#those bat wings were $2K

[ficandkaboodle]

In hindsight, maybe Copia should’ve known something was up. I mean, I get that Ghost was reaching new heights by the time he arrived on the LA Ministry scene so they probably could swing a bit more on the budget. But like.

Shouldn’t he have noticed something when his wardrobe began to expand farther than any Papa’s previously? Shouldn’t he have questioned why Sister was suddenly so okay with him going out in bespoke clothing when he was only a cardinal, not yet a Papa? Or was he just so hype about finally tasting the finer things in life that he just. Assumed Sister really believed in him and his talents and got distracted by the shiny new clothes too much to really suspect anything??

[avalynlestrange]

Opposite

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Reader: she/her pronouns, no house mentioned but are friends with the Slytherin Squad and Hufflepuff Faction <3

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, implied sex-no smut. It’s literally a sentence- (Please let me know if I missed any)

Category: Angst, One-Shot, Songfic, ex-boyfriend, on and off relationship, jealousy, no use of y/n

Summary: In which Mattheo has a new girlfriend and she looks nothing like you.

So y'all are in Hogsmeade now? Guess it's public.  You recall what Annlynn looks like and note that she has a face like that other girl you're in love with. The one in that movie you both watched again and again since it was his favourite. You scoff. ‘You knew I would see that. You knew I would notice.’ You think to yourself.

Request: anon requested

Author’s Note: I hope this is to your liking <3

Word Count: <2k

To The Library (Main Masterlist) To The Kitchen (WIPs) To emails i can't send fwd: Anthology To more Mattheo Riddle fics

You are in the astronomy tower for your evening lesson, and you hear giggling next to you.

“Mattheo says I’m his type.”

Your ears prickle at the mention of his name. 

Oh, so you do have a type? And it's not me.

You brush off the memory of the argument you had with Mattheo the previous year when he would rather drink a shot than tell everyone at the party what his type was. That action stung even to the present day. You remember him defending himself saying that everyone knew you were his girlfriend and that he didn’t need to describe you. It still would have been nice to hear.

“He’s been writing to me all summer.” The same voice spills more tea to her friends.

Oh, so you can reply? Just to not me. 

All summer you had hoped that Mattheo would write to you taking back the harsh words exchanged in your heated break-up a few weeks before the holidays. You sent him a postcard from Paris saying you wished he was with you, but you never got a response. You didn’t think anything of it since it was just a postcard, and he never usually replies to them.

Ever since then, the closest you have ever had to talking was during potions where you asked him to pass the jar of bat wings.

That was a week ago.

You now hear the same group of voices ask about you, to which the girl responds, “He says he’s over her and wants something new. He’s so obsessed with my eyes.”

You can’t tell if she’s speaking loudly for your benefit, but you certainly know that she is aware of your vicinity now as Pansy swears at them and throws them the finger. You quickly grab your friend’s arm and gently move her away.

Despite your better judgement, you turn to look at the person speaking about your ex-boyfriend as you stride to the other side of the room.

‘If you wanted those colour eyes. I could have got contacts.’

“Ignore them. You deserve better anyways.” Pansy tries to reassure you. You nod in agreement, but you can’t shake the uneasiness you feel when you look at Mattheo and he’s looking at her.

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

“Pass me the butter?” Daphne requests. 

Your head feels faint and wobble the butter dish nearly dropping the lid, and the whole butter itself, into Pansy’s hot chocolate.

“That’s not the dairy I want in my cup.” Pansy jokes. She takes the dish off your hands and passes it over to Daphne.

“You look like a panda. Are you feeling alright?” Tracey asks, taking a bite out of her breakfast. She calls your name when you don’t reply. 

Your eyes give the great hall a once over and notice that the person haunting your nights is not at his usual seat with his friends. 

“He’s on a date in Hogsmeade.” Informed Susan. “I heard Annlynn brag about it last night in the common room.”

You saw Pansy glare at Susan.

“What? Ow! Why did you kick me?” Susan reaches down to rub her hurt shin.

So y'all are in Hogsmeade now? Guess it's public. 

You recall what Annlynn looks like and note that she has a face like that other girl you're in love with. The one in that movie you both watched again and again since it was his favourite. You scoff. ‘You knew I would see that. You knew I would notice.’ You think to yourself.

“Guys it’s fine. His loss and besides she looks nothing like me.” You can't really tell, should you be tryna take it as a compliment? It's kinda feeling like the opposite. You see your friends look at each other and then at you.

“Yes girly! Let’s go shopping and show him what he’s missing!” Pansy hypes you up as she raises her teacup and you all clink.

“Hear hear!”

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

Browsing the racks in Galdrags Wizardwear, you have two outfits on hangers in your hands. You head over to the mirror stand by the shop’s main window frame and alternate putting the outfits in front of you. Your eyes look outside, and you catch them holding hands.

With the mirror in front of you, you couldn’t help comparing yourself and the girl he has in his arms.

‘She looks nothing like me. So why do you look so happy?’

Now you think you get the cause of it. He was holding out to find the opposite. From your hair to your eyes to your style. Even when you changed your hair because he said you looked better if you had it styled that way. It’s all the opposite of her.

And you know now, even if you tried to change that somehow, he’d end up with her anyway.

You snap out of your head when Megan scares you from behind. “You’d look cute in either.”

“Get both!” You hear Millicent from the other side of the room.

You smile and it fades when you lock eyes with Mattheo.

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

He was with her longer than you thought they would be. It’s been weeks now. Gazing at the ceiling of your four-post bed, many questions swirl around your mind.

When you argue, does she say nothing so you feel good? When you’re at parties, does she step out of the spotlight so you bathe in it?  When you’re alone, does she get up on top of you more than I would? When you capture her in your sketchbook, does she just love the picture 'cause you're painting it?

“Are you coming?” Your dorm mate calls to you.

It’s the first official match of the year. Slytherin vs Gryffindor. Although you protested not attending and insisted you’d rather stay inside your friends won even though it’s a rainy November. 

You grab your umbrella and raincoat and tread your way to the quidditch pitch. The crowd in the stands were wild in anticipation. Susan beckons you to sit with them, and they’re all dressed devoid of house colours. 

The students cheered for every goal scored and every goal saved. You scream and laugh to your heart's content. The feeling is freeing, and the autumn showers subside. Whizzing brooms and bludgers make you forget about the one boy on the team playing that still held your heart.

At least not until the whistle blows and Mattheo flies toward your stand. The beat of your heart pounds fast in your chest. Is he going to whisk you away like that the first time you broke up? Then your heart falls heavy and your lungs dispel all the hope in your body as you watch him take off with her.

Only it wasn’t Annlynn. But they do have the same features. 

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

It was a bad idea from the start. Studying with your shared friendship circle. But you had missed him. The only time you ever get to interact with him was in group settings.

He was seated beside you for two hours. You’d ask him what he wrote for certain questions, and he’d reply politely. Like he was talking to a stranger, not an old friend. But you take it. You take whatever communication you could get.

You ask once more for his answer to a defence against the dark arts question however, before he could reply, his chair is pulled back, and a girl sits on his lap.

You look away at the public display of affection they share. The nib of your quill ruined by the pressure you place on it.

“Get a room!” You hear Blaise chuckle. 

You whip your head to see Mattheo standing, his arm wraps around her. “Let’s go Harper.”

“Get it boy!” Blaise winks at him. Mattheo shakes his head laughing.

They’ve all looked nothing like you. So why does he look so happy? He really must have been holding out to find the opposite.

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

At the after-party for Slytherin’s win against Ravenclaw, all were present in the great hall. You fill up your cup with whatever fruit blend was in the punch bowl.

“Hey there! Care to Dance?” A quick glance at Mattheo and his date and you take the hand of one Anthony Goldstein.

You danced the night away and had nearly seven cups of the now alcoholic punch bowl, thank you Weasley twins. You tried everything to forget that Mattheo once again was with another girl who doesn’t resemble you. 

Throughout the night your eyes darted to Mattheo and his new girl. The only time their lips were apart was when he would take a swig out of his cup. Every time you saw them, you took a gulp out of yours.

Now, you weren’t drunk per se, but you were feeling a little dizzy after twirling and swaying to the music. You see them walk out of the hall and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You decide to head outside for some air. You wipe a tear off your face with the back of your hand. 

Whilst opening the courtyard door, you bump into someone. You catch yourself on to the biceps of the person.

“Oh my! You must work out!” The words come out as easily as you sipped the alcohol that caused the bravery.

“Careful darling wouldn’t want your date to think you’re hitting on me.” At the sound of Mattheo’s voice, you curse quietly. You take your heels off and walk away. Footsteps seem to be following you.

“How is Goldstein?” Mattheo asks, pronouncing the name slowly, a hard expression on his face.

You sit on one of the stone arch windows. The cold surface cools you down slightly.

“Oh, he is fine as hell!” You glare at him and with bitterness in your voice you ask, “How is clone number 4?” 

You roll around a gobstone you find on the floor with your foot and kick it a bit too hard toward Mattheo.

“Her name is Maya. Why do you care anyway?” He kicks the stone back to you.

“I care but I don't!” Your volume is lower, your shoulders slouch, and your neck tilts downwards. “Just wondering when… all those times you… you said I'm beautiful. Was I being lied to?”

Looking up at him, you can’t tell if his expression is soft, or it is because your eyes are starting to water. When he says nothing, you carry on.

“She looks nothing like me. Can't really tell should I be tryna take it as a compliment? It's kinda feeling like the opposite.”

He takes a step forward and you hear him whisper your name. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”

You laugh scornfully. “Then why are you with her and not back with me?”

Mattheo runs his hands through his hair and holds them in his fists. “Because you were right!”

Your brows furrow. He continues, “Darling, I’m not good enough for you!”

“I have never said that!” 

Flashbacks to your argument run through your mind. It might have slipped out. You can’t remember. It was all a blur. You don’t even recall the reason why you broke up this time. Whatever was said you were sure you never meant it. You never meant to hurt him like this.

“But it’s true! You deserve more than what I can give you. You deserve the world darling.” He takes another step towards you.

You look up and his eyes meet with yours.

“I don’t want the world. I want you.”

That’s all it took for his walls to crash down as his lips crashes yours.

[dadddybangtan]

Suck Torture | 05+ 🩸

Back Table of Contents Next

cw: smut, boy x boy, scratching, biting, skin sucking, bl00d k!nk/drawing bl00d, unprotected s3x, manipulation, orgasm denial, possession, cum swallowing, complete toxicity

word count: 2k

Niki had been missing for two weeks. I was the last person to see him and it was becoming quite a burden. I could feel my anxiety slowly rise with every hour he was gone. Every day he spent away felt like a punishment.

When I told my parents that Niki disappeared and I was too weak to find him, they were initially confused. Mother questioned why he'd run away. And father didn't understand how I wasn't strong enough to find him. Two questions with answers being my fault.

I overheard my parents talking at the base of the west wing staircase.

"It's almost Christmas, Leo, we need to call the council for help," Mother pleaded, "He's too young to be alone out there."

"To that the council will only criticize your value on that holiday. They see Christmas as a human holiday in which we have no business celebrating," His voice was firm, almost harsh, "The fact that he's adopted will only put Niki at an even lower priority to them. We're better off waiting for him to return."

"And what if he doesn't? He's out there roaming around with the powers he doesn't understand yet. In a town where people are still terrified of vampires let alone extremely powerful vampires. He could be in serious trouble."

"It's normal for a young vampire to leave and explore his powers, honey."

"But it's not normal for him to have those powers," Her voice raised in volume and concern, "Those wings? Those eyes? I'm afraid he may not be just a young vampire."

"Are you assuming he's something other?" That question sounded more like a threat than genuine inquisition.

My ears listening closely to this.

"I'm only looking at the facts. His powers could be catastrophic if he's not careful. And I deem running away unsupervised is quite unsafe for him."

"We are not getting the council involved in this. Niki will be fine," His tone changed quite dramatically, something he often did when he finds someone else to be right, "He knows how important this holiday is to you, he'll show up."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we'll look for him."

"Keep your word, Leo, I mean it." Mother said sternly as she walked away into the corridor.

Father walked in the opposite direction. They left a sour taste in the air, which warranted a walk in the garden.

The fresh, crisp air comforted my skin. I looked up at the sky and admired how the sheer clouds shielded the sun from my view.

Suddenly a flying bat came into view. It was small enough for me to believe it could be Niki at a distance. But the bat revealed itself to be none other than Felix.

He looked especially handsome with his soft blond hair framing his pretty face. He wore a plain black turtleneck and equally dark slacks.

"I had a feeling you'd be out here." He said.

"So you're flying into my backyard now?"

"You left me no other choice, Hyunjin" He said, stepping a bit closer to me, "It's the only way I could get to you. You haven't returned my messages, your window is locked... But now that I'm here, I understand."

"Do you now?" My voice came out harsher than I intended.

"I do. Family issues, hm?"

"Niki went missing... It's been hard."

Felix came even closer and his pale, skinny hand raised to my cheek. He snaked it behind my neck and pulled me in for an embrace. His scent was intoxicating, so strong and sensual.

"I know, darling. Let me in." He whispered.

With only a candle flickering on a table nearby, it casted a romantic shadow over Felix's face as he hovered atop of me. He was gorgeous, truly. And dangerous. I shouldn't have feared it, but the wild flame dancing in the reflection of his fangs sent a chill down my spine.

Our lips joined together in messy ecstasy and our hands explored each other effortlessly. He caressed my arms with a passion I hadn't felt from him before. I deepened every kiss before I traveled from his lips to his jaw and to his neck.

"Don't be scared to hurt me, Hyunjin," He said breathlessly, "You know I can take it."

I knew he could take it. I couldn't control my urge to slide my hands under his waistband. He shuttered at the skin ship. I dug my nails into his hips, causing his core to press into mine. A bulge grew underneath him the more I clawed into him.

I moved him on his back with ease. A hint of color briefly blushed his cheeks. I like that.

"I know you do," I mutter, lowering my mouth to his ear, "I know you like it when I take you like this."

He arched his back so his chest met mine. I creeped my hands under his sweater and lifted it over his head, exposing his chest. He chased his nails up my arms and to my back. He clawed at my shoulders and took me in for another kiss. A low grunt sounded from me. His sharp teeth flirted with my bottom lip and I could slowly feel my core forming a bulge as well.

I ripped my shirt off and immediately felt his nails on my chest. I'm obsessed with you. A smirk grew on my face. I want you.

"Say it," One hand rested at his hip, nails digging crescents into his fair skin. The other held him steady by the neck, "I wanna hear you say it."

"I- I want you," He struggled to make out. I only squeezed a bit tighter on his neck, "And I'm obsessed with you."

"You sound so pathetic," His core twitched underneath me, "Like a worthless little fuck toy."

A whiny moan slipped out.

Please. Please, Hyunjin.

"Please what?" I growled, "Spit it out."

"Fuck me, Hyunjin," He whimpered, "Like a worthless little fuck toy."

I tore his pants off instantly along with his underwear, letting his wet, throbbing cock rest on his flat stomach. I took his length in one hand and massage him slowly while I use the other to navigate the lube. It's conveniently smuggled under my pillow per his request.

"Please," He begged, tugging at the waist band of my pants, "I can't wait any longer."

The hand I had on his dick quickly found itself on his neck.

"You'll wait."

"I can't."

"You can be a patient whore, I'm sure."

You've already made me wait so long.

My grip subconsciously loosened. If he'd said that out loud, I would've gotten angry. But his thinking it brought me out of it. How dare he hold that against me? The faint glow of the candle hit his face again. The look of longing and pining quickly turned into something much more selfish.

"Hyunjin, you want me too. I can feel it," He said, palming my bulge, "Do it less for me, but for you... Use me..."

He lured me into a kiss. With one hand at my core and the other teasing my back with his nails, I was under his spell. I blindly searched under my pillow for the lube. Once I got a hold of it, I broke the kiss and took down my pants.

It was clear that our bodies longed for each other again, his dick twitching at the sight of mine. His heartbeat quickened as he watch me stroke myself with the lubricant. He snuck his hand underneath his thigh to lift his leg up to reveal his needy, puckered asshole.

I slowly slipped a finger inside and watched his body take this small penetration. He was weak as he folded under my touch and his deep moans filled the room. His eyes rolled back as his arch caressed my finger. The dancing candlelight quickened.

"It feels so good, Hyunjin."

I could tell he was ready to take all of me, his eyebrows pulling together in want. I knew we wanted the same thing, but I couldn't bare to look at his face, his beautiful damned face, any longer. I flipped him over on his stomach and held his hips in front of me. I slipped my fingers back inside his trained asshole.

The pillows muffled his moans as my cock slowly eased into him. His breathing became heavy and erratic as I stretched him out. My thrusts were slow at first, letting him get used to me again after so long. He looked back at me, crimson eyes staring into mine. Is this how you use me?

I was taken aback by that. He even cocked his eyebrow. He was in no position to challenge me.

Despite his cockiness that teetered on the line of sexy and undeserving. I dug my sharp fingertips into the fat of his ass. He submitted instantly. With my other hand, I pushed his face into the pillow. His plump lips puckered together perfectly. I slowly pulled out of him until only my tip was inside. I waited for his panting to become so needy and desperate. Until he was near tears.

