem here” he says, wiping his hands with a greasy towel while you look at him again. His eyes pierce you and you cross your arms to avoid showing any signs of nervousness.

“Which is?” you ask, clearly irritated.

He contracts his jaw because of the way you talked but doesn’t say anything “we need to change some of the car parts and unfortunately I don’t have them here, everything is at the garage.”

You sighed, even more frustrated than before “and can’t you go find them? I really need to go.”

“Why? A boyfriend is waiting for you?” he asked in an arrogant tone, a little smirk on his face.

“No, no boyfriend and even if I had one it’s not your business anymore” you turned around, quite upset now and were heading towards your house, taking the keys from your bag.

“So what, you’re just leaving? I see you still like to run away.”

This sentence echoed in your head and you turned around so quickly that you came in front of him in just two steps “you know what Mark? Fuck you! I left that day because of you!” you were almost screaming “you cheated on me! In front of my eyes you jerk! So yes I ran away and I’ll do it until I don’t have to see your face anymore” you finished almost breathless that everything came out so suddenly. Mark’s mouth was wide open and he seemed to be confused.

“I cheated on you? How could have I done that! I loved you since we were four” he said and your heart skipped a beat.

“Look, now is not the time” you sighed “I really need my car” and as you said that a downpour suddenly fell, soaking you up to the bone. Being closer to the door of your house you rushed to enter it, inserting the key in the lock. Mark followed you immediately and you both found yourself in the living room immersed in darkness. Only the sound of drops falling on the floor echoed, making the atmosphere heavy. You took off your jacket and you felt Mark looking at you intensely.

“You- you should take off your clothes or you’ll catch a cold” you said, suddenly losing all your assurance. He started lifting up is shirt but you stopped him, putting your hands on his “go to the bathroom, I’ll try to get you dry clothes.”

“It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked” he came closer to you, his menthol breath crushing against your face.

“Just go upstairs, for the love of god” you sighed and he laughed while going upstairs. You went to your parent’s bedroom, hoping that your dad had left some of his clothes. Searching in the wardrobe you were actually surprised to see that there were quite a lot of clothes left. You took a simple black t-shirt with a pair of basketball shorts and went upstairs to leave them in front of the bathroom door. You knocked on it “I’ll leave the outfits in front of the door” you said and walked back when you heard the door opening. You turned back to see Mark only wearing his boxer shorts. Your gaze wandered all along his body, not missing a single part and you had to say, he got really muscular with the time.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, that arrogant smile glued on his face. Obviously it wasn’t possible for him not to be arrogant for more than two minutes.

“Nothing” you said and quickly turned back to change yourself in your old room. Having left your suitcase in the car, you were forced to also take clothes from your dad’s wardrobe since your mom didn’t left any clothe. You removed your soaked clothes and seeing that your bra was also ruined by the rain you removed it and put on the large hoodie you had found. Suddenly you heard the door behind you being opened and you thanked God for having had time to dress before this idiot came to violate your privacy.

You heard him laugh “your room didn’t changed a bit” he walked around the room a little before he noticed something “oh look! Even the lamp you threw at me that day is still here. So authentic” you rolled your eyes at his comments and got out of the room, the fact of the two of you being in this room again reminded you too many memories. You went to the living-room downstairs and tried turning on the lights but the fate seemed to be ruthlessness with you because the light remained off, leaving you in the darkness.

“I love cliché situations” said Mark besides you, making you sighed “are we going to make love next? Next to the chimney maybe?” when you felt his breath coming closer to your ear you quickly pulled back.

“First of all, I’ll never have sex with you ever again, you cheater and secondly we don’t even have a chimney.”

“Oh you’re right, the chimney is at my house” he smiled and sat on the sofa, looking at you “but I still don’t know why you’re calling me a cheater, I already told you I would never do that” even after four years he was still playing innocent and that was pissing you off.

“As if” you sat next to him, looking at the black screen of the television “you know, I still remember the party we had at Jaebum’s house, is he still your best friend by the way?” you curiously asked.

“Yeah, he’s working at Franck’s with me. But seriously Y/N, I don’t get why you’re talking about that party? Did something happen there?”

“Listen Mark, you don’t have to play innocent anymore okay? I am a grown woman” you rubbed your hands together to warm them up “I saw you with Jenny that day.”

He looked lost “you saw me? What did you saw exactly?”

“You entered your room, both holding each other’s hand. Don’t you remember? I even heard you” shivers of disgust traveled down your spine as you were reminding what you felt when you saw this. A feeling of betrayal and a broken heart.

“I never went to my room with her! It was Jaebum! They had sex together that night and I said he could take my room!” Mark said as he got up from the sofa, raising his voice.

“Don’t you raise that voice! And if it was Jaebum why was he wearing your basketball jacket?” you rose up your tone as well, not wanting to prove him right.

His hand ran over his face before facing you, bending to be at the height of your face “did you even looked at the name on it? He was also on the team!” that time he started yelling at you and you felt like the time had stopped around you. You were confused, did you really left him and this town just because of a misunderstanding? You could hear your heartbeat echoed in your ears as Mark kept screaming at you.

“See? You’ve always had been like that! You take conclusions too quickly without even trying to understand!” you got up to face him “you fuck me up!”

“Stop fucking screaming! What is done, is done” you started leaving but he held you by the arm, turning you back.

“You’re not going to leave like that before you’re being fucked” you felt a bunch of chills running through your body as he pushed you against the wall, crushing is lips into yours. You gasped at his violence as the kiss seemed to deepened while the tension between the two of you intensified. You pressed your hands on his chest to try to push him back but he tightened the grip he had on your hips, squeezing his fingers in it. You hissed at the sting and he finally broke down the kiss.

“Who gave you the permission to kiss me? Stupid jerk” you gave him a few hits on his chest with your fist before he stopped you.

“Oh but baby girl, I never needed a permission” he moved forward you, making you stepped back until you tripped over the sofa, falling on it. He leaned his arms on the back of the couch behind you and slipped his soft lips into your neck, making you shiver. When you felt his hands running over your naked thighs you couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling of his cold hands.

“Mark s-stop, please” you pleaded even though you knew that’s not what you wanted.

A small raspy chuckle flowed out of him “save the please for later because I won’t stay gentle” you gasped at this and when he moved back from you, you could see his dark gaze, literally devouring you. Biting your lower lip you shut your legs to rub your thighs together, the flame in your core lit up. “I know you want it too, you always liked when I was rough” his hands surrounded your thighs to lift you as he laid you on his shoulder. A moan falls from your lips as his hand came down on your ass, delivering a harsh slap. You could see him climb the stairs and then enter your teenage room, throwing you on the bed. He crawled on top of you, resting his muscular arms on both sides of your head.

“What should we do with your case now baby?” his large hands trailed down your body, running down your waist as he separated your legs, making sure he was nicely positioned between them.

“I-I really don’t think that’s a good idea” you finally said, collecting the little courage you had left.

He grunted as he began moving down on you, ghosting his plump lips over your neck “of course it is. You left me for no reason so now I’m going to wreck you, so hard, you won’t even remember your name” when he finished his sentence, his lips came to your collar bone to suck up your skin, sometimes biting you. Your hands flew up to tangle in his hair while small whimper were coming out of your mouth.

