#which. i will make a long post eventually explaining things n giving spark notes

[inmuaki]

realising that ppl probably won’t get my pinned at first sawry yall

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part four

summary: friends who fool around almost never works. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: idiots, that’s all <3

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three, part four (6.7k), part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: my favorite part by mac miller, addicted by jorja smith, someone to spend time with by los retros

note: finally got myself to update this fic oml zzz quick psa tho, this will now be a six-part series! hope that’s okay and yenno as always, would love to hear what you think about this (validate me in the tags pls im lonely) happy reading babes! <3

“Yo, grandma. Haven’t you had too much tea to drink?” his voice echoes in the room as soon as he walks into it. You carefully set the cup down on the dining table and looked at him exasperatedly. 

“Haven’t you had too much care to give?” you snark back, earning yourself a disappointed look from him. 

“Really, y/n? That’s the best you’ve got?” he shakes his head at your appalling retort.  What a shame.

You were good at pissing him off to be fair. You just weren’t in the mood to throw teases back and forth especially now that you’re feeling particularly vulnerable.

The week has been far too dreadful for you and you know that you’re willing to grovel your way into the weekend to finally have the time to slack off, not worry about taking a bath, and just go crazy with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

However, just like always, Mathew seems to never run out of ways to get on your nerves. 

He carelessly puts his stuff on the table, causing a fairly loud thud on the surface. 

You let out a deep breath, massaging your temple. 

“Somebody’s cranky.” he grins. Not necessarily the kind you’d want to see from him. 

You try to ignore him for a few minutes but you can’t help noticing how his build easily took over much of the space you’ve already been occupying. You irkingly look up at him, closing the book you were reading. You meet Mat’s eyes who just innocently looked back into yours. Waiting. Possibly plotting on yet another sophisticated way to toy with you.

“You’re a child.” you roll your eyes and return to your reading. He says nothing and instead rests his chin atop his enclasped hands, continuing to bother you with his ridiculously beguiling eyes. He presses his lips together before sighing dramatically. 

“What?” you snap, finally shutting your book down as you look at him. 

“I wanna go out.” he looks up at you in an effort to make his huge physique smaller than it really was. 

“Then go out. You’re a big boy.” you breathe. 

“You just said that I’m a child.” he coos, mimicking a five-year-old’s voice. 

“Stop that.” you glare at him. Mat props himself back and laughs, “Come on. I’m bored.” 

You open your book again just as you reply in a tone that Mat’s getting used to hearing. “Boredom doesn’t give you the right to pester me, Barzal.” 

And as an exchange, he speaks in the same tone rather mockingly, “And so is that attitude, Y/L/N.” 

“Come on, y/n. Let’s go out.” he now pleads, looking up at you with what seems to be his worst impression of a ‘puppy eye’.

“Fine.” you finally concede and you see Mat’s beaming smile instantly. 

“Where’d you want to go?” you ask as you take your reading glasses off.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, obviously teasing. 

On the edge of being irritated, you say, “Are you kidding me?”

“Grandma.” he mumbles before saying, “Do you have anything you want to do? And please don’t say book hunt.”

You suppress a smile and maintain your composure. “I’m craving for pancakes right now but I also wanna drink. Go to a bar or something.”

He nods in agreement. Already stitching his game plan.

“We can do both.”  he bobs his all too fine brows.

He didn’t have a hard time getting you on board with his spontaneity. You actually haven’t gone out in a while and the thought of a possible night out doesn’t seem to be so bad of an idea.

You’ve been with Mat to parties and while the two of you don’t mingle as much as the other guys did, he does know his way around the club. The dance floor, however, he tries. He really does.

For about an hour Mathew waited patiently in the living room as he scrolled endlessly on instagram liking a few photos and laughing at posts the fans tag him occasionally. His eyes were peeled away from the screen when he heard the door to your room click. His irises trail onto your body even if he didn’t plan to originally. 

Mathew, albeit dressed simply in his black turtleneck sweater and a beige overcoat exudes just about the right ‘swag’ (as per how he puts it) to stop you in your stupor. Although what you didn’t know was how you weren’t any different in his eyes. You were dressed quite nicely in a black lace bodysuit with a pair of blackpants accentuated by the black boots you usually wear on a night out. Your coat was slung on your forearm whilst you held your clutch purse in your hand so you could close the door with the other. 

