#while being shoved head first into a dreadful situation that is horrible for her in particular

[rawliverandgoronspice]

poor impa..... Everything happens to her.................

[ac3id]

Hawk’s eye| 18+

pairings: hawks [keigo tamaki] x female! reader

summary: hawks is in his rut, desperate for some relief. his annoying secretary won’t stop irritating him so he decides to take his pent up frustrations on her.       ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

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anonymous said:

hi!! so while the requests are still open, could you write some headcannons for Hawks x reader when he's in rut? maybe the reader is a bit clueless and doesn't even know he goes through stuff like that? dirty details are welcome 👀❤️

this was high-key inspired by @tainted-wine​‘s this fic. (i hope u like my take on it !! 💓) 

a/n: aaaa this took so much longer than i thought it would take 😭, also thanks @the-grimm-writer  for proof reading this! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) also this is porn w plot so if u just was to skip to da porn. skip to this ‘◌’ bhai 

ALSO THANKYOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS LMAO WTF FOR REAL 😭

tagging: @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa​, @koiibito​, @reinawritesbnha​, @shorkbrian​

warnings: noncon, hate fucking, one slap, she bites his dick at some point, scumbag hawks.

word count:  5862

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The sound of your phone buzzing on the side table with a loud, irritating noise jolts you awake. You roll around on the bed, your fingers reaching to turn the vibrating device off. Groaning, you sit up straight. The warm mattress under you threatens to lull you back to sleep but you shove the thought away instead choosing to stretch your arms over your head and yawn endlessly. You were tired, so goddamn tired. Rubbing your temples lazily you start thinking about the dreadful day you have ahead of yourself. You think about your boss: Hawks, the man who makes you hate your life and job. He has trapped you into a never-ending nightmare which starts the second you open your eyes till the moment you fall asleep and even then he still manages to haunt you in your dreams. 

Cleaning up after his messes, obeying his ever so pliantly. He has turned you into his little pet slave. He says that it’s your job as you are his assistant, his little helper there to make his job a little less hectic. You must listen to his needs and wants and to some degree, you do agree with him: it is your job, it’s what you signed up for after all but you can also sense him misusing his title when he is with you. He never listens to your suggestions which results in him calling you late after work hours to help with his problems knowing damn well you had already warned him beforehand. And, oh his flirty, suggestive comments which borderline sexual harassment. Hawks is a difficult man to work with and you often find yourself wondering how much calmer your life would be if you never worked for him but you do not have that luxury of leaving the job. It pays ridiculously well and you have bills to pay, your family to support. No, you cannot afford to lose this job. So you sit through his torment and hope for the best.

Seconds later after you have gathered your will to live you start scrolling through your phone, skimming through the morning news lazily. Your eyebrows furrow and eyes turn into angry slits as you glance upon a displeasing, astonishing article.

 ‘No. 2 Hero Hawks spotted partying with strippers–’

Your heart stops for a moment.

What the fuck was this? 

You hesitantly read through the article, your heartbeat increasing every second that your eyes focus on the led screen, reading the details of the damned article. Eyes widening as panic settles in your nerves, you realize the gravity of the situation you had found yourself under as Hawks’ manager. Hawks had been spotted partying with strippers in a nightclub with a bunch of celebrities. The crazy stalker who had managed to follow him succeeded in capturing exclusive pictures of Hawks dressed in an expensive suit, his hair styled to perfection dancing under the dim lights of the club with women in basically their underwear shamelessly grinding upon him. You honestly couldn’t have given a single fuck about what Hawks did in his free time but since he had managed to get a paparazzi to tail him and now that his career was at risk; it became your problem. Your first and foremost instinct was to call Hawks and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Not being careful enough, he had managed to taint his entire reputation. The people of Japan now probably viewed him as a reckless party animal rather than the No. 2 Hero! 

Before you could call him, your phone’s screen lights up illuminating a contact you dread. ‘Hero Commission’ it’s written in bold letters, your face drops. Your fingers shake, filled with anxiety as you accept the call. Inhaling and exhaling, you try to calm your nerves. If it is a call from the Commission, you know it’s bad. Bad. 

You pick up the phone and instantly regret it, “What were you doing?” an angry, masculine voice snarls through the screen. You open your mouth to answer but are not given a chance too. “How did you let him go to a strip club during patrol hours?” you bite your lip thinking of an acceptable excuse, “He had to go there for work! It’s a misunderstanding. He went down to the strip club undercover to meet up with a crook to get some intel– that’s what he told me. This is a misunderstanding, I–” your explanation was cut short as the person on the other end of the call deemed it enough. “Whatever it is, fix it and never let this happen again.” he sneers a warning before cutting the call. It wasn’t a complete lie, Hawks did tell you that he was investigating a case on his own and that he would be gaining information from shady people but you did not expect him to go to a strip club out of all places. The worst part: he never even told you in detail anything about this case neither did he notice the paparazzi tailing his back. You sigh in frustration, rubbing your forehead, you quickly ring up his number only for it be sent right to voicemail. You almost scream. Where the fuck was this bastard?

Managing Hawks was not a walk in the park. The hero commission had sent you down especially to be Hawks’ secretary. You had a reputation: you were known to be responsible, diligent, and punctual. You were one of their best, entrusted with the responsibility to manage Hawks and you did a good job but it was Hawks who just made the job so hard. 

Creating problems he could never solve by himself; on lucky days you would get a call from him at three in the morning, him begging you to come to help him. You want to say no, deny him any help. Let him suffer by himself but you cannot do that. If he screws up and you are not there to fix it. You lose your job, you can’t afford that. You give your 100%, you do but it’s Hawks. He has a problem with you, well, he has a problem with everyone in the commission but projects it mainly at you. He does not respect you. 

He chooses to ignore your decisions and suggestions, diminishing them with a cruel chuckle, “Look, I need you but just not now.” He would say with an apologetic smile, “just let me work at my own pace, I will call when I will need you. After all, I love seeing your cute face.” You would always have to force yourself from not slapping his smug face before he took off into the bright, blue sky.

The truth untold, it wasn’t his fault completely either. He was just so fast. It was hard for anyone to keep up with him and since he did his job right; bringing peace to the nation you could not deem him worthless. But it still was a bother at times like this when you were left completely in the dark while Hawks ruined his hard-earned reputation. 

You got into the building earlier that morning to wait for Hawks in his office, you needed to talk to him. This was not his first mishap. Not long ago, another article about him shamelessly flirting with a fan had been published. It had said the fan was visibly uncomfortable with him but Hawks didn’t seem to care, he kept presting. You had managed to cover it up as the two being close friends who were publicly joking around, there was no real harm done. It was a lie though, you had to pay the fan a large check to keep her mouth shut. She accepted the money and the story was lost and forgotten but you had no idea how you were going to cover this hell up.

The clock struck nine as the day began, people rushing into the building all tensed but there was no sign of Hawks. You tried calling him on his number but the call directed to voicemail yet again. You were growing impatient, did something happen to him? Sure Hawks fucked things over sometimes but he never disappeared like this. It got you genuinely worried. Something horrible could have happened to him. After all, he was on a case. 

You waited for another thirty minutes and there was yet no sign of him. His sidekicks came knocking on his office door only to be surprised to see you there instead of their boss. You told them to continue with their day and not worry about Hawks, he was just awfully late. Not a big deal, he will be here soon. Soon. 

Another hour passed by, no sign of Hawks and about now your phone was blowing up with angry calls from his sponsors and business partners, screaming at the top of their lungs frowning upon the scandal. Heck, even Endeavor called you after he couldn’t reach Hawks himself. The call made you nervous as anxiety crept in yet again. Hawks wasn’t answering to Endeavour something bad must have happened. Getting tired of the wait, you make up your mind to drop by his penthouse and to go see him for yourself. His silence was driving you crazy and worried at the same time, you just hoped he would be there well and safe. You could not imagine the ruckus that would create if something were to happen to him. 

You walked out of his office after waiting for an hour. Rushing down to the basement you got into your car and before driving away to his house. Just before leaving, you decided to test your luck by calling him. Hoping, praying he would answer this time and luckily he did .

“Hawks!” you cried, a wave of relief washing over you, “Where are you? What are you doing?” you began pestering him with questions, not letting him answer even once. Hawks, tired of waiting,  interrupted your monologue of questions with a chuckle. “Aw, you’re worried about me, baby?” his tone was low and mischievous, the sentence slurring almost into a moan at the last word. You rolled your eyes and clenched your fists in irritation, you weren’t new to his teasing. Hawks thought it was appropriate for him to casually flirt with his secretary. Send unasked comments about your figure, perverted implications about what he would do to a ‘cute little thing like you’ which made you very uncomfortable being around him at times. But it wasn’t that what made him get on your last nerves. It was the fact that he could even think about joking at a time like this which made you furious. 

You screamed into the phone, giving him a piece of your mind. Degrading him for not taking care of himself, complaining about how he had managed to put you in such a tight spot. 

“Once again I am asking, where the fuck are you. Hawks?” you ended your speech with spite in your words. Hawks sighed, “I am in the office,” he says your name with an edge in his voice, instantly shutting you down, “Where the hell are you?” The smugness in his tone remains and you can tell he is smirking on the other side of the screen as if he’s won. You hang up abruptly before walking out of your car and into the building, hurriedly making your way towards Hawk’s office. 

You slam the door open glaring upon hawks as he sits behind his table. Dirty boots resting pliantly on the shiny, polished wood. His wings out, stretched to their fullest, filling up the room standing on high alert. They have a deeper hue to them, they look darker– a darker red. How did that happen? You find yourself wondering. Is he on drugs? His face is tilted upwards, facing the ceiling. Eyes screwed shut. They open as he hears you enter and walk towards him, his wings falling back behind him calm and collected. 

“You’re late,” he says with a smirk, you bang your fist on the table beside where his feet rest, making him flinch and bring them down instinctively. His eyes widened in shock, he was not expecting you to be this furious. Sure, he knew he knew he had gotten you mad but he was not expecting you to be this angry. Without any hesitation, you start scolding him again. He watches you ramble in ominous glee. A poker face masking his expression, he watches you trot about how much trouble he is in. His job is to protect meek and weak citizens who cannot fight for themselves, what he was doing in a strip in the name of business is something you cannot grasp your head around. You repeat your lecture which you had already tortured him over the phone while the entire time Hawks drums his fingers underneath the table, waiting for you to get over with your dumb speech. His eyes trail on your lips, watching it move. Plump, pillow-like features tinted dark red ramble on about how much of an irresponsible person he was. Complaining about how much trouble he puts you through daily. Honestly, he doesn’t quite catch what you were saying. His mind busy imaging you shutting the fuck and letting him get through the day– or better yet how pathetic you would look underneath him while he shoves his dick down your throat. The thought makes his cock throb. His eyes change from an unbothered, bored look to something sinister as they start trailing all over your body. His eyebrows slightly furrow as he catches up on the few degrading terms you throw at him. 

You talked too much. Way too much, do you realize how much better you would look if you keep your pretty, little mouth shut? The entire time, it’s always: Hawks don’t do this, Hawks don’t do that. Don’t you ever get tired? He wonders whether your dumb little brain had any thoughts other than the ones which tell you to irritate him all the time. You should shut up, really stop talking. He might do something bad, he’s already stressed enough as it is being in his rut and having no way to relieve himself, he is going through a rough time here. The other night he escaped to a strip club in hopes of relieving some stress and it had worked but it had also brought along a mind splitting scandal.

The entire morning, Hawks was busy avoiding people. Whether it be his fans, reporters, or even someone he knew; he paid no mind to them trying to get to the office as soon as possible to deal with the mess he had created.

It wasn’t his fault entirely, he was in his rut and needed sexual relief which he was finding very hard to receive. With his work piling up and you breathing down his neck, he couldn’t even take represents as they slowed him down. He couldn’t risk falling asleep on duty. A stupid, little headline about what he does in his free time was much more favorable than a failed mission in which he would let countless innocent lives slip by his fingers. 

He watches you ramble, his eyes trailing over your body locking on your tits. He stares at them intensely, watching them bounce slowly every time you huff out of irritation and frustration. Your work shirt works him favors, the white almost translucent material shows off the slightest shadow of your black, lacy bra. It’s enough to get him going- imaging how your soft mounds would feel in his hands. How you would whimper under his touch as he tugs and pulls on your perky nipples, you probably wouldn’t sound as monstrous as you do right now. Your moans would be girlish, small whimpers would leave your lips as you would try your best to cover them up. You would try to hide your face under his assault but he wouldn’t let you, pinning you down instead and forcing himself on you while you cried for him to stop. Beg for his mercy. 

He can feel his jeans tighten. 

“So please, Hawks. Just be a little more responsible.” you finish, your voice turning into a plea. He hums and apologizes for his impulsive thinking, like always, he is not sorry. “Let's fix this mess, what do you say?” he asks with an apologetic grin, trying to be polite. You on the other hand don’t even spare him a glance, walking right out the door instead. It leaves him very offended. 

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“Ah! What a troublesome day it was,” Hawks chimes in walking into his office with you closely following behind, “It was all your fault.” you spit making hawks chuckle, “Whatever happens, happens for the good.” he says, a scoff leaves your lips, “What was good about that?” you ask annoyed. “I get to have you alone with me now~” Hawks winks at you making you roll your eyes dramatically. Both of you stand together in Hawks’ office after hours. The day is done, everyone in the agency building has taken their leave excluding the two of you. It had been a long day fixing up after Hawks. You were tired and all you wanted was a warm bath and some sleep. 

“Do you want to know why it happened?” Hawks asks out of the blue, “What happened?” you question, “Why was I at the strip club?” you sigh, “I don’t give two shits about your personal life, Hawks.” replying sternly. A look of disappointment arises on his face, “It’s actually more than that, really, I u-uh have this condition- it gets very hard to work during these times-”

 “What are you even talking about?” You interject confused and clueless. You turn to him, a glare evident on your face you stare at him sheepishly. What was he on about now?

“I am serious, I went into my rut, and that's why I went to the strip club-” “Into a what?” Hawks’ eyes widened, were you really that clueless? “A rut, [y/n],” he says like it is a matter of fact, something everybody is aware of. “A rut. You know like how some animals go into heat and they-” your face scrunches as he explains his rut to you, you visibly grow more and more repulsed. Hawks studies you face, his heart genuinely breaking at your expressions. “Why are you telling me this?” you screech, “jeez Hawks, I did not need to know any of that!” you continue. 

Hawks is hurt, he accepted a reaction which showed more concern. Maybe he went a bit too far imagining that you would offer him help but seeing you so disgusted by him shattered his heart and made him lose all his respect for you. You were a terrible human being, no different from those villains he put behind the bars every day. “I am telling you all of this because- this actually happens!  Many- fuck- millions of people like me actually suffer from this shit! You should be a little more emphatic.” he reasons. He accepts you to understand at least now but you gloriously manage to disappoint him yet again. A rude snarl leaves your lips followed by a scoff, “What are you really trying to tell me Hawks? That you don’t want to do your job and to justify your laziness; you are making lame excuses now?” you shove a finger to his chest, it pushes him off the edge. 

Something in his snaps, he looks down where your fingertip touches his chest. You are smaller than him, he’s at least a foot bigger than you. Where does your bratty, puny self get all this confidence from? His eyes darken as something sinister floats within him. He stares down at your finger, wanting to rip it off. He wants to see you cry. He wants to see you in pain and misery, suffering a great deal while nobody comes to help you. 

“Hawks, you know what? I am so done with your bullshit. I am leaving.” You turn away from him, heading to the door but before you could move a step. Hawks grabs you by writs, caging your delicate hand into a bone-crushing death grip, “What the fuck?” you question, “Hawks?” you continue. You wait for his response, turning to him. He is facing the floor, his hair scanning over his eyes making it impossible for you to read his expression, not that you could read what was going on with him normally but now; it’s even harder. “Are you going to let go?” you ask again only to be met by him squeezing your wrists even tighter. You bring your other hand over him to pry yourself free from his clutches but he doesn’t want to let go. 

“Hawks wha-” you don’t get to complete your statement as Hawks pushes you down on the floor making you fall on your butt. You let out a loud hiss. You frown, yelling out “What is wrong with you!?” You try to stand back up but his hands settle on your shoulder pushing you back down. You try fighting but it’s to no use. Did you forget he is the no. 2 Pro- Hero? He is much stronger than you, he brings down villains twice his size daily. What makes you think your weak kicks and punches will be enough to beat him? 

You keep struggling under him, screaming how you were going to report him and ruin his career, how he is going to be sorry for messing with you.

 “Shut. Up.” he finally speaks, he brings his gloved hand to your perfectly styled hair. Pulling tightly on your roots he stretches your face upwards, making it easier for him to look down on you while you cry in agony, “Stop crying.'' His voice is deep and raspy, much different from how he usually talks. You look up at him, fear swimming in your eyes as tears prick at the corners of your sockets, lips trembling. If you already weren’t terrified enough, your horror becomes tenth fold when you see his boner raging in his pants, “Come, on. Hawks..” your voice is small and weak, it's a broken cry. You know what he is going to make you do. He was going to violate you, break you beyond repair. 

This was so wrong. As much you hated Hawks, you never would have thought he would do something like this. Hawks was a hero. He is meant to fight for justice, punish evil. Why is he doing this? “Hawks no. Please. Was it something I said? I take it back I didn’t mean it-” 

“You know, y/n, you are not so different from those villains yourself,” if looks could kill, you would be dead. The pure, anger, and hatred he looks at you with bothers you. It makes you hate yourself, there is something sinister in his eyes which makes you sure about the fact that he is not afraid of hurting you. He has given up on you, after all, his polite gestures, generosity you always ignored- he’s fed up with your sheer ignorance and your ego. He hates you. He does and heck if he wasn’t in his rut; he would never bring his dick anywhere near you. He does not respect you as a human and in no way does he have any romantical attachment to you. All he ever saw was a walking alarm clock, bugging him every second, and now all he is going to see you as is his cocksleeve whom he can stuff his fat cock into whenever and however he seems fine. To him you are just a walking hole he can ruin whenever he wants to, you have managed to get on his bad side and he is going to show you his bad side.

He undoes his belt, his pants falling to his thighs displaying his expensive boxers and his growing hardness. His cock is throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His free hand pulls his boxers down and his cock springs free, hitting his abdomen. It stands long and hard, the tip blushed red and angry, tiniest bit of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit. He pumps his cock in his hand before forcing it against your mouth, pressing it to your lips smearing his pre all over your lips. You whimper in protest, moving your head the littlest you can under his tight grip. “Bitch open up. You had this coming for a long time,” his dick slaps your cheek while his fingers try to pry open your mouth. Pushing his gloved digits forcefully into your mouth, the rough fabric feels disgusting on your tongue. His fingers capture the lower part of your jaw, tearing your mouth apart with deranged strength. A loud cry escapes from you as he stuffs your empty mouth full of his cock, “Yeah, that’s more like it. Fuck.” he bottoms out into your throat, his shaft hitting the back of your throat making you gag, “get on with it. A slut like you would have the experience, right?” he taunts you. You do as he says, puckering your lips firmly around his length, your hands resting on his exposed thighs while you stroke him with your tongue. You feel his chiseled thigh muscles flex under your fingers as he melts in pleasure, tiny moans leaving his lips shamelessly. 

As Hawks drowns in overwhelming pleasure, a criminal idea crosses your mind. Your eyes trail up to his face. His eyes are screwed close, he bites his lower lip softly. Carefully and slowly, you graze your teeth over his cock. Clamping down on it lightly, you hold your position. Your heart beats faster when Hawks stiffens and in a quick flash, he pushes you off his cock throwing you into the ground before backing up, squealing in pain.

 “YOU LITTLE BITCH!” he screams, you sprint to the door. Trembling fingers try to unlock the doorknob while Hawks cries in agony behind you. You can feel him loom behind you, ready to come for your neck. A part of you tells you that you will not make it but the adrenaline rushing in your veins calls to be hopeful. Just open the door and just run. 

Your cold, quivering fingers almost unlock the heavy wooden door but before you can push it open. Hawks appears right behind you, pushing his body onto your back. You feel his cock poking at your ass, his hand grabs your head pulling you, prying you off the door. You scream and cry trying to break free, grabbing his hand clawing on it to let you free. Hawks chooses to show no mercy as he drags you by your hair to his desk, your scalp hurts from his grip. You can feel tiny strands breakaway. He turns you around and slams your back to his wooden desk, you whimper at the contact. He stands in front of you, pressing his knee between your thighs. His hand reaches out to pull at your collar, forcing you to look at him. 

He is livid, eyebrows furrowed with a death glare his jaw clenched, and his eyes darker than you have ever seen before. He looks at you with murderous intent, you think he might as well kill you with his wings flared open. The feathers turning into knives, you beg for your life. 

Hawks observes your face. Broken, scared for your life your eyes are glassy, ridden in fear your makeup smeared all over your face. He thinks it's beautiful, he has finally got you begging for mercy, finally thinking of him as the man he is. He appreciates your submission but it does not erase the fact that you just bite oh his dick. You beg for mercy, your voice is small and broken. It comes barely above a whisper, “I am so sorry hawks, please don’t do this.” He doesn’t listen, staring at you head-on with his jaw clenched. He brings his free hand to the air, keeping it steady for a second before bringing it down with a horrendous force. You feel it before it happens; white, hot flashing pain erupts through your cheek stinging you hard. You cry out in agony as your face drops to the other side. The strike was powerful, it left you sore, you can still feel it sting your face. It leaves you swollen, you try to bring your hand up to your face lightly to carcasses you paining cheek but Hawks pushes your face on the wooden desk before you could, trapping your arms behind your back holding it with one hand. “You don’t realize your position, do you? You know what? I was going- planning to be gentle with you. I thought I would at least make you cum but now,” he pulls a feather out his wings preceding to tear open your pencil skirt with the sharp end. The ripped fabric falls to the ground leaving you in your panties and the pantyhose you always wear under your skirts, “There we go. I hope you are a pain slut, otherwise you would really not enjoy this.” he says with a small chuckle before ripping you out of your bottoms, leaving you in your panties completely vulnerable to him. He abandons his gloves, rubbing his fingers on your clothed cunt roughly trying to gather slickness from your dry hole. Pleasure shoots down your body as his digits find your clit, rubbing tight circles on the little pearl, “Does this feel good? You are getting wet.” a smirk scars his face, “Who gets off to being raped?” he says sharply. Your face scrunches up in disgust and embarrassment. A heavy lump forms in your throat and the waterworks that you had been holding off burst open. Big, fat tears roll down your cheeks as you cry for mercy. You didn't know why this was happening to you, for your entire life you had been a nice person: always helpful, sensitive, and kind. At least, that was what you thought yourself to be. Never in a million years could you- or anyone, in fact, could have ever thought that you would be crying pathetically while your boss: a person known to all as a Hero, the truest, most honest person to exist ever would be the one defiling you, tearing you down to nothing just for his pleasure. 

“Shut up, you like this.” He snarls at you, so sick of your loud wails he even shoves two fingers inside your mouth plunging them to the back of her throat, “Don’t you dare bite now, slut.” he warns. His fingers stop prodding at your clit when he notices the wet spot forming on your panties, he wastes no time shimming them down to your ankles, whistling when he sees your glistening pussy. You only wail louder pleading him not proceed any further. Hawks turns a blind eye to all your begging, “I should just shove it in, right?” he asks petting his finger over your hole, “but that won’t be fun,” he snickers. You feel his move away from your cunt and move higher. Panic settles, he couldn't be serious, “Hawks. Please no. Please don’t. I don-” finger rims along your asshole, inching to dip in, “What? Don’t want me to fuck your ass?” he spanks your ass hard making you flinch, “Please I’ve never-” you cry out hoping he would understand, “No one’s ever fucked you in the ass before?” you whine at the lewd words which shamelessly fall from his lips, “Guess there’s a first for everything.” he says with a scoff. 

His digits bury into your hole, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The stretch burns, filling a fresh set of tears rolling down your eyes, smudging your mascara and eyeliner You looked like a whore. He keeps hammering his fingers inside you without mercy, a loud whine leaves your lips as you feel a tingle of pleasure from him hitting the right spot. “Do you like that? Too bad, this isn’t for you.” he moves his fingers from you before lining his fat cock to your almost too tiny hole, “How will this fit?” he laughs to himself, pressing his engorged tip in slowly, “Will be a tight fit,” he continues to shove his cock into your hole, his face turns off one to ecstasy as your walls take him inch by inch. You scream in pain, his cock was much bigger than his fingers. It was stretching you out, numbing your mind and soul, you did not know how much more you could take. Salty tears fell from your eyes as Hawks bottomed himself in you, he waited for a moment before starting to thrust into you unforgivingly. Dragging his fat cock out and your walls pulling him right back in. As he kept ramming into you. Slowly, you start to pleasure tingle up your spine as his tip smashed against the right spots. Your cries of pain turn to pleasurable moans. Hawks wastes no time in teasing you, “Look at you moaning like a slut,” he spanks your ass with swift force sending your rear to sting. You feel unbearable pleasure starting to build up in your abdomen, a straining coil wanting to burst which each of Hawks’ strong thrusts yet it is left unfilled as the simulation is not enough to make you cum from all alone. Hawks notices this, the pitiful crying for him to touch your swollen little clit which was begging to be played with. He almost thought he would give it to you, after all, he was a good person. Almost. 

Hawks just snicker, his cruel, sadistic laugh echoing in the room, “No, no, no.” he teases, “no matter how much you cry, baby. I am not letting you cum. This is your punishment, you deserve this. You’ve been a bad girl.” Hawks couldn’t formulate how he was able to form complete sentences. The moment he had caught you, he had let himself go feral. Dragging you down like a predator, he finally had you under him. He kept grunting and breathing profanity down your ear along with shameful praises about how well your slutty ass takes him. He is glad he is finally getting his much-deserved relief but he is not done yet. He won’t be done until he is filling your vulnerable womb with his seed, he won’t be done until he hears you asking him to give you his children. He is not going to leave you be until he has destroyed you, balls deep in your tiny pussy. He is going to keep you here all night fucking you, he is going to stay there all night fucking you with hate which he has buried within himself for you over the years. He is going to melt you in his hand, break you until only he can build you up, and maybe he will not let you go even after that. Maybe he will keep you after all hawks mate for life. 

Just hope he lets you cum the next time. 

[bwbatta]

one - favour

Abstract: Draco and you are just friends so doing him a favour and pretending to be his girlfriend wouldn’t effect your friendship, right?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: A few swear words but nothing else!

Word count: 1806

A/N: I debated for ages whether or not to make this into a series and alas the series won! Let me know what you think and get in touch, depending on interest I may create a taglist for it!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2

If there was one person on Earth who was the definition of annoying, it was Pansy Parkinson.

At least that’s what Draco thought anyway.

She would constantly cling onto him and leave some not so subtle hints for him to ask her out and date her. That is, along with the rumours she would spread herself about Draco having a massive crush on her.

Everyday would be the same: get up, have breakfast, Pansy would talk his ear off about some nonsense, he would tell her he’s not interested, she wouldn’t listen.

Then next on the list was going to class, seeing you, you’d make him laugh, then have some lunch.

Pansy would corner him again in the Great Hall, then he’d go back to class, finish class, avoid Pansy until dinner, most likely run into you, spend time with you, go to dinner, and be blindsided by Pansy again.

Any time off that Draco had, he would be approached by the annoyingly resilient girl he just couldn’t get rid of. She just didn’t get the fact he wasn’t interested.

He sighed, irritated already at only 8am, picking at his slice of toast on his plate.

Crabbe and Goyle were sat with him stuffing their faces as they usually did. It was almost sickening really and despite the fact Draco had hissed at them repeatedly to stop spraying food on him while they talked, food flying out their mouths, they never listened.

Draco thanked his parents silently for teaching him some manners at least.

He felt her before he saw her.

The Malfoy boy swore the room dropped several degrees as the girl he dreaded to see sauntered in like she owned the place, eyes narrowing on him as she made a beeline towards him.

Even Crabbe groaned when he saw her. Now that was really saying something.

“Hi Drakey baby”

“Don’t call me that”

“Aw you know you love it”

“No, I really don’t, Parkinson, I can’t tell you enough to be completely honest”

Pansy ignored him, like usual, and continued to talk at him about something mind numbing as Draco made the conscious straining effort to drown her out.

That was until he saw you entering the Great Hall.

Unconsciously his eyes locked onto you and Pansy was as far from his focus as possible. You greeted people when you walked by them, even at this early hour, and Draco couldn’t help but admire that quality in you.

He watched as you sat down at your house table, welcomed by your friends as you grabbed your morning coffee. Something he knew you wouldn’t be able to get through the day without.

Your eyes then flittered around the Great Hall before they locked with his, smiling at his already warm stare on you. 

Raising a hand you wiggled your fingers at him in a wave which he acknowledged with a grin. Your eyes shot to Pansy before returning to Draco with the most sarcastic eyebrow raise he’d seen on you, before you went one step further, and wiggled them suggestively. 

You knew how much Pansy bothered your friend, his excessive ranting to you about the annoying girl proving that fact to be correct. So you, being the good friend you are, would always sarcastically make fun of his unfortunate situation.

His eyes narrowed at you in a mocking glare to which you couldn’t help but laugh at, enjoying his misery.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Draco’s gaze was snapped away from you to the girl beside him who had poked him harshly in the arm and fitted him with a glare of her own.

“Nope”

“Draco!”

He zoned her out again, eyes finding yours once more which crinkled in amusement at his situation. He rolled his eyes at you, a daily expression to show how irritated he already was before the day had really even started.

You shrugged your shoulders back, acknowledging his irritation before one of your friends caught your attention by waving a hand over your face, effectively breaking your silent conversation with the Malfoy boy.

Draco sighed again and checked his watch.

The small hands showed he still had another half an hour before class, and the boy prayed time would move faster so he could get away from the persistent headache that was Pansy Parkinson.

You took your seat in the potions classroom, smoothing down your robes as you readied yourself for your last class of the day.

The entire day had dragged and you were just thankful to nearly make it through, with only the exception of Potions class. Normally this wouldn’t be too bad thankfully because of your potions partner, but it currently seemed like he was late and class was about to start any minute.

The door to the room slammed open and Snape strode in, black cape billowing behind him like a giant bat. You shoved the laugh that threatened to escape your lips down as the thought played over in your head.

“Quiet” the dark haired professor shot the class a nasty glare. “Today you will be making the Draught of Peace. Your mark for this potion will go towards your final grade so you best not mess it up.”

The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

“Begin.”

Just as you stood up to get your ingredients, the door banged open again and a flustered Draco entered the room with a scowl on his face. 

Snape barely batted an eye at Draco’s late entrance, only pinning him with a firm look before moving onto glare at some unfortunate Hufflepuff.

Draco took his seat next to you and dropped his bag under the desk with a thump after taking out his potions textbook.

“What potion are we doing?” he asked not even looking at you as he skimmed his way through the book.

“Draught of Peace” you replied with a frown “You okay?”

Draco slammed his book shut with a sigh and turned to you with a furious look on his face.

“She tried to give me a bloody love potion!”

The ‘she’ in question was no mystery to either of you as you knew exactly who he meant.

Even still, your jaw dropped as you reciprocated his statement with a look of utter disbelief.

“What?!”

“A bloody love potion!” he practically growled “I can’t believe how fucking deranged she is that she can’t understand the words ‘I’m not fucking interested!’, I mean is she delirious?!” 

You didn’t really know what to reply, which was apparently evident on your face as Draco sighed, calming himself down.

“How did you find out she tried to give you a love potion?” You managed to question.

“Blaise knocked my cup out of my hand before I could drink it, said he saw her put something in it across the Great Hall and managed to get to me before anything happened.”

“Merlin” you cursed “she really is desperate.”

“You’re telling me” he rolled his eyes in exasperation before he reopened his textbook to the right page this time.

The two of you started your potions, working together as a team like you usually did which helped each of you out at the end of the day. 

“You know,” you said stirring your cauldron “she may stop bothering you if you actually date someone else?”

Draco suddenly froze at the suggestion.

“I mean, if you were actually in a relationship with someone else.” You continued to speak your mind, not noticing the blonde boy’s mind now whirring full of a new idea. “She might back off and leave you alone when she sees your not available anymore. Just a thought.”