“Ah~ Mark” you moaned, pulling a little more on his hair. He swiftly grabbed both your hands with one of his, pinning them above your head while going up to your face, his lips roughly kissing yours. His hand came up to your hair and pulled them so he could deepen the kiss as his tongue sucked up yours, making you moan into his mouth.

“I forgot how sexy your moans were” he seductively whispered between your kiss. You had the feeling that your lips were on fire because of his fierce kisses; he looks at you in a way that’s making you consume. The hand that wasn’t holding your arms slid along your sensitive body until you felt him caressing your skin under your hoodie, creating a swarm of shivers as soon as you felt his cold hands against you belly. Mark’s hands are always touching you, rubbing small circles into your skin, dangerously going towards your unclothed chest. Without warning he swayed his hips forwards, grinding against your core while his fingers were stroking your breasts and brushing your nipples until they stiffen into peaks.

“M-Mark we really need to stop be-before” he grinded a second time against your core, making you wetter and stopping your sentence.

“Before what baby?” he asked, a chuckle coming out his filthy mouth. Before you could have time to finish what you were trying to say he forced his tongue into your mouth taking your breath away. He pushed away only a few seconds to remove your hoodie as he returned into your swollen lips, barely letting you breath. His tongue was burning against yours, as well as the rest of your bodies. The feeling of warmth and of well-being made you lose your mind, forgetting that what you were doing wasn’t a good idea.

“Be-before it’s too late” you barely whispered when he finally left your lips. He straightened up to pull off his t-shirt and you couldn’t look away as you watched his perfectly draw torso. You took advantage that he had let go of your hands to touch him, your limbs trembling with excitement. That smug grin of his returned as he silently watched you, half-naked and completely turned on. Your hands slipped down slowly to his belly until you reached the edge of his shorts. You started playing with the knot retaining his bottom when you started undoing it, letting the shorts slipping on his firm legs.

“It’s already too late sweetheart” Mark said, hooking his long fingers around the crotch of your panties, pulling them down. Your timidity took over and you placed your hands on his, not wanting him to see your whole body uncovered “since when are you shy?” He asked, although it didn’t really sound like a question, as he ripped your panties off of you. You whimpered when you felt the cold air hitting your wet core. His fingers travelled down your stomach to found your sex and ran two of his fingers through your dripping folds. You bit your lip holding your moans as he looks deep into your eyes.

“Why are you trying to hold back baby?” suddenly he pulls a finger into you, letting a loud moan out of your mouth. His long slender finger is going deep as his lips struck your neck; latching onto the sensitive flesh. He curls his finger inside of you and you feel your body getting hotter while he suddenly adds another one.

“No, please, Mark” you plead, not even knowing for what. You would like him to stop, you would like to stop thinking about the consequences, but nevertheless, these thoughts remain in a corner of your head. “We can’t-” you moan one more time, feeling a familiar heat growing into your stomach. Suddenly you took off his arm and pushed him away with the little strength that remained in you. You got up from the bed and headed towards the door of the room but Mark held you back, gripping your arm firmly. You kept your back turned, realizing that you were still naked.

“We are not over Y/N” he said, increasing a little more the pressure he had on your arm.

You hid your body with your hands as you turned around “stop acting like I’m yours Mark! We’re not together anymore and what we were doing is wrong, so wrong.” He clenched his jaw, probably irritated but didn’t leave your gaze, his eyes becoming darker.

“I didn’t want to be rough” he sighed, a small grin appearing on his face “but you leave me no choice baby girl” hearing the old nickname he used to gave you caused a drag of chills along your spine. Despite the anger you felt towards him you couldn’t prevent your body from reacting as he spoke again “now go back on the bed, on all fours.” His order made you widen your eyes, detailing every inches of his face to make sure he was serious.

You frowned “yeah, dream about it” you said in an arrogant tone before trying to go out again. This time he pressed you against the door, his burning torso glued to your back. His hands wandered on your hips, going down your thighs to spread them brutally. “What the-” you stopped in the middle of your sentence when you felt the tip of his member grazing up and down your sensitive slit. When did he took off his boxers? You asked yourself, your brain not really working anymore as you felt the heat growing in your body, not prepared to what was going to happen. Suddenly he grabs you by your hair to put your head on his shoulder, teeth grazing the skin of your jaw as you gasped.

“Did you lose your voice?” his hands came to your sides, pulling you onto him so brutally that you have to grab the door so you won’t fall. He automatically started fucking you with rough strokes. You cried out, trying to adjust but the size and the speed was too important for you to. He pulled a little more on your hair so you could look at him; his expression was deformed by the pleasure.

“M-Mark” you breathlessly purred as he brought his lips to yours. One of your hands slipped through his hair as you were still trying to hold yourself with the other one. Just as you were slowly adjusting to his length since he had slowed down, he picked up the pace one more time, grinding deep into you.

“God, you’re so tight” he said, breaking away from the kiss. You felt his hand slipped on yours and then interweave your fingers. This gentle gesture contrasted with his hard thrusts. Your eyes rolled back as you roughly bit your lip, you didn’t want to give him the pleasure of hearing you moan. When one of his hands came to squeeze your breast, you planted your teeth in the arm holding you against the door to remain silent. You wanted to tell him to stop, but you didn’t have the courage. He suddenly pushed his head into your neck, his fangs biting your skin strongly, sometimes sucking it, probably leaving purple marks on your skin.

“I-I can’t take it” you faintly said as his thrusts became harder, making you cry out. You couldn’t hold your moans anymore, letting small whimpers out of your mouth as you arched your back against him. Tears started gathering as your orgasm builds inside of you. He feels it, too, and increases the rhythm, pushing you, higher, harder, faster - and you surrender, exploding around him - a draining, soul-grabbing orgasm.

Not even seconds later Mark finally gave into his high, “oh my-” he groaned as he bit down on his lower lip, resting his head on your shoulder. You feel your body becoming numb and if its grip on your hips wasn’t as strong you would surely collapse.

“I-I hate you” you whimper as he moves away, letting you breathe.

“Yeah right” he sneers and bends to leave a kiss on your forehead. At that moment you know that your story is not over, in fact, it just starts.

[zenshin]

yet another writing blurb

Vreath stood on the doorstep, looking at the door before him. He hadn’t been home in ages, and now here he was, looking at the place he’d called home. Why was he here? It was probably nothing.

He’d been living with his friends for the past few months, and despite the guilt he’d felt for his twin brother, he knew that it was the best choice for himself. He was undoubtedly in a better place, but still, it ate at him, knowing he’d silently just up and left his brother one day. He should’ve taken him, but...

Here he was, at his old home, ready to confront his old family to save the person he loved. He didn’t quite know what had drawn him back, but he’d felt a string in his heart snap earlier that day, and that scared him. His friends were confused, but they graciously drove him out to the house after understanding that something serious had landed on his shoulders.


What was he doing? He was afraid to open the door. Everything was fine, so why was he overreacting? Why was he so afraid of the answers he might find in this place? The family car wasn’t in the driveway, so they were probably all out. And yet, why did he feel like he’d find something terrifying inside?

Vreath shook it off. He knew something was here, and he needed to find it himself, before they came back. He reached for the doorknob, with his old key jammed in it, and turned it with a force of both strength and weakness. Pushing the door open, he held his breath, and looked ahead at...nothing.

Nothing was out of place. Everything was mostly as it had been before he left, from the stickers on the closet in the entryway and the weird dent on the floor in the entrance to the dining room.