“What?” you blink just as you look down to eye yourself. Feeling a tad self-conscious under his gaze.

Mat immediately breaks it off. He clears his throat, pretending to wipe off the non-existent dust on the accent table. 

“What?” he mirrors with an arched brow.

You shrug off his demeanor, snatching your keys from the accent table before putting it in your purse. 

“Have you called a lyft already?” he nods, absentmindedly scratching his temple. 

“You ready? You look— decent.” He says, trying to act casual and distant when he gives you the compliment.

Not noticing the unfamiliar look his eyes had, you return the compliment and say,  “And so do you. Good job for not looking like you came straight out of an H&M catalogue.” you wink at him with a grin. A thing which was then reciprocated by a deadpan look on his end. 

Before he could even come up with yet another clever way to come at you, you start walking towards the door, looking at him once as you motion the way by curling your finger.

“Haul ass, buddy.”

𖥸

10:15 PM 

Mat decided to bring you to the usual place he goes to when he wants to be alone and just enjoy a couple of beers while he chats with River, the bartender he eventually befriends after years spent drinking in solitude. 

The bar had a rustic feel filled with wine barrels in the corner of the room. The seats were leather (mind you, it wasn’t the kind that gets easily worn out through time) and everything looked new to you regardless of all the vintage stuff displayed articulately on the brick wall. A turntable was set on the table stacked with vinyl records, most of which were from the 70s to 80s underneath.

It was obvious that it wasn’t the kind people would know about. Aside from it being located at such a secluded street leading to the suburbs, it wasn’t the type of bar kids would want to hang out in. It only had a few customers and most of them wore suits and came with company. No one really gave a hoot when you walked in with Mathew, aka, the face of the New York Islanders. Which is basically the reason why Mat kept coming back to the place. He felt comfortable and at peace. Almost in retrospect to being at home hanging with his father. 

“I can’t believe this place exists.” you say, mouthing your thanks to River as he hands you both of your drinks. The man that’s definitely aged like fine wine smiles, nodding his head over to Mat who was doing the same before he headed back to mix another set of drinks. 

“Me neither.” he grins, reminiscing about the time he’s found the small pub by accident. 

“This place looks expensive though.” you whisper, making Mathew laugh. 

“Well, it kinda is.” he sheepishly chuckles. “River’s filthy rich.”

“Is he really?” your mouth falls and you look back over the build of the old man. The way his salt and pepper hair was neatly slicked back makes quite a compelling case for what Mat had just said. 

Mat eventually explains who he was. Apparently, he was just another bored fancy man who happened to love making people drop dead and drunk with his over the top mixes. His dark deep set brown eyes are quite of a crowd favourite too. Case in point, the group of ladies seated from across you and Mathew.

“Hey.” you absentmindedly call on Mat who had just sipped on his drink. “I know what we should do.”

“All right.” he puts the glass down, “Lay it on me.”

“Let’s fix you up with one of the girls over there.” you suggest, leaning towards his body so you could get a better view upfront. Mat does not move and instead follows your finger subtly pointing at the other end of the room.

“What’s with the sudden fixation of getting me bagged tonight, huh?” he smirks, shaking his head at the idea of having to go home with some random girl. You give him a side eye as you move away from him. 

“Fixation is an overstatement. We’ll be here long enough for us to get sick of each other.” you explicitly told him. 

Mat eyes you intently. Searching if there was even the slightest doubt in your eyes. 

Long enough to get sick of each other. 

He clears his throat instead and looks across the room. “Which one?”

A gleeful cheer erupts from you just before you look over the girls in question. “What’s your type?” you ask him, not sparing a glance.

Mat looks down on you underneath the bar lights accentuating your features. Your eyes had a certain glint in them that Mat still can’t get a grasp on. Something that was just enough to spark something inside him. He didn’t want to overthink it nonetheless. It must have been just the lights. 

Once Mat sensed that you were about to look at him he immediately turned his gaze forward, squinting his eyes a little pretending to check out the women you’ve been eyeing for the last minute. 

“I don’t really have a type.” he shrugs, casually taking the fragile glass to his mouth. 