It was then Draco turned to you with a new light in his eyes and a look of wonder on his face.

This, you noticed. 

“What are you thinking about?” you frowned.

“That that’s a perfect idea!” he practically glowed. “You could date me!”

You swore you almost choked on the air in your lungs.

“What?!”

“See, it would work so well! She would finally leave me alone and give me some peace of mind so I don’t go insane, and we get on so well anyway that no one would really blink an eye if we started dating!”

He had now completely turned to you, eyes wide at his idea, huge grin across his face. His hand rested on your arm as he tried to portray his enthusiasm for this idea.

“Draco... I don’t know” you were apprehensive about the situation

“Oh (Y/N), come on, please! Help me out! Call it a favour?”

“A favour is when you ask a friend to copy notes from a class, not fake an entire relationship!” you whisper shouted at him

“Come on, I’ll even buy you that Honeydukes bundle and pair of boots you’ve been going on about for ages for Christmas?” 

“Draco-”

“I’ll play nice with Granger?!”

You went to turn down the idea again but stopped yourself as soon as this entered the bargain.

“You’ll be nice to Hermione?”

“...yes”

“Merlin, you’re serious about this?”

“Deadly”

Hermione had been your friend since first year and the most crucial problem of your friendship was the friendship you had with Draco. The Granger girl felt she couldn’t really say how she absolutely hated Draco to you, and the fact he constantly tried to go out of his way to be horrible to her.

You knew Draco picked on Hermione and you constantly would tell him off about it with the promise he’d listen and not do it again. That was, only for the moment to pass, and another comment being made about her being a ‘mudblood’ would slip past his lips.

You watched as Draco watched you with apprehension. No matter how much he was putting on a calm exterior, you could tell he was serious about this.

“...So you’ll be nice to Hermione and get me the big basket of chocolate in the Honeydukes window?...and the super cute designer boots?”

“Yes!” he said adamantly “I’ll even get you two bundles of the chocolate, and the boots in however many colours you want”

“They only really look good in black but I guess owning the tan brown ones couldn’t hurt” you contemplated “Throw in the matching tan jacket?”

“Done”

“Draco Malfoy, looks like you’ve got yourself a fake girlfriend” you grinned knocking your shoulder against his own “Don’t be too desperate though or I might think your name’s Pansy”

He shot you an unimpressed look.

“Kidding” you winked before turning back to your potion 

“I can’t believe you caved because of chocolate, new boots and the fact I said I’d be nice to Granger” he chuckled, returning to stir his own potion “you’re so easy to please”

“And the jacket! Don’t forget the jacket!”

“Of course... and the bloody jacket”

[r0zez-in-bl00m]

~ 𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 ~

Chaotic parents

🦇Lilia Vanrouge x fem!reader, WORD COUNT : : 2K

Description- Lilia's wife comes for a visit but leaves a trail of destruction behind.

Placed under the cut for length!

It was yet another quiet day at the dormitory founded on the elegance of the fairy of thorns. The morning was greeted by Sebek and Silver’s bickering about whose training routine was better while Silver occasionally dozed off leaving Sebek to jerk him awake every single time with his thunderous voice. The dorm leader of Diasomania, Malleus, stared out of the window in the common room, finding the outside world much more interesting than the leather stiff book he had read a countless number of times or the ongoing talk across the room.

Yes, it was indeed another normal, boring day for the residents of Diasomania. Well, far too normal.

The one-sided quarrel between Sebek and Silver ended abruptly when the sound of an explosion came from the kitchens (did they even have that?), breaking the second-year’s slumber instantly as he looked around quizzically. “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!” Sebek thundered, the obvious surprise plastered on his face as he faced Silver. The second-year shrugged his shoulders as a response as he removed Sebek’s hand on his dorm uniform. “Maybe the old man is in the kitchen again,” Silver said, staring at the hallway to the kitchen worryingly.

Silver knew how experimental his father was in the field of culinary arts. The variety of weird, foul-smelling dishes he had tasted (and dreaded) as a little child was a prime example of it. As the knight had feared, not soon after, Lilia stepped into the common room, his clothes a little burnt, face covered in soot, with a burnt dish in his hands. “Oh my, this stew took longer than I had anticipated!” He said as he dried the non-existent sweat off his brow. Sebek retracted the moment the blasted dish’s smell reached his nose. That dish could barely be categorized as food, let alone be eaten under normal circumstances. Was the dressing covered in slime and worms?

“I-I see . . . it’s an excellent looking dish, Lord Lilia!” Sebek complimented, but his reaction betrayed his words greatly. “May I ask which stew is it?”

‘Better not ask if you don’t want to be the first victim Sebek,’ Silver thought but refrained from speaking it out loud. Sebek was always too fond of his seniors. The old fae, on the other hand, seemed giddy and unusually excited to tell Sebek about his extra special dish. “Well, it’s my specialty dish which I only make on the rarest of occasions, and mind you it’s really hard to persuade me to make this dish even if you ask a million times,” Lilia giggled while continuously shoving the otherworldly stew at Poor Sebek’s face.

Who would be in their right mind to actually persuade Lilia Vanrouge, the most horrible cook humanity has ever seen?

Lilia’s body shivered from giggling as Sebek guessed various stew names he had known. In defeat, Lilia finally disclosed the name, “It’s my legendary ‘slimy beef casserole’!!”

Silver almost choked at the name of the dish alone when he thought he was about to doze off again, finding it hard to breathe as he stared at Lilia as if he had grown another head.

Malleus, from his window, had his ears perked up as well at the unusual excitement. “Beef-Tomato stew?” Malleus questioned, “Don’t you usually make it for-”

POOF!

Before he could finish a puff of green smoke encircled the room completely. Silver’s dread turned horrendous as his aurora eyes traveled up to see the person coming out of the clearing green fog.

Those (e/c) eyes, that hair tied in a ponytail, and the familiar scent of raspberries. Hauling the heavy travel bag in her hand, the apparently young-looking girl smiled brightly and exclaimed brightly, “Family reunion!!” tackling Lilia to the ground, eliciting a chuckle from the latter. All the while Silver pinched the bridge of his nose in worry.

Indeed, it was going to be a long day.

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

“All I had heard that it was a famous school for kids with magic, but I didn’t know that its campus was this big!!!” His mother chirped happily, skirting around here and there like a newborn baby bird. It had taken everything for Silver to not sink and die. To actually think that his own mother would show up at the school where he and his father were studying, and in summer clothes on top of that. That tank top concealed under a modest button-up shirt wasn’t doing her any favor. He had to persuade his stubborn mother to wear something modest enough to not get any weird glances.

Aside from Silver’s anxiety and protectiveness towards his mother, Lilia was extremely ecstatic.

“My sweet, you hadn’t mentioned that you had taken a trip to the southern islands in your recent letters,” Lilia said, strolling side by side with his beloved, arms linked and fingers intertwined. “Judging by your complexion you sure had a great time!”

(Name) giggled, “Of course, unlike you who would turn into a mummy just after an hour under the sun, I am always up for a swim on a hot summer beach and getting a tan!” She rolled up her sleeves and showed her changed skin color with pride, a smirk adorning her adorable visage.

Silver sheepishly scratched his head, “So, what made you come for a visit mom?” It’s not like he wasn’t happy, of course, no child could ever be sad to see their mother after a long time, but the question was- why now?

(Name) shuddered at the question, as if it was something too painful to talk about. Nonetheless, she shared her part of the story. “Staying in the Valley of thorns with nothing to do but tric⸺ I mean, play with neighbors was getting tooooo boring.” She said, twirling around in her summer dress, “That was when Sebek’s mum suggested me to go on a trip like old times! Gosh, I had missed the sights! But, traveling with my sugar daddy was much more fun, and I kind of started to miss⸺”

Silver’s eyes widened like two satellite dishes as he subconsciously cut of his mother, “Sugar what?”

He heard his father laugh heartily, smacking his arm slightly as if it was normal, “I told her to call me that, cool right?” Lilia asked, his lips occasionally curving upwards. Silver didn’t know what to do in this awkward situation. It was getting hard to keep a poker face when his cheeks were getting redder by the goddamn second. Unlike him, Malleus and Sebek were not even a little fazed by this.

“Nowadays people call their partners with such flowery nicknames,” (name) curiously reminiscence the one time she had heard someone calling their lovers in an odd fashion while at the beach. “Uh! Time flies by.”

Lilia chuckled at his beloved’s innocence, “Sweetheart, it’s good and all that you are learning new things and accepting the changing times, but” he gestured to Silver’s tomato face amusingly. “Other students will notice us, look, even our son is getting all embarrassed even after hearing our romantic exchanges a million times.”

Sebek, initially confused about what the great seven was happening, seeing his fellow guard show vulnerability, screamed at full-throttle, “SILVER!! Be ashamed of yourself!! It’s unbecoming of Young Master’s escort to show his blushing face in public!!!!”

Silver held the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time. “No one hadn’t even noticed until you brought it up for everyone to hear.” He pointed out to the two first-year students who were curiously eyeing the Diasomania group, only to scramble away laughing when Silver had noticed them.

Pushing all the hue and cry away, the prince of thorns conversed with Mrs. Vanrouge, his eyes glimmering with child-like fondness. “How has everything been in the Valley of thorns, (name)? Well, I presume?” His questions were cute just like his expressions!

The female couldn’t help but smile giddily, “My Prince, it hasn’t been long since your last visit to the land. What more could change in a few months’ time?”

The old fae nudged the prince’s arm a little. “You know Malleus, sweet. Always insatiably curious, this young lad,” Lilia added, earning a glare from the dorm leader. Before he could retort and start one of his ‘I’m not a child’ monologues, (name) asked– “Where are Silver and Sebek?” The other two fairies looked behind them and found the two of them vanished from sight.

“They must have stopped because of their argument again, those two.”

“I’ll go look for them if you’d like,” Malleus offered, but the old man shook it off. “Knowing those two, it’s better if I come too, just in case Sebek takes it to arms and marches on to war,” Lilia said. “(name), could you please wait a minute over here?”

As if she was a child who needed parental consent, (name) pouted at the irritating behavior of her husband only to earn a million mandol smile in return. The promise of getting back in less than a minute had triggered a few options in the female’s mind, none of them were in goodwill. Would she actually be Mrs. Vanrouge if not as much of a trickster as her husband?

A devilish smirk appeared as soon as the duo’s backs disappeared from her sight. Cracking the knuckles of her hands, she gazed around the vacant vicinity.

“Sooooooooo, what to do next?”

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

The half-silent walk towards the rendezvous point was broken when Lilia had opened up his mouth to speak- “It’s good that the two of you didn’t wander off too much, it would’ve been far too much troubling to search the entire school.”

“I DEEPLY APOLOGISE LORD LILIA!!” Sebek pleaded, or more like screamed for mercy, “If Silver hadn’t fallen asleep, we would’ve come back sooner.”

“And we wouldn’t have become lost,” Silver added apologetically. “It’s alright, it was all in goodwill and we found you in time before dinner,” Malleus reassured. Sebek seemed to calm down at his lord’s words but nonetheless continued to rant and reprimand himself for being an incompetent vassal and what not.

But it stopped the moment all of them found (name) to be missing. “Didn’t we leave (name) here?” Malleus asked, confused as to where she could’ve gone. “My little honey drop likes to play hide and seek a lot, surely she mustn’t have gone too far!” Lilia reasoned but internally dreaded inside. Something of a horrible memory was coming back to him but he couldn’t place his finger on it . . . .

“Father,” Silvers said, serious, “We need to find Mom before she gets herself into trouble.”

“Yes, Silver is absolutely correct, or have you forgotten what happened during the Queen’s birthday?” Lilia’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shaped as the realization dawned over him. “Right! How could I forget?” (name) had planted a party bomb inside the cake that it exploded and its contents spilled everywhere. It wasn’t that big of a prank but the look the Queen had thrown afterward spoke volumes.

“In that case, the sooner we find her, the better it will be.” At that, the group again moves out to search, the expectancy to loads of trouble ahead humming in their minds.

On the other side, many weird occurrences happened at NRC that day. Students found the cafeteria benches levitating in the air with Rosehearts screaming ‘OFF WITH YOUR HEAD’ at the anonymous person who had hanged him from the ceiling. The Lion of Savannah was in a sour mood all day after it took him 2 hours to remove all the girlish accessories which had magically adorned his hair and chased Ruggie to have the evidence removed from existence. The ever-charismatic Vil Schoenheit seemed to have wanted to pop a blood vessel in his body after finding that someone had let Heartslaybul’s Flamingos loose in the dormitory. The clean-up in itself was a big task, the aftermath even more terrible.

All the while (Name) treated herself to some roasted marshmallows (courtesy of the cafeteria ghosts who mistook her for a child). The female never quite understood why her husband detested such a delectable snack. At the thought of Lilia, she wondered if he was looking for her while she was creating chaos in the school. She giggled at the illustration of his panicked face came to her mind.

Leaving the train of thoughts, she turned her focus back on chomping down the white snack. “Oh, a child has wandered into the campus?” a suspicious voice came from behind her, a shadow looming over her and blocking the sunlight. (Name) immediately turned to see a man with a bird mask glowering from above. The female wanted to scoff at the impudence of the idiot in front of her. Child? She was even older than the ancestry line of the top hat he was wearing. But, still feeling a little devilish, she decided to go with the flow. The headmaster crouched down in front of her, “Are you lost?”

“KIDNAPPER!!!!!!!!” The scream was so hard that it had rendered his hearing senses, which was a first for him given that he had already heard a different variety of screams. “My, dear child you have a loud voice!” Crowley held his head, still trying to shake off the effect, “and I’m not a kidnapper. I may appear suspicious but I’m a very generous person and the headmaster of this school!”

Even more, fun to trick you then.

“Oh really! Then prove it, Mister Crow!” she said faux excitedly.

Crowley cleared his throat, finding the nickname to be cute, “Alright, Alright! How about some ice cream and a little tour of the school?” The female’s mouth immediately watered at the word ‘ice cream’. She nodded vigorously in approval. Suddenly, she felt glad that she came to visit. Having a delicious treat on top of that a good laugh was like icing on a cake. Maybe she could demand a cake too.

“Headmaster Crowley!! Right on time!”

Oh damn.

She dreaded what was about to come next. The sight of her beloved husband with a teasing smile on his face poured water all over her future plans! Goodbye ice-cream.

“Everything has been upside down today . . . . oh, who’s this?” curse his impeccable question ‘who’s this?’

“This is a child I found roaming the gardens,” Crowley explained. “And by what do you specifically mean by ‘upside down’, Vanrouge?”

“You’re requested in the cafeteria, there you might get what you need, for the time being, I can look over after the child,” The damned fae knew what he was doing and was enjoying every bit of it! He smiled, showing more teeth than required, his magenta orbs glowing, “We will have lots of fun, won’t we little one?” It sent shivers down her spine and marked as the queue that she had overstayed her visit and best be off now.

With a puff of smoke, she vanished into sight, leaving the headmaster confused as the green air cleared. “What just happened Vanrouge?”

Lilia smiled peacefully, exhaling a sigh of relief, and said, “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

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

“Father, you’re going to mail the stew?”

“Yes! She came for a visit but forgot her favorite dish. I hope that the Thorn delivery service can handle the stew, the worms bite a lot.”

[markberries]

j u s t  f r i e n d s┊cedric diggory

anons requested:

HIII :) i havent seen that much cedric fluff/smut lol cedric is literally my comfort character 🤠 if ur requests are open could you write a fluff/smut? i literally dont mind what kind i just WANT MORE CEDRIC FANFICTION CAUSE THERE IS BARELY ANYYY :((

HellO! I love ur work can I request you make like a Cedric x F reader hufflepuff, friends to lovers, fluff and smut. I know it's vv vague but go off. I just want cedric content i love him sm :,)

info:  cedric diggory was your best friend, nothing more, but when he tells you about an upcoming date, you start to question that.

genre: fluff, some angst, SMUT, fem reader, hufflepuff reader, friends to lovers

warnings: so much smut, oral (receiving), cursing

word count: 5.7k+

a/n: HIIIII i was able to complete 2 reqs in 1! this was long overdue but i hope you like it,, also i edited the first half and just gave up on the second half GHFHJFSG

cedric diggory was your best friend.

he smelt of vanilla, his voice warm, flowing smoothly like honey. his presence gave you a sense of comfort, almost as if he was home. his eyes were a slight grey, full of wonder, color like a foggy autumn night, or the clouds that filled the sky on the day you two had met. his brown hair, always effortlessly styled, never failing to make girls swoon when he ran his fingers through it. and his smile — god, his smile.

adored by most and kind to all, you truly believed that cedric diggory deserved the world. it was impossible for any girl to get a glimpse of him and not feel their heart flutter.

the good-natured overachiever was your best friend because you hadn’t developed any romantic feelings for him, despite his good looks and unforgettable, lovable attitude. you knew that you wouldn’t have been friends with him in the first place if you felt the same way as the hundreds of other girls who yearned for cedric diggory, so the day he told you that he had a date, you were unsure of why there was a slight pang of pain that struck your heart.

“finally,” you sighed in relief, a playful tone hidden in your voice as you wiped fake sweat off of your forehead. the sound of your heartbeat felt like it was louder than the crackling of the hufflepuff common room’s fireplace, and you weren’t sure if it was in your head or not.

the both of you sat on the snug fabric couch that was placed right in front of the small flames, the cushions soft. cedric shoved you playfully, making you jokingly hold your arm in pain. cedric muttered a “shut up,” a smile on his face as he looked down in his lap. you stuck your tongue out at him, scrunching up your nose.

the fidgeting of your fingers went unnoticed as you smiled at him, a sense of dread washing over you as you began to think about how his date might go. you remained unassertive of why these negative emotions swallowed you whole, reassuring yourself that it was probably just because you were afraid of losing your best friend.

“seriously though, i’m really happy for you,” you say, patting his shoulder lightly. somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew were lying, you knew that you wanted to say “please, don’t go on that date,�� but you ignored it. 

“i just don’t know what to do! or wear, or say,” he complained, waving his arms around, before falling back and relaxing on the couch. “do you think i’ll mess this up?”

no cedric, you’re perfect.

“yeah, you’re an idiot,” you lie, making cedric kick your leg. “you know i’m only joking, if you want, i’ll help you choose an outfit.”

cedric shot up, his hands on either side of his body as he looked at you with joy filled eyes. 

“really? you’ll help me?”

you laugh, “that’s what friends are for, idiot.”

you hated every bit of how your conversation was going. you felt like the more you two discussed about his upcoming date with cho chang, the longer that stinging pain stuck to you. you didn’t know what you wanted to do, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry, scream, yell, it was all left a mystery to you as cedric’s excited voice talked about how amazing cho was.

“she’s smart — and i mean, smart smart; and beautiful, wow, she really is beautiful. i’ve never met someone like her.”

you continued to smile and nod, enduring the ache that stayed with you the entire time. before, you were confident that you would never gain feelings for cedric, but now, you weren’t so reliant of your previous beliefs as the lurking torment hit you.

“well, can you blame her? she’s a ravenclaw,” you gave him a nonchalant reply, crossing your legs as you played with your wand.

“but she’s different, you know?” he went on and on, while you had an internal battle with yourself. you thought you were different. you hoped that you were different. but, you guessed, not to cedric.

“i’m getting tired,” you yawned, trying to get yourself out of this situation. you weren’t really tired, you just didn’t want to hear anymore of cedric talking about how cho was his dream girl. you wished that he would talk about you like he did her.

“really? it’s only eight o’clock,” he raised an eyebrow at you, smirking. you nodded, stretching your arms and standing up. you stood in your penguin pajama pants and an oversized tee, waving to him.

“i’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? and i’ll help you with your date,” you say, regretting the statement you made about how you would assist him in preparing for his date. 

“wait!” he quickly stood up, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you for a hug. you froze for a moment, before melting into his touch. “thank you, y/n, for being such an amazing best friend.”

he placed his chin on the top of your head, while you buried your face into his shoulder.

“of course.”

while you headed up to bed, your loud thoughts echoed throughout your mind. you were rubbing your eyes, stifling your soft cries so you wouldn’t wake up your roommate. you crawled into your bed, wrapping the blanket around you, silent cries escaping your lips.

it was like a cliche love story, the girl finally realizes she has been in love with her best friend this entire time, only to be met with unintentional rejection. it hurt, of course it hurt. you were beginning to register that you wanted be cedric’s, you wanted him to be yours, but it was impossible. he had eyes on another.

—

the next day was even more dreadful than the previous, you woke up in a bad mood, lazily putting on your uniform and making your way to breakfast. cedric was quick to catch you on the way there, attempting to scare you from behind.

“boo!”

you turned and slapped cedric, who now, regretted his horrible effort to spook you. 

“don’t do that!” you whisper-shouted at him, and he raised his hands, surrendering. “sorry, sorry. forgot about last year.”

last year, you repeatedly told cedric about how much you hated being jump scared. it was no surprise that the idiot had forgotten. you giggled, cedric infamous laugh following your own. he began to walk side by side with you, continuing your conversation from yesterday.

“so.... you’re still going to help me, right?”

you wished you could say no, you wanted so badly to say no, but you knew you couldn’t. his happiness counted too, not just your own.

“with your fashion sense? do you think i have a choice?” you teased, squinting your eyes at him. you two entered the dining hall, every student was talking to another, some girls watching you and cedric walk by. you spotted cho across the room, cedric also seeing her. he waved at her, a smile on his face as she waved back.

you sighed internally, sitting down at the dining table. cedric sat down as well, but still kept his eyes on cho.

“what the hell are you doing?” you asked, grabbing an apple on the table. 

“me? nothing,” he replied back, resting his head on his hand as he stared at her in awe, you were tempted to slap him again, but you held back that said urge. your fingers traced the creases in the wood as your best friend eyed his crush, and you wanted nothing more than to leave the room.

“hey y/n are-”

“yes, i get it. cho is beautiful. she’s smart. i heard you the first thousand times.”

you turned to glare at cedric, who was looking at you, concerned. “no, i was going to ask if you were okay.”

your cheeks turned a light pink as you felt butterflies erupting in your stomach. you smiled at him, “sorry. just a little tired, i didn’t get much sleep. i’m alright.”

it was a half-lie, but you couldn’t risk telling cedric the truth. you were so sure that it would be the end of your amazing friendship, he would never look at you the same, and you weren’t sure if you could get over your feelings. you were stuck, in this in-between state of mind, one side of you begging to let your confession out, while the other just stayed quiet.

so yes, you caved into yourself and lied, but your only problem was that cedric knew that you were lying. there was no way of hiding it from your best friend, even if you thought you were concealing it well.

“hey cedric.”

the voice of the seemingly irritating asian ravenclaw snapped you out of your thoughts, and you immediately pivoted your head to look at her. cedric was already standing, looking at cho.

“hey y/n,” she smiled at you, and you replied back with a small awkward wave of your hand, a fake smile on your face before you turned back around to roll your eyes. your face scrunched up, biting into your apple as the two lovebirds talked behind you.

every word that came out of her mouth, every compliment he gave her, every giggle you heard, it made you want to turn around and walk out. jealousy was an ugly emotion, and you never thought that you’d actually get a chance to experience it, but here you were, annoyed out of your mind.

you waited for what felt like hours, for their talking to be over (it was really only a few minutes), time felt especially slow when they began to flirt about their upcoming date tonight.

“so, i’ll see you after classes then?” cedric asked her, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“of course.”

cedric watched her walk away, gazing at her with those ever so beautiful eyes of his, taking a deep breath before sitting back down.

by the time cedric sat down, you were already getting up from the table, with a loss of apetite. cedric glanced at the single bite you took out of your apple, then glancing back up at you.

“hey, how do you expect to grow if you don’t eat?” he joked, earning a pissed off face from you, who only said, “i’m not hungry.”

you walked off without him, muttering to yourself meaningless thoughts. although cedric was worried about your sudden shift of attitude and demeanor, he decided to leave you some time to yourself.

you were already halfway to class, wondering what the hell you had done in your past life to receive this emotional torture. you groaned, looking down at your shoes. 

“you alright there, y/n?” a familiar voice called out to you, running up to you. it was ron weasley, an idiot, but a good friend of yours. you turned your head to him, saying, “no, i’m not.”

“spit it out, then,” ron says, lightly bumping shoulders with you. you let out an exhale, grasping at your wand in your right hand, your tote bag slung over your left shoulder. “are you going to take all day? i want to at least make it to potions before snape sends me to detention again.”

“fine, fine,” you whine to him, “you know cedric?”

“no — is that a food? are you mad? everyone knows cedric,” he exclaims. “there’s no one in this bloody school who doesn’t know who he is.”

you sneer, pinching his arm while he cries out a small “ow”. 

“so,” you start, avoiding eye contact so you wouldn’t have to see ron’s reaction. “him and cho have a date tonight. i know, not a big deal, but you see, i kind of started to fancy him.”

“i knew it.”

“be quiet.”

ron lets out a snicker at your quick reply, but he shuts himself up as you snap your head at him to give him a death glare. 

“are you planning on telling diggory at all?” he questions, and you immediately shake your head, your eyes wide, imagining everything that could go wrong.

“what would he think of me? it would make the situation much worse,” you explain to him, and he nods, trying to understand how you were currently feeling. 

approaching his potions class, ron gives your arm a little squeeze.

“well you know, someone must find you attractive, even someone as ugly as y-” his voice is cut off by you kicking him in the shin, and he yelps out, while you giggle. 

“get to class.”

your face drops when you hear cho’s and cedric’s voices echoing behind you, and you feel a part of your heart clench. it doesn’t take you long to walk as fast as you can so they don’t spot you, your shoes clicking against the concrete floor.

—

“how’s this?”

cedric stood in front of you with a white dress shirt, black dress pants, with a black leather belt wrapped around the waist. his shiny black shoes tapping against the floor anxiously, the sleeves of his shirt neatly rolled up. he put a slight amount of gel in his hair, he looked amazing.

if anything, the more you stared at him, the more you regretted offering to help him get dressed for his outing. your stomach did twists and turns as his eyes bored into your own, searching for approval.

he had a nervous smile on his face, the kind of smile you wished you had caused. you wanted nothing more than to be happy for him, for he had finally found a girl he actually liked. the only thing that had you upset, was that you weren’t that girl.

“you look,” you pause for a moment, taking him in. you gained a whiff of his natural scent, before exhaling slowly.

“stupid.”

his eyes widen in horror, rushing to go find new clothes. you erupt in chuckles, grabbing his arm.

“i’m just kidding, you look great, now go!” you exclaim, but cedric freezes, sitting down on his bed. he looks like he’s in thought, but his exact mindset wasn’t clear to you.

you sit down next to him, the bed cushion sinking. placing a hand on his shoulder, you ask him, “are you alright?”

“i don’t know, i’ve just never really felt like this for someone, i feel like i’ll mess it up,” his head turns to you, with a neutral facial expression. “what if i do something wrong? do you think she’ll stop liking me?”

“listen to me diggory, every girl i know has a tiny crush on you, i’m sure cho is crazy about you, and i doubt that there’s anything you can possibly do to mess tonight up,” you beam, patting his back. “unless you kill her.”

“i just don’t want to miss my chance with someone like her.”

there’s something that hits you when cedric says that — maybe it’s the fact that cedric would never see you in a romantic way is finally setting in, or the thought of never being able to compare to a girl like cho, or maybe you’re finally understanding you have been in love with cedric for longer than you thought, or maybe it was all of those reasons. something makes you want to crash into a fit of sobs, or maybe a chorus of silent cries.

for cedric’s happiness, you decide it was better to hide you’re sadness, that was slowly eating you up bit by bit, or at least, attempt to hide it.

“trust me, i’m sure she’ll love every bit of tonight. and if she doesn’t, well, i can surely take her head on.”

and here came his beautiful, mesmerizing, bright grin. he enveloped you into a hug, smiling to himself. “you really are my best friend.”

“yeah, i am, aren’t i?”

he lets go, standing up from his previous spot on the bed, dusting off his shirt.

“time to go, diggory,” you say to him, pushing him out the room, the door making a slight creak as you open it.

“thank you, y/n,” he grins, and you shut the door, but not before pressuring him to leave faster. your back is pressed against the cool wooden material as you slide down it slowly, burying your face in your hands as you are being swallowed whole by the everlasting feeling of unwanted rejection.

although cedric had no clue that he had technically rejected you, there was still a fresh feeling of heartbreak within you.

you felt vulnerable, like you were out of control, and that you couldn’t change anything.

there were so many thoughts running through your mind, you barely realized that you had got up and reached for the door handle, twisting it open, and pacing down the hall to where cedric was walking.

before realizing what you were doing, you grabbed cedric by the wrist, making him turn to you. you cut him off in the middle of saying your name, pressing your soft lips against his own.

you screwed your eyes shut, unaware of your own actions, while cedric stood there, eyes wide open in shock. he was frozen, unbeknownst of what to do.

when you slowly backed away from him, you swear you just wanted someone to put you out of your misery, right there. cedric was sputtering words, trying to form a proper sentence, while you were on the verge of tears.

“o-oh my god, i didn’t- shit, i’m so sorry cedric,” you were shaking, bringing your hands to cover your mouth, “just go on your date. this was a mistake- i uh, i’ve got to go.”

you took off fast walking to your dorm, trying your best to forget about the moment that happened seconds before. the adrenaline that was previously pumping through your veins was slowly beginning to wear off as you slammed your dorm room’s door shut, you let out a quiet wail. you quickly got yourself under the covers, gripping at the cotton sheets.

that night, you barely got any sleep, as the only thing keeping you awake was the thought of tomorrow.

—

there’s a soft knock on your door the following day, and you immediately huff in frustration, burying your head further into your pillow.

“go away!” you shout, your voice muffled by the fabric. ron calls your name from behind the wooden walls, ushering you to let him in.

“you can’t just stay in there forever!”

“yes i can, watch me,” you say back, hearing the door opening, followed by ron’s footsteps. he pokes you, repeatedly, purposely trying to irritate you.

“the professors are going to kill you if you don’t show up to your classes,” he scolded. you turn to look at him, the left side of your face still in the pillow. grabbing another pillow beside you, you toss it at his face.

“i don’t care,” you huff, finally turning over to lay on your back. “leave me alone, weasley.”

“i brought you something to eat, you can’t starve yourself,” he muttered, placing a plate of food on your nightstand. the sun shined bright into your window, birds chirping from the school grounds.

ron sighed, “could you at least tell me what happened?”

you gulp, frowning.

“i kissed cedric.”

“could you repeat that one more time?”

“i... kissed... cedric. right before he left for his date.”

“huh!?” ron squeaked, standing up. “what happened to the whole ‘i’m not telling him’ thing?”

“i know!” you snivelled, the feeling of guilt overwhelming you. “i really don’t know what i was thinking.. i just can’t face him right now.”

as if he was right on time, you hear cedric call your name from behind your dorm room door. he’s about to turn the knob, but you jump out of bed to prevent him from opening it.

“please let me in,” he says softly, his forehead pressed against the wood. “we really need to talk.”

“there’s nothing i want to talk about, diggory,” you say back, and ron laughs at your current struggle.

“ron, i swear to god-“

“weasley is in there with you? please, let me in!” cedric tries his best to convince ron to get you out of the way, but you’re prepared to throw the plate of food that ron had gotten you, and ron was not risking that.

“y/n-“

“i don’t want to talk, okay? please leave.”

the room goes quiet for a moment, no talking, no giggles from ron, it’s simply just silent. you hear cedric audibly sigh, before walking away.

you can imagine cedric’s distressed face as his frustration is always visible, and you really wanted nothing more than to go out and hug him, but you couldn’t. not after last night.

“you really do need to talk to him, though,” ron comments as you breathe heavily.

“i-i know, just not yet.”