He breathed in, the scent of his old family flooding his mind. He felt nostalgia and pain, like the feeling of an old toy slicing open your hand. Something was still amiss though, the pit in his stomach had deepened as he walked around. Then, he noticed. His brother’s keys were still hanging on the fridge, meaning he was supposed to be here. Rarely, he’d go out for walks or something, but usually not while his parents were out. He was here, and yet...there was no sign of life in the house.

His stomach became a trench, and he held onto the kitchen counter. Vreath felt sick, having not even seen anything yet. He had a bad feeling about this, about what he’d find, but he held on strong.

Finally, he decided he should face his fears. He went to their old bedroom, and standing in front of the door, a tear fell down his face. Where did this tear even come from? Nothing had set him off yet, and still, he was so scared. He gripped the knob with an iron hand, firm enough to snap it from the door had he exerted force. He opened the door though, and took his a step inside.

The posters were still on the wall, and the room smelled of teenagers, a mix of sweat, hormones and just general human scent. The nostalgia hit him hard enough to send another tear to his eyes, but this one he wiped away. He moved his eyes around, noticing the small ways the layout had shifted. His cords were no longer docked at the edge of their desk, replaced by his brother’s favorite pencils. There were more marks than before, carvings of character into the wood.

But he knew he couldn’t avoid it. He moved his eyes to the right, the bunk bed they’d shared now taking up the frame of his eyes. His emotions skyrocketed in that instant, because there he was: Blair. He was just sleeping, his arm draped off the edge of the bed. Thank god.

Something was still wrong, however. His brother was a notorious snorer, to the point where sometimes his noises would alert other people at night. It was always a noise worthy of noise cancelling headphones, it was so irritating. But in this moment, he was completely silent.

Vreath went over to his brother, now extremely alarmed. “Blair? Blair! Blair, wake up! Hey, get up, idiot! Blair!” He tapped his brother, but he received no feedback. He began shaking him, but this didn’t elicit a response either. There’s no way, right? Vreath tried to choke his tears, but they leaped from his eyes, streaming down his face onto the body of his twin.

He lifted his brother onto his bed, his face now in full view. There was...blood? It was stuck on his face, smeared on as if he’d been smothered in a small pool of it. Only now did he notice the stains on the floor, a deep crimson, sunk in the carpet. Vreath felt a knife run itself across his heart. There’s no way...

He looked at his brother’s expressionless face, noticing the small streams of blood that’d clearly come out of his nose and mouth. They were hours old at this point, and despite his desire to deny it, Vreath very much knew that was the case.

Vreath was crying, horrible noises came from him as he shook and held his brother’s body. He couldn’t be dead, they were siblings. If one was alive, they both had to be...he loved his brother. He couldn’t leave him alone...

Vreath sat on his brother’s bed, with him in his arms, sprinkling tears onto his t-shirt. He held him closely, weeping at the loss of his other half. Violence snuck into his heart, and he dug at his chest with his right hand. His heart was in pain, he couldn’t take this. But after shedding his own blood on his brother’s body, he stopped. He couldn’t.

Closing his eyes, Vreath let out a scream, a bloodcurdling cry of pure pain. It was heard by no one, though. He was alone. This death was in his hands, only his heart.

[rippedjeansandloudmusic]

capitolo cinque

ayeeeeee Chapter Four you want to read this is a better format you should go to my Ao3, where i actually proofread because copy/pasting on tumblr sucks.

Will wasn’t sure if shaking was a good sign.

As Lou and he ran down the packed sidewalks and crossed packed streets the paper seemed to grow heavy in his pocket, just begging for Will to stop whatever he was doing and read it.

But, he didn’t.

He couldn’t give Lou Ellen the satisfaction.

So, they made their way home. Evading the homeless, street-corner-bands, and as many humans, as possible they turned down the roads. Eventually, they made it to the subway, squeezed onto a trapped car and made their way. Will had to stand beside Lou, holding onto the metal handles above their heads for both him and her. Lou was too short to reach the bar and had to resort to holding the sleeves of his flannel. They got looks from tons of different people, most of which were probably thinking they were soulmates, and Lou just rolled her eyes. Will had to apologize when, at one point, Lou flipped off one of the people who was staring. Will didn’t care for the attention, honestly, but Lou seemed dead set on not allowing people to think they were in a relationship.

When they got off the car Lou grabbed his wrist, dragging him across the cemented floor and out, once again, onto the crowded street.

When they got back to the small apartment it was a little past midnight. The place wasn’t very big, barely having two bedrooms, and almost everything was pushed into the wall. Will wasn’t sure how Hecate could live in this small apartment, even on her own. It was too crowded for Will’s liking, and he was glad to be out and about most of the time. The floors were polished wood, though underneath a small couch it was a gray carpet. The chairs for the dining room and the table itself were all folded up, pressed against the wall to let some more room into the small place. There were only five windows throughout the apartment; two in the living/dining room, one in the bathroom and one in each bedroom.

Lou didn’t even stop to grab something from the fridge, unlike most days back in Kansas where she would raid the fridge every single time they walked into a house and pulled Will back into their shared room.

Hecate didn’t find it mandatory to find a second bed, since they were childhood friends and weren’t soulmates, so they just crashed in the same twin sized bed. It had a large white comforter on top and a carpet in front of it. The room in itself was pretty small as well, only having one dresser that they had to share (aka: Lou took the dresser and Will just didn’t unpack) and a small hamper for their dirty clothing.

Lou sat on the side of the bed, pulling Will down, and hit him upside the head.

Will winced, rubbing the back of his head while glaring at Lou.

“What the hell, Lou?”

“I suggest you, Will Solace,” she poked him in the side, “read that damned letter and read it fast.”

Will raised a brow at her, though caved in, reaching into his back pocket and grabbing the letter. Though he hesitated before unfolding it.

“Why are you so adamant on me opening this, anyway?”

Lou just rolled her eyes, getting up and hitting him on the shoulder for a moment before going to exit the room. Will watched as she opened the door, almost out of the room, but she stopped before shutting it.

“Why don’t you read it and find out?”

Then she shut the door, leaving Will in almost complete darkness except for a small light fixture on the other side of the room.

Will read the logo on the front side of the napkin - Hecate’s Brewery and Coffee  - before unfolding it, careful to not rip it, and the first thing he noticed was the way it was written.

The words were carefully spaced, as though the writer was scared that Will wouldn’t be able to read their handwriting. Though every letter curved into one another, making it look more like cursive than simple printed writing. The way the words were written made it seem like his hand was too slow for his brain, having to write quickly in order to get his thoughts onto paper. Though maybe this time they wrote slower because it seemed purposely thought out more, slowing it down. He could still see the places where their pen was to close to the paper while moving to another letter, leaving faint marks of ink in between the words.

Will grabbed the lamp from the dresser and dragged it into the middle of the floor where he could sit and read the note, not wanting to harm the cord since it was too short.

Uhm, hey, I guess.

Now I don’t know how you got this letter, or if you even got it at all. Either way, it’s giving me a freaking heart attack, knowing that you’ll probably be reading this.

My name is Nico di Angelo. I’m 18, not from America, and just happen to be your soulmate.

God, this sounds like a shitty movie cliche.

But I am. As weird as it sounds.

And I know what you’re probably thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, this guy is the biggest chicken I’ve ever met.’ And, yeah, you would be right. I’m scared shitless. Most people could approach their soulmate no problem. Maybe throw out a witty one-liner and get the guy/girl. But, I’m not your average Joe. In fact, I’m about far from it.