You dismiss what he said at once, “Do I look like a child to you? Just answer it.”

Mat shakes his head, “I told you. I don’t have one. If we vibe then we vibe. Simple as that.” 

You did not believe him but you decide to drop it off. Instead, you look back and return to your new found mission. Across the bar, seated were three girls busy talking to each other. 

“Got it.” you tell Mat, nodding your head towards the clueless girl sitting right across from where Mathew was. “The one in the center.” you add. “The one wearing a white bodycon.”

“She’s pretty.” he nods, validating your taste as his potential wingman. “Nice smile.”

Your hand met a firm slap on the table as you went on cheering for him. “Well? Go then!” you give him a nudge, taking it back quickly when you feel a slight hesitation on his part, “Don’t tell me you need me to introduce you?”

He takes the remainder of his glass and shaked off the kick it had in his throat. “You just sit and watch, babe.”

You do as you’re told and lean towards the bar, your elbow carrying all your weight whilst you sip on your half-full martini. 

Mathew’s stance and the way he carries himself immediately caused the girls to notice him coming. Of course, you weren’t really surprised. You watch him approach her,– reading along the words leaving his mouth. There was an exchange of proper ‘hello’s’ as Mat introduced himself to the girls. He reaches out his hand and the curly noirette in the center gives him a firm shake. 

Mat’s eyes momentarily locked with yours just as you see their hands linger in the air— tangled long enough for him to make a quick segway. He winks your way as he sees you grin from your seat, shaking your head just after you felt the need to take a deep breath. A thing you assumed to be because of the drink. So, while Mat leads the girl to one of the empty booths and sits across from her, you call on River and ask for another drink. 

Mathew must have lost track of time by the second drink he shared with Zoe. He learns that she’s from upstate and was just on the island to visit her friends. She’s still working on her major at NYU; coincidentally in the same field as Lianna so that was one of the things they’ve talked about first hand. She wasn’t really into sports so Mat steered clear of his job because he didn’t want to bore her. 

“So…” Zoe smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What’s the deal with you and the girl you’re with?” 

By the time she asked about you, only then did Mat remember who he was originally with. 

“Oh! She’s—” he looks over to where you’re seated only to find you laughing— no giggling with a man that was obviously a few years older than you. He’s wearing a neat black suit and a button down shirt with a couple of its first buttons opened. Zoe sees him frown, evidently losing his train of thought. 

She calls him with her sweet voice, “Mat?” 

“Yeah?” he absentmindedly answers, not wanting to take his eyes off of your hand that was now gently pushing the man’s arm whilst the two of you continue to burst into laughter. 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

What’s so funny? 

Finally, Mat hears Zoe’s distant voice that eventually took him back to his seat.

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” he apologetically smiles. “Sorry. What were you saying again?” 

She hesitates to ask about you after taking a quick glance your way upon seeing the way Mathew looked at you. Nevertheless, she decides to go for it.

“Aren’t you two together? I don’t want to come off strong here or anything. It’s just that I don’t want to get in between something if there ever is.” 

Mat looks at you one more time and as if you’ve felt his eyes all along you turn your way and meet his gaze. You shoot him a quiet smile, eyeing the guy sitting beside you, mouthing what he assumes to be an exaggerated “So hot!” on your end. He reciprocates your smile and gives you an approving nod.

Once you looked away, that’s the only time Mat finally answered the woman waiting patiently for his attention. 

“What?” Mat shakes his head wildly, blowing out air off his lips defensively. “No no no. We’re just friends. She’s my roommate actually.” he shrugs you off his mind and instead tries to put his entire focus on her. 

The remaining hours were spent with you and Mat getting along with your respective potential hook-ups. Not that it wasn’t the endgame either of you were hoping for at the back of your minds. 

He’s got to admit that Zoe was the kind of girl he’d be interested in. Another fact he’s kept a mental tab not to mention to you because he knows you’ll just get cocky. 

She was sweet and obviously eloquent. He knows she’s way smarter than he’ll ever be. But out of all those qualities, she was just as passionate at her craft as someone he likes to think he knows well enough. And that alone made a small smile creep on his lips. 