"Felix," I said lowly, milking a more dire moan from him, "This is how I use you," I dug deeper, warm red liquid pooling my nail beds, "I make you whine. I make you whimper," I pinched his neck in my hand, "Until you forget your own name. Because it's not fucking you that gets me off, no. It's the fact that you turn into a little bitch when I do.”

I slammed into him hard and deep. Until my cock was completely swallowed by him. His knees buckled beneath him, but I held him steady. That's what he wanted after all, for me to fuck him mercilessly. So that's what I did.

I let my hips control every penetrating thrust. His hands were beginning to rip at the sheets. So I grabbed his wrists and clasped them behind his back. The skin on his forearms were a bit thinner, making it easy to draw blood. And seeing the blood slowly drip down his back drew a low and long groan from me.

"Hyunjin," He sighed pathetically, "I'm gonna c-cum."

"But did I say you could?" I pounded into him harder, only making him fall apart under me.

"P-please. I can't take it anymore."

"But you waited so long, didn't you? Can't you wait a little bit longer."

"I can't."

"If you cum-."

"Hyunjin, p-please."

"Before I say-."

He whined and I squeezed.

"You'll regret it."

He buried his face in the pillow, sobbing as I thrusted inside him. I broke him.

"Cum now," My thrusts hit harder, "Cum like the whore you are."

Within seconds, a puddle of his seed pooled under him. Followed by a wailing moan.

"Are you close, Hyunjin?" He was still breathless as I hadn't stopped fucking him.

"Mhm."

I abruptly pulled out and flipped him onto his back before reentering his abused hole. His dick was still throbbing and leaking with cum. His tear stained face looked fucked out as well. He raised his arms over his head and his wrists were littered in scratches in blood. I leaned down to his neck and began sucking, my fangs sharpening to a point.

I didn't feed on him, only brought his blood so close to the surface. I merely teased my tongue with the taste.

He must've felt my cock twitching and jumping inside him because he said, "Cum inside me, Hyunjin."

I let up on his neck and looked him in the eye. I'm the only one for you.

I grabbed him by his chin and forced his mouth open. I pulled out and jerked myself off with my other hand. I slowly made my way closer to his face.

"You're the only one for me, hm," He nodded and I grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked his head back, "Then swallow."

His mouth and lips quickly became decorated in my ejaculation. He licked his lips clean and swallowed faithfully.

Feeling faint, I lied down next to him to catch my breath. I'd fucked him plenty of times before then, but never that hard. I wasn't sure what came over me. Stress? Maybe the extended time apart?

"You're the only one for me."

I looked over at his face and took in his beauty one last time before the candle died and killed the light.

[bardicfrustration]

Your Ink Is Mine

Summary: Eddie asks you to design his next tattoo.

Word Count: ~2k (1.9 but lemme have it yeah?)

He’s watching you again.

You can tell because the pencil scratches of him writing campaign notes have stopped longer than it usually takes him to think of his next step. 

You’re both in your room, just working on your own thing in the soft ambiance of whatever vinyl Eddie deemed worthy. 

You had set up some of your books and knick knacks as an impromptu still life. He said he wanted to flesh out the next few battles the club would be fighting. 

But at some point a while ago he stopped writing and you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck.

It’s fine. It’s not awkward at all for your best friend who you also have a secret crush on to watch you draw. The pressure is not at all suddenly overwhelming and you don’t smudge your line the wrong way and curse just a little too loud. 

Except you do, and Eddie asks so sweetly, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You sigh. “Drawing with ink is just a pain.” You try to blot out the ink with a paper towel you have for this reason, but it’s too late. It’s already ruined. You sigh and put your pen down.

You turn in your chair to look back at him. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the end of your bed, papers and books spread around him in a messy semi circle. You admire how hard he works on the campaign. Just so that the club has fun.

“I wanted to ask you something, actually.” He says, picking at the rug under him.

He’s acting weirdly nervous. You almost get your hopes up. Maybe today will be the day he bursts out with his sudden declaration of love for you, so you don’t have to. You nod, cautiously pushing down the butterflies trying to flutter in your chest. 

“I, uh. Would you-” He clears his throat. “Could I commission you?” 

You’re taken slightly aback. “For what?” 

“A tattoo?”

A tattoo.

You’ve never drawn a tattoo. It wouldn’t be much different than the ink drawings you were just working on. Just a drawing in ink.

Just something permanent. On his body. Forever. 

You want to melt and laugh and cry. 

You can’t really look him in those dark chocolate eyes, so you stare at his hands. “Uh. Of what?” 

“Huh?” Eddie looks up.

“Like, what am I drawing?”

He holds up a finger while flipping through the composition notebook he keeps all his important notes in (one time you called it his journal and he got all defensive) before landing on a page. You recognize the page. 

“Something like this, if you can?” He stands up and holds out the pages to you, even though you remember the doodles like you drew them yesterday. 

Well, no. Not like that. You can’t remember what you drew yesterday unless you go back into your sketchbook. But you can remember these doodles like they were etched behind your eyelids. 

The two of you were sitting and passing notes in his journal (sorry, notebook) while whichever teacher you had was droning on. Eventually the notes turned into doodles you made of each other. Yours was a little cartoon of Eddie with bat wings and razor teeth. His was of you with an angel’s halo and a feathered wings. 

Of course, right now, Eddie wasn’t pointing to your old bat drawing. He was pointing to his drawing. Of you.

“Me?” You had to clarify that your eyes were seeing right.

“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck and flicks his eyes around the room. Looking for something, maybe his marbles, you don’t know. “I just- I really liked yours. I think it’s cute. I wanted to do you justice before I make it permanent, you know?” 

You. He wanted to do you justice. Sometimes this guy drove you crazy. 

And sometimes you think he’s just too good to be true. 

You take a deep breath and nod as you reach out for the notebook. 

“You’ll do it?” He asks as if you aren’t already opening your sketchbook to sketch out ideas. 

“Yeah. Of course. Give me a few days?”

He nods eagerly. You copy down as much detail from the notebook drawing as you can before giving it back to him. The sun was setting and the room was bathed in blue shadows and orange highlights.

Both of you take a much needed break to eat dinner. You order a pizza and eat it off the counter while trying to out burp each other with sips of soda. No matter how much Eddie could rattle your brain with his pretty hands and prettier eyes, he was your best friend first.

When you show up to his trailer a few days later with his finished commission you feel like your soul is going to slither out of your skin.

He’s not going to like it.

You know that if he doesn’t like it he will tell you. He won’t lie. He certainly won’t spend the money to get a bad tattoo. He’s told you horror stories about some of the worst he’s seen.

He’s going to laugh at you and tell you it was all a joke and you fell for-

He opens the door looking like he just woke up, still in a pair of sleep pants and a cropped band shirt. He looks so comfy and enticing. Almost like your bed after a long day you just want to snuggle into him and never let go. 

He lets out a huge yawn and rubs at his eyes, “You’re here early for movie night.”

You open your mouth but nothing can come out. You hand him the paper, slightly bent on the edge where you put it in your sketchbook, but otherwise pristine. 

He takes it gingerly as if he’s reading from God’s own bible. 

“Do…do you like it?”

He looks up with wide eyes, shocked you could even ask, “I love it. It’s perfect.” 

He insists on bringing you along to get the tattoo.

“You could get one too.” He nudges you while you wander around the parlor and he’s sitting in the chair. 

“No, I'm a huge baby about needles.” You smile awkwardly.

“What? You were so brave in Bio when we had to dissect that frog!” 

“That was a dead frog, Eddie. Not a needle punching into my living skin.” You gesture the motion of the needle.

“See, that just makes it even more metal, sweetheart.” He’s smiling like an idiot and you wish you were worthy of it.

The tattoo is small, only a few inches tall on the side of his arm. You wince when he winces at the pain, but he tells you, “It’s just like a cat scratch,” as you hop back in his van and head home. 

You don’t tell him when you snatch the number for the tattoo parlor.

A week later and his tat mostly healed. The lines are crisp and he’s been habitually rubbing lotion and sunscreen on it. You know from experience he took care of his tattoos but it still felt… intimate knowing that was your art on his skin.

He shows it off to his club and proudly tells them how you designed it just for him. You tell him to knock it off while blushing.

He grins and wears short sleeves as often as he can. He says, “It’s a crime for the world to be forbidden a peek at real art.” You push him off the bed for that one.

Another week goes by. You have been giving extremely lame excuses for the week as to why you keep wearing sweaters at his trailer even though it’s been boiling hot.

When he offers per usual to use his trailer to watch a shitty movie and make popcorn on the weekend, you ask if you can watch it at your house instead. He agrees easily. You lead him up to your room under the guise of grabbing blankets and pillows for the couch.

“Hey, I got a surprise.” You tell him as soon as he walks through your bedroom door.

His eyes light up. “Is it a puppy? Is it dice? Is it a first edition copy of The Two Towers? Is it-” He’s inching closer to you with glee.

You interrupt him with a hush while you shed your jacket. He watches patiently. 

Instead of facing him head on, you line up yourself up next to him so your arm is touching his where his new tattoo rests. So that your matching tattoos are standing next to each other, just like the two of you are. 

He looks down confused until he sees your previously unmarked skin, now inked just like his. 

He looks up at you with glassy eyes. “You-?”

“I went back about a week ago. It was just a cat scratch, like you said.” You look down, embarrassed to keep looking him in the eye. He’s looking at you like you just told him what Christmas was for the first time.

You watch his feet step in front of yours. He uses a gentle touch to your chin to pick your head up. He looks so serious you’re almost afraid.

“You are.... the

best

person. I have ever known.” He looks down at your lips, leaning down but stopping a hair’s breadth away, giving you the choice. 

You take it.

You push your lips against his and hope all the love you’ve been holding inside gushes in. 

He breathes in while leaning into the kiss and letting his hand move to softly cup your jaw. His lips are plush and slightly chapped and perfect. He tilts his head just enough to kiss you deeper and your head wants to be anxious about if you’re kissing him well but it just feels too good to care. Your brain is turning into a puddle as his palm moves to hold the side of your face and his fingers graze your hairline.

Your hands raise cautiously but he quickly places one with his free hand onto his side. You’re pulling him impossibly closer by his vest while reaching up to his neck to dig your fingers in his hair.

He groans and you pull and he groans harder.

It should be impossible how soft his hair is when you know he uses a 3 in 1 shampoo. You still relish in his hair fitting between your fingers as you grasp and pull. He moans into your mouth and you can feel the vibrations in your teeth.

He pulls you in by the neck and you would let him carry your head away into the sunset to do whatever he pleased if you got to stay in this headspace forever.

Unfortunately you have to pull away to breathe. You’re panting against his lips and his eyes find yours glossy and searching. He smiles that breathtaking smile and you can’t help but smile back.

“Can I take you on a real date?” He whispers in fear of breaking the air around you.

“Yes please.” You pull him in for another kiss and forget about whatever movie you were planning to watch.

At the next club meeting, you show off your new tattoo. Some groan, some clap, but most importantly is Eddie, who makes sure to line up your tattoos together. Standing together just as you always have. Just as you always will.

[binniesthighs]

➵ minho, son of hades ➵

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff n’ smut

Tags: demigod au, inspired by PJO, sonofhades!minho, softdom!minho, mentions of death, blood, and the underworld, outdoor sex, unprotected sex (stay safe lovlies!), breath play, hand stuff (r receiving), marking, cockwarming at the end 

Word count: 2k

demigod skz mini-masterlist coming soon

{did you bring the mcdonalds?}

Though you had long forgotten, someone had told you once that there is always light in the darkness, you just have to be the one looking for it. But, what if it was the darkness in that light that sought you?

You had forgotten meeting him in the first place, but now he was everywhere, in the dawn and the dusk, in dark corners that you used to fear, but now welcomed. Reflected in his eyes was hellfire: he singed with burning edges but froze over with a bite. You should have been scared of him, as any sane person would. 

In those creeping tendrils of shadow, ebony wisps of smoke where the ones that entangled their fingers in yours. His hands were cold wrapped up in pale white skin that wasn’t stark, but rather mimicked the moonlight he had brought you to. 

Silver dewdrops were sprinkled at your feet where they clung to the blades of youthful spring grass. The chill of the night was just enough to make you shiver, but having gotten used to him, you could handle the cold. He tugged at your wrist, saying nothing, but twisting between the slabs of limestone and concrete. 

“Respect the dead. Just because they’re gone, it doesn’t mean that they weren’t people too.” 

His reminders would linger on your mind, much like the ways that he would tell you stories about what it was like...the underworld. Having been there so many times, you would have thought that it would have made him jaded, or broken him in some kind of way that made the pieces of him just a bit disjointed. But, it never did. 

A thin fog held over the cemetery just barely above your shins, and the humidity stuck to your bare legs. Wings flapped above to two of you: birds or bats, you couldn’t tell, but it somehow felt comforting knowing that you’re weren’t the only ones awake at this hour. Amongst the chirp the the crickets, the little string of silver and brass keys jingled at his waist. 

He had lead you deeper, nearest to the edge of the little maze of stones, to a pure, marble white gazebo cut from the smoothest white rocks. The stone itself appeared to glisten like the foamy crests of waves. In the middle, was a single large bench of the same cut. 

“Lets sit here for a while.” 

You know what that strand of skeleton keys meant, each one bearing the symbols of Hades. “Minho, I-I know what you’re going to say--” 

“--I have to go back. But, this time it won’t be for long.” 

“You can just...stay? Just for one more day?” 

An exhaustion dragged at Minho’s eyes, the kind that you had seen many times before on him. Even with wrinkles under his eyes, they were still set aflame with the same passion that each of the children of Hades held. 

“It’s important.” He simply answered, raising his freezing had to caress down your cheek. “You know that.” 

“I just wish you wouldn’t...wish you wouldn’t...” 

He had drawn you into his chest, a gesture which had felt different to you than it had with others. From a boy who walked the line of life and death so thinly, being close to him like this was your tether, your promise. His heartbeat thumped softly beside yours, and it was enough. 

He took your hands into his, “I got you something.” 

“You didn’t have to--” 

“--Take it. I want you to have it.” 

The sting of the metal necklace startles your skin. It was a simple sliver chain, but inlaid on the charm was a small garnet gem that sparkled like stars, resembling that of a pomegranate seed. 

“It’s gorgeous...”  

“-Pulled it out myself.” He swept aside your shirt collar to bring the clasps around your neck, then traced adoring fingertips over where it crowned your skin. His weary expression gave you a proud little smile. “It looks amazing on you.” 

“Why does this make it seem like you’ll be gone much longer than you say you are?” 

Minho sighed out with eyes cast to the rooftop of the gazebo. Etched into the stone was the insignia of his father: the pitchfork. You had been pretending not to look at it too. Once more, a hopeful little laugh slipped past his lips. 

“I thought that you knew that I’ll always come back to you? And they can’t harm me down there.” 

“You and I both know that’s not true.” 

“Don’t you trust me at all?” 

“Am I not allowed to worry?” 

After a moments pause, and the resounding sound of the hissing cicadas, he answered, “You are.” 

You should have been terrified of him. Even though you had forgotten meeting him, there was one thing that you had never let go of, and something that many misunderstood. In him, there was benevolence: something so deeply tranquil about the thread to be cut over life and death. You had never been fearful of him. 

The cold marble burned slightly at your thighs. 

“I miss you too when I leave. You’re the reason; you’re what keeps me coming back here so I’m never wandering. Understand?” 

The world turned a blur, and his fingers wiped at the tears cascading down your cheeks. 

“Please don’t cry.” He kissed at the salty tears in the corners of your eyes and cheeks as if he were healing the scars made by the stains. 

“I’ll miss you too. Like I always do.” 

“All the more reason for me to hurry back.” 

You scooched into his chest once more, taking a fistful of his cotton white shirt. 

“You always know what to say.” 

His hands took the sides of your face simply and carefully, hushing his lips lightly into yours like a whisper, like the way that the evening breeze got tangled in the branches of the birch trees. Soft and delicate like rose petals he kissed into your lips in the way that he would keep the shadows of the world at bay just for you. Minho wove delicious webs of want from corner to corner of your mouth. The taste of his tongue too bit like that fruit of the underworld, but to you, it had never tasted sweeter. 

With your hands weakly clinging to his shirt, he uttered, “May I have you one more time?” 

The fog had lifted over the cemetery, and you nodded right back into his lips. 

He rested his hand behind your head where he laid you down against the cool stone, the sensation giving rise to goosebumps on your skin. One by one, he laced his fingers between yours to your side while he returned back to your mouth to lend it his warmth. There was a mischievous little grin that teased from his lips to yours, then traced down your jaw to the twitching vein on your neck. With your closed eyes, all you could see was crimson and all you could feel was the way the he pulled at the skin of your neck, drawing forth those little marks he had given you dozens of before. 

Once he had finished painting your skin with his adoration, he kissed at each spot. The tingling sensation of his saliva on your neck mixed with the evening air sent shivers down your sides. 

The same cold fingers came exploring up the fabric of your shirt and swirled over your skin so lightly that you felt your whole body buckle. 

The evening’s breeze swept past you once more and his curious hands sent mewls from your mouth to mix with the symphony of the evening, but it was all for him. It only heightened once his hand had skillfully popped the button of your shorts, and his curious fingers delved inside further. He rubs at you purposefully, slowly, with fingers getting muddled in your arousal, teasing at how painfully needy you have become for him. 