And I don’t know if you’re against soulmates. Some people are, I hear, and I would literally fucking die if I approached you and you called me out or something.

And you are probably also thinking about how I could be lying. That’s understandable since I would be thinking the same thing. Well, I do have some proof, though I could tell you without showing you as well.

I guess I could give a small description of one of my marks, perhaps?

One of them is of a baseball mitt with a name seemingly embroidered on the palm. Naomi.

Also, you happen to have my sister’s face on your arm. The girl, the absolutely magnificent stained glass tattoo? Yeah, she’s my sister. Hard to believe, I know better than you, but true. She recently turned sixteen, actually, and is going to a Catholic school ways downtown.

And I know that you’re putting blind trust in a man you don’t even know. Hell, I don’t even know your name! But, I am hoping that you’re willing to give me a chance. And, if you don’t, at least let me know that you did.

Those other tattoos… I’d love to share the story.

Though only if you let me.

515-808-2362

-di Angelo

Now you understand why the famous Will Solace was shaking.

While reading the letter, though, he noticed how there were small rips every so often. At the very end, where Nico signed his last name, the ‘l’ almost ripped the entire bottom half of the page off. Will could see where he had to tape the page back together.

This is a shitty cliche, Will thought to himself. But you added your own flare.

It was amazing to think that he had actually met his soulmate that day. Sure, he had an odd vibe about the knockoff-hipster the entire night, though he thought that was normal.

Obviously, it wasn’t.

Remember earlier, where Will said he didn’t feel the need to want to know everything about Nico di Angelo? Yeah, he now had that gut feeling.

He didn’t want to call him, though. Who knows where he could be? Possibly even asleep.

Would you sleep, Will thought, If you just made such a big step towards your soulmate? Probably not.

So Will picked up his phone and dialed the number on the paper.

+

Nico was shaking.

He knew exactly why he was shaking, though. He was crawling with nerves. His arm had goosebumps and his teeth were chattering, though that could’ve easily been from the cold of the night. It was almost never this cold. While walking down the streets of New York City you would almost always get heat from the many bodies you would pass by. One time he was knocked back and forth by the same two people all down Broadway with Hazel after seeing a show. Most of the time he would sweat from the constant brushing up against people.

Now he probably could’ve been in an oven and still been colder than a popsicle.

Hazel was blowing up his phone with How could you! -s and What happened to sticking to the plan?! -s almost all the way home. He didn’t reply, though, until he was back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of Bianca and Maria.

“What the fuck, di Angelo?” Hazel’s voice shot at him. “What happened to keeping them apart until they were about to die?”

Nico thought for a moment before replying.

“Plans changed,” he replied, as bland as ever, his voice shockingly monotone considering the circumstances.

“Of course, Nico, that’s blatantly obvious.”

Nico didn’t respond. He could hear Hazel’s heavy breathing through the speaker of his phone. Speaking of his phone it was thrown across his bed, at the foot to be exact, while on speaker.

Hazel seemed to realize his ill response and said something more.

“Neeks, what’s wrong?”

Nico winced, thinking about the nickname.

“You know,” he responded, sure his voice sounded muffled because of his phone being face down. “Bianca called me that for a while.”

Nico could hear Hazel stop walking.

“Huh? Nico, I know that. You’ve already told me.”

“I did?” he wondered aloud, not remembering the occasion.

“Yeah,” she responded, resuming her walking. “Nico, what’s wrong?”

Nico huffed, sending a piece of hair that was in front of his face flying.

“I met my soulmate.”

Hazel stopped walking (again).

“What!” She said so loud it was more of a scream. Nico could hear her yelling in glee from the other side of the line. He felt a smile break through his features, and found himself biting back a laugh to avoid waking Sally.

“That’s great, Neeks! So why are you upset?”

Nico’s smile dissipated. He didn’t respond, which of course sent Hazel’s mind spinning out of control. “Wait,” she said after a moment of deliberation. “Did you not talk to him?”

He didn’t respond.

“NICO DI ANGELO! What the hell!”

“I’m sorry!” he said, scrambling to grab his phone. He eventually took it off the speaker to keep Hazel’s voice from getting too loud.

“I just - I - I panicked!”

“Well, Nico, I’m panicking too!”

“Now can you imagine my pain?”

Hazel hesitated.

“Slightly.”

“Okay then.”

They were silent for a few seconds.

“I’m coming over.”

Nico blinked a few times, taking his phone from his ear to glance at the time for a second. “Hazel, it’s past midnight. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Though he knew he didn’t have a say in the matter.

“Too late. Buzz me in.”

“What the fuck? How did you get here so quickly?” He jumped down from his upper bunk, grabbing his black hoodie from the floor and throwing it on.

“I was going to come over anyway,” Nico could hear her feet hitting against the steps outside through the phone. “You just gave me a valid reason to.”

“Won’t the school want you back?”

“The school can suck it. My brother was an idiot and now needs my emotional support during this hard time. Buzz me in.”

Nico got up, whispering obscenities at Hazel as he walked over to their front door and buzzed Hazel in. She was up in a new record time and flung the door open, almost killing Nico when she ran in.

“Nico di Angelo!” She yelled, and Nico yelped. Flying forward and slamming a hand over her mouth.

“Shhh!” He muttered, sparing a glance to Sally’s room. A few seconds later when the door didn’t open he sighed, removing his hand from her mouth.

“Ew,” he muttered, wiping the palm of his hands on his boxers. “Why the hell did you lick me?”

“Don’t put your hand over my mouth, Neeks, and I won’t lick you.”

Hazel shoved past him, marching towards his bedroom. He followed quickly, shutting the door behind him. Hazel threw her bag onto the bottom bunk, taking off her shoes and her jean jacket.

“Where’s Percy?” She asked, throwing her jacket at Nico. Nico rolled his eyes, tossing the jacket onto the back of his office chair and collapsing next to her on the bed.

“Probably out with Annabeth. He said he’d probably be back at around two, so don’t be scared when four people stumble in here drunk off their ass.”

“Four?”

“Piper.”

“Oh… you’re right. Though, aren’t they all underage?”

Nico shook his head, waving a hand towards the light at the front of the room, motioning for Hazel to turn it off. She rolled her eyes but obliged, flickering the light off before collapsing next to him again.

“Percy and Jason turned twenty one a few months ago. Annabeth, she’s underage, so she won’t drink. But we both know Piper could talk anyone into getting her a drink.”

“It’s sad how true that is.”

Nico nodded, leaving the room in silence for a moment. Eventually Hazel got up, discarding her jeans and pulling on a pair of Nico’s old sweatpants he had grown out of a few years prior. Why he had those he wasn’t sure. She also stole a hair tie from his floor (he needed to clean the room) and pulled her hair back.

“Okay, let’s get to business.”

She sat beside him, heaving him to his ass and pushing him back to the wall of the room.

“Soulmate. Details. Spill.”

Nico groaned, though didn’t object, and began talking.

He wasn’t sure how long he was talking for, probably about ten minutes, though when she wanted details she wanted details. Some of her, might he say bizarre, questions were, quote:

Hair color: “A bright blonde. It was really shaggy like he hadn’t cut it in months which I didn’t really understand but it didn’t matter because holy shit he was hot.”