Nonetheless, despite all the aforementioned, Mathew found himself a bit more reserved than he usually is whenever he gets to meet and talk to his potential ‘lady friends’ as how you’ve put it countless times. He just wasn’t his exact self.  And he was beginning to question it. 

There were no fancy hockey plays thrown subtly into the conversation. Neither mentions of golfing nor over the top league events.  No butchered french pet names swiftly tucked in his sentences. And no endless questions that would eventually lead to something along the lines of ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Well, not until Zoe’s friends got up their seats and she told him herself. 

“Hey. The girls and I are meeting up with some friends in Brooklyn. D’ya wanna come?” 

Mat’s eyes trail down to her hand now gently caressing his. He raises both his brows thinking of a possible ‘out’ because he wasn’t sure if it was a smart thing to leave you alone with a stranger. 

He hums, “Sure.” 

Zoe shows him a delighted smile before eventually sliding out of the booth to walk towards the bar she and her friends were formally seated. 

“I gotta use the restroom first. Please excuse me.” she gives him a nod before going back to chatting with her friends. 

You, on the other hand, see Mat leave the table aiming for an archway you presume to be where the loo was. 

“Hey,” you call the man whose name you’ve already forgotten. Your pause was long enough for him to acknowledge the chances that you actually did forget who he was. Obviously.

“Chris.” The man in his early 30s answers with a submitting grin. 

You shyly laugh, squeezing his forearm as you try to apologize for forgetting. 

“Would you mind if I use the restroom?” you politely ask. 

“No, not at all.” he replies and immediately stands to help you get on your feet. Gentleman. 

Once you are in front of the men’s room, you anxiously wait for your wingman. You hug your purse close to your chest. Not a whole minute after, the door finally opens and you meet Mat’s irises with quite a gleeful look. 

A look he wasn’t a fan of for he knew what’s about to come next. 

“Are you taking off?” you eagerly ask, almost hopping on your feet. 

Mat eyes you from head to toe, looking for signs that would stink from a drunk y/n. When he sees none, that’s when he decides to say that he was. 

“Mkay good. I’ll be on my way too. Chris is taking me to New Jersey.” you tell him, briefly looking through the archway to see if there were people listening.

Once you know you’re clear, you lean towards Mat, your lips dangerously close to the sensitive skin of his ear. Mat feels your heated breath sending a familiar tingle up his spine. “I’ll get to ride a yacht tonight.” you bite your lower lip and giddily smile as if you were a cheeky 16 year-old usually depicted in a coming of age movie. 

“Who’s Chris?” Mat, in spite of taking rounds observing you all night, finds the need to ask. “And why are you coming with him to NJ?” he further questions. 

“Uh– okay, dad.” you step back for a second. You let out a scoff, checking if he was being serious about it. “I thought we’re supposed to go get laid tonight? Weren’t you about to take off with that girl yourself?” 

Mat averts your gaze and starts to scratch the corner of his brow. “Well yeah. It’s just that— he looks sketchy.” he pauses, “plus… isn’t he a little too old for you?” 

You roll your eyes as you’ve already expected to hear the words from him. 

“He’s 31. He’s not that old.” you say rather defensively so you turn the ball back on his court. “And what if he was?  Didn’t you ask one of the moms out??”

Mat’s eyes widens and you try to bite back a laugh. He whispers with a biting tone, trying to save himself. “She didn’t look like one! I’m gonna kill Beau I swear to god.”

“Come on Barz. Don’t be such a killjoy. Text me if you need anything, okay? Wrap things up while you’re at it.” you say at once. Mat doesn’t get the chance to talk you out of such a stupid idea because before he even could, you’ve already planted a kiss on his cheek and started walking away. 

Mat waited for the sound of the heavy doors of the bar, signaling that you and your friend have gone, before stepping back to where Zoe was. She waves him near the coat closet. 

“Hi.” Mat greets her friends before eventually turning his attention on the unsuspecting lass. She meets her with a smile (just like what she’s been doing all night). The same smile, however, drops the second Mat opens his mouth. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” 

Zoe nods and willfully abides, letting Mat take her gently by the arm. 

“What’s up?” she innocently asks. 

“Something came up.” he says a little too fast than what he’d originally intended. He was going to let her down either way might as well get it over with and rip up the asshole band-aid. 