—

hours after waking up from your hell-induced “sleep”, you finally got the energy to go to your last period, as you had told your professors from earlier classes that you were in terrible condition (you told them you had gotten food poisoning), and they were surprisingly, understanding.

you were battling with the ideas of speaking to diggory or never facing him again, and to be honest, you were liking the latter option a lot more than the first.

each time you spotted him through the day, there was something that felt like a small pinch within you, followed by a longing to talk to him again. you would quickly avert your eyes, or rush to make sure you weren’t in his line of sight, either way, you felt empty.

the worse was when you had just got out of class, only to walk a few steps down the hall, to see him talking to cho, taking her hands into his own, a soft expression on his face as he spoke to her. it’s almost like you could hear an audible shatter come from your heart. you shut your eyes, turning back to the way you came, your head hanging low.

you were so exhausted, physically and emotionally. dodging cedric at all costs, studying for upcoming tests, and losing hope in regaining your friendship with him.

you walked to the gryffindor common room to rant to ron, as he seemed like the only person you could talk to right now.

“i see you actually got out of bed,” he comments, leaning back on the red sofa. you placed your bag on the coffee table, plopping down next to him.

“surprising, right?” you say sarcastically. “but i didn’t come here to be criticized by you.”

you cross your arms over your chest, placing yourself deep in thought as you tried to calm yourself down. you rubbed your temples, trying to think of some sort of solution to end your torture.

“talked to diggory yet?” he asks, writing something down in his notebook. your posture becomes rigid, a pinched expression on your face as you shake your head “no”.

“y/n.. you have to at least to explain to him about what happened last night.”

your fingers begin to fidget, and you stare down at them. “i don’t even know what i was thinking, to be honest. so what am i supposed to tell him?”

“well,” ron trails, “you can start by saying that you like-”

ron doesn’t get to finish his sentence, as someone shouts his name from beyond the gryffindor common room. you immediately recognize the voice, scrambling to hide behind the couch as to not be seen.

seconds later, cedric comes in, a bothered look im his eyes as he approaches the red haired boy.

“hey ron, have you talked to y/n at all?” he asks him, his hair disheveled as you take a peek from behind the couch. he still looked amazing to you.

“yeah i have,” ron replies, nodding, but it’s tight — as if he’s holding something he wants to say back, and cedric is quick to notice it. he’s always been able to see those tiny details hidden behind a person’s actions.

“uh, okay.. and do you know where she is?”

ron looks to the couch, then back at cedric, “yeah, she’s behind the couch hiding from you.”

you freeze, your eyes going wide. you slowly stand up, awkwardly scratching the back of you neck, followed by nervous laughter. 

“h-hey! i was just leaving,” you’re at a loss for words, eyeing both cedric and ron. you let out another uncomfortable “haha”, before darting towards the door. cedric is yelling your name, following close behind. you’re able to make it towards your doom room, where luckily, your roommate was too busy having a sleepover with another hufflepuff to be there.

“y/n!” cedric catches the door before you’re able to close it, forcing himself inside. you swiftly turn around to face him, staring intently. your hands were clenched into fists, your legs barely being able to keep you up as you felt something weaken in your knees.

“we need to talk,” he says, sternly. your face is a bright red, almost at a loss for words.

“what’s there to say?” you retort, crossing your arms, then sitting on your bed. you try your best to avert your gaze from his, staring at anything but his face.

“please, y/n,” cedric pleads, taking a step closer to you. “what happened last night?”

“it’s really not important, cedric,” your breath hitches, as he was standing directly in front of you. you gathered the courage to look into his eyes, regretting it almost immediately, for they were filled with sorrow, glimmering within the cold moonlight.

the light of the bedroom remained off, you were sure that if you saw cedric’s face properly, you would lose the ability to speak.

“you can’t keep running away,” he tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder and bending down so he was at eye level with you.

you shrug his hand off, crossing your arms, “who said i was running?”

“y/n,” he starts with a small chuckle, “you just sprinted away from me a minute ago.”

“but the reason i chased after you was because we need to speak about the kiss.”

your body becomes stiff, you wanted to curl into a ball on the spot, biting your lip.

“we can’t.”

he sits next to you, taking your hands into his. “but why not? there isn’t any reason for us to not speak-“

“because,” you say in a small voice, “you like cho. she likes you. i don’t want to be the one to ruin that. it’s selfish, i know, but you deserve her.”

cedric stands, running a hand through his hair. “but that’s the thing, y/n! i don’t know anymore. i don’t know who i like — if i even really like cho after last night, it’s just so... confusing.”

“how the hell is it confusing?” you question him.

“don’t you understand? everything is just so, mixed up. after you kissed me, during my entire night, i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you feel the tip of your ears grow warm as the pace of your heartbeat grew.

“cedric—”

“please listen to me. think about how i feel right now. i liked you for at least six months, but you always told me the reason we were friends was because of the lack of romanticism between us, so i moved on, i mean, i tried to. but then, that kiss. it just changed so much, and i didn’t know what to tell cho—“

“weren’t you talking to her today? i saw you two together,” he continues pacing the wooden floors, stressed.

“i needed to tell her that things were complicated and about how i didn’t think she was right for me,” he tells you, and you stand up to poke him playfully in the chest, as if nothing was going on.

“you,” poke.

“did,” poke.

“what!?” poke.

“i, uh, um..” he doesn’t know what to say, frantically searching for the right words, but then throwing his hands up in defeat.

“it would be better if i just did this,” within seconds, he’s cupping your face, pressing his plump lips onto yours. they tasted of his fruity chapstick, and you liked the way he moved.

finally, you registered that diggory was actually kissing you. he was the one that initiated it, he was the one running his hands down your body as your hands gripped at his brown locks.

he bites your lip, and you let out a small mewl. he slips his tongue in, dominating against your own, all while removing his robe. he backs up, keeping your lips locked while shutting the door.

you remove your own robe, palming the bulge in his pants. he groans into your mouth, the wetness building in your heat.

he’s quick to switch the roles, your back on the door instead of his. he breaks from the kiss, panting. your foreheads rest against each others, staring into each others’ eyes.

“i need you to tell me,” he says in between breaths, his skin glowing in the moonlight. “do you want this?”

you nod desperately, “yes.”

“good, because i do too.”

he grabs you by the waist, picking you up to toss you on the bed. he’s standing over you, looking down at you with a smug smirk on his face, before peeling off his top.

“enjoying the view?” he raises a brow, and you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“mhm, i guess i’m next,” you reply, sitting up to unbutton your shirt. you make sure to begin slowly, cedric watching your fingers intently. you part your lips, removing the sticky clothing, leaving you in your undergarments and your skirt.

you bite your lip, looking up at him. he brings his lips to your ear, dragging his finger down your cleavage. “i need you to do something for me, baby. i need you to take off everything so i can make you feel good, is that okay?”

your stomach begins to do somersaults, and you comply to cedric with no hesitations, dragging the black fabric of your skirt down and tossing it somewhere in the room. next, you unclip your black bra and take off your panties, throwing them in the general direction of your skirt.

he admires you, who’s now laying down on the bed. you grow a little shy, but remind yourself that this is cedric, this is your best friend. he lowers himself to face your pussy, dragging his finger through your folds.

“let me take care of you, baby.”

with that, he trails a stripe through your heat with his tongue, a quiet moan escaping your lips.

“you’re so cute, writhing from just a bit of contact,” he grins, his hot breath fanning against you. “now what if i did this—“

he places his lips against your clit, sucking gently.

“cedric— ah,” you say, and he moans against you. he sucks harder this time, bringing his hand to your entrance, he sticks a finger inside at the same time.

“oh god,” you sigh, arching your back. you bring a hand to cedric’s hair, the other hand gripping at the sheets under you. his teeth grazes your bundle of nerves, making you shiver. the feeling of his mouth against you was addicting, his finger moving in and out of you at a fast pace combining with that lead to a familiar building up of pleasure within you.

“cedric, p-please,” you mewl, his free hand holding one of your thighs. you began to feel warm, crying out the boy’s name over and over again.

“come, baby.”

your body went stiff, your orgasm washing over you as you began to relax. your breathing was heavy as cedric stood up, looking at you. you smiled, shutting your eyes.

“can you do it one more time?” you hear him ask, and you swallow, nodding your head.

“yes i can.”

he began reaching for the emergency condom hidden in his back pocket, undoing his belt, the sound of the metal buckle hitting the floor as he kicked his pants and boxers off. he ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it on the tip. you opened your eyes, watching as he crawled on top of you.

he smiles, kissing your forehead with a loving look in his eyes. “ready?”

you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning up to kiss him. “whenever you are.”

finally, he begins to enter you, slowly, making sure it isn’t painful. you moan loudly, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. you didn’t care about how sensitive you were from your previous orgasm, all you could think about was how good you felt. his dick reached deep inside of you, expanding your pulsing walls.

he took this as a cue to movs, creating a steady pace as he let out a breathy groan every time he thrusted.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praised, thrusting deeper. he would pull all the way out, before slamming back in. his hands were on either side of your head.

you were overwhelmed with pleasure, moaning his name and gasping when he would go deeper than expected. he whispered filth into your ear, talking quietly about how much he enjoyed fucking you, or how beautiful you looked under him.

your sinful cries bounced off the walls, sweat dripping down your bodies. you began preparing for his orgasm, as well as your own as he sped up. you clenched around his dick, making him groan louder. you threw your head back, your hips moving to meet his thrusts.

“holy shit, oh fuck, i’m gonna come,” he growled, kissing you hungrily. you moaned his name into the kiss, digging your fingernails into his back. he buried his head into the crook of your neck, shouting curses as the two of you lost yourselves in an erruption of bliss, only thinking about each other. your cries of his name was a symphony to his ears as he thrusted one last time, moaning loudly.

it ended in heavy breathing and gasps for air as he turned over to lay beside you. cedric removes the condom, tossing it onto the ground. he looks over to you, who was already looking at him.

“does this mean you like me?” you ask, and he lets out his amazing laugh.

“yes, i like you.”

you smile, “also i had no idea you could do that.”

“neither did i.”

[heavenunderthemoon]

Can we get JJ and daughter reader where the reader bio father comes back

ROOM 286

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse, blood, death, abandonment. 

This piece is extremely angsty, I didn't even mean for it to happen it just kinda came to me while writing last night, enjoy:)

Sanitizer.

It smelled of sanitizer and something else. Something heavy, pulling you down, the scent dragging against the floor as you walked along with it, sneakers hitting the freshly waxed floor with a squeak. What was that smell?

It could have been anything, walking among the halls of that hospital, a hospital you had never been to, a hospital far away from your home, from Quantico.

Blood, maybe. Blood leaving someone else's body, a severe injury or just a small wound. Or blood entering someone else's body. A transfusion, a hope to save someone's life, a wish to stay alive for just a while longer. Blood, scarlet and distinct, heavy and substantial, entering or leaving.

Or death. Perhaps the heaviness was the mere proximity of death that hospitals seemed to have. Hospitals were like a precipice, a border between the living and the dead. Some who entered simply never left, and those who didn't were walking behind you, mirroring your footsteps, following your direction. It was the darkness of death, the souls of those that were lost covering the hospital like a shroud. The weight of those souls, the anger, dread, and our sadness that filled them weighed them down, pulling the hospital with it.

You had never liked hospitals.

"This is his room."

Your mother's voice was taut, laced with pain and something else. Bitterness, maybe? You snuck a glance toward her. She was still dressed in her work clothes, having practically sprinted off the jet to grab you from the house. Her gun was holstered, resting on her hip directly next to her badge that clipped to her belt loop. It gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the hospital, and you looked away, back to your mother's face.

She was crying, albeit small. Tears pooled in her eyes, the bright blue you had stared into for your entire life. Her teeth were sinking into her bottom lip, tiny sniffles escaping every so often, as if attempting to console herself as to not let you hear it. She never liked you to see her cry, not even after those stupid, cheesy romance movies that the two of you rented out every Valentine's Day. The woman was still operating under that archaic belief that once you turned an adult, once you became a parent, your emotions were supposed to simply leave you, become secondary to your child. You wished she wasn't. You wished you could take her hand and let her know she could cry but the entire situation at the moment, the real-life fever dream had you incredibly uncertain of how to handle anything that came next. Your hands clenched in your jacket pockets, glancing back to the room before you.

Room 286.

"Your father is dying, Y/N."

A glance back to Will in the kitchen had made you furrow your brows. The LaMontagne man was whistling as he cooked, fingers clenched around a wooden spoon being used to stir the noodles in the pot. Will was an excellent chef, and you had just gotten your report card back for the first semester- straight A's (and one B, but it was math, and both Will and your mother knew how much you absolutely loathed the subject, and so they took that as a win). The dinner was celebratory in a way, nothing too fancy  you didn't like all the fuss, nor did you want to have to make your mother miss a nice dinner in a restaurant that passed out free breadsticks before a meal (she would argue that any restaurant that did so was, automatically her favorite, no matter if the bread was crappy and stale). And so, pasta at home it was, and you had even negotiated Will's famous peanut-butter cookies for dessert. Henry sat on the counter beside him, giggling at his father's horrible dance moves. They were off-beat, choppy, and out-dated, but it made both Henry and you laugh uncontrollably when he did them, and so he continued.

The sun was just setting and your mother was on a case. She liked to call before bedtime when she was away, enough time to coax Henry into a sleepy stupor, to tell him goodnight, and to let you know how much longer she would be gone. You would tell her about your day, and she hers. The two of you would talk for forty-five minutes if she had time, ten if she didn't. But the sound of your phone ringing at dinnertime hadn't made you think anything was wrong. Perhaps she was calling early, or maybe she just wanted to hear your voice. That happened sometimes too, when the cases were especially heinous.

"What?" You asked confusedly. Will was looking at you with a raised brow, mouthing a 'You okay?', to which you didn't quite have an answer for. Instead, you shrugged, holding up a finger as a signal to give you a minute, before you were exiting the room. The playroom was a mess, Henry rarely ever picked up his toys. You sidestepped two matchbox cars before you stepped on a lego, hissing at the pain and walking over it irritatedly. For as small as he was, he sure could create a mess.

A pregnant pause.

"It's Christopher." Another pause. You were starting to hate those. "Your birthfather... He's dying."

Your breath seemed to have been stolen, and the last of your air hitched in your throat, eyes becoming unfocused. How were you supposed to react to this? You weren't entirely sure. your birth father, a man you didn't know, a stranger, really. You didn't know anything about him.

Horrible thoughts began to flood your mind.

You didn't know what he looked like. You inherited a lot of traits- too many traits, honestly- from your mother, so you had never thought to ask. You were a bit taller than your mother...was that him? Was that his genetics coming into play? What color eyes did he have? What did his smile look like? You didn't know small things either. How did he like his eggs cooked? What method of shoe-tying did he prefer (bunny loops or round-a-bouts)? Dogs or cats? Movies or books? Did he watch T.V. with the captions on or off?  You didn't know his favorite book genre, or band, or what foods he didn't like. You didn't know any of these things about him, about your father.

You knew these things about Will, of course. Because when you thought of 'father', Will was the first thing that came to mind. It had been that way for a while, so perhaps the fulfillment of the 'father' role in your brain was obscuring your mind, but you were wracking your brain to remember the last time you had thought of your brith father. But, then again, maybe you shouldn't have, because now, flashing before your mind were not saccharine , wholesome stories, but memories of empty chairs in audiences, uncelebrated Father's days, and 'Father-daughter' dances with Derek, or Reid, or Hotch.  Sour thoughts and memories of an absentee father who left your mother in the lurch, abandoned her in her time of need, was that bad to think of he was dying? Were you supposed to be nice now? You weren't sure the rules of this arrangement.

"What?" It was weak and strangled, as if someone had clutched your throat right then and there and squeezed.

"He's at Saint Mercer's. It looks like an overdose, he had a stroke. It was too much for his body, and the doctors declared him brain dead. I was his emergency contact, and..." Your mother was speaking, rambling from the tone of her voice. She was in shock, surely, and you were only half-listening.

An overdose.

You wondered what you'd find on the other side of the door.

"Are you ready?"

Your mother was speaking, but she didn't sound like she was...there. You were sure she wasn't. No, she hadn't been there ever since she had gotten you, taken you to that airport, boarded you on the first flight out, planted you both in front of room 286 in Saint Mercer's Hospital. Her eyes were glazed over, as if replaying every single moment with the man she had once known , the man she had created another child, her first child, with. A man she hadn't seen for entirely too long, and a man she hadn't ever expected to see again. A man she wouldn't even recognize, surely, because he wasn't a man when he left. You weren't sure if he had ever become a man. To your mother, he had been a boy, just a boy and a girl, in childish love, until they weren't.

"Are you?" You countered, eyes glued onto the wooden door separating you and a man you should know, but had no relation to.

For the fist time that night, she smiled.

She smiled because despite it being the most unfair situation in the world- a situation in which she was placed as an emergency contact for a man who intentionally left her when she was pregnant with his child (placed as an emergency contact in hopes to either advocate for them to try harder to save his life, or to let him go if need be, which, ironically, he had abandoned her completely without regards to treat her reciprocally)- you were there. You, her shining hope, a silver lining in the entirety of it all. You were the one thing that made her not regret a single decision she had made with the man, made her not regret meeting him in the first place, because she had gotten you. Your hair was shoved into a baseball cap, Will's, she recognized. It usually hung on the coat rack by the door, the man tugging it on whenever he went to the store or to pick Henry up from school. It was sun-damaged, tearing at the lip, but he refused to buy a new one because 'that just means it was well-loved, JJ.'. And now it sat on your head, a hat that belonged to a man you had met six years ago, a man you called Dad, willingly and without any input from her. You, a girl who had gone without a father for so long. Years of Father's Day cards, heart-wrenchingly sweet cards made out to Reid, or Derek, or Hotch because they volunteered to take you to your dances, even if she had offered to go, because you said you didn't think it would be allowed for her to crash it. Cards made out to her, thanking her for being both the mom and the dad (those tended to make her cry a lot). Years of ballet recitals, soccer games, spelling bees, silly school graduations, all of which she happily attended, but attended alone. All the nights of fevers and stomach aches and sniffles and dry throats. All the diaper changes and reverse cycling. All the scraped knees, busted elbows, trips to the ER. And now you were here, in front of the man who had abandoned you before you had even let out your horridly beautiful wail. JJ felt so many emotions at once, swelling within her that she reached out, grabbing your hand.

You weren't sure if it was to comfort you or herself, but you took it, entering the room as she opened it.

Machines.

Lots and lots of machines.

They stood at attention by his bedside, beeping and humming so loudly you weren't sure your thoughts would be able to tear their way through your mind anymore. Perhaps stat was a good thing.

There he was, lying in the bed before you. A standard hospital blanket was draped across his lower half. It was cream and thin, you recalled your days spent in a hospital not too long ago, how much you had hated it then. Those blankets were always itchy and uncomfortable, and you had all but forced Penelope to bring you one from home, to which she happily obliged, toting an assortment of stuffed animals as well (you argued you were too old for them, to which she had responded that no one was too old for comfort brought about by a stuffed animal.). His hands were resting limply at his sides, and you forced your eyes to skip over his arms, the damage an indicator of the activities he had chosen over taking care of you for the past decade.

When you reached his face you tilted your head. His face was sullen, cheeks sunken in, lips dried and caked in dead-skin. A redness spread about his face, a sunburn, perhaps, but you weren't sure. His hair, brittle and receding, was brown and you wondered of you had gotten anything from the man. A small part of you hoped you didn't. Looking at him now, you weren't sure if you wanted to. A sudden thought popped into your mind and you turned to your mother, who seemed to try to be looking anywhere but the man before her.

"What color were his eyes?"

They were shut now, and he almost looked...peaceful.

JJ lips parted, eyes coming to meet yours. "Brown." She said softly. Her hand was still in yours and you didn't make a move to drop it.

You nodded, glancing back to him. Something was missing, you gazed around the small hospital room to find what it was before it came to you. "Where is everyone? His family, or friends? Do they know he's here?" You looked back to the man, eyes following the rise and fall of his chest created by the ventilators attached to him.

The blonde stiffened, looking at her shoes. "They do. They won't come." With a clear of her throat, she was glancing back to you, your face softening as your teeth took your lip in their hold.

He was alone.

Was that by choice? Or had he run away from them like he had run away from you and your mother?

The doctor entered the rom, signaling for your mother to speak with her, and she left with a squeeze of your hand, leaving you with...him.

What were you to call him? Christopher? Dad?

Alone.

He was alone. His parents weren't coming to see him, he didn't have any friends. No loved ones to hold his hand in his time of need, to tell him it was going to be okay, to tell him that he was safe, and loved, and would be remembered. Regardless of his past actions, you felt...awful. Looking at him, you couldn't feel anything other than immense sympathy, because he had pushed away everyone and everything in his life, and he was left with nothing. You pondered his appearance, wondering what he must have looked like back when he had met your mother, what had drawn her in to him, made her love him and want him and that thought train had you reaching for his hand. Your mother didn't love without reason. She was logical, and fair-minded, and welcoming, and you knew that if she had loved a man, the man before you, it must've been for a good reason. And so, you couldn't judge him based on what was before you, because that was a result of all of his bad choices, all of his digressions and, yes, they were horrible, but they had also allowed your mother to meet Will. It allowed them to have Henry, it allowed you to have a family, a perfect family, and now all you felt was sympathy. No anger. No pain. Just sadness.

His hand was warm, surprisingly. What would it have been like to grow up with his hand, one to put in yours when you crossed the street, to feel your forehead when you said you felt sick, to help tie your shoes when you were still learning?  

The beeps of the machines sang louder as you stepped closer.

"Nice to meet you." You said softly, closing your eyes for just a moment. Just enough time for you to feel the weight of his hand in yours, to reassure yourself that this was real, that you were there, before you were opening them again.

When you did, your mother was back in the room.

Your mother's heart almost broke when she entered. The doctor needed her signature, needed a confirmation that they could remove life support, and her shaky hand had signed beside the 'x' with tear-filled eyes. And when she returned back to that godforsaken room, a room in which she felt all the air was removed, a room in which she felt suffocated, she saw you. Your hand in his, an image she had imagined in her head over and over and over again when you were growing up, a pipe dream, really.  A dream in which he suddenly got his act together, came back to find the both of you, declared his love for her, and begged for forgiveness for leaving. It was a dream that she wasn't even sure she wanted to happen so much as wondered if it would. Because you two didn't need him, she would attest that you two didn't need anyone, not really. Not before Will and Henry. You two were strong and independent. Jareau women were fighters. But still, she had thought about Christopher, and now that dream was shattered because instead of him holding flowers, he was hooked up to a life support machine, brain dead and unresponsive.

She wanted to yell. She wanted to yell and laugh and cry because this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. She wanted to stomp her feet and throw herself to the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum but it just...wasn't fair. She couldn't yell at him because he couldn't respond. She couldn't yell at him, because he was practically already dead, and he had left the decision for someone to give him the final blow to her. Her, a woman he had neglected, and your hand was in his, and everything was wrong.

Her feet took her to you, despite every cell in her body attempting to make her turn around.

"They're gonna unplug him, right?" She had told you on the way there that it was a strong possibility, depending on his state. But saying it aloud made it feel much more real. It shouldn't feel so absurd, you scolded. He was never in your life anyway, it wouldn't particularly make a difference. But, in some strange, bizarre way, it did It made a difference because now, Christopher wasn't just some man who abandoned you, he was a dead man who abandoned you.

"Yes." Her voice was small, and you latched onto her once more.

"He's all alone." You said with a frown, and she removed her hand from yours, instead, choosing to drape her arm across your shoulder and bring you into her embrace. Doctors were beginning to enter the room, beginning to explain what each machine did, the consequences of unplugging it, and then doing so quietly, though neither of you were listening.

"He is." She nodded, blonde hair rubbing against the side of your face.

You both stood silent for a moment watching the doctors continue.

"Tell me about him. When you loved him."

JJ sucked in a breath. She had only thought about the bad for so long, only thought about the moment his hand was no longer hers, his retreating figure as she clutched that pregnancy test in her hand, that panic in her chest as she realized she would have to do this alone. "He transferred to my high school in my sophomore year. Everybody went nuts. We didn't get new people in town...ever. But there he was. His hair was a mess," She glanced toward you, a soft smile replacing the frown she had been wearing. "Kinda like yours when you wake up."

"Hey." You mumbled into her shoulder, but you laughed all the same.

"We had a few classes together and he never let me forget it. Chris bugged me almost every minute of them, passing me notes, trying to talk to me, asking me out. I swore I wouldn't, I was too focused on soccer. But, he wore me down."

You rose a brow. "Wore you down? I didn't think that was possible."

She chuckled, the vibrations from it were felt on your cheek. "It wasn't before him. He was...different. He was a total music snob, spent almost all his money on the latest releases. He liked to take me swimming, said everything, all the bad things and all the troubles just floated away when you were in the water."

You looked back to the man in the bed, the doctors having turned off all the machines by now. Now, it was just a waiting game.

"That sounds silly." You whispered.

"It was. But, then again, so was he. He was carefree, spirited, and laid back. He hated the thought of having to grow up one day, said that being an adult was a life sentence to nowhere. Your grandparents hated him, but I didn't care. He was my first love."

You took in all the information, watching the ragged rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his wheezing making you cringe. "Would he have been good dad, you think?"

JJ thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. He chose to run. But I don't think he was suited for being a dad. I think he wouldn't have liked the responsibility of it all." She said thoughtfully, squeezing your shoulder before she was placing her head atop yours. "I know, without a doubt, that he would have loved you, though."

A snort escaped your lips. "Really?" You asked doubtfully.

"Oh, for sure. I think that if he had met you, he would have tried his best to be there, to be there for you. You both do that thing when you get mad, where you nose twitches like a little bunny and it's so cute that no one can ever stay mad at you. Or when you're tired, your eyes droop down and you can sleep instantly, no matter where you are. You both like rock music, and comedy movies, and blankets when they're fresh out of the dryer-"

"I don't think anyone can hate blankets when they're fresh out of the dryer."

She chuckled. "And you both hate peas. I swear, I tried to feed them to you when you were little and you actually scoffed at me. A seventh month old baby, scoffing at me."

"Hmm, wonder where I learned that from."

JJ rolled her eyes. "And you both have a big heart. Sometimes, his heart was so big, that he didn't quite know what to with it. You're better with following it, but you both have it. Just, too much love to give, and he never knew where to place it."

Silence settled over the two of you once more, the wheezing become quieter.

It was just you and her. You and her and the man in the bed. Her arms around you, chin atop your head as you lay in the crook of her neck.

"Are you sad?" you asked softly.

She took three breaths before she answered. "Yes."

You looked back at Christopher, imagining a relationship, one that included movie nights and car rides filled with shared music interests and dinners that revolved around your hatred of snow peas. But the image was foreign and fleeting, and all you could see was Will in your kitchen, producing horrible dance moves and whistled melodies. You could only see Henry shaking you awake. Reality reminded you of the life you actually lived, one without a Dad for a small amount of time, and then finding one. A life without Christopher. Your life and his. Ones that should have been lived together, but never were.

"Me too."

And the wheezing ceased.

Well damn. ANYWAYS, I’m so happy people are liking my JJxdaughter!reader content. It’s so strange because I really thought it wouldn't get much attention so that’s a fun surprise. Let me know what you think about this piece!

[remsmoonlight]

— title : battle scars

— word count : 2.1 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : during a quick run, you fall into some trouble with some walkers though daryl’s love language is spoken with actions and not words.

— warnings : mentions witnessing death, near death experiencing, extremely minor cursing, mentions of blood and gore

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested     　/     requests are open    *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

okay so i requested this a while ago to someone else and they said they’d write it but i never found it  and i forgot who i asked so i might of missed it, but maybe a walker grabs readers hair or something so she looks for something to tie it up with and daryl gives her his bandana and she just decides to claim it or some cute shit like that??? it’s okay if you don’t wanna♥️♥️

Shap rays penetrate effortlessly through the barred windows, the tatty scraps of cloth providing little protection against the blinding morning sunshine. You pull your arm to cover your eyes, not quite ready to be released from the grips of your slumber.. the nights before a run have always been the most troublesome. Your mind running through every which way the day could turn out, pleading to your mind to focus on the positive outcomes that are always on the table of possibility. Both the positivity and negativity keeping you awake into the late hours.

The only consolation being when you were gifted the image of a blanket of stars over the dark sky, free from any light pollution that was known among many.

“ time to get your ass up, sleepy head. “

You don’t need to remove the arm that lays heavily draped across your head to know who’s familiar drawl that belongs to. Daryl Dixon. His voice in being a quite distinct quality about him. Though there’s more than that you think humorously as a smirk that lazily snakes its way onto your lips.

“ yeah, yeah. I’m up. “ you respond to him as you find yourself focusing on his form in the doorway, clutching the bed linen that serves as a makeshift door in his grip. Your mind wonders if you’ve ever seen him in a state of inactivity that held no tension .

Members of the group continue to filter into the main hall at a leisurely pace, sleep still clinging to their backs in a losing battle.

Sitting off to the side, your gaze settles to the lone male. Daryl nods from you to the space across from him, a bowl laid across from him.

“ thanks for saving me some breakfast. “ you speak, breaking the silence as you pick up the spoon and lifting a heap of oats onto it. Knowing you would need the energy, of course, the world ending brought a new meaning to breakfast being the most important meal of the day.

“ yeh, don’t need ya collapsin’ on me now. “

Amusement tugged at both corners of your mouth as you peer at him, even after all the time had passed, he still doesn’t want to show how much he cares for the people in the group. Even the newcomers from the Woobury group. Of course, you know.. you see what it means to him see everyone safe, to avoid losing yet another member of his new found family to the rotting fingers of death. The finality of death landing heavier blows on his already bruised heart over again is not something he wishes to fall victim to.

“ you know you’ll never get rid of me, I’ll haunt you from my grave! “ you say, joy lighting up your features as you chuckle, momentarily forgetting your breakfast.

A silence embeds itself comfortably between the two of you, something that becomes less and less awkward every time you find yourself in the vicinity of the man. Human contact and communication had to be quickly developed and it wasn’t long before you became comfortable chatting with everyone as if you had known them for years, but Daryl isn’t completely like those members in your group. He speaks with his actions and it took you long enough to realise that, which is why you found no awkwardness sneaking itself around your throat to force words to fall from your lips unwillingly.

“ so, where are we going first? “

“ ‘saw there was a sports store a few miles out a few days ago. they’ll have some’a those bike chains for those fences. “

Nodding in response, you understand it’s nothing more than a simple task. Though, nothing is truly simple now, even something so minor can cost you your life. The first few days you had spent up at the quarry were plagued with nightmares, every day when you saw the sun begin to dim roused a deep fear that bled into your heart, opening a deep pit in the bottom of your stomach, thinking about the rotting corpses and the frenzied deaths of those you loved. The night time cradled your worst moments, to have to close your eyes and to only be left alone with your thoughts would haunt you endlessly.

Shaking your head to yourself, you rid yourself of that dark energy clouding above you. You have dedicated a lot of time and drive to make progress, it’s not something you yearn to be thrown away as if it were nothing.

“ are we going to pick anything else up, or is it just those? “

“ nah, no use gettin’ ourselves killed. “ he responds, focusing on eating breakfast.

You nod your head swiftly, you certainly can’t argue with that logic! Knowing others have lost their lives or have been horribly injured attempting to go the extra mile.

“ well, I won’t be disagreeing with that plan. quick and simple. “

“ sounds like.. “

He lifts his line of sight to stare at you as his sentence trails off into silence, a passing moment crawling along almost uninterrupted before the realisation of what he meant erupted in your mind. He’s talking about you!

“ that’s so rude! “ you say with wide eyes, creasing up and shaking with laughter.

“ I ain’t wrong. “

Even Daryl begins to ease up and chuckle to himself, a small part of him had been cowering in the corner thinking that his words may have been too offensive, even for you. But seeing the sparkle in your eyes as you find amusement is enough to banish it permanently.

The two of you leave the confines of the prison, your arms are locked around his midsection as you are settled behind him on the motorcycle. The speed of it hit a steady pace, the scenery around you nothing more than passing blurs merging into a melting pot of Earth tones.

Slowing to a stop, the two of you get off the bike and make your way into the abandoned store, your eyes scan it in its entirety. Confidence fills you in the thought that it is older than you and definitely had seen better days. Dirt and grime lined the structure from the bottom, sliding up the walls to the top of it. Your brows burrow in repulsion, though surely it can’t be as bad as the prison. Or how it used to be..

“ stay back. “

You watch as he bangs a hand against the grungy window, hardly anything could be seen through the layer of dirt that had made its home there. A visual picture certainly would not be helping either of you this time.