Eye color: “The brightest blue you’ve ever seen. Hazel, it was ridiculous. Like, fucking, uh, like the fucking Pacific Ocean blue. Oh my god, he was hot.”

Clothing: “A flannel with a freaking amazing graphic t-shirt under it that had the word Sarcasm on it.”

Height: “How the fuck am I supposed to know that?”

Where he was from: “Somewhere south. He had a slight southern accent.”

Best friend: “I don’t fucking know. Uh, maybe the girl he was working with? Lou, I think.”

And a bunch of different ones he didn’t remember.

When they were finished Hazel whistled, remarking how impressive it was that he got all that information via stalking someone and a two minute conversation. Normally, Nico would’ve retorted, saying how he knew she was staring at one at some guy for a solid ten minutes while they were at McDonald’s, though instead he just nodded solemnly.

“Holy shit,” Hazel whispered, poking his face as though he’d turned into an alien. Nico batted her hand away, though Hazel still smiled. “You look dead inside.”

“I am dead inside, Hazel.”

“And angsty, too.”

“Please, just shut up.”

Hazel snorted, grabbing her phone from his nightstand and getting the time.

“It’s almost three. They should be here sometime soon.”

“Wait, I blabbered on about a stranger for three hours and you didn't stop me?”

Hazel shrugged, not even bothering to hide the smile growing on her face. “You looked star struck. It was cute.”

Nico scowled, burying his face in the pillow he was resting against and groaning. Hazel just laughed.

“So, how are we going to find our Mystery Man, huh?”

Nico flopped over, now biting his lip at the boards above him.

“Hopefully he calls…”

Hazel froze.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘HOPEFULLY HE CALLS’?”

Nico shot upward, covering her mouth again, though she just pushed him off and dove for his phone.

“You gave him your number?” She asked, though it was more of a scream, and jumped up from her spot on the bed. Nico followed her, jumping to get his phone, which he eventually got back, though Hazel still almost killed him in the process. Before much more damage could be done, though, the front door to the apartment opened and one drunk teen and three adults came streaming in.

Hazel looked at Nico with a fire beneath her eyes. “This conversation isn’t over.” Were her last words before she opened the bedroom door and disappeared into the next room.

“Let’s hope this night ends better than I anticipated…” Nico murmured, following his sister into the next room.

+

Will was shaking.

It’s been an eternity since Will had last laid eyes on the letter, (three hours to be exact but who's keeping track?) and he was still panicking. His mind was racing with what he should say versus what he was probably going to say. How he could approach the situation and how he would inevitably. How he wanted it to end and how it probably would.

God, I’m fucked.

Lou was still out the room, probably passed out on the couch at this point, though Will couldn’t find himself to care. He was kind of glad she never came back in - thank her girly intuition about guys - so he could have time to plan. Honest to god he almost got out a cork board and started fucking planning out his response.

God, I’m a nerd.

Eventually he got to the roof

He wasn’t sure how he got there exactly. Probably via the fire escape, though he floated up with wings that magically appeared on his shoes.

The sky was beautiful. He couldn’t see the blue or the white clouds, but he could see the stars. He couldn’t point out many constellations since he was never the type for astronomy, but now he wishes he had. It was almost completely clear, giving him the view of different shapes in the atmosphere.

He knew the basic ones. Orion’s Belt, the Big Dipper, and maybe another, but nothing major. He didn’t know Aries or Cassiopeia or the Northern Star. Only of the ones his mother would point out to him. The only ones she knew.

His bare feet hit against the cold of the apartment roof, his head cast upward and mouth open in awe.

“This is beautiful…” Will thought to himself. How had he not done this before? Just escaped outside his room back in Kansas and watched the sky?

Well, he probably has. It’s just, up here in New York, the sky is almost perpetually polluted. You almost never got a clear sky.

Which made this all that much better.

He knew the sun was going to come up any time now, so he wasn’t going to have long here. Who knew how long it would be until he got to see this sight again? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? He didn’t know. So he knew he had to make the most of it.

He unlocked his phone, typing the number he memorized into the keypad and held it to his ear.

God, I’m so going to regret this in the morning…

The phone was ringing in his ear, almost sounding deafening despite the sound of busing cars below.

He stayed like that for a moment, only just then the reality of what he was doing settling in.

I’m calling my soulmate. At three in the morning. On the roof of a random apartment building.

He suddenly wanted to hang up.

But…

The inevitability of what the night could bring…

How this was his second day, only his second day in New York and he’d already met his soulmate?

Well, it’s technically the third day since he got there, but same thing.

As Will was having his internal monolog the person on the other end picked up, yelling at other people surrounding them and eventually leaving the apartment to get some clearing.

“Hello?” Nico’s voice came through, a bit annoyed, though Will decided to ignore that.

“Uh, hey,” He replied, and he could barely hear the person on the other end’s breathing stop.

“Uh, uhm, holy shit, uh, hi?”

Will laughed, almost doubling over for a second, but instead deciding to lay down.

On the ground.

Of the roof of his apartment.

At three in the morning.

Was he going crazy?

Will took a minute before responding, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing,” He said honestly, laughing breathlessly. “Calling you at three in the morning.”

Nico laughed as well, something thumping on his end.

“I would say the same, though I’m babysitting some drunks. What’s your excuse?”

Will sighed, though couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that formed in his chest. They were having a normal conversation. This wasn’t going as bad as he thought it would be.

“Don’t have one.”

“That’s nice,”

“Not really, when you think about it.”

It took a minute for anyone to continue the conversation.

“So, uh, why did you call me?”

Will shrugged, though soon realized Nico couldn’t see him through the phone.

“I don’t have a reason. I know it’s stupid, calling at three in the morning, but… guess I decided there’s no better time than now. Oh,” Will sat up. “My name’s Will, by the way. Will Solace.”

He could hear the wisp of breath coming from the other end.

“Nico. Nico di Angelo.”

[5hfanfiction]

Everything Is A Metaphor

Chapter 7 PART 1

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Listen to: Nothing Would Be Better by Nick Jonas (or The Scientist by Coldplay)

“Cause I used to live in fear, it was my home. But there are harder things to be, than all alone. You’re the broken part of me that makes me hold, but so unsure. Nothing is forever, nothing will be better in the love you’re giving me”

Or

“It’s such a shame for us to part.”

  ————————————————————————————————————

It’s the same as all the TV shows make it out to be.

Breathing?

Steady.

Heartbeat?

Faint, but it’s likely just from shock.

Blood loss? Trauma? I need details, here.

The eyewitness is too much of a mess to tell us anything. Blunt force trauma to the head, a few broken bones? A severe concussion is my best bet.

Well, let’s hope that’s the brunt of it.

You know how they say those in a coma can hear you if you speak to them? Feel you if you touch them? Yeah. It’s all bullshit. The only times her senses were appealed to was the few times she woke up. The first time was the ride to the hospital, when a bunch of different wires were attached to her. Too many heads cast over her. Too much beeping. Blackout. The second time was when she got to the hospital. Again, too many people, too much beeping. Blackout. The third time was when Dinah came to visit her. She didn’t see or hear much, but she does remember seeing Dinah tear up. Or maybe she dreamed that. Maybe she dreamed all of it. Who can know for sure? Blackout.