“My love, there is nothing on this earth or in hell that will keep me from coming back to you. I’m just as much yours as you are mine.” 

You fight the tears that threaten your eyes, merely laughing out to avoid them. 

“You really do always know what to say.” 

“But I mean it.” He drags the pad of his fingertip over your slit. 

The marble is frigid under your bare legs and ass once he rids you of your bottoms, freeing more space for his hand to trace over the swollen skin of your sex. His lithe fingers feel intoxicating where he curves into you after wetting them with his mouth. Every electric little response from you and each half-uttered whimper and moan he lavishes in. In his obsidian eyes, you are everything that makes up the expanse between his two worlds. 

His other hand rides up your body to clasp around your neck, applying just as much pressure until your choked gasps test his own will. 

The keys on his beltloop fall to the floor with a metallic sounding clank. He sits, marveling at the vision of you before him, bathed in moonlight, and your chest throwing itself to every one of the gasps which chase the last. Minho looms over you like the shadow of coming night, and you welcome him with open arms.

Even like this, he should have terrified you, but never him, never the one who had guided you through the darkness hidden in the fissures of light. 

Minho gives himself all to you, coaxing himself into you deeply and completely: a feeling so whole that it must be impossible. Beside you, the earth resonates with cracks and fractures which send out little earthquakes amidst the slabs of concrete and little bouquets of wildflowers. A golden glow illuminates against the birches and the oaks. 

He’s lost himself in you, rolling deeply over your core as those branches bow in the wind. He’s cracked open Hell itself while he slips further into you. 

“M-minho--” 

“No.” He commands, and the golden glow illuminates his face, “Look at me.” 

He bites into your lip kisses of his own careless and breathy moans. 

“Look at me.” 

He renews his pace with the ever-growing spectral glow threatening to break the surface. The jet black strands of his hair bounce a little as he fucks you into the slab of marble, giving you no pause at all. 

“I-I’m--Minho--” 

The thin sliver chain of your necklace threads between his fingertips where briefly studies it’s shine. He’s kept the shadows away this long, now, as he finds himself near the edge too, the atmosphere turns heavy. Minho changes to lend your leaking and twitching sex the attention that it desires, and you unravel, just a little at first, then all at once. A mess of inhales and exhales flutter out of your mouth then your teeth catch your lip accidently, drawing just a little blood. Quickly, he uses his thumb to rub away the little red dot while chuckling, 

“Don’t get too carried away darling.” 

You look directly in his eyes as you shudder underneath him to plead wordlessly for what he knows you want. You can barely manage the words, but you know it’ll be all that it takes. 

“Feel you-inside...I-I want you to--” 

With one of his freezing hands, he hikes your thigh up to find his perfect angle, grazing you deep inside. White noise fills up your head when he drives one more orgasm out of you, turning you inside out into a proper, quivering mess. The marble doesn’t feel as cold anymore when he cums inside you with shaking thighs and a heaving chest. The pitchfork symbol above your heads catches your blurry vision, but so does the peaking red and yellow sun on the horizon that melts into the emerald tree line. 

Minho holds you into him for as long as he can manage. Unspoken words fill the air between you while you’re still connected as one. 

“There’s...nothing else I can do to convince you to stay longer with me?” Your fingertips find their way through his sweating scalp. 

He nods no with an type of acute sadness in his eyes while he memorizes your features for what he thinks to be the last time in a long while. 

“I can’t stay any longer. The business of the dead is much more different than the living.” 

Just past his shoulder, you discover three or four fireflies flickering like floating candles: the light in the dark: and you weren’t even looking for it at first. 

“Then at least, can I just ask until the sun rises? Will you stay?” 

He plants one last kiss upon your forehead, “Until the sun rises. 

[spxllcxstxr]

Bumps and Bruises • M.M

(GIF is not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, May I ask for a Marlene McKinnon x fem!/gn! reader fic, Soulmate AU where they feel each other's pain. — anon

Summary: Two Quidditch rivals finding out they’re something...more (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating, injury description, brief mention of blood

Word Count: ~2k

A.N: NonGryffindor!Reader, this is my first time doing a Soulmate AU so I hope this is ok! It’s hard to find a balance between Soulmate AU and normal AU, but I’m sure I’ll get better with it in practice! The ending is kinda iffy imo, but it’s not terrible. Hope you enjoy!

****

The first thing you feel when you wake up on Friday morning is a flare up of painful throbbing blossoming across the outer part of your right thigh.

You groan, prying your eyes open and pull back your blanket.

The pale light filtering through your curtains is enough to see the grotesque purpling of swollen skin. You poke and prod at your thigh, occasionally hissing out in agony.

The bruise is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Its circular shape is something you see all the time. As a Beater on your Quidditch team, Bludger bruises were commonplace. The issue is, and this is where the mark becomes unfamiliar to you, when you went to sleep last night, there was no evidence of any such mark.

This was peculiar because you never had a history of sleep Quidditch, and you’re sure that if you got up in the middle of the night in a trance, at least one of your dorm mates would’ve told you.

And this certainly wasn’t some accidental hitting your bed frame sort of injury. This was ten inches in diameter, black and blue like a ball of pure iron slammed into you. As a self proclaimed Quidditch expert, you’re fully aware of what caused this.

But this conclusion brings up more questions than answers. Sure, you had practice after classes yesterday, but you would remember being hit full force—and you don’t.

But you have no time to sit and ponder over this mystery, you have to make it down for breakfast and then endure hours of classes. If only you could skip ahead to tomorrow’s match against Gryffindor.

You limp your way through the dorm, unable to put the usual amount of weight on your right leg. The room is empty, save for Bedelia, who, as usual, is still snoring underneath her blanket. On your way out, you make sure to wake her up by slamming the door shut as hard as you can.

Hobbling down to the Great Hall with a bag of heavy books slung over your shoulder is no easy feat even when it’s something that constantly happens.

The Great Hall is buzzing, though most of the noise is coming from the Gryffindor table.

The ceiling reflects the morning, bright blue and not a cloud in sight.

By the looks of it, the Gryffindor Quidditch team just got back from their morning practice, still panting and sweaty. For the entire week leading up to a match, James Potter, their captain, makes them practice and go through relentless drills in preparation. When they’re not on the pitch, he’s quizzing them on maneuvers. You’re lucky that your captain and fellow Beater, Morgana Sharpe, gives you the day before a match off, mostly to rest and review. If Potter was your captain he would’ve ended up in St. Mungo’s by now.

Your eyes wander over to Marlene McKinnon, her blonde hair up in a bun, face red and splotchy from practice, bare arms showing off muscle. Her chest heaves under her scarlet top.

“Practicing getting your arses handed to you?” You joke, leaning against their table.

Marlene scoffs. “Oh, you wish.”

Her deep brown eyes find yours, a troublesome twinkle shining through.

“Focus, Marlene, can’t have you fraternizing with the enemy!” James laughs out between mouthfuls of eggs.

“More like flirting with the enemy.” Sirius snorts, leaning closer to Remus, who chuckles into his glass.

“Oi! Piss off, Black!” Marlene snaps, the red on her face spreading.

Dorcas squeezes in next to her, dittany in hand. “How’s the leg, Marls?”

“Aw.” You pout. “Did McKinnon get a boo boo during practice?”

She scowls at you. “Don’t you have a potion to blow up?”

You clench your jaw and ball your hand into a fist. She’s got a point.

“Alright, enough trash talk, you two, leave it for the pitch.” James rolls his eyes.

Instantly, a weight lifts from your shoulders.

“I gotta go eat, anyway.” You smile warmly at your sort of friends. “So I’ll see you guys in class.” You wave before turning to your own table.

You join the rest of your team the table, squeezing through the tight huddle. Parchment is scattered all over the surface, some with crude drawings of maneuvers, some with written stats.

“Right, now that we’re all here,” Sharpe grunts our in her thick Irish accent, shooting you a disgruntled look. “We have a change of plans.”

“Change of plans?” Webb, one of your Chasers, asks. He looks up from his diagram, eyebrows raised.

“Greene’s soulmate took a tumble and landed him in the hospital wing. Can’t play tomorrow’s match.” She scowls, drawing clenched tightly on her hand.

“Again?” Your team groans.

Rupert Greene spends more time in the hospital wing due to his soulmate’s clumsiness than from playing a dangerous magical sport. That’s the way it’s been for the four years you’ve known him, and you have a hunch that it’ll never change.

“So we’re gonna have to put in Knight? Against Gryffindor?” Webb cries out, eyes wide. “No offense, but he isn’t ready to take on those pricks!”

Sharpe runs a hand through her dark brown hair. “Well, I guess we all just need to pray to Merlin some Gryffindor gets knocked off their broom.” She sighs.

The news of Knight replacing Greene for the match against Gryffindor puts you in a sour mood, making the bruise on your thigh throb more painfully.

You march through the corridors, face contorted in a permanent frown, barely paying attention to your lessons. You do, however, manage to keep your potion from exploding, which Slughorn is thrilled about. Match notes and plays take over your free time, pushing all your homework to Sunday, quickly deciding that this match is far too important. Marlene sticks her tongue out at you whenever she gets the chance as she hobbles through the corridors or looks away from Flitwick in your shared Charms class.

Sharpe drags you and the rest of the team up to bed at nine, lecturing you all about a good night’s rest. You roll your eyes, but you do only spend half an hour studying moves before heading to bed.

You wake up jittery.

You’re always nervous the morning of normal Quidditch matches, but this isn’t a normal Quidditch match. Gryffindor has gone undefeated for the entire season so far, and you just need to beat them. You crave to watch the smug look fall from James’ face and the cocky attitude that Sirius is infamous for crumble. You want to win. At the same time, though, you’re hesitant to see the frown on Marlene’s face. Those perfect lips deserve to shaped in a perfect smile.

Your bruise isn’t as irritated as yesterday. It’s still black and blue, but you really need to dig your thumb into it for it to hurt.

You stretch, listening to your joints pop before strutting down to the Great Hall to join the rest of your team.

Taking a deep breath before making your way through the threshold, you try your best to calm down and radiate confidence. You crack your knuckles and make your way to your table.

Marlene throws you a playful glare across the room, which you teasingly reciprocate.

Breakfast is a quiet affair for your group. Feet tap impatiently against the stone, nervous habits running wild.

The weather is perfect for Quidditch. There’s a slight breeze and a couple fluffy white clouds drifting through the blue sky, providing the occasional blotch of shade. It reassures you and calms you down on your walk down.

Sharpe gives her usual pep talk in the locker rooms. It’s all about blood, guts, and glory, and how we better not mess this up for her or else “she’ll haunt us from the great beyond.” Knight is white as a sheet, trembling underneath his robes.

The crowd roars out from the stands just above, your cue to make your grand entrance. Brooms are taken off their positions in the wall and in a single filed line, you all follow Sharpe out onto the pitch.

“And here it is, everybody,” Remus’ voice calls out over the chaos. “Captain Sharpe, (Y/Ln), Webb, Byrne, Spade, Opal, and their reserve, Knight!”

Your house cheers louder at your introduction, your eardrums pounding. You smile and nod at the crowd, excitement bubbling up inside of you.

“While the two captains are taking positions and shaking hands,” You hear as you mount your broom, Potter and Sharpe facing each other. “I have been paid quite a significant amount to say that according to James Potter, Lily Evans looks absolutely gorgeous today—“

“That has nothing to do with the match, Lupin!” McGonagall cries.

“Godric, Minnie. I’m just doing some adverts, it’s all good. No need to—“

A large thwack echos throughout the pitch, but you’re too wrapped up in Hooch blowing the whistle.

Quickly, you soar up in the air, Beater’s bat in one hand, chasing after your teammates to defend them.

You barely hear Remus over the whistling of the wind and your own grunts.

You watch Marlene laugh after she bats a Bludger away from James, the bat giving off a wicked crack. You’re momentarily mesmerized by her figure. How her tongue peeks out in concentration and her ponytail bounces wildly in the wind.

A moment passes and your arm erupts in pain, and to add onto that, you’re hurtling towards the grass.

You clutch your arm and brace for impact, breath being forcibly ripped from your lungs. Tears well in your eyes from both the pain and the air lashing against your body. Your Quidditch robes flap wildly behind you.

The landing, however, isn’t that bad. You end up in the grass, your bad arm protected. You assume Dumbledore is the one to thank.

You let out strangled pants, sky spinning around you, a piercing whistle sharp against your ears. Your arm screams in agony.

“(Y/Ln)!” Sharpe calls out, broom clutched in one hand. “You alright?” Her face shines with sweat.

“Bloody hell, she’s got quite the swing.” You groan, face contorting in anguish.

In the corner of your rotating vision, you watch red and gold blurs crowding around someone else.

Madam Hooch and the rest of your teammates are talking, but you can’t understand a word they’re saying.

Tendrils of black fog enter your vision and suddenly you’re out cold.

You recognize the hospital wing bed immediately. It’s firm, but not unbearable, the white cotton sheets rubbing against any exposed skin.

“So (Y/Ln) and McKinnon, eh?”

It’s garbled and you’re unable to place the voice, but it’s understandable.

“What’s this ‘bout me and McKinnon?” You manage to slur out, eyes blinking open, the figures above you blurry.

The world gradually clears itself up, your teammates surrounding your bed. Your left arm is wrapped tightly to your chest with a white cotton sling. The pain is dull, but it’s the most noticeable feeling present.

“Ah, well...” Webb scratches the back of his neck, averting his eyes.

“They’re talking about how I finally felt my own strength.”

Slowly, you turn your head to see Marlene sitting up on her bed, carefully watching over you. Her friends surround her, knowing smirks gracing their faces.

Her blonde hair is a bit of a tangled mess from the wind, but her smile is blinding in the light.

“You mean...” Your eyes widen in shock.

Marlene nods her head. “Soulmates.”

You bite your lip in response.

“I mean, it was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?” Sirius asks, looking between his friends for approval. “They literally wake up covered in bruises after like every Quidditch match!”

“Shut up, Pads!” Remus hisses, smacking him on the leg. “They’re having a moment.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

Your eyes drift to your thigh where the mysterious bruise was.

“I’m guessing you got hit by a Bludger during practice?” You ask.

“And you’re the one that gave me that broken bloody nose during detention!” Marlene exclaims.

You nod shyly, remembering when Knight accidentally threw the Quaffle at your face during a late night practice.

“Are we really that bloody stupid?” You laugh.

“You want a real answer or...?” James starts, repositioning his glasses.

Marlene shoves James off her bed, and he yelps before ungracefully tumbling to the floor with a crash.

“Guess this is our cue to leave the two stupid lovebirds alone.” Lily giggles before patting her friend on the back and leaving, the Marauders and your own team trailing close behind her.

Because the bones in your arm are practically shattered, you’re confined to the hospital wing for at least another day, but with Marlene at your bedside, it’s been made bearable. You talk about all those mysterious injuries you’ve acquired over the many years and learn the extent of your idiocy.

With various bumps and bruises to match, at the end of the day, the two of you are much more than Quidditch rivals.

[dzamie-oc]

02 - Gothic

I’m not too big on gothic stuff, but I know Bloodborne does it and Hollow Knight feels... close enough. So I made a bit of a post-Radiance dragon AU with some gothic architecture, heavily inspired by @deniax18‘s fantastic HK dragon AU art.

Length: ~2k words Rating: T (mild descriptions of violence, one innuendo) Summary: Ghost still feels drawn to fight, as a creature of the void. Luckily, he is not alone.

-----

The enigmatic being awoke on the bench, any remnants of its dreamless slumber hidden by its bone-white mask, and the darkness hidden within. It climbed onto the ground, one inky, black paw at a time, and set off immediately on a course it knew well. It was not a dragon - or, perhaps it was; it had never deigned to think on the matter - but rather an area where nothing else was, which took the shape of a dragon. It passed rows of glowing torches, and the firelight bounced off of its mask and dull blue wings. However, its main body remained unlit, not as though there were no torches, but as though no light - torches, lamps, even the sun - had ever shone where it strolled. The dragon’s stride did not break as it passed several shops and the home of a dragoness who would consider it her friend: it might be called dutiful, if it had had a sense of duty by which to walk.

By the town limits, the mayor had instructed a warning to be posted: “Danger! Monsters, rascals, and bandits roam this road!” The dragon, however, walked by just as it had many times before. And, like so many times, something rustled in the bushes, just out of sight of any possible onlookers. A burst of fire streaked through the still air as a trio of dragons leapt out on the unusual traveller, fire in their jaws and fierce, metal points adorning their claws. The masked dragon rushed forward in a burst of speed, slipping past the fireball, and with two quick swipes of its own claws, the first attacker fell, unconscious. It refrained from killing such foes, reserving its lethality for those less deserving of another chance. The shadowy dragon twisted its head to face its mask towards the remaining two, and they sprung.

The next dragon’s paws were batted away with ease before fangs made of nothingness itself sank into its assailant’s neck. It silently watched the remaining dragon, who hesitantly dipped their head in surrender... and to take hold of their compatriots’ tails, dragging them back into the shadows of the bushes. And then, once again, the hole in the world turned its attention back to its journey.