It took around two minutes for a series of slams against the windows to startle you, your heartbeat begins to speed up slightly at the suddenness of the noise. Even when you’re expecting the arrival of walkers, they still manage to catch you off guard. The two of you nod to one another, you move to open the door for four walkers to pile out. Your attention is kept to the two who made a beeline for your body. You step backwards with your knife now in your hand, hoping to create distance between the two of them for you to be able to stab one of them.

One of them grabs your shoulders, immediately your hand goes to shove one of its away from yours. Momentarily it loses grip and trips into you, luckily your hand with the knife is faster than you realise and you feel the resistance its skull and brain give you but you’re stronger and ensure it hits the mark. The change is instantaneous, the walker descends quickly, taking you with it. All your strength and fight is dedicated to pushing the dead weight off of you, your arms make progress as it falls next to you with a thud.

Scrambling to the space next to you to retrieve the knife still sleeping snugly within its head, your breath is ragged from the physical exhaustion and stress of the situation. Your eyes are wide with fear and it takes more strength than you realise to pull it out with a sickly squelch, a darkened liquid coats the once shining blade. Though you have little time to study its form before you feel fingers clawing at your hair, the surprise causes you to drop the knife and your hands to move towards the decaying ones who have secured their grip.

Screams erupt from your lips as your fingers move upwards, pushing what you guess is the walker’s snapping mouth that feels so close. Close enough that you’re unable to distinguish if the breaths you feel close to your neck is from the walker or your imagination. Never before had you felt like a prey animal before, you’re too close to death for your liking, you’d seen people turn from being bitten and to be seconds away fills you with dread. Your fight becomes less and less by the passing second, your body is too tired to fight itself and the walker at the same time, incapacitation is becoming your reality.. warning to confront you one step at a time.

One moment all you can hear are snarls and a warm pain that shoots through the roots of your hair, the next it feels like time has stopped. The grip that was once securely locked is now absent, you don’t know where to look.. all you know is you don’t want to look behind you.

“ y’alright? “

Your sight moves upwards, squinting as you take in the face in front of you. It’s Daryl.

“ uh, I -- “ your voice breaks at the end as you reply, shock overwhelming your body. You drop your head towards the ground in disturbance, refusing to allow your emotions to spiral, you focus on a spot on the ground.

Daryl moves towards you, his gaze checking you over, though begins to search through your hair to make sure the walker has not scratched or punctured your skin with its filthy teeth. Seeing you in that state with the walker so close to dimming your light pushed him, pushed him to fight harder than he has with a few walkers. He knew he could have sent a bolt through its skull, but rage filled his entire being as it drove him. Sending him in its direction and sending a blade through it with his entire force.

“ hey, it didn’t get ya. y’hear me? it didn’t get ya. “ he says, bringing your attention back to him. Though whether it was confirmation more for his benefit or yours, he can’t tell.

“ I never even.. I knew, I.. “

“ y’ain’t got your battle scar yet. “

“ not with you around, luckily. “ you reply with a shake of your head, a soft tone is all you can muster in that minute.

Even in spite of yourself and how you feel, a light chuckle coming from you dusts the air gently as if it never occurred. Shaking your head with a smile that barely registers you push yourself onto your knees and make a move to stand. He’s there to help you up, a tender force clutches your upper arm that you almost fail to associate with him.

The both of you share the same thought unknowingly, that your entire being feels nothing but sensitivity. Shock from enduring the ordeal leaving your body made from nothing more than glass that could shatter at a moment’s notice.

“ hey.. “

A bandana is dangling in front of your vision, confused, you take it into your fingers. Your touch feels the rough material as you run your fingertips across it. Like a light bulb, understanding lights your features up with the power of a thousand suns. Your hair is gathered over to one side, collected to form something of a braid now rests over your shoulder.. with the bandana keeping it together.

“ thank you, Daryl. “ gratitude coats your words, you are extremely thankful for his intervention “ this is mine now though.. “ you inform him, a hand moving to finger the material that now has a new home in your hair.

“ yeah, y’wish. “

“ I meant what I said though, thank you. if you weren't here I’d be one of them. “ a sigh from your mouth releases, a shudder crawling its way through yourself. The shake being easily visible.

“ that ain’t ever gonna happen, I ain’t gonna let it. “

A dull smile pulls at the corners of your lips, a sadness coating your expression at his words. Moving towards him gradually, your arms slide around his midsection. Knowing that those promises can’t always be fulfilled, but that’s Daryl a thought crosses the centre of your mind. He always wants to save everyone. You barely register the light weight of two palms on your back, but a warm light grows in size within you at the realisation.

“ you can let this bandana be mine though.. my good luck charm when you’re not around. “

“ fine. “ Daryl gives in, a hint of laughter in his response as he speaks to you.

[creepereyes]

Seymour/Edna sickfic

Guys, I LOVE sickfics, specifically emeto fics, and this fandom is seriously lacking them so I’m here to fill that void. This is the first of two fics I’m writing for myself and @rolksart.

Summary: Seymour has a stomach bug and Edna takes care of him.

I’m going to say this once: Please don’t read this story if you don’t want to read emeto. Seymour pukes a lot here. If that is up your alley, fantastic! If not, feel free to ignore this completely.

Fic under the cut.

Lying had never been Seymour’s specialty, and when he unconvincingly told Edna he was fine, she saw straight through it. She sat on the edge of his desk and gave him a knowing look.

“Seymour, I love you but you’re a horrible liar. You are not fine.”

It was true. Fine, in the literal sense, wasn’t a word Edna could currently use to describe her boyfriend. Pale, sweaty, nauseated, yes. But fine? Ha!

“You’re right. I can’t lie to you, Edna. I feel awful. My stomach is more unsettled than mother at a swinger’s sex party, and I don’t know what’s causing it.” Seymour admitted.

Edna’s gaze softened. “Oh, Seymour. You didn’t eat the cafeteria fish sticks, did you?”

“No, I learned my lesson after the first time.”

The queasiness building inside him got a bit worse when he thought of the dreaded fish sticks that made him so sick several years back. Wether the ‘meat’ inside was actually fish or not was questionable at best, but anything tasted good deep fried. The students seemed to love them, but there was something about those crispy, overly greasy, probably-not-fish sticks that an adult’s stomach just couldn’t handle. A couple hours after eating them on that ill fated day, he’d gotten incredibly sick and started puking almost immediately after he got home. Today he didn’t think he’d last that long, it was barely past noon.

Seymour sighed and slumped backwards in his chair. “I’m sorry, Edna. Tonight was supposed to be our special night and I ruined it by getting sick.”

“We’ll reschedule. Don’t beat yourself up so much.” Edna scooted closer to Seymour and placed her hand on his forehead. It was alarmingly warm and his hair was damp with sweat. “You poor thing, you’re burning up.”

“I’m sweltering.” Seymour unbuttoned his blue blazer and shrugged it off. His tie felt like it was choking him, so he removed it as well.

Edna coyly rose a brow and ran one finger up and down his right arm. “Mmmm...are you going take all your clothes off?”

Seymour managed a small smile despite his increasing nausea. “When I feel better, I’ll let you undress me right here on my desk.”

“With my teeth?”

“Yes. I love it when you do that.” he placed his hand on top of hers.

He could be assertive when he needed to be, but when it came to sex, Edna was in charge and she made damn well sure he knew it. He liked it that way. He’d always had a thing for dominant women, and Edna Krabappel was all domme.

He leaned in to kiss her, but a massive nausea spike made him falter and he paled even further. Acid threatened to rise in his throat, but he choked it back.

“I need to lay down for a while.” he said. “Maybe you should-”

“No. I’m staying with you.” Edna cut him off.

“What about your students?”

“I put a movie on. They’ll be fine. But you aren’t.”

Seymour’s office had a red couch in it, though he rarely sat there. It was comfy enough, but it was mostly for decoration. He’d never admit it, but he’d given his office more flair to make himself feel less lame when superintendent Chalmers swung by for a visit. Chalmers’ previous comment about Seymour’s office looking like a low security prison cell had cut surprisingly deep.

Edna sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, signaling for Seymour to join her.

He shuffled over to the couch and damn near collapsed onto it. He sprawled across the cushions and laid his head in Edna’s lap. Another nausea wave crashed over him, bringing a stab of horrendous abdominal pain with it. He curled into himself.

“This is agony,” he moaned. “I don’t know what’s making me so sick.”

“Just relax. Close your eyes.” Edna instructed as she stroked his hair. “I’m here with you.”

Not only did Seymour feel extremely sick, he also felt like he was being stabbed in the gut with a rusty knife over and over again. It continued to worsen until it reached the point of no return. His stomach lurched and heat spread through his abdomen. He bolted straight up, ready to give in to his nausea. Fighting it wasn’t an option, he wanted to be rid of whatever was making him so sick.

“Give me a bucket, I’m going to throw up!” panic invaded Seymour’s voice. Time was rapidly running out, and thick, coppery saliva flooded his mouth.

“Oh! Uh, hang on!” Edna leapt up from the couch and looked for a receptacle.

“Please hurry,” Seymour gagged on the last syllable and firmly clamped his hand over his mouth.

Edna zoomed over to Seymour’s desk, grabbed the garbage can, dumped out its contents and strode back over to her boyfriend, but she was a second too late.

Seymour couldn’t hold it back. He pitched forwards and violently puked on the floor, and it splashed on his knees and shoes in the process. Some got on his shirt as well.

“Here!” Edna shoved the can under his mouth right as he vomited again.

Seymour gripped the can and retched noisily, his entire body convulsing as he puked more repugnant brown liquid. The acrid taste was revolting and he could feel the solids in it sliding over his tongue, which made him heave harder.

“That’s it, just get it out,” Edna soothed and rubbed his back. She could feel his shoulders hitch under her hand each time he heaved.

“Make it stop,” Seymour groaned. This was pure hell. His body was barely giving him time to breathe between retches, and he worried that he’d start choking on his own vomit if it didn’t stop. He was starting to think it wouldn’t end. There was only one thing that could make his situation worse, and someone or something must have had it out for him today, because it happened.

The door to his office flew open with great force.

“SKINNEEEER! Why in God’s name is Nelson Muntz hanging Martin Prince from the flagpole and-- Seymour, are you vomiting in a garbage can?” Superintendent Chalmers stood in the doorway, stunned at what he was seeing.

Seymour, pale, clad in a puke soaked shirt and looking half dead, glanced up. “Superintendent Chalmers,” he croaked out. “Hold on a minute.” he leaned over the can again and threw up a few more times until he was empty and left dry heaving. By now the garbage can was over a third full.

“Seymour is very sick,” Edna explained calmly. “I’m going to make sure he gets home alright.”

“Yes, you do that.” Chalmers cringed away from the scene and backed out the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and awkwardly added on, “And, uh, get well soon Seymour.”

With that, he turned and left.

Seymour wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flopped down on the sofa. “That’s the shortest meeting with Chalmers I’ve ever had. Maybe I should puke in front of him more often.”

Edna laughed. “You’ve still got your witty sense of humor, I think you’ll be alright.” she massaged his shoulders.

“Will you get me some water, please?” Seymour asked.

“Of course.” Edna kissed his forehead and got up. She filled a cup at the water cooler and handed it over to him.

He took a small sip and waited. It was staying down for the time being.

“I think it’ll stay down.” he managed another micro sip before looking down at himself in disgust. “Ugh, look at me. I’m a mess.”

With great effort, he hoisted himself off the couch and made a feeble attempt at cleaning the vomit off his clothes with a handful of kleenex. “Well, I tried.”

“How are you feeling?” Edna asked.

“Not great, but a little better.”

“What do you say we go back to my place and get you cleaned up? I’ll get you in the shower and make you feel all better.” Edna said in a tone that was both motherly and seductive.

Seymour gave a genuine smile despite still feeling like crap. It was by far the best idea he’d heard all day. He placed his clean hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder and held her close.

“Edna, I’d love that.”

[cutelittlestar]

Liar || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You frequently get bullied at school, but you act as if everything is fine. Peter takes your word but as time goes by, he notices you’ve been lying to him. 

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning(s): slut shaming, mental/emotional abuse, bullying, violence, angst.  

A/N: I got bored during the weekend, so I quickly wrote this imagine. If you see any grammar errors, no you didn’t 😀 

You’re such a fucking whore. Any person that says they’re interested in you is full of shit. Why don’t you just do us a favor and fucking leave? 

You stared at your phone, feeling your eyes get watery as you read the text message over and over again. Your hands began to shake and you felt a lump form in your throat, making it harder for you to breathe. A sob escaped your mouth, but you bit your lip, afraid that someone would hear you crying. The first time you received a hate message like this, you blocked the number, but as days went by, you continued to get more hateful messages to the point where you didn’t even bother blocking the various numbers. What difference would it make? It would never end. 

“Y/N!” you heard Peter shout down the hallway. You flinched at Peter’s voice, and you quickly turned off your phone before shoving it in your sweater. For a short moment, you wondered why Peter was calling your name, but once you glanced at your alarm, you remembered you had school. You rapidly got off your bed and headed towards your mirror, hastily wiping away your smeared mascara. 

“Hey, you ready to walk to school?” Peter asked; he now stood by the doorframe, but as his eyes landed on your body, he quickly became aware of your silence. You were hunched over your desk but before Peter could ask what was wrong, you turned around, flashing a big, bright, and fake grin.  

“Yeah, let’s go.” You grabbed your backpack, heading towards the door, but Peter quickly stepped in the way, worriedly staring at you. 

“Is everything alright?” No. 

“Yea, why would you ask that?” you nonchalantly asked, hoping Peter would stop asking questions. 

“Well, your eyes look really red. Were you crying, y/n?” Shit, he can’t know. Make up a lie. 

“Oh,” you forced yourself to chuckle, pretending that everything was fine, “I accidentally poked myself with my mascara wand, that’s all.” Please don’t ask any more questions. 

There was an incredibly, painful, and long moment of silence, and you began to panic, dreading that Peter would soon catch on. “Look, can we go now? We’re gonna be late to school,” you said, impatiently tapping your foot on the hardwood floor. Peter noticed how you avoided eye-contact with him, but he decided to not say anything else. He stepped back, giving you enough space so you could walk out of your room. 

“Yea, let’s go.” 

- - - - - 

“You’re telling me that you don’t find Kylo Ren attractive?!” Ned said in bewilderment, harshly staring at Peter as the three of you walked down the hallway. “Dude, you’re a fucking idiot.” 

You let out a genuine laugh, completely feeling better as you continued to listen to Ned’s comments. Although you would never truly forget those awful messages, being around your friends made you feel relaxed. 

“Y/n,” Ned said, getting your attention, “you agree with me, right?” 

“I hundred-percent agree with your statement.” 

“You see!” Ned yelled in satisfaction, “I’m not the only one who thinks that.” 

As you continued to walk down the hallway, you quickly noticed that many of your peers were staring at you. Suddenly, Ned’s and Peter’s voices were muffled out, and all you could focus on were the stares - stares of disgust, stares of pity, and stares of judgment. You tightly clutched onto your backpack straps, trying to remain calm and raise your head high, but then you noticed that some students were whispering into their friends’ ears, causing you to become anxious. Were they talking about you?  

You roughly collided into someone’s back, causing your thoughts to abruptly stop. As you began to apologize to the person, you noticed that they weren’t even paying attention to you at all. Instead, they were more focused on something else. There was a big crowd of students swarming over a singular locker, but you were unable to see why everyone was so drawn in. You turned to look at Ned and Peter, hoping they would know, but they were just confused as you were. You heard fragments of sentences, but as you drew yourself closer to the crowd, the whispers of the students began to grow louder.

Oh my god, one student said. Poor girl. 

Bitch had it coming, another voice said. She’s a fucking skank. 

I heard she slept with the whole football team. Do you think it’s true?!

Why would anyone do such a thing? 

And then it hit you; they were staring at your locker. 

Peter and Ned watched as you roughly pushed students to the side until they were unable to see you. An uneasiness started to brew in the pit of your stomach, and you felt like you wanted to throw up. You ignored the stares and whispers as you drew yourself closer until you were finally standing in front of your locker. Your breathing became uneven and your body began to shake; you felt your vision slightly blur as you horrifically stared at the scene. 

Written in red paint and large, bold letters was the word slut. Your photo was taped below the word, but your face had been so violently scratched off that your face was nearly unidentifiable. 

By now, the crowd had dispersed, but Peter and Ned were still right beside you. They were completely mortified by what they were seeing, but they were more concerned with you; you remained silent, an unreadable expression plastered on your face. 

“Y/n...?” Peter whispered, stepping closing and grabbing your shoulder, hoping he could provide some comfort. You weren’t able to understand what he was saying; it was like his voice was coming from a mile away. At this moment, all you wanted to do was run away and cry - cry until you felt numb and there were no more tears left. But you couldn’t, you had to remain strong. They couldn’t know how much it was destroying you on the inside. 

The sadness that once controlled your body was utterly gone and was now replaced with rage; with one swift movement, you ripped the photo off of your locker and crumpled up the paper before tossing it to the floor. Peter and Ned eyed one another, unsure of what was going in your head while also worrying that you were avoiding the situation. You opened your locker with ease and proceeded to grab the textbooks you needed. 

“C’mon, let’s get to class,” you ushered out before slamming your locker shut. Yet, your feet remained planted on the ground, your eyes continuing to stare at the vulgar word. Don’t cry, you repeated to yourself, taking deep breaths in and out. 

“Are you okay?” Ned politely asked, hoping you wouldn’t break down in front of him. “We can skip first period and go somewhere private if you want,” Ned suggested. 

You turned around, and to Peter’s and Ned’s surprise, you were showing no signs of despair. Instead, you gave them a soft, reassuring smile, indicating to them that you were alright. 

“I’m not bothered at all,” you confidently remarked, adjusting your backpack. “They can say whatever they want about me, but I know it’s not true.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, a bit terrified of how calm you were reacting. “Y/n, it’s okay if you’re not alright. You can talk to us, we’re here for you,” Peter conveyed.

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, causing Peter to quickly shut his mouth. You noticed a frown appear on his face, and you instantly regretted how you responded to Peter. He’s just trying to help, don’t take your anger out on him. 

“I’m sorry, Pete,” you said, “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Peter nodded his head, completely understanding your outburst. You had every reason to be angry, but he kinda wished you told him what you were feeling. You always tended to push your feelings to the side, and Peter worried that you were going to keep quiet. 

“I know you guys care about me, but we shouldn’t skip first period. I’m okay, really.” 

Liar. 

The sound of the bell echoed across the hallway, and you mentally let out a sigh of relief, glad that you could escape Ned and Peter. 

“I’ll see you guys soon,” you rapidly said before you turned to the side and walked down the hallway. However, as soon as you turned the corner, you sprinted towards the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and letting out a despairing cry until the period ended. 

A few days later 

Peter, MJ, and Ned all sat near each other in the cafeteria, none of them saying a word. MJ and Ned continuously stared at one another before flickering their eyes to Peter, watching as he ate in silence. You were running a bit late, as usual, but MJ hoped that they could quickly discuss your sudden change of behavior. Surely she wasn’t the only one who noticed, right?     

“Is Y/n aright?” MJ finally said out loud, causing Peter to look up. 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Peter replied. 

MJ leaned back in her seat, quickly blinking, unable to believe what Peter just said. Her eyes flashed with anger, and she looked to Ned in shock, frustrated that Peter didn’t realize how your behavior wasn’t normal. “Are you serious right now, Parker?” coldly spat, causing Peter to slightly jump at her harsh tone. Peter remained silent, continuing to stare at MJ in confusion, but then a dejected expression formed on his face, quickly remembering what happened a few days ago. 

Peter slowly shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to say. “She said she was doing fine...”

“And you believed her?!” MJ angrily remarked, slamming her fist on the table and shaking her head in disapproval; god, sometimes Peter can be so oblivious. Peter began to feel horrible as he listened to MJ’s words; he should’ve tried harder - he should’ve asked you how you were doing, but he afraid that if he kept asking, you were going to get irritated and push him away. He didn’t want to create an already distant relationship. MJ took note of Peter’s silence, and she let out a sigh, trying her best to control her frustration. 

“She won’t talk to me about it...” MJ confessed, her eyes expressing melancholy, “but maybe she’ll confide in you.” 

Peter wanted to believe that you were alright, but MJ was right; he could see how your eyes were duller or how you didn’t speak as much as you usually do. “I’ll talk to her,” Peter promised, offering a genuine smile to Ned and MJ. 

“She’s coming,” Ned whispered, telling MJ and Peter to change the topic. Peter raised his head, watching as you headed towards the table with your lunch tray, and he grinned at you; even from a mile away, Peter could see your frown, but once you saw that Peter was staring at you, you quickly changed your stance and expression. 

Once you sat down, you flashed them a small smile and softly greeted them before eating your food. As you continued to eat, you were glad that neither of them asked how you were doing. At first, the conversation was a bit dry, but then everything went back to the way it was; MJ and Ned were verbally attacking Peter while you stood by and watched, laughing. Although Peter pretended that he was offended by Ned and MJ, he mentally smiled to himself, noticing how you were laughing just like the way you used to; he missed your smile so much. 

Of course, the moment was ruined. 

“Hey, you’re Y/n right?” a boy interrupted, placing his arm on the table and leaning in, blocking your view of Peter. MJ and Ned remained silent, glaring at the boy who decided to interrupt their conversation. You felt yourself freeze, a terrified expression on your face, but then you put on a brave face, nodding your head. “Yea, that’s me.” 

You felt shivers run down your spine as you watched the boy sinisterly smirk. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. How about you join me in the supply closet and show me what everyone’s been talking about.” Your blood ran cold and your face dropped at his inappropriate response; your hands uncontrollably shook under the table, but you tightly clenched your fists, trying your best to remain calm. 

“Fuck off,” was all you said, hoping that would cause him to leave you alone, but he didn’t move an inch. 

Suddenly, the sound of hands roughly slamming the table caught your attention, and you diverted your gaze to the sound, watching as Peter angrily stood up. Rage pulsed through Peter’s veins and he aggressively walked closer to the boy, clenching his fists and his jaw. 

“Leave her alone,” Peter threatened, feeling his muscles tense. The boy’s eyes flashed with fear, but then he rapidly composed himself and began to hysterically laugh, causing the students around them to remain silent. 

The boy rolled his eyes, unamused. “Back off, Parker,” the boy snapped, violently pushing Peter away. A gasp left your lips as you watched Peter slightly stumble; Peter began to shake with rage, but before Peter did something he regretted, you leaped out of your seat, coming in between Peter and the boy. 

“Peter,” you softly whispered, delicately placing your hands on his chest; you felt his heart rapidly beat in his chest. At that moment, all Peter wanted to do was punch the boy until he kept his mouth shut, but as he looked into your eyes, Peter noticed how you were silently pleading him to walk away. The fury in Peter’s eyes disappeared and was now replaced with guilt. His stance grew weaker and he unclenched his fists. 

“Yeah that’s right Parker,” the boy loudly remarked, chuckling, “listen to your fucking whore.” 

Within a second, Peter moved you to the side and collided his fists into the boy’s face, causing him to fall to the floor. The cafeteria was filled with gasps and screams as everyone watched blood trickle down the boy’s nose. Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at Peter, his chest heaving with rage, but before you could pull him away from the scene, the boy angrily stood up and ran to Peter, tackling him to the ground. 

You glanced around with a look of desperation, hoping someone would step in but they all stood there, their phones pulled out from their pockets.

“Peter!” you shouted, about to run and pull the boy off of Peter, but then you felt a tight grip on your shoulder, pulling you backward. It was MJ, she was holding you back. 

“MJ, let go of me!” you shouted in protest, but then her grip got tighter. 

Your heart shattered as you watched in horror the boy landed a hard blow on Peter’s cheek and tears welled up in your eyes; this was your fault.   

“That’s enough!” Mr. Gomez yelled, running towards the boy and pulling him off of Peter’s body; another teacher emerged from the crowd, grabbing Peter by the shoulder and slowly lifting him up. Blood oozed from Peter’s lip, and the side of his cheek was red, already starting to swell up. 

“Everyone get to class, NOW!” Mr. Gomez didn’t have to repeat himself, the students dispersed in a blink of an eye. You felt MJ tug your hand, but you snatched your hand away; you weren’t going to leave Peter.  

Mr. Gomez glared at the boy and then to Peter, “Principal’s office, now.” Peter gave you a sorrowful glance before stumbling to Mrs. Cho’s office with the other teaching following behind. 

- - - - - 

You laid on your bed, staring at the television screen but paying no attention to what was being said; it’s been two days since the fight occurred, and you felt so horrible about what happened. While the boy received a harsher punishment than Peter since he started the fight, Peter was still suspended for two days. 

It’s all your fault, you thought to yourself. 

The guilt that was tearing you apart was the sole reason you decided to stay home and not leave your bed; even though Tony was begging you to go back to school, he didn’t understand the humiliation you were going to endure if you stepped foot onto school property. Now, people were making up horrible rumors as to why Peter and the boy fought; some were saying they were fighting over you, others were saying it was because you were leading both boys on. The rumors continued to be spread and created, and it dawned on you that it was never going to stop. People ever always going to hate you, and there was nothing you could do. 

Maybe they’re right, you whispered. Maybe I should just do everyone a favor and leave. 

You turned up the volume of the television before bringing the blanket closer to your face. Although you were trying your best to ignore the pain, all of your bottled-up emotions began to slowly trickle out until eventually, you broke down. Your body began to shake as tears streamed down your face, but you tightly bit your lip, hoping you could silence your helpless cries. 

From the other side of the door, Peter’s heart shattered as he listened to your gut-wrenching sobs, wishing he could take away your pain; he knew you were blaming yourself for what happened, and it was the reason why he came over to the compound. Peter was going to knock on your down, but then he felt his hands tremble in fear. He felt like such a horrible friend; he should’ve known something was wrong from the very beginning. What if you didn’t want to see him?

Peter closed his eyes, his head resting on the door as he pondered what to do. Even though you might not say it, he knew you needed him this very moment. 

Once you heard a knock on the door, your muscles tensed up. You waited for a short moment, hoping the person behind the door would leave but then you heard a knock again. 

“Please Y/n,” Peter pleaded, “Let me in.” 

The guilt became stronger once you heard Peter’s voice, and your eyes began to water once again. “Leave me alone,” you weakly replied. 

“I’m not leaving until you open the door,” Peter stated. 

You bit your lip, knowing Peter was telling the truth. With hesitation, you stood up and slowly opened the door. Peter felt relieved as he saw the door open, but as he stepped inside, he noticed you had retreated to your bed, pulling the covers over your body. He felt an ache in his chest but then he slowly moved to the corner of your bed, maintaining a well enough distance. The bed dipped due to his weight, but neither of you uttered a word. But, the silence didn’t bother you at all; in fact, you felt at peace, knowing that Peter was right beside you. That relief was immediately gone as you recalled the incident between Peter and the boy; you told Peter to ignore his words, but he didn’t. 

"Why did you hit him?” you bitterly asked underneath the covers, getting Peter’s attention at your sudden comment. You didn’t mean to have a rude tone, but it just came out. 

“What?” Peter responded, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. 

“You heard what I said,” you spat. “Why did you fucking do that?”

“Because he was saying inappropriate things to you?” Peter said in disbelief, a bit irritated. Were you mad at him for defending you? 

You angrily tossed the blanket off your body, sitting up and glaring at Peter. “You should’ve walked away - but no, you couldn’t even do that.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes at you, “are you serious right now?!” he furiously replied. “I was trying to defend you!” 

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR YOUR HELP!” you screamed in response, now standing up with rage. You watched Peter’s face fall, and you wanted to take back what you said, but you were so angry you couldn’t remain quiet any longer. You closed your eyes, rubbing your head. “I had it under control until you got all defensive. God, Peter, stop trying to act like the hero in every situation.”  

Peter stood up as well, mad but more hurt by your words. “What the hell, Y/n?! Why are you so mad at me?” 

"Because-” you shouted, but then you began to fumble your words. Why were you so angry? “B-because I’m not weak! I can take care of myself, so stop acting like I’m some vulnerable, little girl that needs saving because newsflash, Peter, I’M NOT!” 

Peter let out an exasperated laugh, unable to believe what you were saying. “Well maybe if you FUCKING confided in me, I would believe that you can handle yourself, but you always push me away so how am I supposed to know!?” 

You scoffed at his remark. “I don’t!” you responded, your hands shaking with rage. 

“Oh really?” Peter barked, “then tell me the truth, right now.” You paused, biting your tongue in the process. Silence filled the room. “I know you’re hiding something from me, and I know you don’t want me to find out,” Peter said. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, breaking eye-contact with Peter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Peter let out a frustrated groan, pulling his hair in the process. “You’re such a fucking LIAR! Oh my god! You don’t think I’ve noticed?!” Peter yelled in agony, causing your eyes to widen. You’ve never seen him this angry before. 

“Ever since the morning of the locker incident, you’re not the same anymore! Y-you don’t smile as brightly as you do anymore, your eyes don’t shine the way they used to, y-you don’t talk as much. I’m just trying to figure out why, Y/n!” Peter’s vision began to blur with tears as his frustrations began pouring out. He angrily wiped his eyes, hoping you would say something in response but as his eyes went back to you, you remained still and silent. Instead, you plopped yourself on the bed, staring at the floor in shame. Peter dropped his head down, ashamed by the way he reacted, but he also knew you were feeling the same guilt he did. You felt Peter sit beside you, but you didn’t push him away. All of your anger ran out; now, you just feel numb. 

You picked at the skin around your nails, unable to look into Peter’s eyes. “I-I didn’t want to tell you because... b-because the truth is, I’m so embarrassed.” Your voice cracked. 

Peter’s frowned as he heard your fragile voice, but he knew you were having a difficult time saying this out loud. He moved closer until you were centimeters apart. “Of what?” 

Your leg anxiously shook as you mentally debated whether or not you should confess to Peter what’s been happening, but you felt his warm hand on yours. A soft smile formed on your face and you let out a sigh, ready to say the truth. 

“The locker incident wasn’t the only time I’ve been bullied or harassed,” you stated, biting the inside of your cheek. Peter’s eyes widened but he remained quiet. “I’ve also been receiving hateful text messages since last month...”

Peter tightly squeezed your hand as he watched your eyes water once again. “Oh Y/n...” Peter whispered, his heart collapsing in the process, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

You raised your head, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. “I don’t want to bother you with my problems. You have more important things to worry about, and... and I just didn’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not a bother to me, and you never will be,” Peter clearly emphasized. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you what was really happening,” you confessed, turning your head to look at Peter. You attempted to smile but it easily crumbled, “and I’m also sorry for yelling at you. Thank you for defending me against that asshole.”

Peter let out a hearted laugh before nodding his head, “of course.” 

You and Peter sat in silence for a long moment, completely comfortable even though neither of you spoke. Peter’s other hand instinctively went around your shoulder and he pulled you into his arms, resting his head on top of yours. 

“I’ll always defend you, Y/n. Until the day I die,” Peter whispered into your hair, rubbing his hand up and down your back. 

Your chin trembled as you repeated Peter’s words over and over in your mind, and you began to softly cry, but it wasn’t a cry of anger nor grief; it was a cry of relief; you’ve been holding this pain for so long, and you were so glad you finally told someone the truth. Peter squeezed his eyes shut as he tightly held your frail body, and after awhile, your breathing got steadier. You knew the hateful rumors weren’t going to stop anytime soon, but now you were certain that you didn’t have to deal with them alone. 

Peter was there for you, and that’s all that mattered.

- - - - - 

To those who’ve been bullied, I want you to know that you are loved and supported. Don’t listen to those who tell you otherwise. You are warriors, and you will never be alone ❤️

[evanthenerd83]

“Holly And The Demon Visit The Mall”

1

“Do you feel me,” asked Holly.

The demon nodded, then looked away sheepishly. “I… I guess.”

She smiled. Teeth nearly blinded It. Nearly, because the demon was used to far too much light.

Hell had several suns.

It was always summer, too.

Holly jumped off the hood of the cop car. “Good.”

She still wore her school uniform. The skirt danced about, revealing pale legs and torn stockings.

And thighs. Just the bottoms. But just the bottoms were enough.