Perhaps the worst of it is that she cannot differentiate between the past and the present. One moment, she’s having visions from when she and Camila got into a car accident. The next, she’s having visions from when she, Lauren, solely, was hit by a car. But are the two events really discernible? What if Camila saw the car coming toward Lauren last minute, and decided to try and save her, too? Or what if Lauren wasn’t fast enough in pushing Camila out of the way? What if the both of them got hurt?

“What’s happening? Where’s Camila?”

Lauren attempts to wriggle out of her gurney, forcing the main male medic to pin her shoulders down. He breathes so heavily his breath can be seen in the air, a stream of frozen white. The sight of him, combined with the blaring of sirens and too many people clamoring at once, causes Lauren to panic even more.

“Camila?!” She tries to turn her head to the side, searching for the girl. But all she sees is a cut-off street, full of ambulances and police cars, but devoid of anyone she recognizes. Lauren turns her head to the other side. “Camila?! Camila-!”

The male medic calls for the help of others to hold Lauren down. “You’ve been in an accident,” He yells at the girl. “You need to stay still-!”

But the damage is done. Lauren has finally caught sight of Camila, tied to a gurney. Blood matted through her hair. Cold. Unnmoving. In a fucking gurney-

“Camila!” Lauren screams, doing everything she can to escape the three medics now holding her down. There’s a massive pain in her head, her back, her ribs. She can feel the sticky stains of blood all over her body- but nothing hurts more than her heart. Camila is hurt. Fuck, Camila isn’t even moving-

The medic calls for a sedative, but Lauren has other ideas.

“Like fucking hell-!” Lauren screams, literally throwing punches at the medics before her arms are tied down. “I need to know if she’s okay! Camila!” She screams at the girl in the gurney, but still she remains silent.  “Please, tell me you can hear me! God, Camila!” She screams again and again, until finally she feels the sharp pang of a needle stab into her.

“I’m sorry-” Lauren cries, her eyes not once moving from Camila’s still body. “I never meant for any of this to happen. Camila, please-!”

Blackout.

Except, this time, Lauren is awake.

For good.

The first thing she notices is that she isn’t in the hospital. Thank God. She scans down her body, afraid to lift the covers and see if any ligaments are missing. But she can feel her legs and feet, and she definitely has use of her arms, so, hopefully, she’s okay on that end. She scans around the room she’s in.

Carpeted floors. Purple walls, mostly hidden behind posters of bands like The 1975 and Bastille-

Holy shit, her dorm! She’s in her fucking dorm room! Lauren breaks out into such a wide smile, her face begins to hurt. Perhaps the crash didn’t happen at all, and everything was just a bad dream-!

But that hope immediately deflates at the sound of a familiar voice.

A voice Lauren could go the rest of her entire life without hearing.

“You’re awake-“ Lucy stutters, freezing as soon as she sees Lauren’s open, blinking eyes. “I-I um-“

Lauren opens her mouth to speak, but upon trying her throat flares up in pain. She coughs a few times, and Lucy rushes over to hand her the glass of water from her bedside table. Lauren reluctantly takes a sip, then speaks softly.

“Tell me everything was a dream.”

The words burn her throat even more, though it’s impossible to tell whether the pain is due to the words themselves or the meaning behind them. Her green eyes fade to grey as she sighs, the dread weighing down her words more than she had planned.

“Tell me you didn’t kiss Camila; that you didn’t get drunk and tell her everything. Tell me I didn’t get hit by a fucking car.”

Lauren takes a moment to study Lucy’s face. Aside from the obvious blanching of her skin, her lips construe into a weird shape- combining a frown with a trembling lower-lip. Her hazel hair is darker than usual, likely meaning she hasn’t showered in days. The circles beneath her eyes are a whole other shade of purple, too; they look more like actual bruises than just marks of exhaustion. If Lauren still had the heart for it, she’d tear up just at the sight of Lucy.

But Lucy simply shakes her head, and Lauren knows then that she doesn’t, in fact, have the heart for it.

She can barely bring herself to look at the girl for a second longer.

Lauren sighs, “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“I know you’re still upset-”

“Still upset?” Lauren raises a brow. “The last thing I remember is Camila, screaming at me because of what you did- what you said. And then-” She chuckles dryly. “And then-! I fucking risked my life for her. And you know what? She probably still hates me. And that isn’t my fault, Lucy.”

Anger flashes in Lauren’s eyes, bringing them back to a more vibrant green. She looks Lucy dead in the eyes.

“It’s yours.“

Her words are punctuated with so much hate, even Lauren feels a tinge of guilt when she sees the hope shatter in Lucy’s eyes. But she quickly swallows it down when Lucy begins to cry. The thing is, Lauren doesn’t absolutely hate Lucy- she can’t. But in this moment, of all the people in the world, between Donald Trump and Lucy, well…Lauren would much rather have the former standing in her room than the latter. After all, Lucy did in fact ruin everything. And Lauren admits, perhaps the argument between her and Camila was inevitable. But the extent of the argument? The car accident? That all could have been avoided if Lucy had just kept her mouth shut. So, as far as Lauren is concerned, Lucy is dead right now. Perhaps she’ll revive one day, but today she’s gone. A stranger. Dead.

“Lauren-” Lucy attempts to hold back her tears, but the two of them know it’s useless. She takes a deep breath, formulating her words carefully so that she might be able to break through the hard shell that is Lauren.

“I can’t justify myself. You and I both know that, but-…I was heartbroken-”

“And I’ve been heartbroken millions of times in our relationship, but I’ve never once hurt you like you hurt me.”

Silence. Lucy attempts to recalibrate.

“You broke up with me-”

“Because you forced me to, Lucy!” Lauren yells so loud her entire upper-body begins to ache. She looks at Lucy with an incredulous look, her brows raised and her mouth slightly dropped. She chuckles dryly and shakes her head.

“Are you- are you seriously blaming me for our breakup? Are you fucking kidding me, Lucy?”

She looks at the girl for an answer, but merely gets a shrug in response.

“I-”

“I thought I would marry you, Lucy. I thought you were it for me; my…dream girl. I thought you were perfect in every fucking inconceivable way. You really think I would’ve broken up with you just because of Camila? Fuck,” Lauren shrugs, laughing again. “If that’s really your position in this argument, you truly don’t know me.”

“But you did break up with me, Laur-”

Lauren raises a finger. “You told me to go on a date with Camila, and I did. You told me to make a decision, and when I tried to choose you, you told me my heart had chosen otherwise. We broke up because I had feelings for her and you couldn’t handle it. I may not have been able to give you my entire soul, Lucy, but you had me. You had me, and you let me go.”

Lucy shakes her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper as she says:

“I set you free.”

Lauren silently clears her throat, her gaze shifting towards the windows at the end of the room. A brief sunlight is pouring out, but clouds are strife on the horizon. A storm is, for lack of a better term, brewing.

“You’re a hypocrite, Lucy.”

Lucy opens her mouth to retort, but Lauren shakes her head, frowning.

“Exactly two minutes ago you said I hurt you by breaking up with you, and yet now you’re telling me you set me free? Jesus,” Lauren cocks her head. “When will you learn to stop defending yourself when you aren’t defendable in the first place?!”

Meekly, Lucy whispers, “I don’t want to lose you-”

Lauren chuckles dryly again. “You should’ve thought about that before you ruined my relationship with Camila. In fact,” Lauren shrugs. “You ruined everything. Not just my relationship with her, but everything. And now you have to live with the knowledge that you’re the reason I got hit by a car. You’re the reason I’m going to have nightmares upon nightmares; the reason I’m going to be a thousand times worse than before. Hell, you didn’t just ruin my life, either, Luce! You ruined Camila’s. D-Do you even realize that now she has to work backwards from here? Her entire life is a fucking lie-!”