“Oh.” she says in a tone Mat knew that she completely understood. 

“No worries.” she looks at him with a knowing look in her eyes. “I’ll see you around then.” 

He gives her a kind smile and nods. “Take care.” 

Mathew walks towards the bar, catching River’s teasing grin whilst he cleans up after the bottles left on the center of the counter. 

“What?” Mat reacts defensively, taking a seat in front of the lone bartender. River faintly shakes his head to leave just enough curiosity in Mathew’s mind. 

“You’re such a tool, old man.” the kid says aiming for the cold beer River has put away for himself. River did not mind because he’s grown fond of the star player for the past years he’s spent going on late night drinks at his bar. Years that even justifies a proper amount of time for him to know the in’s and out’s of one Mathew Barzal. 

“I haven’t said a thing.” he shrugs amidst the already wide grin on his face. 

There’s wisdom in his eyes that Mathew has always admired. He wasn’t the guy who’d want to talk about what’s going on inside his head but with how River’s pub seems to be just the right place, he eventually concedes and takes a shot to pick on the old man’s brain.

“Come on, spill it out. I know you’re going to anyway.” Mat gives in, running his thumb on the moist label of the bottle. 

River wipes his hands before resting it atop the counter. “Well, it’s just that– I ain’t used to seeing you turn down ladies like that too often. And you’re definitely not one to stick around watching me clean up.”

Mat stays silent for a moment, as if to gather the exact reason as to why he chose to stay. He still has a long way to go before figuring that one out. He wasn’t exactly as sharp as he was on the ice.

“I don’t know, man.” he chuckles tirelessly, “I guess I wasn’t in the mood. That’s all.”

“You?” River shots a brow and dismisses him, shaking his head. When Mat doesn’t answer, he carefully picks on his choice of words and lays it down carefully for him. After all, Mathew should have known that River was old enough to not know what’s going on.

“Though I gotta be honest with you, hijo. Never imagined you’d bring someone here.” he starts. 

What must have been a shot in the dark for the old man was just enough to tear Mathew’s eyes away from staring at the water beads on the bottle.

“What?”

“The girl, Barz.” he says, banging on the head of the bottle to knock the cap off. “She a friend?” 

“What? Y/N?” Mat quirks his brows trailing off where River was exactly headed, “What about her?— Oh, her? Yeah, no. She’s just a friend.”

“She pretty.” he speaks in a sound accent, not wanting to let Mat know he’s growing to like catching the young lad off guard. Mathew nods casually despite the continuous blabbering. “She’s y/n. But yeah— I guess, she is pretty.” 

“Then what are you doing being just friends with a pretty girl?” River inquires, taking a sip of his beer. When he sees him trying to register what he’d just said he then adds, “Why not be with her? Date her?”

“Psh. What? Date y/n? That’s crazy.” Mat shakes his head furiously, “You’re crazy.” 

“What’s so crazy about that?” River takes offense, laughing at the child’s naivete. 

“I can’t date her. I mean— I won’t date her.” he takes the bottle to his mouth, taking a large gulp before continuing, “We’re in this weird relationship thing. A setup, actually, and it’s— it’s crazier than dating her. I swear, you of all people won’t get it.” 

“What makes you think I can’t?” he smirks, “I’ve had my fair share of crazy.” River points out despite the hesitation in Mat’s eyes. “I got all night, kid.” he adds, letting him have the floor to himself. 

“You really want in on this?” he second guesses, not wanting to bore the man with his personal life.

River leans against the brass counter just below the lit rack of vintage scotch displayed on the bar. He then gestures him to give a piece of his mind and Mat finally submits to his offer.

“We’ve been in a few… prior engagements,” he starts trying to find the appropriate word. “Well, sort of.”

River hums, not necessarily getting on the same page as him so he decides to be upfront about it.

“We’ve… slept together.” he confesses.

“So you used to date her?” the old man asks. 

“No.” he answers, “I told you we’re just friends.” 

With furrowed brows, River takes a minute. And once Mat hears an all too familiar “Oh.” he sees him break a chuckle, shaking his head at the thought of what Mat had just told him. “You kids have way too much fun these days.”