A sudden chill sent the demon glancing every which way—at a discarded soda can, a stained napkin, a used condom. It knew that Its cheeks were blue.

Thankfully, Holly didn’t seem to notice. She never noticed.

She skipped around the cop car. Towards the back. Her hand tapped, tapped, tapped on the trunk.

She had nimble fingers. Small hands and nimble fingers.

Fingers that traced the handprint, which was beginning to dry. It was no longer bright red. It looked more brown, brownish black.

The demon felt like gagging.

“You’re… you’re—“

“Absolutely adorable?”

Holly opened the trunk. Her face disappeared.

The demon nearly gagged.

“No. Yes. Kind of?”

A sharp giggle, girly, cut through the night. It was sweet. It was also poisonous.

The demon felt needle-hairs rising to attention. It wrapped Its arms around Itself, and one of Its horns shrunk. The other wobbled a bit.

“Aw, thank you.”

The demon watched the trunk.

It could hear her rummaging around, shoving things. The cop car started to bounce.

The demon held Its breath.

It glanced at the mall.

Lights were still on inside. The parking lot was just barely empty. A few cars sat in sporadic spots.

People were still there.

People.

Men. Women. Children.

An image flashed through the demon’s mind, vivid and sensory. An image so horrible— and so horribly detailed—that it gagged.

It stumbled.

It leaned against the cop car with one clawed hand.

The night spun.

At that moment, Holly slammed the trunk. The sound carried. Nobody seemed to notice.

She was carrying something. The demon could tell. It was obvious from how she was walking. She was also grunting.

The demon screwed Its eyes shut.

‘Please be a hammer. Please be a hammer. Please be a hammer.’

It wasn’t exactly praying. Not entirely.

If a demon prayed, it only prayed to one being. And that being definitely wasn’t a God.

Not an all-loving God, anyway.

Not even a God.

It was a being that barely answered its worshippers’ prayers.

And if it did, it did so with ulterior motives. It only wanted to entertain itself.

The demon was mostly begging. It was begging to the other being, the one opposite—an all-loving God.

Its sworn enemy.

Holly came around the side of the cop car. Her footsteps echoed, a tap-dance routine. They abruptly stopped.

The demon saw her black shoes in the corner of Its eyes.

They shined.

“Whatcha doing?”

‘PleasebeahammerPleasebeahammerPleasebeahammerPleasebea— Oh. Crap.’

The demon gasped. It had glanced up at Holly, slowly, hesitantly. It had just seen what she was carrying.

The thing she had resting against her shoulder.

“No.”

Holly blew a bubble.

Her gum popped.

She resumed chewing it.

“Yes.”

Holly spun around, then started walking towards the mall.

The hammer was big, very big. Practically a sledgehammer. It bounced with each step.

It must have weighed a ton. A hundred tons. Holly didn’t seem to notice, however. She moved just as fast as ever.

The demon stumbled to Its hooves.

It chased after her, tail swinging, striking the pavement. A fear pounded its way through Its chest.

“No. No. No. You can’t.”

It caught up with the girl.

Holly ignored It.

She kept chewing her bubblegum. She had her free hand stuffed inside a pocket, and one of her shoes was untied.

The laces flipped and flopped.

The demon growled, then jumped in front of her. It spread out Its arms. It also shook Its head.

Holly froze.

“No. No, Holly. Not again.”

Holly just stared at It. Her green eyes gleamed. They glimmered like diamonds.

The demon wasn’t sure if this was from the moonlight, the lights in the mall, or something different altogether. Maybe a little bit of both.

Maybe it was her soul again.

Her damned soul.

Holly tilted her head. A curl of blond hair came loose, falling over her left shoulder. It looked cute.

She looked cute.

Wait. What?

The demon blushed again. It looked away from her.

“Why not? We had fun last time, right?”

The demon felt tears forming. They burned.

But It took a deep breath, and It shook Its head again.

“No. You had fun. I was—“

“Hiding in the shadows. And pools of blood. Like a little bitch.”

The demon gaped.

Before everything, all of this mess, Holly had never sworn. Ever.

In the sixteen years of her life, It had never caught her swearing. Not even when her little brother accidentally killed—well, semi-accidentally killed—her pet goldfish.

Or when her crush had stood her up at the Valentine’s Day dance. Nor when she had found him behind the cafeteria, sticking a finger up Jenny Mackindale.

Or when her parents had sent her to the shrink.

Or—

The demon grabbed both of her shoulders. It looked deeply into her eyes.

“Why?! Why are you doing this, Holly?! Huh?!”

Holly just blinked.

She chewed her gum.

“You never spoke like this before… be-before…”

Holly blew another bubble. Like before, it burst.

“Before you showed up?”

The demon blinked a few times.

Yes.

Yes, she was right.

Before It had shown up, appeared in the middle of her dorm, Holly had been a simple girl. A good girl.

Not necessarily a good student. But nobody really was a good student if they went to a catholic school.

The demon knew.

Everyone sinned.

The young. The old. The middle-aged.

Even newborn babies sinned. It was only natural. Humanity was a terrible species, violent and horny and very, very, very selfish, and it was normal for them to seek their own satisfaction.

But Holly…

… Holly was different.

She hadn’t sinned. Ever.

Like her mouth, she had been pure. Unpolluted. She was actually a good person; helpful, forgiving, considerate, respectful.

But now.

Now.

Holly pushed It, passing by. The demon rocked on Its heels for a second. It managed to stabilize Itself.

But by then, it was already too late.

Holly was already entering the mall.

2

“I don’t understand why—“

“You don’t understand anything.”

They were power walking, side by side.

The demon swiped a claw across Its forehead. Pain rose up Its arm. Sweat peppered Its rippled, scaly skin.

Everything that came out of the demon—be it tears or sweat or pee—was acidic beyond all measure.

It had ruined way too many toilets.

No wonder they’d been jumping from motel to motel.

“Hold on,” Holly plucked out her gum. She pinched a pink blob between her fingers.

The demon froze. “What?”

Holly peered back.

She winked.

She swung by a trash can. Said trash can had been positioned behind a rather imposing pillar. Said pillar, gray and very, very close to falling apart, was standing in the middle of the lobby.

The lobby. That wasn’t the right word… was it?

The demon didn’t really know all that much about the living world. It knew enough to get by. How else could It have survived this long?

It had a vague understanding of malls. These large, maze-like complexes bristled with self-indulgence and self-flagellation. Not to mention… capitalism.

So much capitalism.

It knew that humans, driven by their need for material objects, went from shop to shop, wallets filled with money. They bought things. The mere variety of things sent a numbing shock through the demon’s mind.

Books.

Clothes (especially those with more than one fabric).

Jewelry.

Shoes.

Blow-up dolls.

Dildos.

Cold suddenly flooded Its cheeks, and the demon covered Its face with both hands.

It took deep breaths.

“Hey. You okay?”

Her voice made It jump.

The demon also yelped. A hand was suddenly slapped over Its mouth, and Holly glared at It.

She lifted a single finger to her lips.

The demon went quiet. It might not have known much about humanity, but It did understand the gesture.

Be quiet.

Holly pulled It behind the pillar.

She backed up, pressing her back into the pillar. She had It cradled. She was hugging It.

“Hope you weren’t too loud,” Holly peered.

The demon went rigid.

It could taste metal. No, not metal.

‘Blood,’ It realized. “I’m tasting the blood on her hands. Oh, Christ, oh lord, oh my Go—‘

Holly breathed a sigh of relief. Something soft and plump, but not too plump, touched the demon’s spine.

No. Not just something. Some things.

Things that, from Its calculations, were situated on her chest…

‘Tits.’

She let go, and the demon fell to Its knees.

The floor was colder than her hands. Discarded receipts fluttered by. A broken watch gleamed, and It impulsively glanced up.

Holly grabbed her sledgehammer. She’d laid it down while throwing her gum away.

She spun around. For Its credit, the demon tried to avoid the whiteness—flesh, fabric, didn’t really matter—that suddenly flashed across Its field of vision. It did try.

A glare pinned It down. A frown as well.

“H-Holly—“

That gesture again.

Holly tilted her head. She indicated the side of the pillar.

The demon shuffled on Its hands and knees, peering around. It felt like a soldier crawling through a trench.

Was there a sniper waiting for It?

If It exposed Itself, would a bullet go flying? Or would someone scream, causing others to scream?

Scream and scram?

The demon would have giggled.

It exposed a single eye, iris deep crimson.

It saw what she’d been checking out.

The food court, across the lobby, was closed. Many of the restaurants had their lights off. Sandwich Queen. McRonald’s. Burrito-ville.

Only a few still ran. A Lamby’s was being tended to, the cashier Holly’s age. The cook kept looking back at her.

But that wasn’t all.

Because It then saw… them.

Them.

“Do you see?”

The demon didn’t respond.

It shook Its head, slowly at first. It quickened. An icy dread flooded Its empty lungs.

Holly gripped the sledgehammer tighter. Her knuckles turned white.

It knew that she was licking her lips. It could feel the bloodlust wafting off of her, thick and musky.

And what Holly was feeling was bloodlust. Blood. Lust. The demon heard her breathing heavily.

“Do… Do you see?”

The demon gulped.

It could see. It could see plenty.

They were just sitting there, all of them at one table. One—a girl—was busy with her cellular device. Another—a boy—had his arms draped around the girl’s shoulder.

Yet another tipped his chair backwards. A different girl sat in his lap, face twisted in mock horror.

She was giggling.

A third boy stared at a third girl. A goth girl, the demon realized.

A goth girl with her hand underneath their table, shoved down his pants—

“Holly.”

Holly was silent now.

It scooted back, then stood up. It put both claws on her shoulders. It stared deep into her eyes, searching for something, anything, a shred of the girl she had been.

All It found was excitement.

“Holly,” It whimpered. “Holly, no.”

Holly was no longer listening, though.

She was now tossing her sledgehammer—such a big sledgehammer, where’d she even find it—from hand to hand. She muttered to herself.

“No. Not like this.”

Left hand.

“No. Not that either.”

Right hand.

The demon shook her. It was sweating acid-bullets now.

“Holly? H-Holly, please don’t. Just leave them alone.”

Above.

“Maybe it should be higher? No. Not that high.”

Below.

“At my midsection?”

The demon gripped her shoulders tighter, and It felt Its nails digging into the flesh. It loosened Its grip.

“Holly. Holly, let’s just… let’s just go back to the motel. We can… we can order room service… or something.”

It was desperate now.

It was close to tears now.

But Holly didn’t notice. She had finally found a position that she liked. The sledgehammer was tilted, horizontal, and her left hand gripped the handle, the knuckles turning blue.

“Hey! Re-remember that s-story I refused to t-t-te-tell? About those b-b-b-bl-blo-blood or-or-orgies? I… I’ll tell them now. I’ll tell you everything. Just please, just please, don’t go hurting those nice peo—“

Holly ducked out of Its grip.

She then began to run.

…

The teenagers didn’t know what hit them.

Well, that wasn’t true. They saw her running towards their table. How could they have not?

She was wearing a school girl’s uniform. A light brown vest over a white button-down shirt, her collar undone. Her skirt revealed legs that wouldn’t have quit.

And they didn’t quit. They carried her all the way to their table.

Marcy saw the school emblem—a cross.

She was sitting in the right position. She looked up from her phone just long enough to see it.

And to catch the blunt side of the sledgehammer.

Tony managed to stand up and clench his fists. The words were at the tip of his tongue; those three, simple, universal words.

What. The. #$@&.

But before he could open his mouth, the girl swung her sledgehammer.

Everything cut to black.

Samantha instinctively clenched her own fist, and Marcus suddenly reached the finish line. He screamed her name. It sounded like a goat baying.

Something warm filled her hand.

Something else that was warm soon filled his pants.

She tried to pull out. She tried. But before she could, a shoe hit her chest, and Samantha fell backwards.

Marcus went with her. He had a funny look.

That funny look disappeared underneath the sledgehammer.

Samantha opened her mouth to scream.

Something filled her mouth. Another shoe. It was shoved hard, and pressure started to build. A cracking sound from somewhere inside her own head. The pressure gave way to brief, potent pain.

One last, loud crack.

Her lower jaw came loose. It practically dangled, swinging from side to side.

The sledgehammer then found her.

Silence. Dark.

And the warmth coating her hand faded away.

The girl stood over her, chest heaving, cheeks flustered. A strand of blonde hair was plastered to her forehead.

Her eyes gleamed. But they didn’t gleam like emerald diamonds. They gleamed like glass.

She heard their chairs scraping the floor.

She spun around.

The empty chair kept on spinning.

…

[bi-ressler]

Coming Home [RessGale]

@skiesfallithurts requested "Coming home + RessGale" for this ask meme (still taking prompts if you want to send something in! Could take me some time though due to real life)

Title: Coming Home Relationship: Julian Gale/Donald Ressler Characters: Julian Gale, Donald Ressler, Henry Prescott (mentioned), Raymond Reddington (mentioned), others (mentioned) Words: 10.891 Setting: Post-Prescott-Arc AU Warnings: Abuse of prescription meds (aka Donnie is back on oxy and I'm not even remotely sorry), sexual assault (non-explicit, but it's being discussed), homophobia very briefly mentioned A/N: I've had this idea in my head for literal ages and thanks to the prompt I'm finally doing it! So thanks for indulging me :D Also, this got away from me (again) and turned out way (WAAAAAY) longer than it should have. Oops! - - - As always, English isn't my first language, this isn't beta'd and all mistakes are mine. Feedback is greatly appreciated :) (Also, tumblr keeps fucking up the formatting, so if the sentence breaks up in the middle of the paragraph, blame hellsite dot com.)

[Read HERE on ao3!]

__________________________________________

Falling back into old habits and unhealthy coping-mechanisms is far too easy, Donald finds. But when everything crumbles around him, and all the poorly concealed cracks and insufficiently closed gaps and holes in his armour, in his life, finally give out and leave nothing but rubble and guilt and dread, it's the only way he can think of not to fall into complete despair and drown himself in self-pity.

But maybe he's already past that point.

Maybe this is what drowning actually feels like, and there's definitely no lack of self-pity on his behalf.

So he downs the pills with a swig of beer, ignoring the fact that this feels far too familiar, far too much like coming home after a storm, soaking wet and shaking to lay down on the warm carpet and breathe for the first time.

It was all a mistake.

The last six years, it was all one big mistake and right now, he'd give everything to go back in time, erase Reddington from his mind, never join that damned taskforce that had him spiralling to this point from day one. Hell, he'd go even further, never become an agent in the first place - maybe open up a coffee shop in Detroid or become a banker or lawyer or anything at all, as long as it's as far away from Reddington and this whole mess as possible.

That way, he'd never meet Henry Prescott. He'd never murder Laurel Hitchin. He'd never let down everyone in his life, most of all himself, and Audrey would still be alive, and Julian would still be with the bureau ---

Julian.

The guilt comes back full force, because if anyone didn't deserve the fate they got, it would be Julian. Hard working, fierce, loving Julian.

He dry-swallows another pill for good measure, shoulders his go-bag and disappears down an empty alley, unseen by cameras and cops and anyone who might recognize him.

He's not sure if he can go on like this.

He's been on the run for nearly a week now; a week of hiding, paranoia, always looking over his shoulder and ducking into the shadows. Where he once felt safe when he heard the siren of a police car, he now starts running. It's exhausting and he cowers lower into the corner of the abandoned building he's staying in tonight.

Another pill. The shivers lessen. The bottle is almost empty.

He leans his head back against the cold concrete and curses his need for justice, his stupid-ass decision of accepting this life as punishment for his actions.

No, that's not right, he thinks.

If he really was after justice, he wouldn't have run. He would have faced the consequences like a man, faced jail-time and public humiliation.

Instead, he'd been crushed by his own guilt after Prescott's death, written his confession with a shakey hand and left it on his desk, before grabbing the go-bag from the trunk of his car and running.

By morning Cooper must have found it, and in the afternoon he'd seen his face on the news. He has no idea where to go from here.

He pops another pill and curses when he reminds himself to cut back and save what little of the drugs he still has left.

---

The thing about guilt is, Ressler thinks, that despite what everyone says, it doesn't lessen over the years. He still feels guilty about ruining his brother's chance of a career as a cop, and he still feels guilty about Hitchin and Wright and Prescott and every crime Reddington committed right in front of his eyes.

He still feels guilty about what happened to Julian - the first time, after that operation in Kabul went so horribly wrong and Julian took the blame for it, both of them knowing full well that Ressler had been in charge and made the decision to fire, but being stubborn enough to convince IA that it had been his fault, handing over his badge and service weapon with an unreadable look towards Don. Maybe he did it out of some twisted sense of obligation. Maybe they were just in love and compromised. But in the end Ressler's decision had cost Julian his job and a civilian his life.

And the second time, after the whole mess with Mr. Kaplan, effectively ending Julian's career as nothing more but collateral damage. He can still feel his heart crack at that look of betrayal in Julian's eyes as they stood over the remains of Mako Tanida.

---

The other thing about guilt is that Donald doesn't know how to make amends. He knows how to follow his instincts and get himself deeper into trouble, deeper into the pit of guilt, deeper into unescapable situations. Making more and more excuses, trying to cover up all of his messes with lies that lead to more excuses, more lies, more damage.

He knows it's good that he does feel guilt in the first place. But there's only so much he can take.

He thinks about everyone he has left - Reddington, Keen, Aram, Cooper, Navabi.

He could go and find Reddington, ask him to get him out of this mess he created, but he still has some dignity left (he almost laughs at that, sitting in the dirt, close, so close again to withdrawal that his chest tightens, burdened with the undignity of all the actions that led him here). So Reddington is out. He'd only get him into some deeper shit, anyway, and he can't deal with that right now.

The taskforce is out, too. They're obligated to arrest him on sight. And after doing what he did (all the dirty work for Prescott that makes him shudder and swallow back bile), he wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes. They'd know. Another thing he can't deal with.

He can't go to his family, either; getting to Detroid would be a feat in itself, but no doubt the feds are just waiting for him to make contact with his mom or brother. He doesn't want to think about them; if he just so much as imagines his mom crying over the news of her little boy's fuck-up of a life he would only break the last remains of his heart.

Sighing, he realizes he's on his own and he closes his eyes against tears that don't come. His eyes are far too dry, and yet he feels like crying; maybe he's become too numb, but not numb enough to not care. He swallows against his dry throat, his fingers flexing around the pill bottle. He's out at sea alone, the storm raging and waves threatening to bring him down, and in the darkness, there's no lighthouse in sight, not even a candle in the window of someone who might take pity on him. He's bound to drown.

---

The next day, he runs out of pills as well as luck. He hears the shouting before seeing what's going on, and he doesn't need to round the corner to know that the cops are arresting his dealer; he hears his name. They're not after the poor sod for his arsenal of prescription-meds, they're after him. He turns around and doesn't stop running until his lungs burn and his feet ache.

---

He finally collapses behind an old factory that's been out of use seemingly forever. He vaguely remembers it from a case so many years ago, when everything was still fine and he still had dreams and hopes and Reddington hadn't crossed his way yet, Julian already by his side, Prescott a name he had no business knowing.

He remembers some nondescript arms dealers hunched over their merchandise, duffels with a ton of dollar bills and a short shoot-out that ended with the perps in cuffs and a brilliant smile from Julian. Although he couldn't see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, he knew the twinkle in them that told him everything he needed to know.

How the fuck could he fuck up something so good?

It doesn't matter now, though. He slides down the rough walls, and a shiver rips from his spine, rocking his entire body, until it gets stuck in his hands and they can't stop trembling. Every movement hurts deep in his bones, and the shaking only makes it worse until he feels sick to his stomach and feels the bile rise.

He closes his eyes, and now the tears come.

He lets all the shame and hurt and fucking guilt wash over him, drown him until he is gasping for air, remembering --- remembering all the roads he shouldn't have taken, remembering every time he allowed Prescott to shove his dick down Donald's throat, the blood of some stranger still on their hands and clothes, and Ressler can't keep it in anymore. His stomach convulses and forces its few contents out, spattering on the dirty ground, acid in his aching throat that still remembers Prescott's assaults.

He remembers Prescott's laugh and the grip of his hand leaving bruises on his arms. He remembers burying bodies of people he knew nothing about, for a man who could be his downfall with no more effort than twitching a finger.

Ironic, how that still happened and Ressler has just reached rock-bottom while still having done everything Prescott had demanded. A fucking lose-lose-situation. Ressler would like to laugh about the stupidity of it all (of himself), but it gets stuck somewhere between his chest and vocal chords. He can never go back.

He'd always thought it would be Reddington who'd ruin him. He was wrong.

---

With the onsetting darkness comes the cold; it's the end of summer and the days are warm enough, but the nights take all the warmth and replace it with cruel emptiness and too many thoughts.

He remembers all the times their hunt for Reddington had gone wrong; all the times they'd run into another dead end; all the times an informant ended up dead --- all the times he would crawl into Julian's bed or Julian in his and they'd hold each other, seek solace and comfort and hope and the strength to move on in each other's arms.

He remembers Julian's lips on his and how, for these few moments, he'd want nothing more and could forget the job. He remembers skin on heated skin, and whispered platitudes that in that moment felt like a lifeline, and falling asleep with limbs entangled, sheltering him from nightmares and fatalistic thoughts.

He misses it. Misses it more than anything else, and it's the first time he acknowledges this feeling. He'd missed Julian for years; and then he was back again, back in that ice rink, looking at him like nothing had happened, like he still didn't blame Donald for all the shit that had happened. Maybe he really didn't. Maybe the guilt for all of that had been for nothing.

And then Julian was gone again and this time it would be irreversible. Like a lost limb, he feels his absence.

Shivering, he stares at the darkness around him, and all he wants is those strong arms around him and the scent of leather and aftershave and the scratch of Julian's stubble against his own.

He can never have that again. He doesn't deserve it, and Julian sure as Hell won't forgive him. Not for ending his career and certainly not for working with Reddington and turning a blind eye to the crimes he committed under their watch. He wouldn't even want to touch him again with all the dirt and blood on his hands from working for Prescott; wouldn't want to kiss the same lips that suffered the abuse of a ruthless killer and had swallowed it like he deserved it.

Because the truth is, maybe that's what his life has become: an unescapable, unforgivable Hell, all the pictures of what he'd done burned into his brain, behind his eyelids, on his skin where the bruises have long since faded but the dirt still remains. And maybe that's exactly what he deserves.

He crumbles under his thoughts until he lies on the ground, a shivering, hurting mess that's overflowing with guilt and self-loathing.

Julian always used to kiss it away.

---

How, when and why Donald has decided to walk up that road into the woods is lost on him.

He used to know this road, been here a few times but not in several years; it seems unchanged exept for the sky that looks a bit duller. He never walked this path before, but he didn't want to steal a car. Wouldn't know where to dump it here anyway.

He knows it's probably a dumb idea, but he's out of options by this point.

Every step is hard work and his knees are about ready to give out, shaking under the strain of carrying him for miles and miles, and even in the chilly shadows of the surrounding trees he's sweating like it's a hundred degrees out. Another shiver runs through his body that feels like it's crushing every bone on its way, and he moans as he gasps for breath.

He knows though if he stops he'll never get up again. He'll never reach the old cabin in the woods by that small lake, and he'd die by the side of the small, muddy road. He's not ready for that, though.

---

It's late afternoon when he gets off the main road and takes the small footpath that leads to the cabin in a few hundred yards. The sun is much hotter now and although he can feel her warmth on his skin, he feels cold and clammy and miserable, fighting shiver after shiver and losing hard.

All he wants to do is curl up into a tight ball and die, but he's not gonna give up, not now, even though he knows that he's making a massive mistake here, but he doesn't care. It's like he's too far gone to acknowledge that fact and all his common sense has left him along with the contents of his stomach last night; he can't shove it back and, frankly, what does it matter? He can't fall any deeper.

So he stumbles on, struggling over rocks and branches, his feet numb except for the occasional flare of pain that still reaches his brain and he can't quite manage to shut out.

Then it comes into sight and he breathes out, a pained, wheezing sound that makes his head spin, and suddenly he feels sick because he knows he has made the wrong decision; he should go. He should turn around and collapse by the road and wither away like a fallen leaf.

The cabin is still like he remembers it from years ago; it belonged to Julian's father before he'd died, a nice little place far out in the woods that's perfect for a weekend-trip. Julian used to tell him stories of coming here with his dad to fish and hunt, back in the day before everything had turned to shit between them, before he came out as gay and his father stopped talking to him altogether.

He knows Julian is here; he's seen the old Ford parked by the road close to the small footpath. He also knows he's not welcome, just as he knows that he won't have anything left if Julian rejects him and throws him back onto the street he came from.

Feeling his knees wobble, he pushes on before he can give in to the seducing urge to let himself fall to the ground and curl up to die. He can still do that afterwards.

Another few steps and he's around the cabin where he can see the small lake, a pond really, with the wooden terrace right by the water; on it stands a deserted deck chair, but the bottle of beer that sits right next to it is still half-full, so Julian must be back any minute.

He leans heavily on the wall of the cabin and feels his strength bleed away. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead and along his nose as he lets his head fall, the strain in his neck too much for his muscles to hold it up anymore. Catching his breath is difficult when his lungs don't want to take in any much needed air and his chest feels too tight, like the collar of his dirty white t-shirt is strangling him, and he raises a violently shaking hand to his chest, ignoring the creaking of his joints as he does so.

Shit, this is worse than he'd thought. The hand that isn't clutching his shirt automatically wanders towards his pants pocket. It's empty. Of course it's empty. He's out of pills. He panicks at that because how in the world is he supposed to survive ---

when he hears a gun cock and forces himself to look up into Julian's face.

He looks good - always does - and his stubble is almost a beard now; his hair has grown too and Donald just wants to breathe it in. He wears sunglasses (of course, it's still bright outside and his eyes are just so damn sensitive), and his brow is deeply furrowed, his mouth a thin line that tells Donald just how welcome he is here.

"Don?", he asks, voice raspy like he hasn't spoken in a long time. Maybe he hasn't, but Ressler isn't naïve enough to blame any emotion for the roughness.

"Hey", he says, and he feels the world sway from the effort of holding himself up, so he grabs for the wall again, temporarily borrowing stability from the wooden structure. He doesn't even want to know how awful he must look, all sweaty and dirty and miserable, shaking and fighting just to keep standing.

"What do you want?", Julian asks, words hard and the gun still pointed at Ressler.

He looks at Julian, helpless to say anything, devoid of all words, and he realizes he doesn't know how to answer that question. He opens his mouth in the hopes of being able to bring out anything at all when a shudder runs through his body, leaving him breathless and on the ground. For a second all he knows is the pain of too much and too little at the same time that grinds his bones to dust and cuts through his muscles effortlessly. He thinks he groans in pain, but can't tell over the static in his ears.

"Fuck", he hears at the edge of his consciousness, "Don!"

And when he looks up, Julian is gone from where he stood before, instead there are arms steadying him from face-planting into the muddy ground. He leans heavily into those arms that promise comfort and solace and strength.

"Julian", Don rasps out, and he looks up to see Julian close, so close, worry visible even behind the sunglasses, and he has to close his eyes as a rush of emotion threatens to overcome him. This is it. This is all he wanted.

"Don't talk now, okay? I'm callin' an ambulance." And that's wrong. He can't do that, Ressler can't go to the hospital, not when he's on every wanted-list in the city ---

"Don't", he whispers and swallows against the bile. Julian looks at him like he's lost his mind, but there's still so much worry. "Don't", Donald repeats. He doesn't know how else to communicate this.

"Okay", Julian says flatly, still sceptical. "You mind tellin' me though why the fuck you're here?"

Ressler looks away, tries to ignore the black dots that creep into his vision.

"I'm sorry", he says, and he means it. Hopes that Julian understands, because Ressler doesn't know if he has the strength or the words to really explain himself here. "I didn't know where else to go."

Julian just nods, waiting for him to continue while Donald shivers in his arms and doesn't know how to go on.

"I fucked up", he finally says, and Julian laughs at that; a humorless, dry laugh that settles itself deep into what's left of Don's bones, a laugh that sends waves of guilt through his chest. He looks to the ground and tries not to break down under the weight of it.

"Yeah, you did", Julian says and there's an edge to his voice that's dangerous and hurt and speaks of everything Ressler has put him through. "And I'm really fucking close to tell you to go to Hell."

His eyes burn holes into Donald's skin until he's sure that Julian must be able to see his insides now, the rotten flesh and the dirt and the blood and all the shame and guilt he's never gonna be able to wash away.

"Not gonna do that though. Seems like you're already there."

Don lets his head fall and at this point he can't tell sweat from tears or blood or vomit or dirt; it's all there on his skin, whether remembered or real he doesn't know. All he knows is that it's disgusting, he's disgusting, he's dirty and has done unforgivable things and yet Julian is still holding him up, still touching him --- His head drops and he closes his eyes against the spinning world.

"C'mon", Julian says quietly, "let's get you cleaned up. You look like you could need a drink too, something to eat. And then you're gonna tell me what's going on before I change my mind. You alright with that?"

Donald just nods. At least he thinks he does.

He feels Julian's grip tighten, and together they manage to get Donald on his feet; he sways unsteadily, but Julian's hands are still there, grounding him against the nausea, keeping him from falling over as he clenches his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness and pain that rips through him.

"Hey, wait", he blurts out when Julian nudges him to move. "You don't - you don't have to do this, Julian. I won't blame you if -", he takes a deep breath, trying to organize his blurry thoughts, "- if you... y'know. Wanna throw me out on the street. Let me rot."

Julian looks at him long and hard, his face unreadable, and Donald wonders when that changed. He used to be able to read him flawlessly, back in the day.

"I know", he says eventually, "and believe me, I have every reason to, but... let's just get inside 'n' sort this out, yeah?"

He nods.