It made quick time to the city proper, alternating between a steady trot and sudden bursts of speed. The first time it had made the trip, it had spent quite some time staring up at the towering, spires and steeples, marvelling at the intricate carvings of dragons... and of other things, which were not dragons and yet were portrayed as reverently as the scaly residents. It would never admit to such a thing, of course; it maintained that it had no mind to think on something as arbitrary and ornamental as art. The ornate city gate was closed, as it was every time it journeyed to the city, and a pair of dragons, twice its size and adorned in matching silver armor, sat and watched it approach.

“Hey!” shouted one as he flicked his wings and brandished his weapon, a straight blade attached to the flight-capable limbs. “Purpose and identification! Travel is restricted here, on order of the Prince!”

The dragon-shaped darkness did not slow.

A low growl escaped the guard’s throat, and he rose into a crouch. This got his partner to extend her own wing and place it on his back, trying to calm him. “Let it pass,” she said, “we don’t know who or what it is, but it’s done this dozens of times.”

“It’s a threat is what it is! Not even the decency to show its face!” he spat back. Before the dragoness could say anything against him, he leapt at the void.

His wing blades clashed with a clang against its pure black claws, forcing it back. The guard pressed on his assault, even slashing upward when the anomaly tried to leap over him. The force of that clash, too, propelled it up - it was remarkably light, even for its smaller size. He was too slow to turn for it to land and rake its claws across his armor, but the metal proved too sturdy for its strike. The guard’s wing lashed out - it ducked under - and again his armor withstood a blow. The dark dragon sprang back, and light gathered in its jaws, issued up from somewhere deep within itself. By the time the armored dragon realized that it was not fire he was staring at, the blast of energy had engulfed him. It sought all the cracks in his armor, every unprotected part, and seared through his scales. He did not burn, for burning damages the body. It was as though his soul itself had been set ablaze. When the last wisps of energy cleared from under his metal uniform, he lasted one step before his legs buckled, and he collapsed. With its mask as expressionless as a mask ever was, the being of darkness strolled past him, then stopped at the dragoness.

She looked down at him and snorted. “Look, kid, would it kill you to get some papers? It’ll go a lot faster for you, and it’ll save the captain on the guards’ medical bills.”

The strange dragon stared blankly at her for several seconds, then extended a tattered wing, revealing a bag hidden beneath it. Hiding its head beneath its wing, it shifted its mask back to rifle through its possessions, then deposited a mouthful of coins in front of the dragoness. Enough to pay for the healing magic her cohort would need.

“That’s not really what I-”

Its paw pushed against the small, metal pile, particularly dark against the lustrous currency. Something that wasn’t a coin rested atop the pile; the dragoness leaned down to take a look. It was a bright white flower, almost glowing softly in exactly the way the mysterious dragon’s hide didn’t. She reached one careful paw to it and picked it up. The blossom looked incredibly fragile, but also incredibly beautiful.

The clang of something hard against metal interrupted her thoughts. The strange being had pressed its masked head against the gate. “So is this a bribe or an attempt at courting?” she asked it in a deadpan voice.

The dragon shook its head.

“Well, regardless, I still can’t open this gate for you, so-”

With no warning, darkness engulfed it, or rather, engulfed its mask and wings, leaving the rest of its body to continue being darkness. The guard dragoness gasped in shock as the usually solid void visitor flowed between the twisting metal gate, before the shadows retreated back into its body.

This time, the clang of metal on the gate was from the sole standing guard pressing her forepaws against it, staring dumbfounded at the weird... not-a-dragon. It watched her for a second longer, then nodded its head and continued walking, as though it had not stopped for the guards and gate at all.

It watched as it passed windows and doors of the well-carved, enormous buildings around it. The dragons within, and the ones it occasionally passed on the street, no longer carried the madness it had encountered when it first visited the city. Their eyes were bright with cunning, a pride in their perfectly fashionable clothing, and sometimes a simple joy for life, but that was all; no longer were they in the thrall of an eldritch abomination. As such, it had been a good while since it had had to sharpen its claws on their scales. It knew this was good, and yet it was driven to fight. For this reason, it sought out the palace.

The bridge was down, but it preferred the faster route of leaping and gliding across the nominal moat; in a city of dragons, it couldn’t keep anyone out any more than a regular door, but, reportedly, the king had insisted on it. The downpour from one of many draconic gargoyles splashed its tattered wing with water, but it was nothing a quick shake under the cover of the arch of a buttress couldn’t solve. This time, the door was open, and the castle guards barely glanced its way as it trotted along inside.

Stained-glass representations of the Prince and his father adorned the entrance hall on one side, while paintings of the Prince doing princely things hung on the opposite walls. It barely spared these a passing glance, and instead swiftly climbed a set of stairs. Its path to the throne room was hardly the most efficient, but it knew it well. It passed a dragon with brown scales, idly levitating himself as he studied magic and conjured a sphere of energy in his paw. Against his will, however, the orb quickly flew towards the living shadow as it passed by; it ran forward to dodge it with practiced precision and lead it into the floor, then ran over to its “attacker.” The scholar’s eyes grew wide as he saw another, more powerful glowing ball form in its mouth, and blinked a little to the left of existence with a teleport, just before a massive burst of energy angrily stormed through the space he had just occupied. The void dragon turned its head left and right, then continued on when it saw no more of its assailant.

Finally, it stood before the door to the throne room. An enormous arch, filled with double-doors. On each door, the king’s advisors had been carved: the foremost scholar of magic, the pioneer in the sciences, and the guard captain of the time. Above them was the king himself, appearing larger than any dragon had any right to be. It was from a time before the Prince, before the maddening horror had swept through the kingdom.

The hole in the world put its paw against the doors. It could sense that there were no gaps to flow through, and those that did exist were protected by the Prince’s own magic. To its side, two guards spared a quick look at it, though they knew it and the Prince well enough to leave it alone. And so it stayed there, standing still, its paw against the door.

Then, the door cracked open. Immediately, the void consumed itself and surged forward, before relinquishing its possessions to reality a moment later. Half a dozen spears were leveled at it from a line of dragons guarding the Prince. Behind it, the captain sighed, standing with her claws clutching the door’s handle. “My liege, the ghost is back. And it still goes through me.” Unlike most of the guards, she wore a mask similar to the Prince and the dragon-shaped darkness, and a full red cape rather than armor. She lashed her tail in annoyance, and the needle-like spear tied to her tail snapped around, forcing the visitor to leap away.

“Ha! Why, Hornet, perhaps you ought to stand to the side when it does that.” The Prince, adorned from neck to tail in gleaming, ceremonial armor, gestures to his guard with a forepaw. “You lot are dismissed from this room. Hornet or I will send for your return after my chat with the ghost.”

Hornet pulled the doors open fully for the exiting guard, then shivered. “Look, I just don’t like feeling the void itself... IN me.”

The Prince gracefully strode to the doors and applied several wards to them. “This in spite of what the tabloids say? Anyway, just stay and watch from the corner, then, alright? It’s been improving, and we may need a judge.”

The caped captain grumbled, but picked out a spot by one of the stained-glass windows to lay down on. She turned to watch them, for entertainment and to learn how she could improve, herself.

Like a ritual, the ghost and the Prince took opposite sides of the throne room. The small absence from reality flexed its claws and bared its fangs. The Prince stretched his body, magically removing his armor. Beneath was, too, a complete lack of existence, exactly as dark as his visitor, and as dark as nothing else could be. He let out a powerful roar, confined to the throne room by his wards, and then the two beings of void leapt at each other.

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Hell-ish

Louis Cyphre x Reader

Not related to the movie (Angel Heart) literally at all, just wanted to write about Robert De Niro Satan™ 💖✨

TW: you’re in hell but I swear it’s not that bad, mentions of demons/the devil, horn stuff?

Word Count: 2k

Enjoy! 😈😈😈

The harsh pain in your shoulders and the unfamiliar feeling of the room around you made you aware, but the grogginess in your head only made you want to sleep. Sleep. You don’t remember when you fell asleep. You crack your eyes open only to realize you don’t know where you are… But that the bed you’re in is beyond cozy.

You pull the covers up over you more, but you also scan the room a bit. It’s incredibly luxurious. The room is fully decorated in black marble and gold. The sheets you lay on are black silk. You’ve never seen anything like it.

“Good morning, my dear, glad to see you’re finally awake,” a voice says from across the room. You turn to face the man as he approaches you. He has a very striking look. He bares a thick beard, long hair that is nearly pulled back and tied up, pointed white nails, a black and gold cane, and the nicest suit you’ve ever seen.

He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his cans aside before looking at you, “Are you alright, love? You look like a deer caught in headlights, although a very cute deer, much like a little fawn.” His fingers tuck some of your hair behind your ear, and then his hand lingers on your cheek for a moment. Despite the man’s startling look and the unsettled feeling you have, his presence felt very familiar to you.

“Um… I’m okay, just woozy.” You rub your eyes trying to wake up a little more.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help you to feel better.” As if pulling a rabbit out of a hat, the man had a teacup and saucer in his hands. He hands it to you and you take a sip. It’s very good, slightly sweet. “It’ll help with the pain in your shoulders as well.” He stands to walk out of the room.

“Hmmm? How did you know about that?”

He swiftly exists the room.

You sit and sip your tea for awhile.

• • •

Before you know it, you’re waking up again… The tea must’ve put you to sleep, but at least you feel well-rested and your shoulders aren’t sore anymore.

You lie in the large bed, mind wandering. You’ve never been to this place before, never seen this man. Yet, you feel safe here. Before long, you find yourself thinking about how he compared you to a fawn. It was an odd compliment, but it gave you butterflies in your stomach. You really wouldn’t mind if he touched your cheek again, too.

“Darling, are you hungry? I made you breakfast,” he looms over the bed with a nicely made tray of food in this hand. He nearly gave you a heart attack.

“Oh… um, sure.”

A warm smile comes to his face as he sets the tray on your lap. There lies a beautiful assortment of food: fresh fruit, croissants, milk and juice, and even a boiled egg propped up in one of those fancy caramic egg dishes. He taps the shell of the boiled egg with one long fingernail, “Boiled eggs are very symbolic to me. I have one with breakfast each day.”

You give him a small smile, and then there’s a long pause. “Who are you?”

“Louis. Louis Cyphre.”

“And this is your home?”

“Yes.”

“And where is that?”

“Hmmm… I’m not sure you’re ready to hear this, but you have to find out sooner or later. You’re in Hell, to put it simply.”

“Hell?! What do you mean Hell?!” Your mind is but racing.

“Here, honey, eat a little something,” he says handing you a croissant, “Hell, as in the Underworld, as in one of the many afterlives, as in eternal damnation.”

“This doesn’t seem like Hell… It’s so nice here.”

“Yes, well, this is my home, so it can be how I want it to be.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you also here to be tortured or something? You don’t look like a demon to me… Who are you?”

“(Y/N), I already told you, but I’ll make it more apparent, just for you, sweet girl… I’m Louis Cyphre, Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?? Like Satan?” It comes out of your mouth before the realization sets in. “You’re the Devil?”

“Yes.”

This doesn’t scare you as much as it should. Why should you be scared of him? He’s been nothing but hospitable and caring towards you.

He sits next to you planning his hand on your cheek one again. It makes you feel warm. “No harm will come to you while you’re here. Quite the contrary, you’ll be treated like a queen.” He pulls a grape from the tray in front of you and places it in your mouth.

“But why? I thought Hell was for suffering.”

“Hmmm… It’s a story for another time, but let’s just say I decided to keep you for myself, rather than letting you stay in your afterlife.”

“Oh… Well, that’s very sweet. I suppose being here is much nicer than what I would’ve faced, being that I got sent to Hell.”

• • •

After this, he spent much of his time courting you, and the time you spent with him was magical, to say the least.

He always served you the tastiest food, seemingly pulled from thin air. You met many ghouls and demons; some were friends, some were “in the business,” and some you saw grovelling at Louis’ feet for mercy. He would take you to spectacular places, completely unimaginable and nothing like you’d ever known. But when you confessed to him that you really missed plant life and the night sky, he made you a garden filled with beautiful botanicals where the night sky and constellations could be seen at any time of day.

You spent a lot of time there.

• • •

One particular day, you are sitting in the gardens on a small bench with Louis, just enjoying the breeze and the smell in the air. He has one arm around your shoulders and the other is resting on your lap holding your hand. Your shoulders still hurt a lot of the time, but at this point it was normal and you just assumed it had to do with the way you died.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Louis?”

“May I kiss you?”

“Hmmm…” You smile and look at him, “on one condition.”

“Anything for you, my heart.”

“Show me your horns.”

He scoffs. “Horns?! What horns?” He really was bad at lying to you; you thought it was sweet how even the Demon King could be rendered weak by love.

“I know you must have them. All of the other demons do. And like wings or a tail or something… I wanna see it.”

“Why on Earth would a sweet girl like you want to see those things?”

“Well… I like you a lot, Louis, and I want to be able to love all of you, not just the parts you show me.”

A blush comes to his cheeks, but it’s quickly followed by a bit of sadness, “I don’t want to scare you away…”

“You won’t scare me. I’ll still know it’s you.”

There’s a long pause before he says, “Close your eyes.”

You place your hands over your face, and they were only there for a few seconds before you feel Louis’ hands pulling them off of your eyes.

Of course the first thing that catches your eye is the horns. Tall, black and dark brown, gently spiraled up into the air, and quite pointy at the end. Then there are his eyes, a deep but glowing shade of red, and full of hesitance. Clearly he’s afraid you won’t like him like this. His fingernails are now much longer and black, more like claws. As he adjusts his seating, you notice the gnarly black wings that hover behind him. They’re like bat wings, and while they are very intimidating, they look out of place, somehow, like they aren’t supposed to be there.

You were sure that he could take a much more frightening form, but he still wants to protect your from some things.

“Can I touch them?” You ask.

“Hmm?”

“Your horns. Can I touch them?”

“Yes, but only you.”

Your reach up and lightly grace your fingers over the rigid texture of one of the horns. You push it lightly, causing Louis to tilt his head back. You giggle, which seems to put him at ease. You wrap your hand around the horn and pull his face close to yours for that kiss you promised him. When his lips met yours, he wrapped his arms around you holding you close. Your arm drops from his head to wrap around the back of his neck.

After a long, sweet kiss, you both pull away breathless. And you see that Louis is back to the way you’re used to seeing him.

“Aww, Louis… I really liked your horns.”

“You did?”

“Yeah! They look very good on you. Will you please put them back?”

“I suppose, anything for you, sweetheart.” And just like that, they were back. You couldn’t explain why you liked them, you just did. “Please don’t use them to tug me around too often…” He says with a chuckle.

“So you’re saying it’s okay sometimes?” You laugh.

“Mmm… Sometimes, yes, only if I get a kiss out of it.”

• • •

That night, you share a bed for the first time, and even though you’re only cuddling and sharing kisses, you both thoroughly enjoy the closeness. He knew everything about you, which made you uneasy at first, but now that you had seen him in a vulnerable position, you felt you could trust him. With some trust established, you found yourself falling for him quickly.

As you’re lying next to him, you can’t keep your eyes or your fingers off of his horns, and an idea pops into your head, “So ya know how you’re like this big powerful Overlord of the Damned or something?”

This earned you a hearty laugh from the man, “Yes, I know.”

“Well I was just thinking about your horns and how they’re so cool, and how you made me that garden outside, and well…”

“Well?” He gives you a playful look.

“Well… could you give me horns?”

“You want horns?”

“Yeah! They’re cool! And, like, why shouldn’t I fit in with the demons a little?”

“Honey, you don’t fit in with the demons,” he says through a laugh.

“Okay well I still want horns.”

“Hmmm… You want horns, huh? Well alright.” He scoops you up off the bed and takes you to stand in front of the mirror. He leans in towards your ear and whispers, “Close your eyes.”

You clap your hands over your eyes and sit there with a smile. You can feel the excitement vibrating through you; your whole body is buzzing… It’s making your shoulders ache really badly actually…

Louis firmly presses his hands into the spots where your shoulders hurt, then he wraps his body tightly around you. “Open your eyes,” he says with a small twinge of panic in his voice. But all of your worries fade away when you see your newest accessory in the mirror. You gasp and immediately your fingers are tracing over the shape of your new horns; they’re just above your ear, and they curl back like a ram’s would. Completely different from Louis’, but you like that.

“Do you like them, princess?”

“Oh, yes, Louis! Thank you so much… They’re so pretty!” You’re nearly squealing with enthusiasm.

“Good, darling! I had pictured you with little deer antlers, because you so remind me of a little woodland fawn, but there are some things I have no control over. It seems you’re one of them!”

“Hmm, are you saying you’d like to control me?” You give him a coy look.

“No… But I am glad I can do this,” he wraps a hand around one of your horns and pulls you towards him, smiling against your lips while kissing you.

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 3 - The Father

Warnings: Some swearing

Word count: 2k

Where it all began. 

Summary: Mandy finally meets The Father Joseph Seed, and he gives her an offer she has to accept no matter what.

Guest OCs: None

Guest Characters: Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Archangel Raphael [mentioned], God/Chuck [mentioned]

Note: This takes place in 2012.

************************************

It’s been a few weeks since Mandy Winchester had arrived in Hope County.

Joseph had a few of his followers keep an eye on her. 

God told him about her. That she was the one. The one that will guide the Project to the New World.

She passed through Hope County to get some gas, some grub and sleep. But before that Archangel Raphael had told her about Joseph. That she needed to protect him no matter what.