Mathew shrugs, “Hey, I warned you. Told you you wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay, make me understand something here. You two sleep together, fool around, do all that shit.” he says, “and you swear you’re not in a relationship?”

“Nope.” Mat answers with pride, popping out the word with a hard ‘p’.

“Huh.” River clicks his tongue, “How long have you two been… engaged?” 

He rolls his eyes when River uses his word, “About two months.” he answers shortly.

“Is she seeing anyone since you two started this thing? You know, casual dates, the ones I presume she’s been getting before you got her into this mess?” he asks him in a tone that only fathers would ever dare to use.

Mat thinks for a moment, trying to recall the last time he’s seen a guy pick you up for dinner besides the old man you’ve successfully bagged for the night. He firmly shakes his head no and simply says, “At least not in my recollection.”

River willfully nods, walking Mat right into the trap. “Well have you been seeing anyone lately?” he asks again, this time slipping a hint of assertion. He hears a crystal clear ‘no’ from the forward and that’s when he broke a goading grin. 

“And you’re telling me you two aren’t together?” he asks yet again, getting on Mat's nerves as he continues to flood him with biting queries, building up the final point he was about to break on Mathew.

“Rivs, for the hundredth time, no. We are not.” he clarifies. 

Mat watches River pour himself a glass of scotch, still wearing a smug grin. “Imma give you a piece of advice, yeah?” he smiles rather teasingly and doesn’t wait for Mat to rebut, “I’m a happily married man so I don’t know a single squat about dating nowadays, but if you’re telling me that you kids aren’t sleeping with anyone else but yourselves? Looks like a damn relationship to me.”

With his brows all quirked in confusion (and denial in the very least), Mathew gathers all his might just so he could refute whatever madness River was trying to inflict on him and screw him up in the head. But before he could even open his mouth, the sound of the heavy doors was all it took to tear up both River’s and Mat’s attention.

“Hi.” you say the moment you were welcomed by unsuspecting men talking by the bar. River acknowledges you by raising his drink, his gaze landing on Mat the moment yours did. 

“Hi.” Mathew mirrors you in an attempt to drown his already racing heart. A smile impending to break loose at any moment but he manages to suppress it. Instead of dealing with his adrenaline, he gestures for you to take a seat beside him. 

“Where’s the sugar daddy?” he laughs the moment you drag yourself from across the room, mocking every word he said. 

“His wife called when I got into his car.” you cringe.

“Oof. Lovely.” Mat makes the distinct expression on his face just before the two of you share a laugh.

“He’s not very smooth with adultery. He needs more practice.” you casually state sarcastically, clicking your tongue. 

As you find the narrative funny, you take a sip on Mathew’s beer. “How are you not drunk? You’ve been drinking way too much the entire night.”

“Well. I’ve got some things to think about—” he cuts himself off upon seeing your mouth ajar, “And no, you’re not allowed to ask because none of it concerns you.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” you dismiss him, excusing yourself to River which he gladly took as his cue to leave.

When he disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your gaze on your friend wearing another one of your mischievous grins, “Hey, wanna get pancakes?” 

“Y/N, it’s almost 3 AM.” Mat sighs, the tiring night starting to creep up to him. 

“So?” you question, swatting his hand away when you catch him checking on his watch. 

“Come on. Stop drinking that.” you insist and take the bottle from his hand before putting it over to the side. 

The two of you said your goodbyes to the lone bartender who was just starting to clean up again. River gives the two of you a nod of acknowledgement before landing a knowing look on Mathew. One that he’s thankful enough not to be discerned by you. 

As you walk alongside Mathew, he unconsciously places a hand on the small of your back— feeling it graze on the fabric of your coat as if to guide you towards the door in an almost romantic type of way. Perhaps, a way someone would behave if they were actually in a relationship. 

Mat notices your body tense but he doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his hand travels to the curve of your waist just as he leads you through the brass doors.

Once you’re out on the streets, he lets go.

𖥸

After almost half an hour of fighting over which diner is better to eat and get sober at, you and Mat decide to just try the new diner three blocks from your apartment. Being that it was an ungodly hour, the diner was good as closed when you got in. There were a few people inside and besides the student studying alone in the corner booth, the people lounging in the vacant seats were mostly just staff. Too bad they had to work the grave shift.