The inside of the cabin looks exactly the way he remembers it from the few times Julian has taken him here. Cozy and warm, soft light through the small windows, wooden table in the middle of the room - with all kinds of stuff on it, bottles and tools and newspapers - surrounded by self-made wooden chairs; it's only one room, and in the corner is still the old bed with the worn through mattress that he remembers very vividly (it's softer than it looks, the pillows under his hips fluffy, the scent of whiskey from Julian's lips and resin from all around him filling his senses ---) Julian drags him to the bed; Don is glad that Julian keeps his hands on his shoulders for a few more moments. He doesn't trust his body to sit on its own and not fall over. He takes a few deep breaths - the smell of whiskey and resin still lingers in the cabin and if he closes his eyes, he might be able to pretend nothing has happened and he's back to when all was good. He doesn't close his eyes. Needs the punishment of seeing an older version of Julian and that glimmer in his eyes that betrays the cold anger he tries to project. In here, it's easier reading him. The sunglasses have landed on the table in the mixture of things, and breathing is just that much easier now. Funny how brown eyes can have that effect on him. Or maybe it's just Julian's eyes. "You okay? Or are ya gonna topple over as soon as I let go?", Julian asks. His hands burn where they touch Ressler's shoulders - even through the shirt - and he feels like their heat is spreading all the way through his arms, mending his broken bones with a painful grip that makes him gasp. "It's alright", he says. His voice sounds strange, somehow distorted and raw, and when Julian lifts his hands it's like ice fills all the places that were on fire just seconds before, crushing him, burning even worse. He bites his lip. "'Kay", Julian murmurs, and then he turns around to get a bottle of water and --- and he opens up one of the cabinets and pulls out a small, brownish-yellow pill bottle --- his heart is beating so fast now he thinks he might throw up, and every fibre in his body screams Want! Want! Want! --- his muscles pulling on him, willing him to move, to get to the pills, down them all, swallow them, no regrets, make the trembling stop and the sweating and the shivers, undo the damage to his body, unbreak his bones, untear his sinews --- His mouth falls open. He can already feel it: the texture and the form of the little white pill against his tongue, the short moment when he swallows, the high he's chasing - no, no, it's not that anymore, it's never been that; it's always been about numbing the pain until it wasn't, until it was just about avoiding the come down. But right now he can feel the high, the anticipation, being so close to victory --- "Don?" And he wants to tell Julian to shut up, to just give him the pills, but he's the one who holds the bottle, he has the power in this moment and fuck, Ressler would do everything, anything, get on his knees or on all fours and just take it (flashes of Prescott assault his mind at that, and he gasps audibly because Julian is not Prescott, far from it, and he just wants his brain to shut the fuck up, to stop, knowing the pills will do that, they'll fucking save him from his own thoughts) --- "Hey, man - what's going on?" It's Julian's voice again, so much nearer now, burning hot hands holding him together as Donald crumbles. He collapses like a frail burning building, the last beams that were holding it together now nothing more than a pyre of grief and lost hope. He trembles against Julian's chest, his hands clinging to Julian's shirt, hurting from the exhaustion of cramping around the scratchy material but unable to let go, his head tucked under Julian's chin where he crouches in front of Donald on the floor. He wants to cry or to scream or to lash out, but all the energy he has left is unfocused, is mainly the never ending chant of Want! Want! Want! beneath his skin. "Fuck", he grinds out, and it's the hardest thing for him right

now, but he has Julian's arms around him and can feel his lips in his hair and smell leather and aftershave and --- Julian hasn't let him go yet. He hasn't pushed him away yet; is still touching him, unafraid, not yet disgusted. Then again, he doesn't know what Donald has done. "Hey, hey", Julian breathes against Ressler's temple, "it's okay, Don, it's - it's alright. It's gonna be alright..." Don shakes his head, takes a stuttering breath. "It's not, it's -", he starts, and his hands shake so hard now he's afraid of hurting Julian, "it's all gone to shit, okay? Nothing's alright, and - it's all my fault. It's all my fault, Julian, just ---" He doesn't know what he's saying, only that he needs to get it out. He needs to let Julian know how sorry he is, how much he wishes he could go back and do it all differently, how much he wants Gale to be happy. "Easy", Julian whispers, and now his hands are stroking up and down Don's spine and he feels like a child, but also safer than he has in a long time. This, right here, is his shelter in the storm, a place to wait out the worst of it before he can go home. Only that he doesn't know where home is anymore. Not that it matters. He has his self-imposed punishment to serve. They sit there for a while, until Ressler's breathing is less ragged and his body is limp with exhaustion and his hands uncramp around Julian's shirt. "You need to drink something", Julian says, his voice far too soft, and somewhere deep inside of him Ressler just wants Julian to yell at him, to beat him, to show him exactly how he's felt the last couple of years. Let out all the anger and frustration and disgust he must be feeling. Add his loathing to the pyre burning away at Donald's insides. Julian shuffles away, keeping one steadying hand on Ressler's shoulder, the other reaching for the glass of water he must have put on the ground besides him when Donald collapsed. "Here", he murmurs and holds the glass up to Don's lips. Donald doesn't even try to take it from him, his trembling hands trapped between his thighs. The water is refreshing and he's sure he could drink an entire river - his mouth and throat aren't longer as dry, his heaving stomach slowly settles, his over-heated skin seems to cool a little. When the glass is empty, Julian sets it aside and takes a hard look at Don. "Better?", he asks. Behind the hard, cold glare his gaze is so open, so vulnerable now that Don has to look away. "Yeah", he nods. "Thanks." He doesn't know where Julian has put the pill bottle, but it's probably back in the cabinet. There's no way Julian could have misinterpreted Donald's behaviour. "So." Donald looks up again. He can still feel the sweat on his forehead, on his neck, chest, everywhere, but now it's cooler, and if the temperature keeps dropping as quickly he will surely freeze to death. He doesn't know though if it's the change of seasons or his own body. "Guess I owe you an explanation", Donald murmurs. He's tired suddenly, so tired he can feel it in his bones. Like he's two hundred years old, an ancient tree about to die. "You bet your ass you do." With that Julian gets up off the ground, refills the glass, sets it on the table and sits down next to Donald on the bed. He sits further away than he used to, the gap between them like a fucking canyon that Don could throw himself in to to break every bone in his body yet again, for the last time. He won't though. He owes Julian that much. "So?", Julian asks when the silence stretches too long. But Donald doesn't know where to start, doesn't even know what to say except for I'm sorry and forgive me and I love you. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry again, his heartbeat picking up its pace, beating uncomfortably against his too tight ribcage. "I'm sorry", he begins, and when he looks at Julian, his face is impassive and schooled. He expects more. Of course he does, Donald thinks, and he deserves it, deserves more, deserves everything. He's just not sure he can give that. "I ruined your life", he says. Looks down at his hands and how

they shake where they're trapped between his knees. "Again", he adds and the corner of his mouth twitches in a humorless attempt at a smile. "You should never have paid for what we - what I did. The whole Reddington-thing. I justified it with all the good we did, all the cases we solved, the criminals we put behind bars, but... you were right. The price was too high. It was doomed from the start... All the people who died, Julian, all those good people --- I don't know if it was worth it." He looks up into Julian's face. It's not as passive and unreadable as before; now there's a glint of pity, a tiny spark of anger, the smallest sign of resignation. "And - and to think I betrayed all my principles for that taskforce. All I ever stood for - wanted to stand for. Fuck, I'm... I just... I just wanna go back, Julian. I just wanna start over. Forget about - about Reddington and Prescott and Hitchin and - Audrey. Fuck, Audrey... I should have known then. I should have quit back then." He buries his face in his hands. There are no tears, but the shame that's crawling up his spine and spreading through every inch of his body is threatening to overwhelm him. "What happened to her?", Julian asks quietly, his voice impossibly soft. He knows about them. About their far too early engagement, about the stubbornness with which Donald had tried to love her just to get over the fact that Julian was gone from his life. About his need to prove that he was okay. "She's dead. She was killed. She'd still be alive if it wasn't for Reddington." "I'm sorry", Julian says after a moment of silence. He sounds genuine, even though Ressler knows how Julian feels about Audrey. Or used to feel, anyway. And now, Donald doesn't know what else to say. Knows there's so much, too much to talk about, but he doesn't know where to start. He wants to tell Julian about Hitchin and Prescott and those brief moments with Reddington - in the box and in a hotel room in Washington and the whole long flight from Munich back to the states. Donald takes a deep breath; it's not like that makes any difference because his lungs still seem incapable of taking in enough oxygen for him to survive. How he's still conscious, he doesn't know, but it's probably just his mind playing tricks with him. And all the while, Julian looks at him with patience that's bordering on resignation, and sadness he might be mistaking for grief about the people they could have been. The love they could have shared, the lives they could have lived. All those things Ressler never gave himself time to grieve for, but are returning with a vengeance now, cutting him up, sucking him dry, suffocating him in their thick reality. "I deserved it", he finally croaks, his voice strangled by everything he's lost, and he clears his throat. "Everything I got in the end, I deserved it." He stares at his hands that are trapped between his knees, feels them tremble, and when he looks back up at Julian, the other man is suddenly closer than he was before. The canyon between them is nothing more than a crack in the pavement now, their legs not yet touching, Julian's heat a welcome comfort against Don's clammy pale skin, and it still feels like it's not enough, like nothing he could do could ever be enough, and as much as he detests the thought that this might be the closest Julian will let himself get to Don, he also revels in the almost-touches and the dark gazes and the fact that this, too, is something he painfully deserves: the one person he never stopped loving to be entirely unreachable. He thinks back to the good times and how easy it was to just reach out and take any comfort he needed. The sleepless nights in those dingy motel rooms they spent staring out the window at the starry sky or at each other, the moments of warmth and solitude, bodies wrapped around each other like they're one, soft breath in his ear, dry lips on skin, rough fingers entangled, squeezing, comforting. Thinks back to that night in Manila, when Julian stood before Donald's door at three in the morning, dark bags under

his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his chest to prevent him from falling apart; later it would be Don's arms holding him together. Thinks back to that morning in New York that should have been entirely unpleasant with the stink and the broken heater in the middle of January and the noise even so early, but with Julian's sleeping form next to him - so peaceful and full of beauty -, he wished it could always be like this. He doesn't think back to the time they said goodbye, or the time Julian almost died from a bullet in his stomach, or the countless times they sat at each other's hospital beds. He doesn't think about the last time they kissed, the last time they made love, the last time they hugged, the last time there wasn't this edge to Julian's voice that tells Donald that things will never be the same. He certainly doesn't think about the future. "And what is it you got? What is it you think you deserve? 'Cause I see you sitting here like, like death warmed over and I can't imagine what the Hell you could've done to deserve... well, this." Julian's voice is rougher than usual; Donald doesn't know if it's because of the emotion he swallows so successfully or because he's smoking more than he used to or because this is the first time in a long time that he's speaking to somebody. Donald draws in another sharp breath. His lungs aren't exactly cooperating, but it doesn't matter as long as he can still explain. "I think I need some air", he says, voice barely more than a whisper. He sees Julian nod out of the corner of his eye, and together they manage to walk outside. It's weird, a little, how much better he feels and how much easier it is to talk, to move, to breathe, ever since arriving in the cabin. Just a few hours ago he was almost certain he'd be dying in a ditch right about now. It's gotten dark outside; the sun hasn't disappeared fully yet, but through the trees that surround the cabin and the pond it's impossible to make out. Julian sits him down in the deck chair Donald had noticed earlier, the opened bottle of beer that's still sitting beside it now forgotten. Don takes a deep breath. It's easier now, out here. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Julian setting up a second chair next to the one Donald is sitting on. They both lean forward, elbows on their knees, Ressler's head hanging, Gale watching him with sharp eyes. Donald shakes his head; to think how easily all this could have been avoided! If he hadn't taken the job with the taskforce, none of this would have happened. Or if he'd been honest sooner, if he'd talked to Julian when the whole Mr. Kaplan-mess started instead of betraying him --- "That, right there, what you just said, is why I love you." He can still hear those words loud and clear in his head, recalling that moment with absolute clarity even if most of his other thoughts and memories are blurry from exhaustion and pain. The way they just came over Julian's lips, so simple, so easy, like they were picking up from where they'd left, still sends goosebumps over his arms and back; he remembers the painful tightening of his chest back then, and his mind going completely blank, and deciding to overplay his nerves with a lame joke and getting back to work as quickly as possible. He remembers hope bubbling up in the back of his ribcage, and laying awake that night overthinking those words. Overthinking the whole situation while pushing away his guilt. He hated lying to Julian then, and he hates where it has gotten him. He remembers cursing Julian's mind, always so quick and clever, and he remembers cursing Reddington time and time again. He purposely doesn't remember all the times he thought about the Concierge instead of Julian when he was alone in his bed. It feels like another betrayal all over again. And he remembers being on the verge of asking how much truth lay behind Julian's words more than once but always pulling back at the last second. Maybe he'll never know, now. "Don?" He remembers that he needs to talk. His mind feels almost bruised by the

onslaught of memories ever since he's seen Julian for the first time in so long. "Yeah. Sorry." He takes another deep breath, now easier out here, and leans back in his chair, tired eyes focusing on the patches of darkening skies through the crowns of the trees. A sense of tranquility fills his whole body and the shivers cease to shake him. "You were right about Mako Tanida. His head. Reddington - Reddington gave it to me as a gift." He closes his eyes for a second and sees the severed head in the box as if it happened yesterday instead of almost six years ago. He shudders and opens his eyes again, back to watching the gentle breeze shifting through the leaves and branches. He doesn't look over at Julian. "Some sort of... sick compensation for Audrey's death." He pauses at that, thinking back at Audrey and how he barely remembers her face now even though he knows he should. It gives Julian time to piece it together. He doesn't say a word though, intent on letting Donald speak. "It makes me sick now. But that's Reddington, you know? He lulls you in and there's nothing you can do about it. -- Objectively, I knew what we were doing, and I was justifying it with all the high-profile arrests we did. But... I don't know, man, he was under my skin and I only realized it when it was too late. He's like this... spider. Sucks you dry as soon as you're caught in his net. And it doesn't stop until someone worse comes along and ---" He stops speaking then, dropping his head, unable to find the words to convey Prescott's cruelty, his depravity that became Donald's own. A hand on his shoulder makes him look up; Julian is watching him, his gaze a strange mix between a cold distance and warm empathy. "What happened?", he asks. As if his hand doesn't burn Don's flesh where it touches him over his shirt, as if he doesn't know the repercussions of this gesture, as if he can't even imagine what it means to Don that he's touching him out of his own accord, not yet fleeing, not yet disgusted, but full of love and comfort and everything Donald doesn't deserve. They stay quiet for a short while, Don watching how the cold distance transforms to something new, something like pity, but not exactly. Maybe curiosity with a touch of sadness. Like he wants to hear the answer and doesn't. Like he wants to know what made Don come here but doesn't want to hear it. Like he knows it could change everything between them, all the anger he's been carrying with him since the ice rink-case melting away, leaving only the torn pieces of his old love. "Laurel Hitchin", Donald says quietly. Another shiver runs through his body as he feels Julian's hand falling away. They're silent again; Don trying to figure out how to confess a murder and all the shit that followed it, and Julian thinking about how Hitchin might as well have fired him. She may have been an awful person, but she didn't deserve to die. In Don's experience, there's no one who deserves to die; at least that used to be his opinion. He's not so sure about it now. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but that's where they stay. He can't push them over the edge, can't make his vocal chords work and his lips form the vowels and consonants. He tries in vain, again and again, until Julian is looking at him again like he knows Donald's struggle. "She's dead", Julian says, tone neutral, and Don can't read from it how much Julian knows or at least suspects. He nods. Remembers her laying on her kitchen floor, pool of blood growing larger second by sickening second. "I didn't mean to ---", he stammers, and Julian's eyes grow wide like he didn't expect this confession. "Shit", he breathes and rubs a hand over his face. It stops over his mouth and chin and he looks straight ahead into the darkness that has settled around them like their own private bubble where there's room for confessions and guilt and maybe even forgiveness; room that the bright sun of the day doesn't allow. "That's why you're such a mess? Jesus, Don,

I ---" But he doesn't continue. Donald doesn't want to hear another I'm sorry from Julian, and he doesn't want to hear that he's fucked up either. He just wants to forget. "It gets worse", he says and Julian looks up, surprise and pain and dread lining his features, and he suddenly looks much older than he is. Still beautiful, and Don has to swallow against the sudden feeling of belonging that rises in his chest; like he's home, like this has been his home all along, and it will be until they're old and grey and dying of old age in each others' arms --- only that it's a fantasy, a feverish dream he's having. Before Don can continue though, Julian stands up and disappears inside the cabin without another word. He can't blame him. With a sigh he stays where he is, watching the sky again that's now completely dark, and he doesn't know if he isn't actually watching the invisible dance of the trees. His mind is completely blank now and it's a more than welcome change. Before he knows it, Julian is back with two bottles of beer in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Wordlessly, he gives one of the already opened bottles to Don who takes it with only slightly shaking hands, then sits back down, takes a gulp of beer, puts it down on the ground beside his chair, and takes a cigarette out of the pack. He offers one to Don but he declines with a shake of his head. The small flame of the lighter makes Julian's face flicker orange and yellow, the shadows making the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth dance and seem deeper than in the light of day. For the few seconds it lasts, he looks almost angelic in a rough, strange way. "I called the cleaner who used to work for her", he says before he can think about it. "His name's Henry Prescott." The smell of burnt tobacco lulls him in, like they're back in Julian's old apartment, in his bed after an evening of slow sex, bliss and heavy limbs and soft words forever interlinked with it. It almost makes the bile that's threatening to rise after the mention of Prescott's name stay down. Julian's eyes are on him again, calmer now, but also more distanced than before. Don can barely make them out through the dark of night, but from experience he knows Gale won't say any more. He needs all the facts, and Don's the only one who can provide those. He looks back to where the lake must be, now an invisible black hole between the equally black woods. He thinks it must be easy now that he's started, but the words won't come, his mind preoccupied with keeping the images at bay, the memories of dead bodies and blood and the smell of bleach and ammonia. He closes his eyes for a minute, the shivers returning, rocking his body against his will, and he's going to be sick if the stink of chemicals doesn't leave his nose soon --- He wishes Julian would touch him again, ground him somehow like he used to, but he doesn't. Don doesn't look up either. He needs to carry on. "He found out who I was", he says eventually, strangled, struggling to keep talking. "Blackmailed me into working for him." He rubs his free hand over his face, pressing down over his eyes to get rid of the images and the smell, and for a moment it's like Julian isn't even there, like he's not listening, like Don can say anything he wants to the dark emptiness he's surrounded by. He takes a few gulps of the beer but doesn't set it down. "Fuck, I --- the things I did. The shit I was forced to do and I, I didn't even fight it. I was too afraid to - I don't know, lose my job, my reputation, my friends", it breaks out of him now, and a laugh forces its way through his constricted throat at the irony of the words. He feels Julian shift next to him, reminding Don of his presence, but he doesn't turn to look at him. "I did every fucking thing he told me to. Drove around dead bodies in car trunks. Buried and unburied them. Scrubbed blood off walls and carpets and beds. --- How the fuck can anyone forgive me for that? How can you?" He takes another large sip of the beer, now risking a glance at

Julian. His cigarette has almost burnt down completely, leaving a tail of ash threatening to fall onto Julian's lap; he hasn't taken a drag since Don has started speaking. Instead he's looking at Donald, almost staring through him, and Don doesn't know what to make of that. He doesn't think he's ever seen that expression on Julian. "I should never have come", he says curtly because he can't face the silence now. "I'm sorry. I should never have -- I guess I know now that I deserved it." The calm that settles in his bones surprises him. He looks back up to the sky, clear and beautiful where it shines through the trees, and now he can make out tiny bright dots, stars spattered across it like the splashes of watercolor over paper when he was a kid. He can feel tears behind his eyes and he knows this is the last time he will be home. Knows it's the last time he gets to feel something other than guilt and dread. Maybe he should get up and leave now, having done enough damage as it is, but something inside him urges him to stay, to tell Julian the whole truth, make him understand. He needs Julian to tell him to fuck off; needs his rejection to be at peace and go home. Somewhere, anyway. "He didn't stop there", he says, and he knows it's his only chance to ever articulate it; if he doesn't say it now he'll be silent forever. Besides him, Julian tenses. He's been tense for the last couple of minutes, but now his back is straight in a way that it almost never is, but Donald needs to get those next few words out. He feels strangely detached from his body and mind and memories. "Sometimes he would force me on my knees, make me suck him off", he starts, and it's easier to say it out loud than it should be, "and sometimes he would bend me over the hood of the car or tie me to the bed post in whatever hotel he'd stay in. I took it every time. I thought I didn't have a choice." And he's smiling now, the weight on his shoulders, his lungs, his mind so much lighter, and he doesn't even mind the trembling of his hands, of his whole body. He just lets it happen. "Until my conscience finally made me put a stop to it. I arrested him. Wrote my confession. And left. But I'm still too much of a coward to face the consequences, instead I'm running from everything." He lets his head fall. This shouldn't be this easy, he tells himself, but then again, with Julian nothing is as it should be. "Swallowing one pill after the other, sleeping in the mud, always looking over my shoulder. That's no life. That's - that's Hell, Julian." Finally, he looks back at his old love, a flood of emotions racing through him like a tsunami, and he chokes out: "I deserve it. All of it. What Prescott did to me. I gotta live with it. I'm ---" But the words die on his lips as he feels Julian's arms around his neck, and hot breath against his ear, and fingers tangling in his hair. He stops breathing for a few seconds, brain catching up with the sensations, and Julian is embracing him like he knows it's the last time, or like he's sorry, or like his life depends on it. "Just so you know", Julian rasps against Don's cheek, "I really fucking want to punch you right now. I wanna - wanna throw you against the wall and just - punch you until I can't move my arm anymore. Okay? Got that?" Donald nods silently, still stunned by the sudden embrace. He didn't think Julian would ever want to touch him again, wouldn't even want to be near him again. "No one", Julian says, "No one - deserves shit like that." And then he stammers like he wants to say every word he knows at the same time while simultaneously not knowing what to say altogether, before giving up with a hissed "Fuck". Don knows this, knows that sometimes, Julian's brain is faster than his mouth, and then he stumbles over words like an excited child. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you, huh?", he asks quietly, still not letting go, and now Don puts the bottle down and returns the embrace. Carefully, very carefully, like he might freak Julian out, like he might realize then what he's doing and

drop Donald like a hot potato. Donald shakes his head no; doesn't want to be dropped, not now, not when he's this close to Julian; shakes his head because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now either. The idea that's been in the back of his head, whose existence he completely ignored until now, that's probably the reason he came here in the first place, creeps into his consciousness now, and his grip around Julian's ribs tightens. "I just--- wanted to apologize for everything I did to you. I ruined your career, your life. I lied to you, I betrayed you. And I'm so sorry, Julian, I'm - I'm so fucking sorry." He loosens his grip again so he can look at Julian who looks up. His eyes are wet and dark and so damn beautiful, and now they're only inches apart. He could kiss him now, ruin everything all over again for a short moment of bliss, but he doesn't. "Me too", Julian says quietly, and his voice is soft like torn velvet. "I wish you wouldn't have come here. Let me keep my anger. But I guess you have this way of making me forgive everything you do. You're impossible, Don, you know that and I, just, hate you so, so much right now, I fucking - I hate you so much ---" "I know", Don whispers against Julian's cheek as their faces are pressed together, stubble against stubble, words escaping them that neither of them hears, lips against skin, not exactly kissing, but mouthing apologies and curses that get lost in the night. "I was so angry for so long, thinking about you, and the shit you did, the - the way it had to end", Julian rasps, tension falling off his body, too tired to keep on shivering. "I kept asking myself why the fuck you'd work with him --- how you could stand looking Reddington in the eye day after day and not - not see all that he cost us. Except I realised you did see, and you just didn't care." "Julian, I ---", he interrupts, but Julian keeps talking. "And I took that as justification to curse you and to hate you, and I did, you know, I really did, but... then I realised it was Reddington and I -- I chalked you up as just another casualty, another person he ruined, because you - you might just as well have been dead, you know? I fucking buried you." Julian chokes a little at that, but his grip at the back of Don's head doesn't weaken. "I know him, Don, I, uh, I know how he is. How he will put you under his spell and pull you in and never let go. Just... Just tell me this." And he looks up again, eyes red rimmed even in the darkness, and Don wants nothing more than to kiss those tears away, but he can't. He owes Julian, and even though he doesn't know what he wants to ask, he knows he needs to give an honest answer. No more lies. No more. Julian's searching his face and seems to have found what he's been looking for when he finally speaks up again after long moments of silence. "Did you love him?" The question should surprise Donald. It doesn't. He looks down, unable to meet Julian's unrelenting gaze. Thinks back to the box and the hotel room in Washington and the flight from Munich back to the states. Slowly, without looking up, he nods. No more lies. Here it comes. "Yeah", he says quietly even though he knows Julian has seen his nod. "I did. But never like I loved you." The words just come, mindlessly spilling over his lips, and he means them; he still doesn't look up. Doesn't want to see the disgust and rejection in Julian's eyes. The moment stretches like someone stopped time, stopped the entire universe, and Donald doesn't mind one bit. If it means having this last moment with Julian, even if it's filled with uncertainty, he'll gladly spend eternity frozen in time like this. Julian's fingers are still in his hair, his gaze still focussed on Donald. He's still though, not moving, and if it wasn't for his heavy breath, Don would have thought Julian might really be frozen. Then the moment ends. "Okay", Julian says, simple but heavy, like this truth lifted some weight off of him that Donald didn't know Julian was carrying. He looks up now, unable to keep his

gaze away any longer, and he doesn't know what to make of Julian's expression. There's no disgust. There's no rejection. There's understanding and sadness locked away in the tears that are sticking to his eyelashes, shimmering in the pale light of the moon that's slowly beginning to shine through the trees. Donald doesn't understand it; Julian is supposed to be upset, angry, pushing him away, throwing him out on the street to rot --- not drawing soothing circles over the back of his head, not looking at him like that, like they can fix this, like Donald is finally home --- "I'm, uh... I'm going to the police. Tonight. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. My sad attempt to make things right." He has to look away again, Julian's focussed, open gaze too much for him. "Guess I couldn't... leave without having told you. And I'm - I'm not asking for forgiveness here. I know I can never have that. I just needed to see you. Make sure you're alright, so..." He clears his throat, realizing that they've only been talking about him and never once about Julian. Fuck, how egoistic can he be! "How're you doing?", he asks, and Julian is still clinging to him, just as he's clinging to Julian. "Oh, I'm fine", Julian laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Julian -", Donald starts. He doesn't need his bullshit now. "Really, Don, things couldn't be better. I've read that in my horoscope." He still smiles, a little crooked like he's holding something back, something big, and now Ressler's hand comes up to cup Julian's face. Again, the thought of just kissing him comes to mind, but they're so fragile, both of them, it would only leave them shattered for good. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke the thick stubble and he doesn't say a word. Julian closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, and for a few precious moments, Donald can pretend they're happy. "Stay", Julian says and Donald freezes. Thinks he must have misheard Julian, who looks up now from where he kneels in front of Don's chair, his own hand leaving the blonde hair to rest at Don's jaw. "What?", he asks. It's more of a breath though, no sound escaping his lips. "I'm - yeah, I'm fucking pissed at you right now, but all of this... it - it doesn't change anything. Y'know, I still mean it." And they're so close still, and Donald has lost track of what's happening, and confused, he shakes his head. "What do you mean?", he asks. "Trondheim. Remember that?" He does. It was the beginning of March and so cold even the hotel room in New York with the broken heater seemed like a tropical vacation in comparison. It wasn't the first time they said I love you, but it was the first time they talked about the future. Before, they would stay in the moment, too afraid of letting go, of losing the other over naïve fantasies of a life together. That night though, they didn't need to be scared. "Whatever happens", Julian said, "I'll never walk away. How could I, huh? Guess I'm too far gone." He smiled, and so did Donald, pressing a kiss to Julian's collarbone. "Fifty years from now", Julian continued, "I'll still think of you. Every fucking day." That earned him a kiss on the lips, chaste and innocent and full of love like they've never experienced before. "Don't matter if you're still with me or not. You don't forget the love of your life, Donnie. I won't forget. Not us. Not this. Never. I could never let you go. Ever." But back then, Julian couldn't have imagined where they would end up one day. "It was different back then", Don says. Not because he doesn't want Julian's words to be true, but because he doesn't think himself worth them. "Yeah, it was", Julian answers, "but tell me you don't feel it still. Tell me, Donnie, and I'll let you go." Donald's answer is silence because, yes, of course he still feels it, that love that's deeper than any feeling he's ever known, deeper even than the shame and guilt and pain of the recent months, years, but doesn't Julian know that it's pointless? That Don's life is over? The silence stretches on and he can't hold

Julian's gaze. "I know", Julian says, "I know." And those words are enough to set him free, to liberate him from his cage of anger and self-pity and guilt and self-imposed punishment - he knows those won't go away anytime soon, but he still feels like breaking down, mercy too much to handle when he knows he's undeserving of forgiveness. He lets his head fall, knowing Julians hands are there to steady him. They do, cradling him like a newborn child, and in a way that might be true: maybe, somehow, this can be a new life, a new start for him; a clean slate. Maybe now, he can forget all of it, all the shit that happened, the person he was - the person he was forced to become --- maybe this is the one chance in life for rebirth. "I'm a mess", he says. "I know", Julian answers. "We can figure it out. Together." "You deserve better." "Shut it now, Donnie. I think I know best what I deserve, huh? I've given up everything for you, y'know, twice. You know what I think it is I deserve? Hm? What we deserve?" Donald looks up, feeling Julian's breath against his lips as much as the intensity of his gaze, those brown eyes so familiar in their depth it makes his heart ache. He wants to answer, say something, anything at all, but no words will leave his lips. He feels trapped there between Julian's closeness and the chair, but there's no place he'd rather be. He holds Julian's gaze for a few moments before shaking his head. "Peace, Donnie. I think we deserve peace after all this. Just a little, don't you think?" And that sounds good, far too good to be true, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. "Yeah", he says finally, voice constricting, "I want that. I want that, Julian." A smile is still tugging at the corners of his mouth when Julian kisses him, slow and unsure and not at all like the many kisses they used to share; it's like a first kiss, a promise for an uncertain future, a vow to try. To give it time and let wounds heal - they're all they have, after all. "You're not going to the police", Julian says as they part. "We will figure this out. Get you clean. And in fifty years we'll still be here, okay, I won't lose you again, I couldn't, couldn't bury you again, I'll ---" And as Donald kisses the doubts and fears away, for the first time in years he has the feeling that everything might turn out okay; that he might be deserving of happiness after all. That finally, finally he's home. _______________________________________

[masjestickingdom]

Secretly Fighting (For You)

Pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Angst, one shot, fluff

Summary: You and your best friend Jaehyun are inseparable and love each other platonically. Key word: platonically. Or so you thought. When Jaehyun’s relationship with his girlfriend goes into turmoil, suppressed feelings resurface, but in the light of preserving friendship, an idiotic, ignorant front is put up. Will your relationship with Jaehyun remain stable or will the possibility of being something more be the ultimate destructive ending?

Note: Hey! So this is the scenario I’ve been hinting at for the past two updates. This scenario is by far the longest piece I’ve written, and it’s also a bit different from my usual one shots in the sense that I’m trying out a more angsty/fighting-type scenario. I hope you enjoy it!  

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   “Jaehyun, open up!” a loud, shrill voice shrieked. “We need to talk!”

   Banging soon followed and sure enough, it caught the attention of both occupants of the apartment: you and your best friend Jaehyun.

   You and Jaehyun had the amazing opportunity to rent out an entire apartment floor, shared with a few of your mutual friends, including your younger cousin Haechan. Having an entire floor was unbelievably amazing, and you quickly adapted to the perks that came along with it. The best part of having one humongous floor was the sense of privacy. It seemed trivial to you at first, but not having that constant anxiety of coincidentally meeting your next door neighbor and not having to hear the constant arguments between next door children were things you got comfortable with. As a matter of fact, it was one of the reasons you used to convince the others to join you in renewing the contract a few months ago.

   That was the perk, but it was being completely invaded by that crazy girl your best friend called his girlfriend. Generally, what he did to his girlfriends was his own problem, so he rarely talked to you about the reasons behind his break-ups. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even tell you whether he was still in a relationship or not. Of course, you, being his best friend, sensed his break-ups every time without him having to tell you. The dark gaze that passed his eyes when you once asked him about his date gave away everything. In that similar sense, you were always able to smell something fishy with every other relationship he had.

   “Jaehyun, I know you’re in there!” his girlfriend continued to scream.

   With the absurd situation, you had no idea what to do. It was thrown at you in the middle of your slumber, and all you could think about was how good of an alarm your friend’s girlfriend would have been with that booming voice of hers. Thankfully, everyone else on the floor had already left for either school or work. You and Jaehyun were the only ones whose schools ended early, so since the beginning of your summer break, both of you were typically the last ones to wake.

   Standing in front of the intercom, staring at the girlfriend’s frustrated face, you angled your neck so that your head was tilted to one side. From that angle, her resemblance to Cassie from Dragon Tales was uncanny.

   “Jung Jaehyun, I will stand here and wait for you all morning if I have to!” she yelled.

   You immediately exchanged a terrified face with Jaehyun as he stood next to you, massaging his temples.

   “Jae, you have to answer her,” you urged, not understanding why he was avoiding his girlfriend. “Our neighbors will complain.”

   He freed his face of his hands and lifted his head to get a better look at his girlfriend through the intercom.

   “Do I have to?” he groaned, which was completely out of character for him.

   Dreading to face another angry girlfriend was normal, but openly avoiding confrontation was not Jaehyun. Maybe he’s tired of being angry at, you thought, concern taking over your facial expression. Why did his girlfriends end up being mad at him? You had no clue, but it happened almost every time. The one time one of them wasn’t mad was when you told Jaehyun to never let go of her.

   “Hey,” Jaehyun spoke, pulling you from your trance. “I’m the one who has to deal with Screaming Girlfriend over there. What’s with your face?”

   You directed your eyes at him, and when you saw the distress in his eyes, you finally mustered the courage to ask him the questions you were afraid to ask. “Why is it that your relationships, with the exception of Bora, end horribly? What are you doing to make them mad?”