Lauren shuts her mouth when she feels a tear run down her cheek.

The room grows heavy with sadness, and after a while Lucy forces herself to break the silence.

“You’re right,” She nods tearfully. “You’re right.” She fumbles with her hands, folding them together. “So, um, I’m gonna go get someone, and-…” She clears her throat to stop herself from crying. Lucy heads for the door then, but before stepping out she turns her head to Lauren, who is still as solemn as stone.

“I’m really sorry, Lauren.”

Lauren doesn’t look at her. “Yeah, so am I.”

The moment Lucy leaves, Lauren allows herself to breathe. Really breathe, for the first time in what feels like years. Perhaps her relationship with Lucy was toxic, too. Maybe she jumped into things too quickly. Maybe she clinged to Lucy when what she really needed was Camila…or therapy. And it’s a sad thought, to realize that the two relationships you’ve ever had in your life were built on toxicity. But Lauren remembers: there was a time before Lucy, before Camila came back into the picture. And that relationship, that pure love between Camila and Lauren stemming from when they were just kids-

That’s the hope she has to hold onto now.

Lauren tears the covers off herself, then moves until she’s at the edge of the bed, her feet firmly on the ground. She scans over her legs, bare thanks to a pair of shorts that are way too short to belong to her. There’s a few scars here and there, but nothing too bad to worry about. She does another quick once-over of her arms, again noticing some bruising and scars, but again nothing too scary. After a moment, Lauren prepares herself to walk. She propels herself up from the bed, moving one foot forward-

She hits the ground almost as soon as she leaves the bed.

Jesus. She can’t even walk? What the-

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Lauren hears Her voice, Her footsteps, feels her hands. Lauren’s defective body is lifted from the ground and thrown onto the bed and, finally, she sees Camila; her face, her brown eyes, wide with concern. There is a reason she’s here, a reason she has been here checking on Lauren. It has to be a good sign. It has to be.

There’s that hope again.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Camila lifts Lauren’s feet up off the blankets, rushing to tuck the older girl in. “You just got into a car accident, and the first thing you think is, ‘Oh, let me go look out that window! Gotta stretch these legs!’” She gives Lauren a pointed look. “Seriously? You couldn’t have waited for me?”

Lauren sighs, smiling sadly. “I wanted to check if my legs still work.” She shrugs. “Guess they don’t, huh?”

Camila shakes her head, annoyed. “It’s temporary. I forget what they called it, but it’s something to do with shock and lack of movement and stuff.”

She moves to tuck the blankets in beneath Lauren, moving up all the way until she reaches her shoulders. “You should be walking in a week or two.”

“Anything else, Doctor Cabello?”

“Um, well, you have a concussion, but it isn’t anything severe, so, you know…” Camila trails off, tearing her gaze away.

Concussion. Severity. Suddenly, Lauren gets a bad taste in her mouth.

“Listen, Camila-“

Camila takes a step back and crosses her arms. She takes a deep breath, then shakes her head slowly. “How about you listen to me first, okay?”

Heart beating all too loudly in her chest, Lauren simply nods.

Camila again takes a deep breath before speaking. There are tears already visible behind her lashes, and even her hands begin to shake. Lauren feels nausea run through her at the site.

“When you got hit by that car-” Camila’s breath hitches in her throat, but she bites her lip and forces herself to continue.

“When you got hit by that car,” She tries again. “Something…happened.” Camila stops short, and Lauren looks at her with a raised brow and concerned eyes.

“It was like…I blinked and suddenly I wasn’t…there…in that moment.” Camila’s eyes are focused on the floor now, and her hands are shaking even more. “All I could see were these brief glimpses of...something. I don’t even know what…

“I saw some high school I’ve never heard of, and when I went to look it up I saw it was located in Miami.”

Oh my god, does Lauren feel her heart skip a beat.

“I saw myself holding hands with a girl who looked a lot like you.” Camila shakes her head, shrugging slightly as she attempts to keep her composure.

“I saw myself in the kitchen of a home I could’ve swore I’ve never been in before, and there was Cuban music playing, and I saw…”

Something catches in Camila’s throat, and she struggles to clear her throat silently.

She wets her lips before speaking again. “I saw you.”

It’s here where Camila finally meets Lauren’s eyes, where they realize they’re both on the verge of tears. Lauren isn’t sure why her eyes are stinging- she can’t tell if this is a goodbye or a hello. But something is happening- something...Camila realized something. The car accident, the flashbacks-

It can only mean one thing, right?

Then there’s Camila, tearing up knowingly. She, too, cannot tell if this is a goodbye or a hello. All she knows is that her chest really hurts and her heart is tired and god, after all of this- all of it-

She still loves Lauren.

She always has.

“I talked to a psychologist,” Camila’s voice trembles along with her body, yet she keeps her eyes locked with Lauren’s own. ‘Then a psychiatrist…then a neurologist…I asked them about Repressed Memory Syndrome and they said without any real medical history, it was nearly impossible to conclude anything…”

Lauren bites her lip and stifles a sigh of disappointment. Her little bit of hope nearly dies right then and there, but Camila keeps talking.

“So I called my dad.”

Lauren feels something bubble up in her chest. Nausea. Terror. Maybe both.

Camila laughs then, as if trying to balance out the tears now running down her face. “The moment I brought up your name, he…He said you ruined his life-” Camila laughs again. “His life, not mine. He said you turned me into a…a dyke, a-a faggot, a-”

The girl pauses then, running a hand over her face to dry any tears and recompose herself. She attempts to inhale deeply, but her chest barely moves.

Camila can’t help but tear her eyes away from Lauren.

“Every homophobic slur in the book;” She nods, biting her lip. “And then he admitted to everything.”

Lauren gasps, as if punched straight in the chest.

“The car crash, the moving away…” Camila wills herself to meet Lauren’s eyes again. “Keeping it all a secret...everything, Lauren.” Crying again, Camila runs a hand under her eyes.

“Camila-”

“And then,” Camila chuckles dryly, cutting Lauren off. “And then, he says…the accident was a blessing. Something that made me forget I ever liked girls. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t his loving little girl he’d raised for the past sixteen years. Now, I wasn’t gay. And that was a god-send for him-”

Camila breaks down then. She covers her mouth with one hand, allowing loud sobs to rack through her body. Lauren’s heart breaks at the sight of it, and all she wants is to run over to the girl and envelop her in a hug. Instead, her legs chain her to the bed, forcing her to open her arms and call out for Camila.

But Camila still isn’t done. Not yet.

“He-” The girl tries, but her words get caught under a new wave of sobs. Lauren’s jaw drops as Camila grows more hysterical, and even more tears begin to build up behind her lashes. She shakes her head, begging for Camila to take a break from explaining-…but Camila continues after a few coughs.

“I remember you, Lauren.”

Lauren freezes. Her heart feels like it stops beating, and for a moment all she can hear is static and the sloshing of blood.

“I’ve always remembered you. I’ve dreamt of you every night, Lauren, even before I met you. I thought that this girl I was dreaming of was just…someone I’d seen on the street. And then when I did meet you, I just-” Camila wipes away another tear. “I told myself the dreams were just that: dreams. What I wanted to happen. But when Lucy said all those things, it made sense. I knew she was telling the truth, I just-” She takes another shaky breath and, stumbling over her words, she shakes her head and looks to Lauren for any ounce of understanding.