She had a few encounters with a couple of peggies but of course they didn't get to see her face because the second they broke into her hotel room she planted a bullet in their heads. 

She's a professional hunter, you know demons, vampires and shit but of course no one knows of her job. 

When Joseph found out about the hotel incident, he knew that it was The Mother.

God had told him about her arrival. 

He couldn’t approach her right away. 

The Voice told him to be patient, and that he’ll tell him when the time was right.

Raphael had told Mandy to wait until he approached her, and go with it from there.

Again no matter what happens, Joseph must be protected. 

Then that day came, Mandy was at the Spread Eagle bar with Mary May, Grace Armstrong, and Nick Rye having some drinks. 

When 3 cultists approached her while she's sitting at the bar. 

Everyone in the bar sees them, and are reaching for their weapons. 

"The Father wishes to speak with you" one of them says to her. 

She turns around, forgetting about why she was there in the first place, and says. 

"I don't know who that is. But if he wants to speak with me he can tell me for himself". 

He didn't take kindly to this, forgetting Joseph’s orders.

He aggressively grabs her arm, pulling her away from the bar.

“Let me go asshole!!!” she yells. 

She punches him in the face, knocking him out. 

The other 2 pull their guns out, unsure if they should aim at her because of Joseph’s orders. 

Everyone else in the bar pulls out their guns, and aims at the other 2. 

I mean everyone, Mary May, Nick, Grace, the cook, and a few locals having drinks. 

Mandy who is shaking her hand after punching him says. 

"If The Father wants to speak with me then I will go myself" she says.

“Mandy, you don’t have to go. We have no problem killing these peggie fucks” Mary says to her. 

She replies, “No it’s fine Mary. I just wanna know what The Father has to say to me, and if I need backup, I’ll let you know”.

She leaves the bar, and gets into her truck.

Mandy has learned a lot about the Project at Eden's Gate from the locals

She knows they meet up in a church in the middle island next to Dutch's region, and she’s also 100% sure she knows the eldest brother Jacob because of her husband Joel. 

She knows Joseph needs to be protected because Raphael told her to, and she hasn’t seen him at all. Not even a photo of the man.

Entering the center island, it's all fenced up, and has barbed wire. 

She makes the only left turn down the road to Joseph's church. 

As she pulls closer to the property, she sees the front gate is open. 

A sign in front that says "The Church of Eden's Gate".

"What the fuck am I doing?" she asks herself, “Is this really worth it?!”. 

She steps out of her truck, and approaches the church slowly. 

All the Cultists on the property eyeballing her like she's a piece of meat. 

This isn't the first time a bunch of hillbilly fucks eyeball, and stared her. 

When she gets within 10 feet of the church. 

A man with no shirt on, tattoos, beard, his hair tied up, rosary wrapped around his hand, and yellow Aviators steps out. 

She stops dead in her tracks the second the church doors open. 

“That must be Joseph” she says to herself, “He’s quite a handsome man”. 

He gives her an intense stare that makes her spine go numb. 

Her stomach feels like it's twisting, and turning in knots.

She doesn't say anything, she stands there, trying to make herself look intimidating and fearless. 

This 5'3, 135Ibs, 40-42 year old woman who can knock out a fully grown, bushy bearded, crazy eyed hillbilly Cultist with one punch. 

Tries to make herself look terrifying even though she's had her encounters with monsters in the past.

Joseph looks up at the sky, and he softly says. 

"I have heard so much about you". 

Confused, Mandy doesn't know what to say or do, she stands there and hopes Joseph continues with whatever he has to say to her. 

It's almost like he can read her mind, he steps closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and says. 

"He told me you would come. God said that the The Mother will arrive''. 

“Damn it Chuck!!” she says in her head. 

After a few minutes of not saying anything, Mandy finally speaks up. 

Taking a deep breath. 

"T-the Mother?!?" she asks, confused. 

Joseph nods his head, "Yes" he says softly. 

He places his forehead against hers, his hands on both sides on her head. 

Confusion drowns her mind. 

Joseph moves his head away from hers, and says. 

"The Voice told me you would come. The Mother will show herself. It would be your face". 

He places a soft gentle kiss on her forehead, and pulls her into a tight embrace. 

Mandy, with no other choice, hugs him back. Her hands placed on his chest. 

Hoping he would release her soon because she is beyond confused, and will need to process what is happening. 

Even though Raphael told her, she had to do this. She was still confused by all of this.

After what felt like hours, he lets her go.

The first real question she asks is "Why me?". 

He places his hands on her head again. 

His thumbs rubbing the soft skin on her cheeks. 

Looking into her brown eyes as if he was looking into her soul, he says. 

"It's all part of God's plan, he brought you to me. To be my other half". 

Mandy hasn't been romanticized, or been spoken to like that in several years. 

The only ones she had left in her life are her 2 daughters.

Whom she lost custody of 4 months ago. 

Hearing Joseph's words brings some peace to Mandy knowing that there is someone who cares about her other than her family.

Even though she doesn't know him that well herself. 

He knows her very well, like he's known her for years. 

She knows he needs to be protected, but the other feeling she’s getting is different. 

If she’s developing feelings for him then that's not a good thing.

That’ll put a target on him, and make her look like a traitor to citizens of Hope County that are being tormented by this man, and his followers.

She knows he's not possessed by a demon, or any sort of spirit because her hands are placed on his bare chest, and she's wearing iron rings that were soaked in holy water. 

He holds her in his arms. His left hand on the back of her head, and his other on her upper back.

She looks back, and sees about 15-20 of his followers watching them.

Like they were all waiting for her answer. 

He lets go of her, his arms still wrapped around her, and asks “What do you say?!”.

Unsure, and not knowing what she’s gonna get herself into.

“Umm, can I have a few days to think about it?. Then I’ll give you a straightforward answer”

He nods his head, “Of course”, and he plants another kiss on her forehead. 

He has his followers make a path for her to go back to her truck.

She gets in, and drives back to the Spread Eagle.

******************************************

She pulls up to the bar, still not sure what her answer is.

Mary May, Nick, Grace and Pastor Jerome sitting at the bar.

The moment Mandy walks in the bar Mary immediately asks.

“What did Joseph want?!?”.

“Umm, he uhh” she takes a deep breath, “He asked me if I wanted to be The Mother of Eden’s Gate”.

They all look at her in disbelief, then at each other.

“Well you said no didn’t ya?” the cook from the kitchen asks.

“Well of course she said no” Mary says, “That be my answer right off the fucking bat”.

“What did you say when he asked you?!” Nick asks

“I told him that I would think about it” Mandy responds.

“You’re not thinking about joining those peggie fuckers?!?” Grace asks.

Mandy sits down at the bar, and sighs “On the drive here, it got me thinking, and I thought it would be a good plan. That I say yes to joining them, but on one condition they can’t torment none of you guys, and not just you guys. I mean everyone in Hope County. No stealing properties, businesses, killing innocent people, and forcing them to join the cult”.

They all exchanged looks, and after several minutes of silence Mary spoke up.

“It’s a great plan and all, but do you really want to be a part of their shit?!?”.

“It looks like I don’t have a choice. If I say yes, I give them my piece and they accept it, then you guys are free. But if I say yes, give them my piece and they say reject it”.

“Then it was nice knowing you Mandy!” the cook says from the kitchen.

“I asked Joseph if he can give me a few days to think about it, and he said it was okay”.

“So what are you gonna do?!?” Nick asks.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Either way there’s a chance I might end up dead” she replies. 

“We know you’ll make the right choice Mandy” Jerome says. 

“I hope so too” she says, and gets up from her seat to go outside.

“Where you going?!” Mary asks.

“I have to make a few phone calls” she replies, and leaves to her truck.

She gets into her truck, and drives to a secluded part of Holland Valley.

Behind the Lamb of God church.

She gets out of her truck, and prays to Raphael.

“Hey Raph, it's me Mandy. I need your help, so get down here ASAP”

After a few minutes the sound of wings fluttering behind her. 

“Okay, Raph I really need- Gabriel?!?!” she says before turning around, and seeing a different Archangel.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. You were expecting Raphael” he says, sarcastically. 

Stammering over her words. Unable to even two words together. 

Wha-? Where? Why?!?”.

“Are you gonna finish any of those sentences?!?” he asks with a snarky tone.

“Where’s Raphael?!?” she asks, irritated.

“He sent me on behalf of him” he says.

“What?!. Why?!” she exclaims.

“Okay Man, I’m gonna need you to take a chill pill, and let me explain on behalf of my big bro” he says, again with a snarky tone. 

“Okay, okay, fine. What was he gonna say?!” she says, hands on her hips. Calming down a little.

“He says. Just to summarize it” Gabriel says as he pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it, clearing his throat in an overly dramatic way, and reads it without even looking at it. 

“Just say yes!!!!. Do what you were sent here to do!!!!”.

He balls up the paper, and throws it at her head. “Do the job, and get it over with!!!”. 

Mandy scoffs, “Really Gabe?!. These people are my friends, they’re being tormented by this man and his followers. And if I join Joseph, and his Project I would be betraying them!!”.

Gabriel shrugs, “Well it looks like you should join them to protect your human friends, or not. This isn’t my problem. It’s yours. Peace”. He gives her the peace sign before disappearing. 

“No, Gabe no!!!” she exclaimed, and he disappears.

She groans loudly in frustration, and looks up at the night sky. 

“Seriously?!? Come on Chuck!!!. Fuck!!!”

Mandy knows what she has to do.

In order to protect her new friends, their businesses, and their families.

She has to say yes, and be The Mother of Eden’s Gate.

Hopefully they’ll come to terms on her offer. 

[swedisheek]

hello stinky i would like to know who is your favourite mechanism and why, i expect a 2k word essay on my desk by friday

ah fuck ah shit they’re all so excellent i will instead list my favorite things about all of them in order of my vague memory of when they joined the crew. also i smell good how dare you. also FYI for anyone not informed about the Lore, all the shit i’m gonna reference below is a hundred percent canonical.

-jonny: has an ego three thousand times larger than his short ass, king of hubris and not understanding anything. loves his sister dearly, but draws the line at random orgies, which i respect. drags corpses onto the ship like a cat bringing home a kill and tells carmilla to fix his new friends. eyeliner and belt game slay me. (four belts? FOUR??) sad and totally made up backstory, he just lied to everyone’s face about his daddy issues and they were like “chill, let’s write a song where you play all the parts and burn down a casino.” eats people sometimes, which is a positive trait in my heart.

-nastya: my god, finally a voice of reason- ah never mind. her vibes are impeccable, my mysterious trans lesbian queen is unique and absolutely vibing <3 “fuck the ship-!” “i do :3″ is my favorite line of dialogue in anything ever. machinefucker and very proud of it, to an almost concerning degree. that one picture where she’s resting two of her fingers on her chin and cocking her hip as she looks up at the sky makes me Yell.

-toy soldier: my beloved it/its inanimate enby ts!! i love it bc it just. vibes. it has so much fun singing and playing instruments and just fucking around with its friends. who would’ve thought the war criminal with a stolen voicebox would be the most babey of this group?? SPEAKING OF ITS VOICE HOLY SHIT. TRIAL BY SONG CAUSES HEART PALPITATIONS. adorable little nutcracker with the saddest fucking backstory infinity/10

-tim: so very very done with jonny but we all know they make out in “secret”. hit that fucking high note as loki so well, my god, he put his whole pussy into that! go gayboy relive that trauma! plays out of tune guitar like a champ and has a ten minute long song dedicated to him blowing shit up, what a power move. excellent hair and long sweeping coats, extremely gender of him.

-brian: ohhh sweet boy. but also totally commits atrocities? like he wouldn’t kill an octokitten that was eating marius alive but he’d let a million people die just so he didn’t have to hurt anyone, and that’s just on mje mode- his morals are so fucked, poor man. also hung upside down inside a sun for a century and respects the hell out of trans people and brings people back to life and those are just a few of my favorite things about him. he fully committed to the steampunk look when he got mechanized and i love that so much. also has the potential to be a tumblr sexyman.

-ashes: ASHES!! ashes ashes ashes. first off what a fucking good name that’s like a murderer naming themself Dead People. they’re the hottest, it’s just a fact, sorry everyone but they are just. mmm. carries around gold bars and cigars and gasoline and nothing else which i respect so much. (though where do they put that stuff? their hat??) sings excruciatingly beautifully and snarks at all the idiots they call their friends and practices the three r’s (rage, repression, and radicalness) so i cannot not love them.

-ivy: mystery wife! her whole thing is stories and yet she doesn’t know her own that’s so fucking pog of her. what does an archivist on a spaceship even do dawg it’s not like the other guys care about the cultures they’re annihilating, i’m pretty sure she just sits in her bunk and reads. why did she need her brain replaced? why does she have such crazy memory problems? how does her new brain calculate all these percentages? we don’t know! she’s very cute and wears fishnets and has a mohawk-ponytail which i adore. play me to sleep on ur flute please miss

-raphaella: twenty points right off the bat for having wings and wearing a knit crop top. what is she going for with her look, we don’t know, but she could do horrific experiments on me and i’d thank her, so it’s working, clearly. alternatively tortures and tops the shit out of marius, i will die on this hill. also a terrifyingly good singer, those little “the void siIings” in losing track make my breathing stop and the entirety of ties that bind is so fucking amazing i. hhhh

-marius: christ i love you mr neither a baron nor a doctor. the other guys are dumb but he’s the himbo of the group just for being That Way. also most of his characters’ (who are also himbos) lines are something along the lines of what the fuck or i don’t understand so i’m gonna punch you. he’s adorable and has such bastard vibes, even his outfit is ridiculous and cute. even though lyf was a cop he deserved to get a happy ending with them ok?? i just love him and his liddol raccoon face and he deserves a slow burn criminal/detective to crew mates to lovers.

OK JEEZ THATS A LOT. ARE YOU HAPPY ALEX. IM NOT GONNA DO AURORA OR CARMILLA BC CARMILLA LEFT AND AURORA NEVER TALKS TO ANYONE BUT NASTYA SO THERES NOT MUCH INFO ON HER PERSONALITY. WOO BOY.

[mychemicalficrecs]

any fics with a mind link or something? telepathic communication is cool as hell man

Not a lot of mind link but a lot of mind reading :’D

Telepathy

until the end, until this blood by MistressKat, Gerard/Mikey, 21k, Explicit. "The long-term outcomes of this group depend on the age of onset, the length of the initial SOC (sensory overload coma) and, most importantly, on how quickly a successful bond can be formed. Across the eighteen studies reviewed, the cohorts on average demonstrated a 95% survival rate if guide bond was established within first four weeks, declining to less than 50% at six months and steadily thereafter. Reflecting the circumstances, the subsequent sentinel-guide pairs are likely to be atypical, and often require an extended period of adjustment. The policy implications are significant. The authors recommend a full scale audit of the current screening processes, to increase the likelihood of early detection. Further research into the experiences of late onset sentinels and their bonded guides should focus on identifying the best practice in sanctuary support." - Finch, H., Keele, A., & Warner, E. (2017). A Systematic Review on Late Onset Sentinels: Risk Factors, Protective Factors and Outcomes. International Journal of Sentinel Studies, 39(2): 773-804.

(Not Your) Superman Tonight by torakowalski, Bob/Brian, 37k, Explicit. Brian scratches his neck. "This is the NSA," he says, "The National Security Administration. They're feds." Bob raises his eyebrows, all no, really? Brian winces. "They employ telepaths. Like Asher and-" me. He can't say it. He folds his arms. "It's not as weird as it sounds."

Guess It's Half Timing (The Other Half's Luck) by torakowalski, Bob/Brian, 885 words, General Audiences. "Jesus," Bob says, rubbing at his beard with the palm of his hand. It's a nervous tick that he only usually gives in to when shit is really hitting the fan. "No, I can't hear His thoughts," Brian says because, well, why not.

Iron the Kinks Out by bootson, Brendon Urie/Mikey, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. Brendon's almost used to having someone else taking over part of his mind.

Mind Over Matter by orphan_account, Mikey/Pete, Gerard/Mikey/Pete, 3k, Explicit. Pete laughs, but Mikey can tell he’s nervous. “Fine,” he says. “Do something psychic. Levitate my TV or some shit.” “It’s not like that,” Gerard pipes up indignantly. “That’s telekinesis, asshole.”

Love Song for a Vampire by tuesdaysgone, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Explicit. ...They are entirely alone, and Gerard has been too preoccupied to even sate his thirst, and he is HUNGRY...

Trope Meme Ficlets by alpheratz, Gerard & Mikey, 626 words, pg. Gerard+Mikey (gen) telepathy, pg

Socks by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), Bob/Gerard, 133 words, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard needs Bob to think more quietly.

Out Of My Head by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. Gerard keeps having vivid, sexual dreams about Frank. It's a problem.

The Umbrella Academy of Superheroes. by unorthodox_anthology, Frank/Gerard, 7k, Not Rated. Gerard Way was special. Gerard knew this – he’d known this since he’d turned thirteen and he started to flicker in and out of visibility. It freaked him the fuck out the first time it happened. Chilling in your room, jacking off and them BAMM! You’re invisible. But once he got over the shock, he had his mum enrolee him so he could attend the Umbrella Academy – a school for people from around the world who had ‘gifts’ the same as Gerard’s, gifts that made them supers.