   You saw the change of look in his eyes. It was as if you were living in slow motion because you saw a clear transition from concern to stone, which is what you called Jaehyun’s emotionless, stoic state of being. Somewhere in your brain the “stone mode is activated” alert went off. You had no time to process why he was in stone mode because, suddenly, you were walking away from the intercom, but not by your own will. Jaehyun had a strong grip around your wrist, and he was practically dragging you away from the virtual screen of his screaming girlfriend. He was definitely avoiding your questions.

   Figuring that pressing him on about his relationship patterns would pull a trigger to his patience, you decided to nag him about something less trivial, something you tended to do when you tried to mitigate tension.

   “Jae, if the rest of them are going to come over here and disrupt our process of becoming Sleeping Beauty, you might as well move and leave me be at peace.”

   When he kept dragging you away, you became more desperate.

   “Hey, are you even listening to me? Aren’t you my best friend? Don’t you want your best friend to rejuvenate? Do you want me to live with bigger bags of dark circles, huh? Hey, are you there?”

   By the last question, you were in front of your bedroom, your door opened the way you left it when you barged out of your room earlier that morning to see what the commotion was about. Your eyebrows furrowed as you failed to ease the tension because what he said next hit you like ice.

   “Stay in your room,” he said, keeping his hands firmly wrapped around your wrists. “I don’t want you coming out until I say so.”

   “Mother, all I did was ask a bunch of questions,” you replied sarcastically.

   But Jaehyun wasn’t having it.

   “Do you understand me?” he asked with the sternest look you had ever seen in him in the last six years you had known him.

   Reluctantly, you let out a small sigh and nodded your head. “You won’t hear me squeak.”

   He mirrored your actions, acknowledging your compliance before he left you standing there. This isn’t some kind of war film, you said silently. It’s not like you’re going off on conscription. Nevertheless, you closed the door,  switching off the talkative voice in your head in the process.

   ...

   “You’re never honest with me,” you heard Jaehyun’s girlfriend cry. “You always lie about your feelings! The time you... and that other time..."

   It was minute twenty-three and you were racking your brain, trying to come up with a better way to hear the girl. What happened during the first twenty-three minutes? Some hitting. And some more hitting. And some more hitting until Jaehyun had had enough and asked her to calm down. It was silent for eight minutes, which was a pretty accurate time estimate, considering you were counting with the old-fashioned “one-mississippi, two-mississippi...".

   The last two minutes were the freshest memories in your mind. It probably had to do with the fact that they were literally the last two minutes you could clearly listen to, but it undoubtedly had to do with the fact that the confrontation reminded you of the times your previous neighbors’ kids would shout at each other at each other and of the arguments your parents had their fair share of.

   Damn, why does my room have to be farthest from the entryway? You silently cursed in frustration while you were on your stomach, trying to shove the side of your head, where your ears were located, down your door to hear better clarity through the bottom cracks.

   “...I asked you so many times if you had feelings for..."

   That was it. You had the last straw; you gave up and situated yourself against the wall, becoming comfortable with the opening cracks that the side of your door provided. Fortunately for you, your breathing stabled from all that activity, and you could hear the conversation, or argument, rather, more clearly.

   “I asked you so many times and you never denied it!” you heard the girl say angrily.

   “Because I figured that the first few times I answered truthfully with a definitive ‘no’, you didn’t believe me, so what difference does it make if I deny it or not when you clearly don’t trust me?” Jaehyun shot back, letting go of himself for the first time.

   Sure, you witnessed him getting into physical fights and verbal altercations before, but not with a girl. He was always respectful and always kept his anger at bay. He had never raised his voice at anyone--except at you, but those times were never caused by angry outbreaks.

   “I saw you sneaking around,” Jaehyun continued, “following us at the mall when I definitely told you that there was nothing going on!”

   The mall? Your eyebrows scrunched together. Who was he at the mall with?

   “It was the mall, Jaehyun!” his girlfriend--although you weren’t sure if she was his girlfriend anymore with all the fighting--spat. “People who go to the mall together are either family or are taken!”

   ���That’s ridiculous,” Jaeyhun retorted. “Since when was the mall off limits to friends?”

   “Since I saw the look you gave her when you brought me to her birthday party!”

   “What do you want me to do?!” Jaehyun exclaimed exasperatedly. “She’s my friend and I can’t just unfriend her!”

   “That. I want that.”

   And for the first time in ten minutes, the house was silent. Were you hearing things correctly? Were you hearing this girl forbid your best friend from seeing someone? That got you riled up. How dare that imbecile demand that ludicrous request of him?

   Of course, other than the broken silence in your head, the silence in the entryway was short-lived when Jaehyun followed up with, “What?”

   “You heard me: unfriend her.”

   You heard Jaehyun scoff. “You’re delirious. I am not breaking off a friendship I value for some crazy request.”

   Do it, Jae, you thought, your heart thumping in excitement for what you anticipated the next words in his mouth to be. Do it. 

   “I’m breaking up with you.”

   Cue your celebratory dance, which was, of course, performed in your imagination. For the first time known in history, Jung Jaehyun had finally broken up with someone. Throughout the entirety of his life, Jaehyun was the one who was broken up with. In that moment, thanks to that crazy ex-girlfriend of his, he was the breaker for the first time. He did it, you sang, which accompanied your imaginary dance. He did it, he did it, he did-

   “Fine,” the girl declared. “But tell me: did you love her or did you not?”

   Jaehyun, his stone-cold voice still operating, countered with, “I’m not obligated to tell you anything.”

   “As your ex, I demand-”

   “All we’re doing is walking in an endless cycle we don’t need to be in anymore.”

   “You’re not denying it, Jaehyun!”

   “And we’re back in circles.”

    When you heard nothing, you pushed yourself against the door, wanting to listen to everything. Is she gone? Did she leave? Did he get rid of her? No, she was far from gone. 

   Voices resurfaced and soon enough, you heard Jaehyun say hurriedly, “What are you doing?” 

   His voice neared and by the time you realized that she was heading towards your room, it was too late: she swung open your door, which, by the way, was unpleasant, especially because your face was already behind it.

   “Don’t you dare pull her into this,” you heard your friend say in the middle of the swinging-the-door-open process, glaring daggers at his ex.

   It never registered in that empty head of yours that you were the infamous mysterious identity in their disagreements--or any of his disagreements with his other girlfriends, really. It wasn’t until your eyes locked with hers, a chill running down all over your body. You swear her eyes were icy cold.

   Jaehyun’s eyes followed hers. Feeling the need to break off the intense eye contact, you averted your eyes to him, earning you a scoff. You stood there, staring at Jaehyun helplessly.

   “So this is the scum you keep lying about,” the girl suddenly attacked, to which you responded with your eyes instantly trailing back to her.

   No one had called you out like that before. Never like that, and it felt disgusting. You had only met her twice, once the first time Jaehyun introduced her to you and second at your birthday party.

   You were too immersed in your own thoughts, coming up with all the possible comebacks and attacks you could formulate, that you missed Jaehyun’s darkening eyes.

   “Get out,” Jaehyun spoke, his voice dangerously low. “Get out now.”

   “She-”

   “Get your crap together and get out while I’m still being nice.”

   The unfamiliar tone intrigued you into taking another look at your best friend and evaluating his expression. There was no doubt that he was pissed off. His eyebrows were stiff and his eyes were narrowed, replicating the coldness of an iceberg. He had his jaws clenched, which amazingly defined his jawline, leading your eyes to the veins that were protruding from his neck. He wasn’t huffing out angry breaths like the crazy girl in front of you; instead, he was breathing so skillfully with his nose that you, for a moment, doubted if he was breathing at all. At that point in time, you knew that that face wasn’t his rock-hard stone mode. It was his ultimate shut out mode, and although you lived for it, you feared for what he would do if the girl didn’t leave.

   When the girl wouldn’t budge, Jaehyun did something that made you realize that that day was a day discovering a new side of Jaehyun. For the first time, he raised his voice at a girl, broke up with a girl, and brought out the ultimate shut out. In that moment, you witnessed one of the scariest (and manliest) sides of Jaehyun you had ever seen.

   Your best friend, the guy who you believed, without a fail, was considerate of others, caring, and seriously entertaining at times, broke his quintessentially collected and patient self. He grabbed your wrist and, without a notice, pulled you closer to him, letting you inhale that whiff of the naturally floral-scented shampoo he used the other night and the honey-based face mask he had on before his ex showed up. In that situation, looking up at him, centimeters away from his face, had your stomach doing somersaults. His jawline was impeccably sharp, which was so beside the point, but you couldn’t help but admire his beauty. Even that beauty mark he developed on his neck, the mark people normally call a flaw, was a charming imperfection.

   With his hand wrapped around your wrist, he warned, “We’re going to be in the kitchen as if nothing happened for exactly one minute. If you’re not gone by then, I’m calling the cops.”

   And that was that. When his ex snobbishly sashayed away after a full minute, Jaehyun returned to his normal state and sighed in relief. He turned his attention to you and his hands left your wrists, only to land on your shoulders.

   “You okay?” he asked in a soft, but rough voice.

   You barely nodded. You were set in a trance with his beautiful eyes, which you noted were beautifully concerned for you. He offered a small smile and pulled you into a hug. It was only  nine in the morning and both of you were tired.

   “Sorry you had to go through that because of me,” he said quietly.

   Your arms quickly found their way around a comfortable spot on Jaehyun’s torso.

   “Hey, for you, I would go through that again anytime,” you breathed, a sincere smile forming on your lips.

   He rested his chin on your head and began rocking your bodies back and forth.

   “Really? You would relive that experience?”

   “In a heartbeat.”

   A chuckle left his lips and you felt his body, especially his chest, vibrate harmoniously in sync.

   “You’re crazy,” he said.

   “Maybe, but what are best friends for?”

   And that’s when the swaying stopped. Subsequently, the warmth he provided you left your body.

   “Right,” he spoke, pulling away from you.

   The portion of warmth that was left was your fingertips because that was the last place that left his torso, and that withered away a split second later. He shot you a quick smile before heading towards the adjacent living room. Thinking that he wanted some time alone, you stayed in the kitchen, but he soon patted a place for you to sit on the couch next to him.

   Somewhat relieved, you followed the steps he took to the living room and asked, “Are you tired?”

   His eyes landed on yours and your heart broke at his tense state.

   “If you ever want to get back with her, I can-”

   Your face was met by one of the throw pillows.

   “You’re crazy,” he chortled, shaking his head.

   You smiled at your small success at bringing a smile on the exhausted face, so you tried for one more.

   “You know, I would have told you to do whatever she asked of you and to fight for her, but, damn, she was so adamant and selfish that she was definitely not worth fighting for.”

   He shook his head, laughing. “If she had trusted me, she would have stayed.”

   It was his way of saying that it was okay, you thought. But what you weren’t aware of was that it was his way of secretly fighting for a certain someone.

   He took a moment to collect his thoughts before he added, “Besides, I wouldn’t have trusted me either.”

   It took a lot of willpower not to analyze what he meant by that, but you failed miserably after three seconds. You knew that you were mistaken as more than a friend by his crazy ex, but what did it mean when he was the one who said it? He was worn out. He probably wasn’t thinking properly, right? Settling with that answer, you lightly threw the pillow back at his direction.

   “What are you talking about? It was her trust issue. We didn’t even hang out that much once you started going out with her.” You shook your head and continued, “The next time you have a girlfriend, I’ll make sure to tone it down whenever she’s around. Actually, consider me invisible.”

   “The next time I have a girlfriend?”

   “The next time you have a girlfriend.”

   When he didn’t respond, you looked over at him, but by then he was already chuckling.

   “After this, I think I’m going to lay off for a while.”

   You goofily smiled at him. “Impossible. All the ladies go to Jaehyun.”

   “All the angry ones.”

   You agreed. “All the crazy ones. What are they thinking? Us? Together? Ridiculous.”

   “That’s what I always tell them.”

   In the back of your mind, you knew that it was possible that his girlfriends could have had trust issues with you since you and Jaehyun were of the opposite sex and were best friends for six years running, but it didn’t cross your mind that you were the root of their serious conflicts.

   “So all this time, they confronted you about me?”

   Your friend merely nodded his head.

   “Wow, I didn’t know that I was popular with the ladies too.”

   With the insane event that happened to him that day, all you wanted to do was restore his energy. You wanted him to forget what happened and live the summer like he should have, so that time, you were the one to take his wrist and pull him up.

   “Let’s go.”

   “But I’m tired.”

   “Let’s go.” 

   ...

   To say you are a spontaneous person is false. Nothing you do is out of spontaneity. All the activities you partake of are predictable of you, and you’re okay with that because that’s you. However, to say that you are completely unpredictable would be false too. For your friends, you would do anything, and for Jaehyun, your best friend in the entire universe, you would do everything.

   “Let’s go,” you said, pulling him out the door. “I promise you that you won’t regret it.”

   So where did you lead Jaehyun to? Everywhere. You took him to the beach, where you both got your clothes wet. You snuck him into a rival college’s campus, a fairly easy thing to do, and watched a hilariously boring film production. You pushed him inside a famous coffee shop and ordered a fan favorite drink, which you shared with wacky straws. After visiting three new places in the span of four hours, you were drained of energy and so was he.

   But there was one place left to go to, one perfect place to end the day.

   “So where is this surprise you’re taking me to?” Jaehyun asked, walking alongside you on an unfamiliar sidewalk.

   “You’ll see,” you teased ambiguously. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

   Because you were in an unfamiliar place, you had your virtual map on your phone to guide you the way to the highly rated, must-go-to, chill restaurant. The restaurant was a perfect place to end the day: you could eat everything there, return home with full stomachs, and sleep well. It was the ideal situation you formed in your mind. While you were checking the directions, Jaehyun peered over your shoulder to take a sneak peek. You, noticing right away the shadow that loomed over you, immediately retracted your arms behind your back and narrowed your eyes at your friend who had the back of his head already facing you and was whistling to a horrible tune.

   “Hey, no cheating,” you warned him.

   Jaehyun swiftly spun his head and raised an eyebrow at you.

   “Is this supposed to be a game?” he asked, tilting his head.

   “It’s supposed to be a surprise,” you huffed, but when you saw the ends of his lips curl upward, you pressed, “You saw the name, didn’t you?”

   Cue the dramatic gasp.

   “No, I did not,” Jaehyun scoffed playfully. “I cannot believe you would accuse me of such foul play.”

   When you glared at him, he broke into an innocent, but not-so-innocent, smile. You couldn’t help but be enchanted by the way the angle of his tilted head let him cover the sun, the rays of the light shining around him in an endless circle. The way he smiled at you was so pure-looking that you wanted to scream and pinch his dimples. The sparkle in his eyes reflected pure joy, and you wondered if you were the one to have pulled that out of him. No, you reminded yourself. That’s just how he smiles. Nonetheless, your heart raced with an impressive speed. As soon as you felt your face warming up, you set your eyes on the road ahead of you.

   In less than five minutes, you safely and successfully guided Jaehyun to the right place.

   “This is it,” you told him, looking up at a sign that read Al’s Place. “Surprise.”

   Jaehyun laughed at the lack of enthusiasm in your voice.

   “Sorry for peeping earlier,” he said, not-so-gently patting your head.

   You simply grunted in response.

   When you entered the restaurant, you were greeted by an overly eager hostess.

   “Hi, welcome to Al’s Place! How many?”

   “Two,” you replied while Jaehyun scanned the place with his eyes.

   As the hostess led you to a table of two, Jaehyun leaned towards you and whispered, “Nice place.”

   You hummed in response, taking a look at the place yourself. Along the way, you saw a couple of looks being thrown your way--or more specifically, Jaehyun’s way. It wasn’t a foreign occurrence, but it reminded you of the whole “I wouldn’t trust myself either” phrase, which brought you back to: what in the world did he mean by that? If it meant anything remotely to what you secretly wished it meant, you weren’t going to risk your friendship with Jaehyun for a short-term, badly ended relationship like he had with all of his other girlfriends. You just wanted to remain his secret admirer and maintain a strong relationship.

   When it came to Jaehyun, there was no wrong. Even when he made mistakes, he learned from them and “benefited from them,” according to him, “because all those mistakes served to be cardinal learning experiences that would eventually allow him to become a bigger human being”. That was Jung Jaehyun for you, and with your influence on him on a romantic level, that was too much pressure for you. Once, on a day out at a festival with your fellow housemates, Jaehyun had a flock of girls running at him at once, asking for his number. Naturally, he courteously rejected all of them. He had a girlfriend at the time, and, afterall, his friends were waiting for him with their orders. While he rejected them, you and Haechan, being the only ones who volunteered to assist Jaehyun, threw the idea around that no girls would be good enough for Jaehyun.

   “He’s so damn awesome,” you said, expressing your strong acknowledgement of your best friend’s impactful presence. “He’s there with girls swarming around him while we’re here standing like loners waiting for our single-sticked corn dogs for our single selves.”

   “But you know,” your wise cousin started, “I think when he finds a girl who likes him for him and not his looks, they’ll be burdened by his lack of amorality.”

   Leaning back on the corn dog stand’s extended counter to allow your elbows to rest, you observed the way Jaehyun kindly turned down all of his offers. “You think?”

   “It’ll probably happen. I’m pretty sure Jaehyun’s thinking about it too.”

   “That jackass is probably thinking too highly of himself,” you scoffed, but it was an act you put up, and that wise cousin you considered your close friend read you like a book.

   “You know more than anyone that he’s simply thinking of all the possibilities of the perils that will come with each relationship he’s involved in,” Haechan said matter-of-factly. “With all the girls he’s gone out with over the years, whether he likes to admit or not, he’s probably tired of calculating what peril he has to anticipate at the start of any relationship.”

   “And you’re saying that when the right girl comes along, that conflict will be her low self-esteem?”

   Haechan hummed in response, his fingers tapping to a small but fitting tune for the hot summer as he waited for your response.

   Your hesitant response mirrored the lingering anxiety that you couldn’t get rid of.

   “He’s so perfect that he has to worry about being perfect, yet that’s a burden to the girl,” you finally said with a bitter smile. “So unrelatable.”

   You ignored the gaze Haechan was giving you. You didn’t want to know what he was thinking although you had a feeling it had to do with your last comment. He knew the front you put up. He saw right through you. If he saw through you, could everyone else? Could Jaehyun? Instead of dealing with Haechan, you watched Jaehyun reject the last girl. That’s when it dawned on you why you had put up a front, especially for your best friend Jaehyun...

   It started three years prior to the festival, when you were freshmen in college. You were trying to navigate your way through the enormous hallways when you spotted a very familiar brown-haired boy. Jung Jaehyun. His hair was originally black, but he dyed his hair to the lighter shade it became, telling you that he wanted to start a fresh, unanticipated image, and apparently dying his hair was the first step. In response, you snickered and bet that he would return looking like a mess. With that gorgeous girl he was conversing with in the hallway, you knew that you had lost the bet.

   Preceding your college days, Jaehyun only had flings. None of his encounters with girls were serious. It wasn’t that he was a player. It was simply because he wasn’t looking for a committed relationship before college. He once told you, before one of your many movie marathons began, that he didn’t want to deter his studies with an alluring distraction. Yes, he said that right before you started your movie marathon on a school night. Regardless his reasons seemed ridiculous to you or not, he kept his word, and, at the time, you were secretly relieved.

   College was a new territory. That meant that it was Jaehyun’s time to explore the new world of relationships. That meant you had to let go of your buried feelings for Jaehyun, but they were so deeply buried that you never bothered to dig deeper. You just left them sitting there, burying them more when you came up with a defense mechanism, which started when Jaehyun announced to you that he was seeing someone, that majestic girl in the hallway.

   With the exception of hints of jealousy peeping here and there, his flings in high school didn’t trouble you. They were purely flings, afterall. There was no harm in them. Serious, committed relationships, however, were on a different level. When things became serious with his first girlfriend, you developed a system that would ward you off from showing your true feelings, which would have otherwise had you raging with jealousy. That system was sarcasm. You weren’t really the sarcastic-type of friend, but it was the only way that safely kept a distance from you and Jaehyun to prevent any possibility of romantic feelings slipping. It was also--now this you failed to acknowledge--a way to distance yourself from any remotely amorous feelings with anyone, and this helps explain why your dating life barely existed.

   “Earth to Miss Crazy.”

   Jaehyun was waving his hand in front of your face, repeating the same line until you snapped back to reality.

   “Aren’t you going to recommend something for me?” he asked when your eyebrows relaxed.

   “Hey, I’m just as new of a person here as you are,” you said, shaking your head.

   “But still,” he pushed, like a child. “You brought me here.”

   Instead of fighting back like you would have normally done, you called a random waitress to order. To your luck (note the sarcasm), the waitress was the one who was sending googly eyes to Jaehyun earlier. Setting that fact aside, you calmly asked her for the most popular set menu. Whatever left her mouth, you couldn’t focus because all you could think about was how she had her eyes all over Jaehyun. Oblivious to this, your unsuspecting friend continued to read the menu. When the buzzing stopped, you realized that you had no idea what she had said, so you naturally asked your unaware friend if the set sounded appealing.

   He looked up from the menu and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

   The waitress smiled widely. “Okay, then I’ll be back with your orders. If there’s anything else you need, anything, just call me over.”

   You handed her your menu, which she took by the far corner, but when Jaehyun extended his, she deliberately let her hands graze over his soft, slender fingers before leaving the scene. You examined your friend’s expression, and it was not good. He was visibly uncomfortable with the interaction.

   “So,” you started, grabbing his attention, “how was today for a surprise?”

   ...

   The interaction with the waitress definitely put you in for a chaotic spin in your head, but you didn’t want your messy thoughts to spoil dinner. Jaehyun, although affected at first, eventually forgot about it. The both of you shared a good meal with random conversational topics, sharing upcoming projects and reminiscing about a few memories.

   When you were done with your dishes, the waitress returned, and something was different about her. Was it her face? No. Her clothes? Maybe. If people consider busting an extra button open as changing the appearance, then, yes, that was the change. She was clearly drooling over Jaehyun, her eyes full of lust. When she asked, “Can I interest you with our dessert menu?”, she made sure to make eye contact with Jaehyun, biting her lower lip. Your genius friend, however, simply cocked his head sideways at you, asking you for your thoughts.

   “Very classy,” you said, over pronouncing “classy” to make sure he got your intention. “Very classy dessert, don’t you think?”

   He shook his head, distaste apparent in his eyes. “No.”

   Although there was jealousy stirring inside of you, you kept your cool and put up an act, deciding to make it seem like you were stifling your laughter.

   “Fine, we’ll take the cherry cupcake surprise,” you said, directing your comment to the waitress, who took one final look at Jaehyun before strutting away.

   Watching her walk away, you commented, “Wow, I did not know that this was a dinner and a show type of restaurant.”

   You turned your attention to Jaehyun, who was shooting you a dirty look your way. You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively.

   “Looks like somebody has the hots for you.” You smirked at him, but he simply sighed. “I see someone’s tired of being Mr. Popular.”

   He shook his head at you. “You know I’m not interested.”

   “Yes, yes, I know. She’s not even your type.”

   To that, Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. “I have a type?”

   “Everyone has a type.”

   You took your glass of water in your hands and swirled it around.

   “Do you have a type?” he asked.

   Staring at the disturbance you created, you answered, “Sure, I just don’t know it yet.”

   When you heard him click his tongue, you looked up from your glass and scrunched your nose.

   “Hey, I’m sorry that I haven’t dated as many people as you have,” you said, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

   With curiosity taking over his face, he asked, “When was the last time you went out on a date?”

   “Oh, I don’t keep track.”

   Jaehyun was transparently amused at your vague response.“It’s been that long?”

   “Excuse me for trying to find the right guy,” you scoffed.  

   “So,” he said, leaning forward with anticipation, “what do you think my type is?”

   You promptly answered, “Someone who’s willing to craze over your obsession with wine.”

   Right away, Jaehyun leaned back in his chair. “I don’t understand why you have to hate wine.”

   “I don’t hate it,” you corrected him. “I would prefer water to it.”

   “That’s-”

   He stopped in mid-sentence when he spotted something, or rather someone.

   “Just wait until you try this wine.”

   In that moment, the waitress came back with your desserts, and for the first time, Jaehyun directed his speech at her.

   “We’ll have **** wine.”

   “Of course, I’ll be right back with your drink.”

   When he averted his gaze back to you, you gave him a knowing look.

   “But you gotta admit that she’s pretty hot.”

   And at that, he deadpanned, but he swiftly recovered, asking, “So what else am I looking for in a girl?”

   You handed him a clean fork, which he took, and his fingers brushed past yours ever so slightly, leaving you with a tingling sensation. You took your own fork and split the cherry cupcake in half, giving Jaehyun the side with the cherry; you didn’t enjoy cherries as much as he did.

   Suppressing your growing feelings, you finally answered his question. “You seem to go out with girls who are pretty outgoing, which surprises me.”

   “And why is that?” he queried, taking a bite of his half of the cupcake.

    You shrugged. “You’re calm and collected at most times, and I say most times because that five percent you aren’t, no one can contain you.”

   Licking the remaining frosting on his lips, he pointed at the cupcake and said, “Now that’s a good cupcake.”

   You took the time to let the flavors of the dessert melt on your tongue before ultimately agreeing with Jaehyun.

   “And that wasn’t even a recommended dessert,” you remarked, proud of your choice of order.

    Jaehyun playfully applauded for you. “I commend you for that.”

   “Oh and by the way,” you spoke, continuing your thoughts about his type. “You have this thing with girls with long hair. Do you know that it’s a pain to maintain long hair? We lose hair because of the weight of it.”

   “I’ll do my best to keep the range diverse,” Jaehyun noted, laughing.

   “I’m not kidding. Jae.”

   “Then why do you have long hair?” he fired with amusement in his eyes, pointing out the irony.

   “I-”

   Just then, the infatuated waitress interrupted you, approaching you and Jaehyun with a bottle of wine and two additional wine-tasting glasses.

   “Here is your bottle of **** wine,” she announced a little breathless.

   You offered a small smile, but her attention was all on Jaehyun. She purposefully set the glassware in front of him and opened the bottle of wine with a small but audible grunt. You had no idea if that was intentionally supposed to be a grunt or if it was supposed to sound more sensual. Either way, it was incomparable to what she did next.

   While she moved on from one glass to the other, the waitress “accidentally” tipped over one of them in the direction of Jaehyun. Your unfortunate friend immediately grimaced, and the waiter, at once, set down the bottle of wine down on the table and rushed to his side.

   “I am so sorry,” she gasped, touching his arms. “I am such a clutz.”

   While Jaehyun reassured her that he was fine through his gritted teeth, you quickly reached for the pile napkins at the edge of the table and tossed them to Jaehyun. He slid his chair backwards to dab the moist parts of his outfit, but the waitress had other plans. She snatched the napkins from the empty table next to yours and tried to help your soaked friend by reaching down to his chest. Jaehyun responded with quick reflexes and shot up from his seat.

   The waitress met his eyes with the most seductive look she could display. “Let me help.”

   Jaehyun, however, wasn’t pleased. Ignoring his unwavering gaze, she attempted to “help” again, but this time she aimed for his pants. To this, Jaehyun instantly grabbed her by her wrist.

   “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

   Round two of an approaching shut out mode.

   The waitress flinched under the pressure of his hands, and when she saw his dark, fuming eyes, she immediately diverted her eyes. He released her wrists roughly, his gaze unchanging, and took you, the silent bystander, by the hands.

   “Jae, what are you-”

   Jaehyun didn’t let you finish your sentence as he pulled you out of the restaurant while you tried not to meet the stares of strangers. He stormed past the hostess that had welcomed you and pushed the doors open with such force that it felt like winter. The next thing you knew, you were heading towards a park.

   “Jae,” you called, trying to listen to you. “Jae, stop.”

   But he kept going.

   “Jae, we can’t just leave the restaurant like that,” you reasoned. “You do realize we have to pay..."

   Your voice trailed off when he slowed down and turned around. He looked at you dead in the eye.

   You gulped. “Look, I know what she did was wrong, but-”

   “She clearly has no moral conscience!” he yelled, causing you to wince.

   He was definitely outraged and there was going to be no easy way to calm him down other than listening to him.

   “She was clearly trying to seduce a customer,” he went on angrily. “I was clearly not comfortable. Did I or did I not look uncomfortable?”

   “You gave her clear signs, Jae,” you responded as calmly as you could. “And it was totally wrong of her to ignore them.”

   “And what’s more is that you didn’t seem to care.”

   That was a sudden splash in the face. Didn’t care? Of course you cared! How could you not care?

   “Jae, I did care,” you tried to explain, your hands flailing around in the process. “And I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to prevent her actions when you were visibly uncomfortable, but understand that I care.”

   The fire in his eyes did not cease.

   “Because you’re my friend,” he said.

   “Of course, I-”

   “And nothing more.”

   That slapped you hard. It was true that you were his friend, but to hear him expose the one thing you tried so hard to bury hurt.

   With a pained expression written all over your face, you pleaded, “Jae, what are you trying to say? Of course I’m your friend, but the problem is that the waitress back there was extremely inappropriate.”

   “I’m mad at the waitress, but I’m more frustrated that you can’t seem to take a hint!”

   Your eyes frantically bounced back and forth between his infuriated eyes that drilled into yours. Was he seriously angry at you? For what? You had arguments in the past, but you always knew where those conflicts rooted. This, however, was not one of them. Nothing could register properly in your brain with that look he was giving you.

   “Jae, are you mad at me?” you asked quietly.

   The feeling of fear crept up behind you, the fear that he was mad at you and for an unknown reason at that. Having to deal with an outburst due to pure emotions was one thing. To have a close friend genuinely mad at you was another. Your hands began to tremble as you brought them to your chest.

   “I-I didn’t mean to anger you,” you stammered, your voice breaking and lips slightly quivering. “I genuinely didn’t mean ignore the problem.”

   Seeing your frightened state, Jaehyun’s eyes softened, and he took your hands in his.

   “I’m not mad at you,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m really not mad.”

   When you couldn't calm down, he pulled you into a hug, his hands brushing through your rough hair.

   “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as his face nestled against your neck. “I’m really not mad at you.”

   “Okay,” you whispered, letting your arms slowly wrap around his torso. “I believe you.”

   You two stayed in that position for a few long seconds before he broke away from your embrace, searching your face for any upset feelings until his brown eyes locked with your darker ones. His strong, yet delicate hands reached your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. Your bodies were nearly one. The expression that his eyes revealed was one that you couldn’t read. All you knew was that they were soft but passionate--loving, almost.

   “I’m not mad at you,” he repeated softly.

   “I believe you,” you said again.

   You watched him take a deep breath before saying, “I’m in love with you.”

   A gust of wind rushed past your protected face, but the same couldn’t be said the same for your heart. It was thumping rapidly, faster than when you ran the mile for your gym class several years ago. For months--years, even--you had been sharpening your defense mechanism to cope with your love-struck feelings. You developed this unhealthy system to prevent the destruction of your relationship with Jaehyun, yet there your best friend and crush was, confessing his attachment to you. In an instant, whatever you built washed away.

   “Do you know why everyone had a hard time trusting me?” he spoke, his eyes surveying yours. “Because they all knew that my heart was taken by someone else.”

   You already knew the answer judging by the look in his eyes, but you wanted him to confirm it again.

   “Who?” you whispered, the corners of your lips tugging upward.

   A genuine smile appeared on his lips as he breathed, “You’re an idiot.”

   It was your turn to smile like an idiot. Your smile grew so big that it started to hurt. Jaehyun leaned down and lightly pressed his plump, smooth lips against your forehead, his hands still cupping your face.

   All these years being friends with Jaehyun had you learn one thing: you never really got over him. Whatever you previously thought about not wanting to risk your friendship with him was gone. When you lost yourself in his gorgeous eyes, you knew that you weren’t going to let go of that chance.  

   “I love you too, Jae,” you said with the brightest smile that had ever appeared on your face.

   It candidly was the best way to end the day and a secret fight that you and Jaehyun had both been struggling with--a fight for each other.

[acnelli]

The Speech

Hermione becomes the first female Minister Of Magic, so Ron has to hold a speech about it. 

Just in case you’re wondering...I was never very interested in Pottermore or anything that got published after DH, so there might have been a female MoM before Hermione but I think this little detail is not important to enjoy the story ;-) I also don’t really see Hermione as a MoM. For me Hermione works at the Ministry, creating and pushing for laws to protect and improve the life of those oppressed and fighting for equality. But I liked the idea of a very nervous Ron talking about his wife in front of a huge crowd.