“It really…hurts, you know?” She nods at Lauren, smiling sadly. “It hurts so fucking much-”

It’s then that the two girls realize they can take no more. Lauren scoots as far off the bed as she can and opens her arms wide, and this time Camila doesn’t hold back. She runs- No, she crumbles into Lauren’s embrace, crying big, loud sobs. Back-breaking sobs. Familiar sobs, to Lauren. Yet again there are merely two girls, both broken, alone in the same small room of a college too small for a big city, against the backdrop of gray skies.

And the clouds are beginning to cry with the girls, too. Lauren thinks she hears thunder, but maybe that’s just her heart banging in her chest.

The cliche saying goes that love is a funny thing; that it reveals itself in both the most and least expected moments; that it can grow; that it can kill.

But no one ever bothers to talk about the mark it leaves. Sure, first loves always hurt the hardest; broken hearts can heal; every ex teaches you a lesson, blah blah blah. But what about the real mark? The real tattoo only true love can ink? It’s a tattoo for a reason, you know. Perhaps a love so strong cannot be forgotten, can withstand car crashes and brain damage and memory loss and scars and scars and jesus, so many scars. Like trying to forget you were ever gay, that you liked kissing girls after that one time at that high school party. Like trying to forget you ever fell for her, that one girl you never expected to love you back until she did love you back.

Love cannot be forgotten if it was real. If it was powerful. If it hurt like hell but also healed your wounds at the same time.

It is here where Camila pulls away.

She rubs her red eyes for the uptenth time, then runs a hand through her now matted hair. She clears her throat before speaking, but her words are still barely above a whisper.

“There’s something else.”

Lauren holds her breath. How could there be more?

“I…” Again, Camila runs a hand through her hair. Her face grows pale as she struggles to get her words out, and this only contributes more to Lauren’s own nausea.

“I…um…My dad…”

Lauren digs her nails into her palms.

“He told me I…had to make a decision. Between you and…him, I guess.”

Lauren shakes her head. “I don’t-”

“He said I could tell you to ‘fuck off’, never interact with you again…Never date a girl, ever. Only boys…If I cut you out of my life, he’d continue to pay my tuition to go here and…he’d still love me. He’d still welcome me home on the holidays with open arms.”

Camila smiles sadly, her eyes glassing over as if reflecting back on what could have been.

And Lauren’s heart beats even louder, faster.

“Or,” Camila continues. “I could be true to myself. I could make amends with you, and be as fucking gay as…” The girl laughs then, cocking her head as she asks, “What’s the name of that one girl from that show you made me watch? The prison one?”

And as much as it should make her happy, Lauren hears her heart crack a little more instead. “Piper,” She answers, voice cracking. She forces a smile, “From Orange Is The New Black.”

Camila nods. “I remember that, too.”

A moment of silence washes over the two girls, the both of them smiling sadly at each other- as if trying to be strong for one another.

But strength is not what they need right now. Closure, is what they need. Love, is what they need. Hope. That’s really what they need.

“Um, anyway,” Camila exhales. “He um…he said that if I chose to live that way, he’d stop paying for my tuition. He’d kick me out, and um, I’d never be able to see him or my mom again-”

Camila’s voice squeaks as she skates on the edge of more sobs. Seeing this, Lauren clears her throat.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” She wipes away a tear of her own, feeling her throat close up. “You made the right choice-”

“I told him I love you, Lauren.”

Time freezes. Suddenly Lauren’s mouth is a road, and her words are vehicles trying to speed out. But there’s a major roadblock in the way, this thick and dry and useless obstacle known to the human body as the tongue. No words, not even a single sound comes from Lauren’s throat. She feels light- too light. Anxious. Sweaty, yet cold. Jesus, is she having a panic attack? Now, of all fucking times? Her breath struggles to escape her, instead fighting its constraints inside her chest.

But she cannot panic right now. She cannot. She has to speak, has to say something-

“Why…” Lauren rushes out between hyperventilations. “Why would you…” She shakes her head. Tears brim her eyes, but she can’t tell if they’re from Camila or the panic attack or both.

If circumstances were different, Camila would have freaked out. She would have rushed to get someone, Dinah, Normani, hell, even Lucy. She’d be lost as to how to get Lauren to calm down, and she’d probably whip out her phone to dial 911, worried that a panic attack in someone who was just hit by a car can only lead to worse things.

But circumstances are not different. Camila remembers, and she knows exactly what to do.

Camila takes a step forward.

“Y-your family-” Lauren stumbles. “You s-shouldn’t have….done-”

Camila takes another careful step forward. “It’s okay, Lauren.”

“N-no…not…It’s…-”

Camila takes another step, then, reaching Lauren’s bed, she kneels next to the girl.

“I-” Lauren shakes her head, crying full-force now. “No-”

Camila takes Lauren’s hands in her own. She folds them under her chin, and it’s then that Lauren can feel Camila’s hands shaking. Or maybe that’s her own hands.

Maybe it’s both.

“You’re okay,” Camila coos, her grip on Lauren’s hands tightening. “We’re going to be okay.”

“We’re not-!” Lauren wants to scream, but the most she can manage is a strained yell. “You’re...crying…”

Realizing the truth to Lauren’s words, Camila moves to wipe away her tears. But instead of separating a hand from Lauren’s, she simply brings the girl’s hands with her own to wipe away the tears.

“We’re okay,” She says in a broken voice. “I promise you.”

But Lauren cannot take it. She continues to shake her head viciously, her mouth forgetting how to form words;her lungs forgetting how to form oxygen; it feels as though each and every thing she wants to exhale- needs to exhale- won’t come. Instead they’re locked inside her chest, drowning her from the inside out. I’m going to die in this bed, she thinks. And Lauren looks over to Camila, who’s detached a hand from her now, her eyes glancing from below the bed to back at Lauren. And she thinks: if I’m really going to die here, at least it is in her presence.

Lauren makes a choking noise then, her breath still stuck in her throat.

“Hey, hey hey hey,” Camila quickly reattaches her hand to both of Lauren’s, her eyes now completely focused on the girl. She is no longer crying, but instead she wears a look of determination.

“I’m right here, okay? You’re safe, Lauren, nothing can hurt you here.”

Lauren wants to reply so bad, but again nothing comes out except strained bits of breath. She tears her own hands away from Camila then, placing them around her chest and neck as if to signify that she can’t breathe.

“You can breathe, baby, you can,” Camila places a hand on Lauren’s arm, now pleading with the girl. “It’s all in your head, I promise you-”

But Lauren just shakes her head again, her grip around her chest and neck strengthening. She tries to uphold eye-contact with Camila, but the effort grows useless as she begins to see spots. Holy shit, this is it, she thinks. This is really it-

The last thing she hears- or, at least, the last thing she thinks she hears- is Camila muttering to herself, “Dammit, Dinah!”

Then everything goes white.

* * *

A/N

1. i promise the next chapter isn’t what you’re expecting.

2. i love u

3. this story will be on wattpad soon!!! 

4. sorry 4 dragging out the story so much lol i thought i’d finish it this weekend but i was too busy

5. i love u. keep sending feedback and i may just change the ending just for u (: 

have a nice day!!

[gardnerkathryn1993]

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