The Pros and Cons of Dating a Telepath by panicparade, Ryan Ross/Mikey Way, 12k, General Audiences. He clenched his fists at his side and tried to think of anything other than how badly he wanted to strangle Mikey Way. It sucked that his worst enemy in the entire world was also one of the strongest telepaths in the country and while Ryan wasn’t scared of him (not even a little bit.), his brother’s best friend was Bob Bryar and Ryan felt no shame in admitting that Bob Bryar scared the living shit out of him.

The Heart You Need by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 92k, Explicit. How the Killjoys became the Killjoys. ...if the Killjoys were telepathic space pirates. (Featuring superheroes and sidekicks, sneaky illegal activities after dark, broken hearts and bitter grudges, and a whole lot of get up and go.)

Mutant!Verse by casesandcapitals, Frank/Gerard, 75k, Mature. Brian Schechter's School For The Gifted is opening in September, but Gerard doesn't want to go. He hates it when people make fun of his giant bat wings or fawn over his much more talented little brother. But Gerard finds that he loves being at school with other mutants who make him feel normal, especially his roommate Frank. But all is not as it seems and soon students begin to go missing...

Looking for Satellites by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Grant/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, 26k, Explicit. Galaxy-hopping alien trader Gerard has business on space station Perseus Four. Getting to know station administrator Grant is a nice bonus.

Use Weapons of Clairvoyance by truantway (kittyjosh), Frank/Gerard, 1k, Mature. Gerard Way is stuck in Calculus and begins daydreaming about the cute guy who sits behind him. Then the shit hits the fan. Based on that tumblr prompt 'Person A is thinking weird/sexual thoughts, thinks 'cough if you can read my mind', Person B coughs' or something along those lines.

Unexpected Thoughts by BlackRoses_23, Frank/Gerard, 3k [WIP], Mature. Frank can read minds. Everything starts when he reads Gerard's mind and he listens to some inappropiate thoughts of him.

To Hear From You Again by whisperfade, Frank/Gerard, 408 words, General Audiences. A fluffy mind-reading AU for trope bingo

Ones and Zeros by GloomxBoy, Frank/Gerard, 7k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard Way is the best agent in the business. His secret? He can read everyone’s mind. Well, he thought he could, until he meets the infamous Frank Iero. Aside from not being able to read his mind, Frank was mysterious, cunning, and dangerously good-looking. He may seem like a mess, but his disarrayed actions always contribute to a bigger picture. He was the perfect person to drive Gerard insane. No one knew how difficult this mission would be, especially not Gerard. To remain the best agent, he must figure out all of Frank’s secrets and he only has 3 weeks to do so.

Voices by shadowhive, Gerard/Mikey, 3k, Explicit. Mikey goes to visit his brother in New York, not realising its going to change things forever.

[lailannajacobs]

On the Wing

Pairing: Bucky X Reader 

Prompt: You saw nothing, are we clear? 

Warnings: mostly fluff and a tiny bit of violence

Word Count: 2k 

A/N: This little fic is curtesy of @teamcap4bucky! Congrats again for 2k love, you deserve it and so much more!!! <3 Decided it was time to get back to a little bit of Bucky :) Been working on this amid all the craziness and chaos, hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think, I always love feedback or just general impressions!! <3 

You blew a stray strand of hair from your face and sheathed your knives. After the first guard had managed to set off the alarm, you had lost the element of surprise. A gun would be more useful now. It didn’t matter that Nat had cut the alarm almost immediately, the Hydra agents all knew you had arrived.

You wiped the sweat from your brow with your bicep. “I thought you said it was going to be an easy one today.”

Bucky tilted his head, his loose hair tumbling to the side. You had offered to braid it back before missions, but apparently it wasn’t his thing. Though it hadn’t stopped your from mentioning it before every mission.

“Getting out of shape doll?”

You shook your head, a smile making its way to your lips, “I’m fine old man. But next time don’t oversell.”

He smirked.

Steve’s voice crackled through the coms, “If you two are done wasting time, we need to find that key.”

“All business.” You chuckled.

Bucky pursed his lips, attempting to wipe the smirk from his face. “Always business.”

“Get that key.” Cap ordered, trying his hardest to sound stern.

“Firecracker,” Bucky began, using your unfortunate alias, “Are you taking the left or the the right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Whichever. Right is fine.”

“Whoever gets the key wins.”

“Loser buys first round.”

“Always.” He grinned.

“Get ready to pay up.” You called over your shoulder, heading down the hallway.

Your steps were quick but even, steady after a lifetime of training. You may not have had any superhuman ability, but you were sure as hell going to win this bet.

Six Months Ago

The pub was busy, even for a Friday night. No one had batted an eye at the super soldiers and their teammates when you had walked in. You were all regulars, especially after a particularly successful mission, and all the other regular customers had gotten used to the team’s loud and chaotic presence.

“First round is on me.” You shouted over the noise, ordering drinks for everyone.

“And why would that be?” Bucky smirked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Because,” You muttered "You were the better shot.”

“What? I didn’t quite catch that doll.”

You shook your head, “I’m not repeating it.” You handed him his beer, “just take your free booze.”

He laughed, a sound that always caught your attention. You dropped your gaze and found something else to turn your attention too. Since meeting the soldier you had found yourself getting more and more attached to him. Every mission had you appreciating his kind and soft soul even more, and every time you had each other’s backs only made you appreciate your friendship even more. The only problem was that lately you were beginning to realize that maybe you wanted more with him.

It didn’t make sense to want more though. Any mission could be your last and you didn’t need to add any distractions for either of you. The field was a dangerous enough place as it was. And anyways, that was all based on the assumption that he might even feel the same way.

You tried your best to bury the feelings deep down in a place no-one could find them - not even yourself. Things were good now, even if you had just lost a bet.

“You know, I think that makes the score…” Bucky pretended to think about it for a moment, “four to two?”

“No” you grumbled. “That makes it five to two.”

“True. I’m so glad you corrected me.”

You shoved him playfully. “You’re such a sore winner.”

“All you have to do is catch up doll.” He grinned.

“I’d do that in a heartbeat if I wasn’t at such a disadvantage.” You pointed out.

“Am I really that distracting that you can’t focus when I’m around?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m not sure that I do.”

You burst out laughing, “What’s with you today?”

“What? I’m always in a good mood.”

“Sure” you snorted.

He raised a brow. “You don’t believe me?”

“I have evidence against it.”

“Oh yeah?” he took a step closer, “Like what?”

“Um, I don’t know, I seem to remember you letting out a string of curse words about five hours ago.”

He smirked, “Okay then. Correction, I’m always in a good mood when you’re around.”

You swallowed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I can prove it if you’d like.” He whispered.

Your gaze immediately dropped to his lips, and when you found his seastorm eyes looking into yours with something you couldn’t name, your heart began to race.

“I’m so glad you two keep doing these bets.” Sam said, clapping the two of you on the shoulder. “Saves me a bunch on beer.”

He reached between the two of you, handed the bartender a bill and grabbed his beer. You took an unnecessarily large step back, remembering your earlier declaration. Clearly you still hadn’t pushed your feelings far enough down. Although…maybe these feelings weren’t as one sided as you had first thought.

You shot Bucky a tight lipped smile and made your way over to where Nat and Steve were. The right move was to walk away, regardless of the feelings involved. It would be better for everyone in the long run.

Just as you approached, a young college student, probably here with a fake ID, walked up.

“Hi, uh, Captain America. I was uh, wondering if I could get a picture? My girlfriend would kill me if I didn’t.”

Cap smiled. “Sure kid.”

When the student was satisfied and gone, you sighed. “I’m a little jealous.”

“Of that?” Steve asked incredulously.

You shook your head. “No, not that. The fact that you guys all have aliases. I mean at least Maria gets to keep her name, all I’ve got is a number.”

Nat laughed, “And Six Three Two outs you perfectly.”

“You have to earn an alias.” Cap teased.

“Sure, and how do I earn a super secret serum?”

“I’d refer you to the doctor, if he was still around.”

“Steve,” Bucky clapped an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Age has given you a morbid sense of humour.”

You tried not to look at Bucky for too long, no matter how captivating that grin was.

“You should know old man.” Steve grinned.

“I am only a year older than you dork.”

“And it shows.”

Nat shook her head, a grin on her lips, “You’re both really old. We get it.”

“Can you believe, Winter Soldier, that 632 was complaining about not having an alias? Said being a number was boring.” Steve shot you a teasing look.

“The audacity. I can’t believe it. Black Widow what do you think?”

“Ridiculous,” she winked. “I think we should tell Falcon.”

“You guys are all idiots.” You laughed, stopping Steve before he could call Sam over.

“Trust me,” Bucky grabbed all of your attention with those two little words, “When you do something really stupid, that’s when we’ll give you your alias.”

You shook your head. You couldn’t imagine they’d have to wait long to see you do something ridiculous.

You had no idea what this key looked like or how you’d find it. It was supposed to look like a USB key but for all you knew, it could be some old timey key that unlocked a door with actual files inside. The hallway was weirdly empty, its walls cold and clinical, and void of any adjacent rooms. Maybe if you had picked the right you would have had a better chance at winning the bet. At least Steve hadn’t called you back yet, telling you that Bucky had already found it. You still had some time to win.

The sound of fighting around the corner had you raising your gun, ready for anything that came at you. Creeping along the wall, you paused at the edge and peered around the corner. A body stumbled back and silver glinted in the dim light. You shook your head. As much as you loved the look of his arm, you couldn’t remember how many times you had told him to cover up the metal so that it wouldn’t give him away. The only benefit of having it exposed that was it made it that much easier to spot him.

It seemed Bucky had beat you to the checkpoint but, watching the fight go on, it didn’t bother you too much. It wasn’t like you could help, despite the fact that the enemy had no idea you were there. They were moving too quickly, Bucky’s movements far to quick and efficient for you to get a clear shot.

He blocked a punch before kicking the guard in the chest, sending him staggering back another couple of steps. The man took the distance to pull out a knife and you sighed. He was lucky you all had orders to keep the Hydra agents alive for questioning because he may as well have given Bucky another weapon to kill him with.

You had seen Bucky fight with knives as if they were an extension of his arm and today was no exception. Within seconds he had disarmed the man, flipped the knife into his other hand before driving it into the mans thigh. But before Bucky could knock the enemy agent out, he took a step and the floor slid beneath him.

As he fell to the floor, the man’s eyes grew wide and triumphant. Instinctively, you fired a bullet into his shoulder now that you had a clear shot. You didn’t know what had just happened but it didn’t matter as long as Bucky was still alive. You would have disobeyed orders without a second thought if it meant keeping him safe.

Down on the ground the guard began foaming at the mouth and you swore. This was supposed to be an easy mission. What the hell was going on?

You looked down at Bucky, still sprawled on the floor, pure shock written all over his face. “You’re welcome. What happened to you?” Your heart still raced but seeing him unscathed calmed it, if only slightly.

Looking around, you realized something that made a grin spread across your lips. “Wait a second. Did you…slip?”

The longer you thought about it, the funnier it became, until you were laughing out loud, unable to stop, tears practically leaking out the corners of your eyes.

He pushed up quickly and dusted himself off. “You saw nothing. Are we clear?”

“Like hell I didn’t Sergeant.” You could barely get the words out between fits of laughter. “I think this may be the greatest thing to have happened this month.”

His deadpan expression did nothing to hide the amusement you knew lurked beneath the surface, “Are you sure about that Firecracker?”

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head, still bubbling with laughter. “What did you even slip on?”

His confused look was enough to know that it must have come out of nowhere.

Looking around, you found a small black rectangle on the floor a couple feet away and bent over to pick it up, the metal warm on your fingers.

You smiled. “I think we found the man with the key. Maybe he should have put it in a safer pocket.” A very important thought dawned on you. “Wait! This makes us even now.”

He wrapped his hand around yours, holding the key, “Technically I found it doll.”

“Technically you slipped, then I saved your ass and then I found the key.”

“You wouldn’t have found it if I hadn’t slipped.” He pointed out.

“That’s true. I wouldn’t have found it because I wouldn’t have slipped.” You tried to pull away but he held on. “And anyways, I didn’t see anything remember? So if there was nothing to see here, it means that I found the key just lying there right?”

He tugged on your hand, and you stepped closer to him. “And what if we call it a tie?”

You snatched your hand back, heart racing for a completely different reason now, and slipped the key into a secure pocket as you walked off.

“Drinks are on you tonight old man.” You called over your shoulder, unable to wipe the stupid grin off your face.

[dat-town]

Destined to fall | postlude [END]

Characters: Taehyung & You

Setting: fallen angel au, reincarnation au, historical au

Genre: angst

Warnings: character death

Summary: Your love story is a tragedy written with blood throughout the centuries.

Words: 2k

Chapter index

They say you don’t see love coming because you don’t find love but love finds you.

Taehyung loved you more than anything and you were his for the time being. More than once and it was enough, he decided. It had to be enough. He wanted you to have a chance for true happiness without his love weighing you down. After all he made you suffer through, after all the times he watched you die, he was ready to go first. But he couldn’t let go without saying goodbye on his own.

The Sun painted the streets bright yellow with splashes of gold like any other day. Just another working day for you and Taehyung’s last chance to redeem himself. You had promised to love him more but he wasn’t going to find out whether it was true or not.

As you walked out of the gate of your apartment complex, hurriedly pulling your coat onto your shoulders, phone in hand fumbling with earphones, Taehyung smiled as he watched you. You were as beautiful as ever. In his eyes, no flaw, no skin colour or figure mattered. He loved you unconditionally, for that precious soul of yours, loving and kind against all the pain you had endured.

He had repeated the same routine for over a week now. Watching you from afar, following you into coffee shops, on the metro and searching for the right time to talk to you. He had never had a problem with that before because he had always hoped for another chance to keep you by his side. Now he felt like a creep when he took a sharp right turn after you at the next corner.

What he couldn't foresee was your unpredictability, the way you turned on your heels, running back to your apartment for something you had left there, you pretty forgetful thing. However, with the intense force you ran into him knocked both of you a bit back. You grabbed on his shirt to steady yourself but as soon as you realized what you had done, you pulled back your hands from the stranger’s clothed chest as if he burnt you while blinking rapidly in your surprise.

"Ah sorry, sir," you apologized profoundly right away and just as you were about to go back on your way, forgetting this incident right after, Taehyung had to stop you. It was now or never because Taehyung was a weak, weak man and if he didn’t do it now, maybe he would never have the willpower in him to tell you those words that crawled up in his throat.

“Hi Y/N,” he greeted you with a gentle almost smile on his eternal face that halted your movements.

“Uhm sorry... Do we know each other?” you clutched onto your bag, doe eyes wide and innocent as you glanced up to his face, to scan through his smooth features, the sharp edges of his jawline and that carmine red of his pushed back hair. He was beyond handsome, he looked like somebody from the movies, Hollywood's recent favourite and a heartthrob. But oh the sincerity of his eyes, it wasn't acting, there were so many emotions swimming in his caramel orbs. Like he had so many things to say and it made you feel uneasy. Was he a long-lost relative or a forgotten childhood sweetheart?

He shook his head, a laugh hanging off from his mouth, crinkles appearing around his eyes. He seemed amused by your confusion or maybe an old memory replayed in his mind. You had no idea how to react, what to say or do, and you needed to go back for your bus pass you left on the kitchen table or otherwise you would be very, very late from work.

“You may not remember me but I know you," finally the stranger spoke up in a light, tentative voice, almost as if he was afraid of scaring you. He didn't seem intimidating but a little bit odd for sure, like a flaw in the well-done machine, the perfection in this imperfect world.

The man's right hand sank into his coat's pocket to fish out something while he put his weight onto the cane in his left. Such a weird sight, a walking tool for a young man like him! And the black winged angel figure as its handle was even weirder.

"I have something to give to you," he added and very tentatively he dropped a golden ring into your palm. He made sure not to touch you and his was the softest plea you had ever heard. "Please take care of it and be happy for me.”

You just stared at the accessory glinting prettily in your hand and you wondered how the metal's touch on your skin could feel so cold but so warm at the same time?

“What... I don’t understand. I can't take it,” you protested but it was all in vain,  the man didn’t let you give him back the expensive-looking band.

Taehyung was staring at you hard, engraving even your smallest details, like the moles under your eyes, into his memory and he shook his head.

“You don’t have to understand,” he said with a faint smile, intertwining his fingers behind his back, “Goodbye, Y/N. I love you, forever and ever.”

You blinked in utter confusion and watched as the handsome man limped away without a word after such a confession. You literally needed to shake yourself awake to move on with your day.

Soon, you forgot about this strange encounter, writing it off as a drunk person mistaken you for someone else. For the longest time, the ring was covered in dust in your drawer and you couldn’t remember anymore how you had gotten it. You wore it often because you liked how simple but pretty it was. You had it on almost always because for the weirdest reasons, it helped to fill that aching void in your chest that just hurt and hurt sometimes. It was like missing something you couldn’t even put your finger on.

A few years later, you fell in love with an English major recreating the most cliché love story about meeting through mutual friends. The two of you moved in together after your university graduations, he proposed on your third anniversary and you echoed I dos a year later. You fought, you made up, and you were the couple everyone envied among your friends. When you were ready to start a family, you both cried in happiness when the pregnancy test came out positive and fast forward eight months, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

You named him Taehyung and loved him endlessly.