You can also find this story on FFN and AO3.

I'm so screwed.

This sentence was stuck like a mantra in his head ever since Kingsley talked him into this nonsense.

Who in his right mind would want him, Ron Weasley, to hold a speech? Sure, it was his wife that becomes the next Minister of Magic and she also will be the first female one. Which makes him the first husband to hold a speech about the new Minister.

But why couldn't they just skip this stupid tradition?

Not that he wasn't able to talk a lifetime about Hermione. But he sure wasn't ready to talk about her in front of half the Ministry, his entire family, a bunch of friends and not to forget these annoying press people.

Ron was fairly confident that he would say something stupid. He was Ron bloody Weasley after all and if anyone would describe him to a stranger this would be in his character description: Saying and doing stupid and/or inappropriate things.

Kingsley was about to end his speech and Ron knew that it will be mere seconds before he was called up to the stage.

Oh Godric, please don't make me embarrass myself in front of my children.

He thought back to this morning when his fifteen-year-old daughter made him a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

"Don't worry, Dad. You will do just fine. And please eat something." Hugo said, as he shoved a slice of toast at him. He picked his breakfast up and even took a bite, mainly to appease his son.

 Hugo stared at him, determination and worry on his face. It never failed to amaze Ron, how much his son was like Hermione, both in looks and character.

 Ron sighed and took another bite before shoving the plate away from him. "I' m sorry, buddy. Might eat this backwards if I'm having one more bite."

 He sipped his sweet tea and wondered why the hell he was such a nervous wrack. It was the Quidditch games at Hogwarts all over again.

  Ron thought he was over his insecurities, but old habits die hard, right? Looking at his two children made him feel a tiny bit lighter though. They both got his ginger hair and freckled skin with the tendency to get burned easily when out in the sun. Hugo got the warm brown eyes of his mother, Rose Ron's blue orbs. Rose sat beside Ron on the kitchen table, sipping her own tea. She was already in her dress for the ceremony, her long wild locks pinned up at the nape of her neck. She rarely touched her breakfast. Ron knew she was feeling the same anxiety he felt. Two years ago, during summer break, Hugo told Ron that Rose never eats breakfast before a Quidditch match and would sometimes spend the better part of these mornings in the bathroom. Rose was in many ways like him. She was funny, loved Quidditch, normally eats on behalf of a whole Quidditch team and had a temper similar to Ron's. Thank Godric, she got the brains of her mother.

None the less, she could easily comprehend what Ron was going through.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, please welcome Ronald Weasley.", Kingsley announced and stepped back for Ron.

He took a deep breath before he finally entered the stage and went to the podium. His family clapped excitedly in the front row, even cheering for him. He looked over to Hermione, who smiled and winked at him. Of course, the whole Weasley family joined the festivities today to celebrate with Hermione. They were all sitting in the second and third row along with his parents-in-law, who looked both proud and just the tiniest bit nervous.

For a short second he feared, that his impulsive decision from this morning. to ditch his sorry attempts of the prepared speech, was probably the worst decision of his life, but when the applause died down, he hadn't much time to panic over it. So, with a final deep breath and a look into Hermione's eyes, he started to speak.

“Th- thank you”, he said after the applause died down and tried not to flinch about the noticeable tremble in his voice.

“Well, as tradition demands, I'm expected to hold a speech about our new Minister of Magic. Speeches are not exactly my strong point and, in all honesty, I dreaded this moment ever since Kingsley asked me to hold it.” Ron threw a pointed look at the former Minister who just gave him an innocent smile.

Over the soft laughter of the audience, Ron heard a snort and quickly located the source. Harry was smirking at him and Ron supressed the urge to flip the tosser off. He hated The Daily Prophet with a passion, but for this headline he might forget about his principles for a day and actually buy this piece of garbage. Nevertheless, he decided against it, mostly because he didn’t fancy to be on the receiving end of some rather nasty hexes performed by his wife and mother.

“Some of you might be surprised to learn that I haven’t prepared this speech during todays breakfast, but for the better part of the last weeks evenings. Though certainly not perfect, I thought the outcome was quite passable. But last night I went over my words and realized that I would tell you things about Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley that all of you already know. Actually, you could have found the better part of my words on a chocolate frog card. Instead, I would rather tell you about the first day Hermione and I met.”

As Ron let his gaze wander over to his family, he saw a smiling but slightly puzzled Hermione looking at him. “The day I met Hermione was, of course, the very first day at Hogwarts. On the train ride I already met Harry Potter. You’ve probably heard about him at some point, saved the world or something like that. Anyway, in that train compartment Harry and I immediately became best friends and while we stuffed ourselves with a ton of sweets, a girl opened the door to our compartment, asking us about the lost toad of a fellow student. I was showing Harry some useless spell my dear brothers told me about, that of course, did not work. This girl though, performed an actual spell just perfect and informed us that she read every first years school book over the summer as preparation for our upcoming classes. Sure enough, she outshined everyone in every class and there wasn’t a teachers question she had no answer to. Back then and especially on that first day, I could never imagine to be friends with Hermione Granger. I thought that she’s a bossy know-it-all and on Halloween, two months after our first day at Hogwarts, she heard me calling her just that. As an eleven-year-old boy, it never seemed possible to me that Hermione could be sincerely hurt by my words. But of course, it upset her. Very much.

That being said, I’ll never regret these nasty words, because this Halloween night was the beginning of a life-long friendship between me, Hermione and Harry. If I hadn’t said that in front of her, she would have never locked herself up in the bathroom to cry and Harry and I would have never ran to this said bathroom, because a mountain troll was wandering the halls of Hogwarts and Hermione was the only one who hasn’t been warned about it. Ever since the three of us beat that troll, I could not imagine a good day without Hermione as a friend by my side. She still nagged us about doing our homework and scolding me for swearing too much and said things like ‘Ron, it’s Hermione, Harry and I’, but when I look back, the unhappiest times were when we didn’t speak to each other or when I wasn’t able to talk to her.”

He paused for a brief moment as surely the darkest time of his life came to mind, when he abandoned Harry and Hermione on the Horcrux hunt, his heart full of pure fear and hopelessness when he thought he would never see them again. Or the weeks of Hermione being petrified, as he could still see this young red headed boy talking to her in the hospital wing, desperately wanting her to tell him off for staying out after curfew.

“Hermione did and achieved a lot of great things in her life. Most of these things you might already know, like her helping to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters or her success in freeing the House Elves. Although these are amazing and exceptionally brilliant achievements, Hermione is so much more than the brightest witch of our age and a war heroine. Did you know that the beginnings of her efforts to free House Elves lay in our Hogwarts years? Back then, she started a campaign to free them and it didn’t stop her, that for a very long time, it had been a one-woman-movement. Her courage and ambition to help the defenceless and her undying sense of justice are exceptional and even more admirable, if you consider, that as a Muggleborn, Hermione had been in great danger herself, being the main target of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Regardless what she went through herself, she never stopped to look out for others, especially her family and friends. And this is what she’ll continue to do as the leader of Wizarding Britain. Hermione will fight for a better life for everyone, for all of you and for those, whose suffering is still invisible to us.

I once read an article about Hermione inheriting the title of the brightest with of our age. It said, that she sure is intelligent, but mainly book smart. If you ask me, a person, who is simply book smart could never use the knowledge in real life, right? Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Hermione’s quick thinking and brilliance at everything she does, saved Harry’s and my life more times than I care to admit. Even in the most dangerous and horrible situations she was in, her highest priority had been to keep us safe.”

I was wrong. These were the darkest hours of my life., Ron thought and Hermione’s screams echoed through his mind.

“Hermione saved me in more than one way. She taught me self-worth and confidence, which, especially as a teenager, I hadn’t much of. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She was there for me when I needed her the most. And the best thing of all: for some unbeknown reason, she loves me. And in the end, this makes me the luckiest bloke in the world.”

For the next words Ron looked only at Hermione, who gave up to hold back her tears for quite some time now. “Befriending you had been the best thing I had ever done. I heard a lot of people say that they married their best friend. Well, I certainly did. We went through so many adventures -good and bad- together and I`m happy to say, that the good ones outweigh the bad ones big time. I love you, Hermione and I`m ready for this next adventure to come our way.”

[sunflowersoonyoung]

imperfection | eunha

w.c ↠ 2.0k

pairing ↠ eunha x fem!reader

genre/s ↠ fluff, high school au!, featuring best friend!yerin

description ↠ You have spent countless hours observing perfect student Jung Eunbi. But it’s not enough. You want to see what lies beneath the surface.

warning/s ↠ possible underaged drinking (it’s kinda ambiguous as their ages aren’t mentioned)

author’s note ↠ my first piece of writing for this blog! woo~! i have noticed a severe lack of gfriend fics on this site so hopefully i shall stay committed enough to fill that hole :3

-

"You’re staring at her again.”

Yerin had her fingers wrapped tightly around your forearm, dragging you back to reality with a lilted tone. Her crescent eyes were crinkled, filled with amusement. It was not the first time she had commented on that particular tendency of yours, one that would be near-impossible for you to give up.

Jung Eunbi’s seat was two from the front, on the far right. You had that fact engraved into your mind. From your place near the back of the classroom, you could freely view the side of her features; you could lose yourself in her, commit to memory her subconscious habits.

Yerin sat back in her chair, reflecting back to you a mischievous smile, her thoughts as enigmatic as ever to you.

Ever since your friendship had blossomed in early middle school, Yerin had acted almost as a guardian to you. That role had remained despite both of you being almost adults. Although, recently it had taken on a new flavour. She was a little concerned that you were missing something - or rather, someone - in your life, and had been giving you small nudges towards finding that someone.

“I know she’s pretty but it won’t rub off on us,” she teased, seemingly unaware that her beauty was comparable to Eunbi’s. It was only due to her tomboyish and brash nature that male students were too nervous to approach her, whereas Eunbi was famously regarded to be sweet and polite.

“That’s not what I’m hoping for,” you muttered, taking care to be quiet enough that Yerin did not hear you.

Rather, your true wish was to capture a glimpse of Eunbi’s inner workings. Although you had spent over two years observing the school jewel, much of what you witnessed was only surface deep. You only wanted to know her deeper.

It all had begun when the round-faced girl had raised her hand to answer every question during orientation. Her chestnut irises would glitter, her enthusiasm to start the school year shining through.

That day you found yourself enraptured. You were not alone, either; boys flocked to Eunbi, drowning her with flattery and grasping for any scraps of affection from her. They reminded you of starved animals. Perhaps you might act like that if you were in a similar position, with the confidence that you had somewhat of a chance with her.

You had long since crossed that idea from your mind. Initially, you enjoyed clinging to the fantasy. Nowadays, however, that small sliver of hope stung, so you tried to stifle it.

“Then, what are you hoping for? I’m curious.”

Shock washed over your skin as you realised Yerin had, in fact, overheard you earlier. You met her firm gaze reluctantly, noticing the way heat rose on your face. You had not revealed your sexuality to Yerin but knew very well she had suspicions. It was only natural; not once had you offered your attention to a boy.

Just as pressure was building for you to reply, the bell sounded. You leapt upon this opportunity, hastily tidying your desk as you knew Yerin would be more eager to head home than pursue this topic. You were correct in this assertion. Immediately she abandoned her interrogation to stuff her pack with her notebooks.

Another time, you thought with passing relief, you would save that conversation for later.

-

The gradual walk home with Yerin came paired with a lukewarm breeze. She usually overwhelmed your ears with chatter, but today her mouth remained closed. A comfortable silence draped the air.

Abruptly, she spoke.

“There’s a party tonight. I know you don’t like them, but I thought I’d invite you anyway. I heard Kim Mingyu is going,” a broad grin stretched across her full cheeks as if the knowledge of the school flirt attending was thrilling to you. You could think of nothing worse than ending up pressed to a wall, enduring the wrath of a tipsy boy deadset on peeling off your clothes.

Feeling like an evening out regardless of potential consequences, you heaved a sigh and responded, “I’ll go. What time?”

Yerin clasped your arm tightly, offering you a giddy smile as her eyes lit up, “really? I’ll pick you up! Is eight o’clock okay?” It was rare that you joined Yerin on her drunken antics, and her excitement was bubbling up on her expression.

Before you could respond affirmatively, she was already skipping ahead, far more animated than moments earlier - when she had seemed almost subdued.

“Make sure you wear something cute,” she hummed, turning on her heel to face you with interlocked fingers held at her chest. Dread began to weigh down your gut like a heavy stone; usually, you would come to regret these evenings out.

But it was too late to change your mind. Yerin was far too overjoyed, and even the thought of extinguishing that burned you with guilt.

-

The night air was stuffy, and after only a few moments of exposure, sweat was sticking your clothing to your figure. Hardly heeding Yerin’s advice to dress in something “cute”, you had put no effort in your appearance, attending in only jeans and a tucked-in shirt. Upon scrutinizing this outfit, Yerin had only frowned.

Compared to your friend, you felt significantly underdressed. Her lustrous hair cascaded down her back in waves, a short baby blue dress revealing the ivory gloss of her legs. She was bound to receive attention tonight, and so would you - unfortunately not the positive sort. Standing beside such a gorgeous girl would surely cast shadows upon you.

Inside, the proximity of bodies overwhelmed you with nausea and shortness of breath. If it were not for Yerin’s hand enclosed around yours, you would have directly avoided the mass for the outskirts of the room. Instead, you ended up amidst all of the chaos, thanks to her iron grasp.

Yerin had filled a cup with liquor-laced cola and busied herself with casual conversation, leaving you to observe your surroundings out of boredom. The lounge room had been modified somewhat, fold-out tables squeezed into corners, lined with alcoholic beverages and a variety of soft drinks. As you took in the room, your gaze settled upon a crimson leather sofa - empty, save for a petite girl curled up on the end.

It took you a brief moment to realise the aforementioned girl was none other than Jung Eunbi.

“Yerin,” you hissed, drawing her attention, “what is she doing here?”

As if this was all a part of some diabolical plan of hers, she shot you a grin, responding with a dismissive, “who knows?”

Eunbi had never shown her face at a party before, perhaps out of fear of smearing her good-girl image. She looked horribly out of place, nervously glancing around her as if worried that someone might approach her. Her fingers would intermittently adjust the collar of her white blouse, then return to swirling the contents of her plastic cup.

By the time you recognised that you were staring unashamedly at her, Eunbi was staring back.

Initially, you grew panic-filled, searching for something else to look at as if it were mere coincidence that you had met eyes. It was too late to pretend; you had now drawn her attention.

Feeling hot and embarrassed beneath her curiosity, it took enormous willpower not to turn your back on her. Instead, you allowed the tension between you both to heighten, until you flicked your gaze back up at her. It was her who went scarlet this time. If you had not just witnessed it, you might not have believed it.

The evening melted away, much of it spent exchanging shy glances and nervous smiles with Eunbi. Occasionally she would stand and refill her cup, and these were the only interruptions, apart from when Yerin (who was now quite intoxicated) stumbled backwards into you, causing the world you and Eunbi shared to shatter briefly. The tension between you both was obvious.

As the night reached its culmination, she stood, this time making a direct bee-line for the doorway you had witnessed various couples disappear through. Her steps were unsteady, and she appeared less than confident in her ability to walk.

As her figure retreated from your vision, cold hands grasped your shoulders from behind.

“Go on. I think she wants you to follow her.”

It was Yerin, giving you the shove you needed. You would thank her later when she would remember it.

Although most rooms were undoubtedly occupied, the study remained open; this is where Eunbi had found herself. Her palm leant against a dark wooden desk, back turned to you as her almond-shaped eyes skimmed the bookshelves. She was not truly looking at them, however, her mind far elsewhere. She turned hearing the sound of your footsteps coming to a halt, expression brightening in the wake of you.

“You’re (F/n), the pretty girl in my class, aren’t you?”

Nothing could have prepared you for a compliment so direct, a blush heating the tips of your ears. Eunbi had an air of innocence as she spoke, perhaps due to the alcohol in her bloodstream. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she proceeded, and you could not help but look.

“Hey, (F/n), will you listen to me while I talk?”

Though you hardly needed to be asked, the way her voice trembled would have convinced you regardless. Her eyes glistened with tears as she began to describe her situation, opening up to you with such desperation that you realised she had no one else.

You learned that Seonghwa, a popular boy with questionable motives, had been pursuing Eunbi and that despite her obvious disinterest her friend group was pushing her in his direction. Uncovering her imperfections somehow made her more attractive.

“I’m too scared to say anything. They already make fun of me because I only focus on my studies. But I don’t want to date him, I really don’t,” as she began to sob, shock coursed through your veins. Out of desperation, your hands found hers. She took this contact as permission to bury herself in your arms.

It was strange, how natural it felt to hold her. You were frightened to hug her too tightly, her figure small and fragile. She did not share the same fear apparently, because she was clinging to you as if she had been craving this moment forever. You allowed her to cry, tightening your embrace in an attempt to soothe her. It seemed to work; gradually, her quivering slowed till she was still.

Somehow, this was happening. All you had ever desired was to be the very person who Eunbi took solace in, and this night had lead to just that. Her easiness in trusting you made you realise, perhaps this romance was not as one-sided as you had always assumed.

When she withdrew, her raven hair falling over her face in disarray, you were cold without her. Would this be the last of a breathtaking moment? Your heart threatened to break over the mere idea.

“I’d much rather date you, (F/n). I like you a lot,” she murmured, as if unsure whether she was ready for you to hear it.

You heard it regardless of her intentions.

Time passed amidst a thick silence, as neither of you could find the right words to say. You were not sure where the inspiration to kiss her came from, an abnormally bold move from yourself by your admittance, but Eunbi’s warm lips were inviting you to continue so you did.

Her fingers reached up and tentatively brushed your cheeks, gently tilting your jaw to draw you a little closer. She left a sweet flavour behind, and when she peered at you her round eyes sparkled with a clarity you would have expected from someone sober. It was all you could do not to sweep her up and kiss her till her lips were swollen.

For a moment you peered back at each other almost in disbelief.

“Do you think we could try being together?” Eunbi’s voice shrunk, barely audible.

This time you failed to fight your urges, cupping her face to taste her once more, a wordless answer to her question.

[cannibalcreepers]

how would sister and brother react if they found out you were suicidal and the only reason they found out was because they found you cutting yourself

Give you some comfort writing of these two lovely twins <3

TW: suicide mentioning , self-harm mentioning

----

Sister Odet: As cold as ice,

Is what many would describe Sister Odet, she was cunning and cruel, mean as a snake and had a bite to match it. Though through her cold demeanor, she was not a heartless young woman. Sister had grown very fond of you over the months you have been living with the Odet family, being by your side and giving you more attention than her family members, even her brother, though she showed it in more subtle quiet ways, similar to how a cat would to its owner. So when she came across you, hiding in the empty office at the top floor of the mill, curled up on the corner, gripping onto your arm that was bleeding from the cut wounds you had given to yourself. At first she was confused on why you were sitting down on the grimey floor all huddled up and pathetic, but in seeing the red that was rolling down your skin her face scrunched up and she let out an upset and concerned whine, grabbing your other, unharmed, arm a bit too forcefully to pull you up from the ground, ignoring your yelp and protests as she drags you out from the room and into the open storage area. She was refusing to listen to whatever you were rambling about as she looked through multiple boxes with one hand while the other had you in a death grip so tight it was surely going to leave bruises, when she found what she was looking for, the first aid box, Sister shoved you to sit down on a nearby chair and reached out for the damaged arm which you snatched away from her “Are you going to listen of what!?” You snapped, her expression changing drastically from concerned to surprise and then anger as she bared her teeth and let out a hideous growling huff and grabbed at your arm again, this time being successful as she began wrapping up the bleeding. You knew what she was like, not one for empathy for others, sure Sister had a strangely sweet side where she cared about those she loved such as family and whatever you two were, in your mind you never really knew.

When she was done wrapping you up, did the young woman give you a nasty shove on your shoulder to get your attention and gestured to your now bandaged arm as a way to demand an answer. You made a sour face, eyes now filling with tears as they narrowed at the cannibal which made her brows knit together in confusion and once again concern, she didn’t understand how you got those scratches but she could see you were hurting and upset, that it probably wasn’t helping she was so rough and pushy with you. Raising her hand she reached up to brush a strand of your hair back behind your ear and tilted her head to look at your face when you started to cower away from her touch, the strong emotions of guilt, dread and doubt was rushing back in and breaking you down into a sobbing mess. Despite how rough she was before, this soft, gentle gesture just broke you, causing the flood of explaining to her how horribly depressed you had been feeling, how you were regretting so much decisions you had made and that you felt like you didn’t want to be a part of anything anymore, that the world wouldn’t care if you were gone. This confession was a bit overwhelming for Sister as her eyes were wide and a frown formed on her face, her brain trying to take in as much as it could from what you were saying. Sister didn’t respond for a bit, part of her felt annoyed and angry, that you were stupid for feeling this since you were here, with her and the family, that they gave you everything and you felt like this? Though that was her selfish, uncaring side that she had to push aside and remember you too had feelings like herself, she had to think what the others would do? What would Mama do? Well, whenever she got hurt or sad, Ma would give her comfort and that was all she could think to do. Leaning in close, the young cannibal woman wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a hug, running her fingers through your hair and down you back over and over in a gentle motion. This sadly could not fix what was happening to you and she may not understand this, but the kind gesture was enough to calm you down for now as you held her back, letting out small shudders and sniffles from crying so much.

Brother Odet:

This young man is dumb as shit.

You thought One-Eye was dumb, Brother Odet takes the fucking cake on biggest dumbass in the family. He is completely unaware of what is going on and just blatantly dosn’t reading the room. So when he comes across you dragging one of the pocket knives along the skin of your leg he thought you were just testing out your pain tolerance, he’s seen uncle Three-Fingers do that before to freak out victims so he just lets out a snorting laugh that shocks you so bad the blade digs right past to flesh to bone, making you cry out and grasp at the wound. The yell caused him to jump and look shocked that you were bleeding a bit too much now, with a scramble he ran off down the hall to grab some clothes and blankets, returning quickly as he almost plows into you to press the material down over your wound. You were a bit shocked by the whole ordeal, you didn’t know what to say for being caught in such a situation, it was all so…...silly. With a small choked noise you let out some broken giggles, Brother looking up from where he was wrapping up the bleeding wound with an old ripped up shirt, innocently tilting his head and look perplexed at your giggles, which suddenly burst into sobbing laughter, tears running down your cheeks as you laugh loudly, placing a hand over one of your eyes and digging your fingers against your skull at how stupid this situation was.

The young cannibal didn’t quite understand but would let out a few giggles himself, finding your laughter contagious. When your own subsided to a sigh, wiping the tears away from your face and looking down at your poorly wrapped up leg that ached and burned from such a deep cut, you knew you were going to have to get it sewn up and you didn’t want that conversation with either of the parents, or even Sister. Glancing up at the sweetness that is Brother you reached up with both hands and cupped his cheeks “I want to fucking die…” You whispered. Brother was taken aback by you words, his usual carefree expression turning into one of concern and worry, reaching out to cup your own cheeks and pull you in to press his forehead against your own, he didn’t like you saying such things and wasn’t sure if he was supposed to pry, he wasn’t sure exactly what to say as no one he cared about ever said such things, not like they could say that. Other than victims and you were no victim, he could only hold you and try to let you know that he cared about you, that you weren’t alone and hoped you understood this.

[beybladebladerboy999]

Dia means sun btw.

Lord Diavolo angst.

Maybe OOC LuLu, I just love soft, messy LuLu.

He regrets ever picking you for the exchange program. Because of you his life is ruined. He never planned to share Lucifer with anybody romantically.

Then one day he asked to talk. He confessed he was in love.

With you.

Diavolo cried himself to sleep that night. As he remembered his friends smiling face. Of course he congratulated him and gave him advice while Barbatos prepared a special blend of tea.

He always thought he'd have Lucifer body and soul forever.

He should have never let you come here. You have the brothers in shambles, bowing to your every command.

You have all of them wrapped around your little finger and you don't even realize it. Out of all seven you had to pick Lucifer.

He was always supposed to be his Lucifer. His fallen Morning Star with eyes that shone like fire. Skin as pale as snow, with hair as black and shiny as ink. His Lucifer only belonged to him in name only. He was so beautiful, he deserved better than to be your plaything. Lucifer deserved a Queen's status, he belonged on the throne working with Diavolo side by side.

You see this needed to be revised immediately, that's why he killed you. It was to easy really, wait until you got back to the human world, slip some poison into your water systems, and make sure his Lucy was busy with work all day and night.

Why don't I take your D.D.D Lucifer, it will just distract you. The faster you finish your work the faster you can talk to MC. I'm sure she misses you.

He had to be discrete, if lucifer found out all his love would vanish, so not even you could know your killer. He sent you letter often and texted you, played the nice guy, the supportive friend. Now you were far away in the Celestial realm, forbidden from dating the Morning Star based on your angel status. Of course secretly delivered by Barbatos to Micheal.

Then I gave him my brightest smile and shoved more paperwork into his arms, the arms that should be wrapped around him.

He saved Lilith, he gave him work, a place for him and his brothers to stay. Lucifer should be his, and now he will be, now that your out of the way. Watching from the Celestial realm as your boyfriend cries into his shoulder. His hair loose and his school uniform buttons undone, Diavolo could fell his heart beating.

You were gone, Lucifer was his once more.

The cost well the boys will get over it soon enough, they don't even know who killed you. After all you were a good friend to everyone, his tears were real.

He really would miss you, but you crossed the line when you took Lucifer from him. Maybe he'll come and visit you when Lucifer is wearing his ring. When its safe for his heart to never fell that way about you again.

Diavolo hugged his friend and soothed his heaving sobs.

You see Lucifer loves me , he doesn't hide anything from me. Look at him falling apart on my shoulder, the all mighty Morning Star, reduced to tears and a shadow of himself.

"Diavolo" he whispered

"Yes my Lovely?"

" Does Barb know who killed her?"

He sounded cool, and broken. He sounded like a man who just had his heart shattered.

"An unfortunate accident. Her poison garden had a broken pipe, the poison seeped into the ground into her drinking supply." He sounded mournful as he spoke.

" You know how found she was with her deadly garden Lucifer, that's why she got on with Satan so well, always hungry for information."

Lucifer chocked back a sob.

He told you your obsession would kill you one day, and now look at you. Stuck under his Father's thumb in the blinding white of his old home. At least he could rely on Simeon to keep you safe.

For the first time in his millennia old life Lucifer regretted his fall.

At his back Diavolo smiled, finally mine he thought, finally finally mine.

"This is where you live dearest?" he said. Looking at you in wonder. A small cottage greeted him with flowers blooming around metal gates. A green house in the backyard, filled to brimming with toxic and deadly plants.

he stared at you as you put on little green leather gloves and pointed at every plant, the poison it obtained and what it could do it a humans system. You showed him leaf patterns and squeezed a pokeberry and watched the seeds spill out, showing him the poison as red as blood inside.

"Isn't it wonderful" you asked. You gazed into his eyes, yours were filled with an almost child like wonder as you gazed around your garden. For once you had almost rivaled your boyfriend in Pride. He could practically see the peacock feathers sprouting from your back.

" I just want you to look upon the true irony of your current situation." She smiles as Lucifer plucks a Manchieel apple from the tree and bit down.

"I love you Lucifer" Then she looked up at me threw her long beautiful lashes. I felt the blush  creep up my cheeks as my hand rose to meet my chest.

"I love you to MC"

I kissed her then, her lips were full and warm and she was alive. We kissed by the dying sunset, I pulled her flush aganist my chest and she wrapped her arms around my neck.

I remember the feeling of utter happiness as I help her aganist me. It was like a tight spring loaded in my heart.

I love you MC, I will always love you.

Lucifer's tears slowly drew to a close as Diavolo hugger him closer. You were always so  reckless, always attracted to things that could kill you whether it be plants or your choice of boyfriend. You never had a sense of self preservation, its how you two originally gotten closer.

After he realized Mammon was a horrible human babysitter he slowly faded into the role. Then after your true heritae was revealed, he couldn't stop himself from falling in love with you.

Ha look where that got him. Youe dead and his heart is shattered on the ground.

Even after all those pacts you still went to Celestial, even though your a desecandt of the angel my Father wanted elimanited.

Maybe this is a new tourment from my Father after all, he took away Lilith, and now you.

My darling little MC.

Lucifer was sure his heart would never be put back together again.

He missed your warm touches. Your random notes on his mountains of paperwork, little encouragments and silly heart on sticky notes.

He saved them all.

You come in with snacks or drinks in the dead of night just to remind him to eat.

"How could you possibly love  a demon, I'm a failure. A fallen angel." He looked downcast.

You confessed your love fo rthe first time that night. Heart shapped pancakes, on his desk after a particularly long meeting. At the time his first thought was "Beel didn't see these, how odd."

" I love you in spite of that. Lucifer you work hard, you sacrificed your  freedom for your family. You work like a slave to because of it. Your so strong. You saved your brother from the dungeon, and bore the burden of greif all these years." YOu looked at him admiration and a touch of saddness.

"'I love you because no matter what you come to face, you better yourself with it." his pride swelled, he took in your flushed face, your sparkling eyes, and your soft hair. He loved you for so long. He pulled you close and kissed away your tears.

Then you fed each other pancakes.

He didn't do any work that night.

The brothers made you a memorial behdn the House of Lamentation. Filled to the brim with roses spelled healthy, and pictures upon pictures from your Devilgram account. Soft teddy bears and the controller you used most when playing with Levi, a tube of your lipstick you accidentally left behind.

Lucifer went their that night, he sat in frount of you and cried himself to sleep. It was almost like losing Lilith all over again.

You were the one to comfort him when you felt like this. When he lost the battle of the darkness inside his heart, but you were gone, and nobody else dared approach him. He felt your absence in the very core of his being, he missed your hands grazing his horns or preening his wings.

" Their like clouds! So fluffy!"

" They were made from clouds dearest" He smiled at you and pulled you onto his lap."

" I miss you MC, my dearest one." A few tears dropped onto your tombstone. He rested his head agaist your picture.

" Lucifer" a soft voice whispered, hiding in the shadows.

"Simeon" Lucifer looked up and saw his friend under the tree. He looked forlorn and...was that dread?

" We need to talk... I have  a message from....her"

Lucifer sat up and gracefully walkes towards him. His uniform is covered in mud and he was an indent from your memorial but, he still looked prideful. Even if he didn't feel anything at all.

Simeon looked at him in a pitiful manner.

" She loves you Lucifer, and it wasn't an accident. She said she saw Barbatos, and the cop who was investagating, he was a demon who tried to eat her once. When she was with Satan at the library.

She says he lended over and checked her pulse after she drank the water. He said he was sorry, on all accounts."

Lucifer couldn't speak, he was falling once more in a pit of rage and despair.

" Are you sure?" disbelief coated his voice as he looked upon his best friend and companion.

" She's a mess about it, Barb came over and-" Simeon shuddered. "She's being peppered with questions about everythibg from Micheal, she saw a few of her deceased pets and started crying, she won't leave them be" he chuckled slightly.

Lucifer felt a stab of betrayal, but he also felt a sense of purpose.

"Thank you Simeon" he said cooly, buttoning up his unofrm, tying his belt, fixing his medals."Give MC my love from now until the end of eternity." Lucifer walked cooly back to your memorial. He touched your smiling face and took out his D.D.D.

The Demon Brothers (6) New (7)

Lucifer- Family meeting in the dining room, Five minutes

He shut off his phone and walked back into the house.

" Your so strong Lucifer."

"Your so beautiful"

" You'll always be my angel."

" I love you, and I'll always love you."

Lucifer stared at his brothers' gathered in he dining hall. He tuned out their questions and held up his hand.

He stood up the chair moving soundlessely on the carpet.

He placed his hand over the R.A.D badge, then he ripped it off. The stitches popping and metals clanging on the table.

He threw it to the floor.

"Who here wants to start a rebellion."

Yay my first aganst! So who wins that's up to you! Comment please I love reading them.

This is my girlfriend's story and I wanted to post it here and she let me so go check it out on wattpad

@sparkleshinegreen