Taehyung might have been Lucifer once who became the first and most feared fallen. He might have had power no other cast out angel could have ever imagined but he wasn't almighty. He couldn't defy the laws of fate and the eternal order. He tried to deny God and his teachings, he tried to form the world to his image. It worked, to a certain extent, the doubts and fears of this Earth resembled the chaos in his heart. But there were some things he couldn't change, truth carved into rocks and stones. He tried so hard to create a happy ending for you but now he realized it was impossible if he always came back to you.

According to Seokjin, it was your destiny to be sacrificed for the greater good. That's why you died so many painful and brutal deaths, because it was merely history repeating itself in various shapes and forms. He saved you from one death but he couldn't save you anymore. Fate was ruthless and it demanded back what it was taken away: you. It couldn't be cheated but now, Taehyung was ready to strike a deal.

He wore a long black robe similar to his casual uniform back in Silla when he first came here. He barely batted an eye at the breathtaking scenery seen from the temple he had been in. From this hill, he could almost see the entirety of Seoul, the lively and advanced neo-tech capital city of Korea. He looked at the neon lights, the moon shining from above and he thought: there are worse ways to go. A lot worse.

So he stood there where everything began and taking a deep breath, he waited, finally ready. With his eyes closed, it looked like he was praying, asking God to keep his word. Then he heard the rustling of wings from above, the signs of Seokjin’s arrival. When he turned his head around, the angel sported his usual calm face in white suit attire. White might have been the colour of purity and heaven, but in some cultures, it was the colour of funerals and grief and Taehyung would have liked to think the elder archangel would at least miss him a bit. Since angels couldn't pass the gates of Hell and Taehyung was for sure on his way to the dump of that torturous place, they wouldn’t be able to see each other in the future.

After what happened with Azazel, Taehyung wanted to make sure, the kingdom he built up so cautiously won't fall back down and crumble as soon as he was gone, so he spent the last decades training his successor, one of his most intelligent and loyal demons. He trusted him not to let chaos burn down the world and keep those gates strictly closed. There was only one thing left to do.

“Will you look after her when I’m gone?” he asked hopeful and pride thrown away. The black abyss of his eyes glinted with unsaid worries and the sudden helplessness knocked the air out of his lungs.

“I will,” the angel nodded and he wasn’t the kind to break his promises. Taehyung could be sure he left you in good hands.

“You have been a great friend, Seokjin,” he said quietly, as his last confession. If he could have felt even more guilt, he would have said sorry for being so bad at reciprocating the sentiment but he hoped the elder angel knew that he appreciated his loyalty that stayed strong both to him and the heavens.

“You are welcome, Our Brightest. Rest in peace,” Seokjin whispered, his lovely voice turning into sorrowful as he pulled out an angel blade that shone brightly under the moonlight.

Taehyung closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and braced himself for what was coming. Just as he asked all those years ago when they agreed to end this, Seokjin pierced through the fallen one’s heart in one swift movement. The agony was nothing like he experienced before, at least not in a physical way. It felt similar to losing you again and again. He even saw your fading smile before everything went black. When he fell onto his knees, blood dripping off the blade, it finally ended where it began. Where it should have ended all along.

If you asked now, in that mellifluous voice of yours, curious and timid as always, how many? he would tell you: just one, myself. And as he took the last, painless breath on this Earth, looking at the brightest stars on the night sky, somehow it felt like the right answer.

Being as old as human history, he left nothing but dust behind and yet, it was said that a single red rose would bloom every following spring on the exact spot he bled. Because no matter what anybody said, Lucifer or Taehyung, whatever he preferred to be called, wasn’t evil. Unlike other fallen angels, he didn’t leave his sacred life because of greed or thirst for power. He did it for love, the most powerful force in the universe.

Did the world change when Devil died? you could ask and Seokjin would tell you: yes, it lost a lovesick soul and the sky earned another bright star forever watching over you.

THE END.

I sincerely thank you every single one of you who made it here. I hope you are not disappointed (too much) and enjoyed reading this as much one could bear so much angst. I offer tissues and hugs.

This story basically revolved around Taehyung’s character development. In the first version of the story, he made a demon out of the OC which - I think - would have been a terrible moral decision both on his and my part. So in this final version, he learned to be selfless and who knows, maybe God also thought they deserve a happy ending after everything he put them through (or was it all Taehyung?) Anyway, Taehyung might also reborn as a human, the OC might get a final life and when they meet, neither of them remembers their past. They just fall in love like they were always supposed to be.

If you made it here, I would be delighted to hear your thoughts on the story, any ideas how the story should have ended in your opinion (because I had four different version how the reincarnation ‘curse’ can be broken but none of them was quite happy), your theories about Seokjin (what did he want to achieve all this time?) or you can just call me heartless for making them suffer so much.

Thank you for reading! ♥

[underimagines]

seeing stars

Summary: “Sometimes it’s hard to keep up when your boyfriend is a Superstar. But it doesn’t hurt to have a few tricks up your own sleeve, either.”

2k Commission - Underswap!Napstablook/Napstaton X OC/Reader, for @bigfanofpuns

read it on ao3 / buy me a coffee

                                                          ❤ ❤ ❤

He was spinning circles around you.

You watched his legs switch out, almost comically, from wheel to skates, then back. It kept him on a steady path, swirling perfect figure eights, while you just spun in place, dizzy and unamused. The crowd around you cheered and whooped at his stunts, while you seethed in place, fuming jealously.

“Oh, come on!” You shouted, watching him pull some ridiculous cross between a pirouette and a dab as he passed by you again. “You know I wasn’t made for the ice, Nappy!”

“How else ya’ gonna learn if you don’t try, sugar-wings?” He trilled back, merely giving you a couple of finger-guns in response. “C’mon, babe, feel the heat! Stretch those wings and feel the beat!”

Sometimes your boyfriend could be a real ass, but the fact that he was still encouraging you, even now, showed that he at least wanted you to try. Even if you’d been trying now. For about thirty minutes.

“Bat Monsters weren’t made—!” You started again, but he only lifted a gloved hand in a yapping motion, mocking your complaints.

“For the ice!” He squeaked in a terrible impression of your own voice. “Yeah, I know!! But, like, what’s cooler than being cool, honey buns? Ice cold, duh!! And what’s cooler than ice? Ice-skating?? And what’s cooler than ice-skating???”

He was behind you before you knew it, grasping the claw at the end of your wing to throw you into another spin. You kept spinning even when he let you go, only able to keep your balance by using said wings as leverage. “Skating with your totally awesome, famous rockin’ DJ boyfriend!!!”

You could think of many things. Practicing your aerial acrobatics for one. Those were much simpler—being a Bat Monster, with the wings and all. Spending time with Nappy in his camper, listening to Aaron and Happstablook practicing their vocals. Anything without this crowd—which felt very out of character for you to think, for even a moment, because you loved crowds.

And you loved being loved by crowds. But for now? You were humiliated.

Skating was hard, and without the sort of “upgrades” Nappy was endowed with, you were left to stumble and flail gracelessly around the ring, clinging to your boyfriend’s extendable arms when he got within reach of your wingspan. He seemed to take amusement in your failings, though, spinning and dipping you like you were a puppet on a string, and him the puppeteer. You knew there was no malice in his actions, just support and a need to entertain, but it didn’t make you feel much better.

After all, you wanted to entertain, too! You loved the attention, doing tricks and stunts to make the audience “Ooh!” and “Aah!” at your prowess. It was hard, and kind of hurt sometimes, feeling like you were second-hand to your superstar of a boyfriend, though.

More than anything, though, you wanted to show him up. Give him a little taste of his own medicine, so to say. And you knew just how to do it.

He seemed surprised when you suddenly released him, throwing yourself across the ice in one of the most graceful (and slightly terrifying) maneuvers you’d ever chanced. A single claw pressed to the ice, keeping your arc, the other at an angle to create the illusion of balance. But the real kicker? You pulled in your knee, forcing a twirl, then froze in place, using the span of your wings as leverage to keep yourself in place. The crowd around you gasped in amazement. You saw Napstaton slowing behind you, his screen flashing various colors in what you could only know as “Challenge Mode.”

So be it, then.

In a way, you were both cheating. Him, using his retractable limbs to maneuver his body in ways you’d never expect a robot to be capable of. You, hooking your claws into the ice, sparking frost where you landed, spinning and jumping and leaping. All with the help of your wings to keep a hover that only true professionals would be able to pull-off otherwise.

Playfully, he dipped under you, spinning his robotic legs just beneath your body as you moved into another jump. It almost looked like a dance routine. Felt like one, too. Your wings flapped to keep you afloat as he bounced back up, and before you could see what was happening, he had an arm dragging you against him. It caught you off-guard for a moment and you stumbled, but then he lifted you, spun around, and threw you out with one arm into a twirl.

The crowd around you was steadily growing, and you couldn’t help but laugh, flashing him a gaze of amusement and daring. His screen flashed a little, then reflected a quick heart in your direction, before you were once again tugged to his side. This time you held on, kicking one leg up for dramatic effect.

“Ladies, gents, and gentle-brosephs!” Nappy called out, a microphone in his free hand as he wrapped the other arm around you several more times. Even with how cold it was outside; his metallic body was still warm. Like an engine running on high. And with the way his internal fans were blasting, you knew you’d hit the nail on the head. “Welcome to today’s public pas-de-deux, my dudes! Featuring your local Monster Superstar and his totally rad gal, the Stupendous Zhara!”

A loud round of applause and whistling came from all around you, and beneath your fur you could feel the heat of a blush building up. Then came the camera flashes, a few people moving around like they were recording, and you started to shiver in excitement. Oh man, you’d forgotten how nervous the crowds could make you, despite how much you loved them. But still, you clung to your boyfriend, forcing a bright smile for the audience as they snapped pictures and cheered for an encore.

Your balance and peace of mind lasted for only a moment, however, before you felt the arm around your waist tighten, coil, and fling you upwards. With a squeak of fright and confusion, you let your wings spread, catching yourself momentarily to float downwards into what looked like a sudden explosion of glittery smoke and laser lights. Ohmygod, was he doing that? Here??

Apparently so, because the glimmer of his shades could be seen twinkling even through the smoke. All around you the crowd let out squeals of excitement. The presence of “the great and incredible” Napstaton EX always seemed to have that effect on people, no matter how many times they’d seen him on tv or not. Your ears twitched as your boyfriend’s voice boomed across the rink, several tones deeper than it’d previously been, and much louder.

“YO, WELCOME TO THE SHOW, BABES!!”

His hand snapped up out of the smoke, and you took it, letting him twirl you around so that you were both posing. “LET’S TURN UP THE HEAT, SHALL WE?”

Oh my god, this was so exciting!

Your first live performance! And not just the silly joking around you’d been doing before, now people had their phones out. Snapping pictures, recording you, jumping around and screaming in a way that gave you a flash of how Nappy must have felt on stage. You were so nervous, but at the same time, filled with a sense of determination. Nothing could bring you down right now, not even your inability to keep a steady foot on the ice. Because you had your wings to help you, and now that you’d gotten used to it, you were sure that…this? This was going to be your chance to prove yourself. To really show them all what you were made of.

He gave you a mischievous grin—one that you returned in earnest. And that’s when the show truly began.

You weren’t sure where the music was coming from, but a good guess was telling you it was from the speaker’s lodged in your boyfriend’s chassis. The moment he released your claws, you let it fly. Literally.

It was freezing out, but the heat burning in your chest was a wildfire, spreading from the soles of your feet to the tips of your wings. Heat, passion, exhilaration. You loved it all, and the steady thump of your SOUL was quickening to a pace that made you feel like if you turned at the wrong moment, you’d dust right then and there. But you knew that it wouldn’t actually happen. It was more of a “you were just so thrilled that you felt like you were going to burst into a million pieces” type of dusting than a “someone had just actually murdered you” kind of dusting.

So you dipped low, crossing your feet at an angle that made your wings umbrella the rest of your body. You could see Nappy gyrating behind you, twisting his arms into ridiculous shapes that made the crowd roar with laughter and applause. Then he stopped, just as the music dipped into a low crescendo. You kept spinning, faster and faster. The crowd cheered louder in anticipation, taking up a steady chant of “Yo! Yo! Yo! Yo!” (One of Napstaton’s catchphrases, and a definite regular you heard being yelled out all throughout his performances.)

With a shove, you pushed yourself airborne, spreading your wings as wide as they could go. The weight on your back as you let them fold inwards sent you plummeting. It was terrifying at first, but just as the beat dropped, you landed straight in Napstaton’s waiting arms. One of his legs kicked out on the ice, the other bent so low beneath him that you could see the reverberations of the music making the rink pulse.

The crowd exploded to life, bursting into applause so loud that your ears popped.

You heard a couple of people scream out for Napstaton’s attention, but then again, you also heard people calling for you. For you. Asking for tricks, poses, autographs, and pelting you with so many questions that your head felt like it was spinning. The high from your show still had your SOUL pulsing a mile a minute, and all you could manage in response was a flustered cacophony of giggling and gasping. What a wonderful experience—now if only you could calm your nerves enough to give the crowd the encore they were asking for.

Trying to steady your breathing as best you could, you tucked your wings in, clutching your chest and attempting to spit out something other than the high-pitched chitters spewing from your muzzle. Your wings ached from the cold, and suddenly it was like all the energy had been drained from your body. Despite all your practicing, it seemed you still had some ways to go before you could be a real live-performer (at least, on a regular basis), like Nappy was. He posed dramatically as he pulled you against him, while the cameras flashed so brightly that you could hardly see. You stumbled, exhausted, and collapsed against him.

“Don’t you worry, sugar-wings, I gotcha.” He whispered against your ear. “How was that—hype enough for ya, or are ya up to an encore?”

Your legs were trembling, and you felt like you were going to pass out, but you nodded anyway. “Gotta give the crowd what they want!”

He stared into your eyes for a long, lingering moment, then chuckled. “Alright, darlin’, let’s give ‘em all a good, rad conclusion to this little show, eh?”

Your legs flailed when he suddenly dipped you, so low that the tips of your ears brushed against the ice. Then, without warning, he kissed you.

It was deep, passionate…and obviously a show for the crowd. You heard a lot of feminine screaming and cooing. You rolled your eyes, but when he pulled back, you couldn’t help but melt under the dopy grin plastered across his face, your SOUL pulsing with warmth.

“Now how’s that for seeing stars?”

                                                         ❤ ❤ ❤

Thank you so much for the commission, darling! I hope you enjoy it !! ❤

[chocosvt]

photo cred

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 2K. ⚬ warnings: reader intoxication, and like, one sexual innuendo. ⚬ genre: lots and lots of fluff.

— ✧✎ synopsis: maybe it wasn’t your most responsible decision to drink at the company dinner party, but at least seungcheol is there to care for you and take you home before things get out of hand.

Seungcheol stumbled sideways whilst his attention was focused on waving a few of his band members and staff goodbye, the cause for his messy steps being none other than yourself, your legs feeling less stable than stilts, eyelids weighed down by the hangover that most definitely haunted your future. The boy’s arm was slipped quite tight around your waist, the smile that bloomed upon his lips betraying the effort it took for him to hold you still.

By now he’d managed to contact a cab and incessantly apologize for leaving the dinner party early, though no one could fault him after being exposed to your drunken state.

Attending the dinner party had been an honour for you, seeing as you possessed a deep reverence toward Seungcheol and his rather exhausting profession. Even better yet, you were invited as his date, though it was safe to say both of you had yet to confess anything kindled from the heart. As you sat in front of the makeup mirror running a brush through your straightened locks, you promised yourself to be on incredibly prim behaviour despite the temptation that may exist in the form of skinny champagne glasses and jade green bottles. Your own job had been pounding the spark out from your skin and you were keening to just let loose for a single night.

But tonight is not that night;

You told yourself. Well, you should have known that partaking in Soonyoung’s lilt for a few shots was a damn mistake. The dinner party was nowhere near done when you began slamming your napkin of utensils against the table in an imaginary game of whack-a-mole and you were most certainly garnering peculiar stares from the corner table when you threw a loaf of garlic bread at Junhui’s ass.

Once you’d gotten past those shiny amber shots, there was no stopping you. Seungcheol tried numerous times to fiddle your third champagne glass away from your fingers, Hansol biting his lip with eyes crinkled in contained laughter whilst Chan was slowly moving toward the chocolate strawberry fountain near the corner, swiftly trying to disassociate himself from the group.

“I think she needs someone to take her home.” Jihoon hissed when you stopped one of the waiters to straighten his bowtie. Seungcheol felt his cheeks crackle like an evening bonfire, faded coral hues creating softness to his pretty face, the prettiest a face could be when one was trying to weasel off Jisoo’s shoe to boast Smashmouth. Despite Seungcheol feeling rather embarrassed with your intoxication, he didn’t hesitate to rise from his seat and gather you close to him so you couldn’t bother the poor Jisoo who was still waiting for his halibut to cool.

“I’ve got her.” The charcoal haired boy assured his table, stroking a hand down your arm when you attempted reaching for another waiter. You were quite the bubbly, laughter-infused drunk tonight. Seungcheol doubted he’d ever seen you so loose. One thing was for certain, the constant teeth grinding and hiding face in rounded wine glasses came to an end once Seungcheol lead you from the table and toward the coat racks, his pale green bomber jacket encompassing your bare shoulders to keep you warm from the chilled breeze huffing along the night streets.

“Seungcheol, your coif makes you look like a milk boy.” You gargled, obviously with much more of a slur to your words. He curled his lips in amusement and steadied you at the hips to zip up his jacket.

“I’ve never thought of it like that.” He stated simply.

You crinkled your nose. “You must be blind, blind as a bat. Bat, cat, hat, mat, whack!” And before the dutiful boy could let go of the zipper, you gave him a stern pat on his head, a surge of laughter getting stuck in your throat and rasping out like you were choking on sandpaper. Whilst slightly taken aback and disoriented, Seungcheol quickly grasped for you so the coat rack didn’t tumble over, his hand snug at your wrist, his face flaring up once again.

“Well now my coif is ruined, [Y/N].” He breathed warily and before you could perform repeated misconduct for the whole restaurant to peak at, he gave a half-hearted wave to his table and raced out the door, your frame held secure to his side, cheek budging against his broad shoulder. Perhaps the night’s fresh air would cleanse your mind even just a tiny amount. During his phone call with the local taxi service Seungcheol had to keep lowering your hands from his stomach, a taut smirk twitching on his lips that he desired to hate because he should not be enjoying your exploring hands, you needed to be home safe.

“It’s hard!” You exclaimed after speeding past his grip. “You have abs!”

Seungcheol’s face drained to an ivory as the woman on the phone line replied with, “I don’t have abs?” To which he sat you down on the bench behind him and hastily wrapped up the call.

“You’re going to give me grey hairs.” He teased, the coolness clinging to the air like cobwebs much more soothing for him than you.

“That would ruin your milk boy coif!” You bellowed without a care in the world if they could hear you from inside the restaurant, if they could hear you from down the street or even from the next town over.

Seungcheol couldn’t help but think it was a little awkward seeing you so open despite your close relationship. You were always wound tighter than a spring due to stresses brewing at work, and in addition to the boy’s hectic schedule that demanded his presence daily you were left without much opportunity to relax. But he also felt a warmth brush his chest that simply imbued his urge to care for you, to act as the one who was capable of protecting and calming you. His heart may have grown a little larger for you that night.

“You don’t know that. I could look great with a grey hairstyle. I’d be the coolest milk boy ever dontchya think?”

You closed your eyes to slits as though you were in a pious musing. “I guess. You’d still be hot. I’d definitely be up for receiving your milk if you know what I me—,”

Seungcheol clenched his jaw in a flurry. “Oh yup, yup yup yup I definitely get what you mean, and would you look at that, I think I see the cab coming! Wow, that was quick. I love how fast they are nowadays with all this transport stuff and trains and planes and automobiles and—,”

Anything to get you away from that type of drunk.

Seungcheol breathed a deep sigh stitched with relief once you’d exited the cab’s backseat, a distinct echo dispersing into the night as the yellow vehicle fled down the street. He easily remembered the location of your extra house key, his eyes flooding with luminous shards at collecting the copper from underneath a flower pot. You weren’t so touchy and uncontrollable now, allowing Seungcheol to steer your inside until he lay you down atop your comfy bed bundled with a fuzzy blanket. Very carefully the boy worked to unstrap your heels, another lump of weight of crumbling from his shoulders as he thanked the heavens you didn’t break an ankle.

After setting the shoes back inside your closet, he stood and faced your form lax across the bedsheets, your brows slightly pinched together, eyes screwed shut and a palm encasing your forehead. There was no way he could simply waltz out the door with your state so fragile and most likely delirious. He realized he may have to stay the night. There was risk in catching hot water from his manager; however the more Seungcheol continued to analyze your body with his oakwood eyes he knew it would be impossible for him to leave you. So, with a pursed lower lip, Seungcheol slipped off his suit jacket until his crisp white button-up remained.

“Cheol, are you still there?” You whined whilst stretching your arm throughout the air, eyes still locked shut. The boy smiled softly and approached the bed, interlocking your fingers.

“Yes, I’m right here, [Y/N]. But I think I’m gonna need to remove your makeup so you don’t smudge your pillow case. Are you okay with that?” He posed as though your mind was uncluttered enough to be candor. You cracked an eye open.

“Totally. But my pillow case isn’t wearing makeup.” There was such a thick innocence to your tone Seungcheol couldn’t even muster a guttural sigh. In lieu he let his head drop and a chuckle escape his lips, his fingers detaching from your hand to lightly shake your chin.

“Your remover stuff is in the bathroom cabinet right?”

“You can’t remove my bathroom!”

To which the boy began exploring the cabinets anyways. Once he’d collected a package of makeup removal tissues and some moisturizer, Seungcheol made room for himself on the bed; his legs crisscross as he leaned over your face. Though the boy alerted you he was about to begin washing off your makeup, you still gasped when the cold tissue made contact with your heated skin,  almost making Seungcheol get the tissue in your mouth.

“Try to not talk,” He suggested in a gentle voice, “Pretend you’re in a school assembly and if you talk you get a bunch of homework.” His fingers returned to hold a feather light grasp on your chin, the tissue turning colour with the product it was absorbing.

Your mind may have been enchanted by the alcohol coursing a scarlet wildfire through your veins, but you were still conscious enough to process that Seungcheol’s face so close to yours was worthy of a butterfly storm in your stomach. He has the kindest features; round, rich brown eyes that glimmered like water catching sunlight, pillow-like lips cast in subtle curving and rose pink, his styled hair beginning to loosen and wave abstractly against his forehead. Your eyelids fluttered shut when the cool cloth met the delicate flesh, pulling off the warm toned eyeshadow and liquid wings.

Knowing your drunk self, if you didn’t intercept now you’d probably loop a hand to the back of his neck and push him down for a soft kiss.

“I’ll just watch A Bug’s Life in my head then.” You mumbled around the tissue tracing your nose.  

Sooner or later your face was shining in its natural dewiness, a few flaws breaking through in minor inflammation, though they were gingerly reduced as Seungcheol dotted some moisturizer to your skin and smoothed it in with the most attentive ministrations. Finally you seemed to be drifting off, your cheek pressed to the pillow. The boy had even managed to brush your hair back, specifically when you’d almost fell asleep watching Bug’s Life and sucked a few strands into your mouth.

Now he was sure you were really asleep, your chest rising and falling in dulcet patterns. He could only pray for the hangover you’d face the following morning. He figured he could research a panacea or two. Right when Seungcheol was about to rise from his crisscrossed position near your head, cheek to his fist as he scrolled on his phone, waiting to see if you snap awake again, he felt your hand brush his knee.

Your voice seemed much less slurred and your coherency had boosted. “Hey, are you staying?” You questioned with worry lacing your tone. Seungcheol grabbed your hand.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” His chest started swelling when you smiled sweetly at him, your bare eyes blinking in relief that he’d been there to assist your intoxication, that you’d at least have someone to ease your upcoming sickness.

“Nothing. Just, you don’t have to stay… I kinda ruined your night.” But you couldn’t help ponder over if you deserved his company. Seungcheol’s eyes suddenly widened at the disappointment in your words, knowing you’d absolutely beat yourself up over drinking too much and acting out before his managers. Silently, he took the back of your hand to his mouth and placed a reassuring kiss overtop, his lips curling in limerence. Your cheeks felt as though they were burnt with a cattle prod, the pain developing in your skull now soothed transiently.

“Don’t worry about that now, I promise you it’s okay, [Y/N].”

“But I—,” Your protest was quickly silenced.

“Nope, nope nope,” Seungcheol chuckled, “You need to rest. You’re gonna have a hellish morning.” Immediately you began grumbling, not wanting to picture yourself slumped against the cold tiling in the bathroom. Taking in a slow breath of Seungcheol’s clean scent, you figured there could be a peachy side.

“I know… But if you’re staying… It won’t be that awful.” You spoke close to a whisper, eyes twinkling past their hazy film as you pulled your intertwined hands toward your mouth, returning Seungcheol’s affection by kissing his knuckles. The charcoal haired boy smiled lopsidedly into his lap, his heart encompassed in cotton, thumping in stuttered bursts for none other than you.

— ✧✎ a/n: mi hart :-(( lms if u think a bug’s life deserved an oscar.

last fic » hush

[emberglowfox]

hey I did that fighter’s block thing at 1 in the morning here’s what I’ve got

words: 2k    prompt: space

KSSSSSSSCH. My scream goes mute as the air is sucked out of the room like a magnet and I'm hurled out of the familiar white walls into the vast empty vacuum of space. No. No, no, no. I force my eyes open, ignoring the dead-cold chill gnawing at my limbs as I flail hopelessly, body shooting through antigravity farther and farther away from the transport ship. My lungs burn like a flame is eating them inside, stealing any oxygen I desperately gasp for. But there is nothing, except me, my imminent death, and the rapidly shrinking blip of white in the distance. I scramble for the emergency oxygen tank on my angle, fingers fumbling with the nylon strap as my vision starts to blur with black spots and my head spins. With a weak yank, I tug it out and stick the plastic end into my mouth, biting hard. Fresh air flows into my mouth and I heave in a long breath, eyes squeezed shut and lungs relishing every tiny bit of sweet oxygen. As quickly as I can, I slow my breathing and put my free hand to my head, knocking on the headset. I can hear nothing but static, which I guess is better than hearing absolutely nothing at all. I am in an endless void, populated by a billion trillion stars, blinking at me as if to say, 'What are you doing here? You don't belong here.' I let out a long, slow breath, limbs shaking from the cold of space and the fear. The fear. It's mind-numbing, blinding my senses to rational thoughts and repeating a mantra of death. 'You're going to die out here', it says, and I honestly believe this time that it's right. No one survives being sucked out of an airlock. Not even with a reserve oxygen tank. With the tank, I have about 30 minutes of breathing if I really gauge myself. And that's if I last that long before the chill freezes me completely and I'm left an icy shell of a human hurtling through the vast abyss of space. I am the only thing for miles. No one can see me. No one can hear me. I close my eyes and picture the warm orange walls of the home where I grew up. I can almost smell the cinnamon sugar and my mom whistling an old tune from the radio as bars of sunlight creep up the far wall. I can almost feel the soft bristles of the rug in the living room, sprawled out staring at the textured ceiling. I can almost see her face, eyes crinkled at the corners and face dotted with faded freckles and flowers as she tells me to help her. But it's just an 'almost'. It's like reaching for the light at the bottom of the ocean, knowing you're doomed to drown as it slowly fades away. I will never see mom again. My breathing starts to pick up, and I hastily slow it down. What should I do now? What can I do? Last words. Final will in testament. I'll die out in the vast abyss of space where no one knows my name. No one will care. ...But still. If they recover my body somehow; to mom I give my helmet. I spent days upon days, years upon years to get it. She knows its worth, not just in money but in my sweat and blood. It is the testament to how far I've come, as one of the first humans riding the frontier of space travel. Let's see.... To my older sister I give my camera. It's a polaroid, and old, old thing, but it still works. She always wanted to use it, anyways. To my younger brother, I give my pen. It has the Archenvaak insignia on it. I know he'd love to study it and the strange glowing ink it contains. To Vanessa I give my book of flowers. It contains pressed petals from across the far reaches of the galaxy, from small to large. I sure bet it beats that run down flower shop. I laugh, wasting valuable air, but I'm beginning to no longer care. Talking about my own death this way, it's... Strangely calming, in a way. Knowing that I'll be able to live on in the memories of my loved ones is a small but gentle comfort in this icy grave. To Alexander I give the old crown from the neighbor's fence that we stole when we were kids. It's still in my closet on the upper shelf, unless someone moved it. It's rusty, but still as shiny and prestigious as it was when we nicked it off of Mr. Mitchel's wooden fence all those years ago. To Gloria, I give my locket. It still has the picture of us at the river, chubby-faced, muddy, and grinning, perfectly enclosed within it. It smelled like metal and earth when I left it, and I hope it still does. And last but not least, to my dad. To my dad, I give the letters. Dozens of letters, never sent from a child who knew better than to expect a response. I don't know how they'll get them to you. Maybe I can show you them myself in a little bit. I open my eyes again, checking the pressure gauge. I have about ten minutes left. Final will and testament is down. Any last words? Last words. Last words. The last words I'll ever say. I really am going to die, aren't I? Then there's the tears. Big wet globs, pulled off of my face by momentum and frozen into shards moments later, leaving a trail of glittering diamonds through the black. I hiccup and sob and sniffle, rubbing my eyes as my oxygen tank begins to blip in a warning. I stop, blinking and hoping my eyes don't freeze over. I can no longer feel my legs or my lower arms. I can merely wobble my arms and head like a broken marionette. Even in death, I am helpless. Where was I. Last words. I have nothing to say. There is no one at my bedside to comfort me. No young children crying as I pass. It's just me, young and bright, in the emptiness of the one thing I always wanted to visit. I made my life goal to visit space, and it responded by stealing my final breath. A strange world, isn't it? Last words. What do you even say? What can be said to make anyone feel better, especially yourself? Words are powerful, they say, but they cannot alter what is. I guess that's true now. The oxygen tank blips again. 3 minutes left. Breathing is becoming harder, and my lungs fight against the increasing pressure for air. I start to feel lightheaded. I can no longer feel my arms. My mind begins to fill with a heavy fog. It's gentle and soft, not at all choking and harsh as I once feared it might be. Thoughts become obscured until they eventually drift away, no longer important. I think of mom for maybe the last time, and her words come to me. Not her words, her song. I came into this world with her song, it's only fitting that I left with it. I take a deep breath that I cannot afford and hum into the echoing canister to no one. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." I cannot hear myself, but I can feel the vibration of the metal against my lips. "You make me happy when skies are gray." Beep beep. 1 minute remaining. "You'll never know dear... How much I love you." I struggle desperately to inhale, seeking anything left. I manage one last breath. "Please don't.... Take.... My... Sunshine... A....Way..." The canister beeps loudly before shutting off. I let it go. It has served it's purpose. The fog drifts ever deeper into my mind, obscuring everything. I can only faintly remember the ship, my job there. I can only faintly remember Ad'zheel, the archenvaak who gave me the pen, xher carapace shining like polished gold. I try to reach back in my memories, but they have drifted away like a dandelion in the wind. Strangely enough, I do not fear. I am no longer afraid. The silence of space, once a terror, is now calming. I slip the headset down to my neck, basking in the numb, loose emptiness. I let my heavy eyelids flutter shut, my lungs feeling thick but not aflame. The cold drips away, replaced entirely by numbness. My final word is goodbye. I do not hear the hum as I go still.

. . .

The light is bright. Blindingly so, like someone is shining a flashlight into eyes that have not seen the sun in years. I squint away, biting my tongue. My lips taste like mint, with a faint touch of copper. I try to look around, but all i can see is pure untainted white. Am I in heaven? I don't know what I expected. I never really delved into the religious side of my thoughts. A figure begins to emerge from the light, a strangely molded blurry shadow. It is odd and out of place, and it appears to be speaking. I can hear it, but ever so faintly. It is like listening to someone speak in a pool of molasses, but blurred further. I cannot make out what it is saying. It turns, and something is shoved to my face. Something far outside of my brain clicks, and I inhale. It's like a light switch has been flipped. Pain roars into my limbs, which are now acutely alive and aware. The light fades, replaced with a slick black interior lit by white lines of glowing material. I am inside a ship. Is heaven a ship? I twist with pain, eyes scrunched up in agony. It's indescribable. It's like being on fire, frozen, pulled apart, and squished together at the same time, but a million times worse. The being is clearly panicked, blinking at me and chittering something in a strange language. It hastily darts out of the room, returning moments later with a package of... Something. Heaven is strange. It pulls open the package, which opens like gel being stretched open. It is not a substance I recognize. Inside are similar substances, but smaller and orb-shaped, the color of amber. The being holds some out to me, and I am confused. It lets out a high whistle and opens my mouth with a leathery claw, the other jamming the things into my mouth. They're horrendously sour, but I swallow. Almost immediately, relief floods me. A jagged breath falls out of my mouth, and I'm hunched over. My senses clear, and I'm immediately alert. I'm in a foreign alien ship just on the brink of death. No, beyond that. The being is chittering incessantly, feathery antennae waving hastily. I do not recognize the creature. It is taller than me, with a thin frame and thick, black, leathery hide. Its head is long and reminds me of a viper, but it has antennae. The rest of its body is layered like chitinous armor, with thick wings reminiscent of a bats and a stubby tail. It has four gleaming orange eyes. I realize my error and quickly pull up the headset from around my neck, flipping the translator switch on. The chittering becomes glitchy, computerized words, but they're understandable. "I was so worried, I found you in the middle of no-where, my life scanners indicated nothing, but now you are alive and-" "Who are you?" I blurt. The being stops and blinks at me. "What?" It's more of a low squeak. "Who are you? What species are you?" The translator feeds them through the microphone, and they become a series of fast clicks. The creature cocks its head. "I did not introduce myself. My apologies. I am Vihkoz, of the Verahzzians." I nod, not understanding at all, but not needing to. "Greetings, Vihkoz." My pronunciation is pitiful, but they do not seem to notice. "I am Amelie of the hu- of the terrans." I pause. "Thank you for saving my life."