Mathew, who was rather preoccupied digging in his breakfast platter, gets interrupted when you call his attention. 

“So tell me,” you ask as you take a forkful of syrupy pancake into your mouth. Finally satisfying your cravings. You put the food modestly in the insides of your cheeks when you ask him a question, “What are you like on dates?” 

Mat disgustingly looks at you. You easily get what such a look meant and you immediately roll your eyes. You let your hand fall in mid-air amidst still holding a fork in it to prove a point. “I’m not trying to ask you out, dumbass. Don’t be so delusional.”

He puts his silverware down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Why the sudden interest?” 

“Just curious.” you simply say.

He hums, thinking about how he pulls off a first date. He then clears his throat as he takes you down that road. “First, I’m not bringing her to a 24/7 Diner.” you nearly gag. “She deserves a formal one just in case there won’t be a second date.” he explains. 

You sit there, nodding your head every now and then as he further goes on the details of how he’s like on a date. “Of course, I’d put my best foot forward all the time. Talk about her stuff more than mine and make sure she has a good time.” 

“Have you ever had a bad first date?” you curiously ask. To which he only answers with a stubborn look on his face, the one only Mat Barzal could pull off. “What? me? I don’t do bad first dates.”

“Oh, fuck off.” you flick his forehead as you laugh. The sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, drowning all the existing noise inside the lone diner.

But as the laughter dies down, Mat catches your eyes as soon as it falls on his. And just like that, there it was again, the exact same glint it had back in the bar. This time, illuminated by the pink shaded light lining up the wall accents of the diner. 

When he realizes that he’s been staring for too long, he settles on turning the tables on you. 

“How about you?” he props in his seat, “What are you like on dates?”

“You know, apart from the fact that you’re obviously into old men.” he snickers and you throw a curly fry on his forehead.

“Excuse me, I don’t.” you say sticking up for yourself.

Mat takes the curly fry that has fallen on his plate and proceeds to eat it. “Sure you do.” 

You roll your eyes, finding it hard to suppress the fact that you might actually do. “There’s a reason why women like old men, chico.”

He leans back and answers with a level headed and quite teasing reply, “And why’s that?”

“Because they’re men.” you look at him with a jerky grin as you continue, “And men, especially of River’s kind, definitely knows how to eat his french fry.”

Mat’s mouth falls wide in disbelief, appalled that you’ve actually found a way to pick up a stone and throw it straight to his face just to rub more salt on the fact that you had to teach a 23-year-old grown man how to eat cunt.

 “You’re an ass.” he says, rolling his eyes. You let out a laugh and shake your head. You were proud of yourself, sure; but showing just that is far too much for a boy’s already hurting ego. Who would have known humbling this man was such a task. 

“I’m playing! You know how to now.” you tell him, “Thanks to me, of course.”

He scoffs and takes a bite off his pancakes, “Cocky.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question.” he reminds you whilst he wipes off his lips with a napkin. 

“There’s not much to tell. You know I’m not high maintenance.” you tell him, ignoring the fact that you haven’t been on an actual date for so long you’re almost sure you’ve forgotten how to be in one. 

“I know it’s cheesy and corny but I do think it’s still in the littlest things, you know?” you sigh. Trying to remember the last relationship (date even) you had wherein those little things, the ones that are merely the bare minimum, were actually given to you. 

“You know, it’s not much, really. Maybe just a good talk without having to watch him watch me talk all night when he’s really thinking about how I’d look naked, you know what I mean?” you laugh it off, “I know, it’s stupid.”

The arrogant man sitting before you was silent for once, profusely wanting to wash the pool of melancholy he sees in your eyes. There must have been a shit ton of guys who overlooked how great of a woman you actually are just because they couldn’t stop thinking with the head in between their legs even just for a second. 

Mathew knows. And he hates that he’s been ‘that’ guy at some point. Probably until now considering him thinking with his balls on was the very thing that got the two of you here in the first place.

You take a deep breath, smiling. “Anyway, that’s better than almost getting with a married man. Right?”

“Right.” Mat laughs, his gray eyes bright under all the lights as he plays with his silverware,— devoid of how much he looked like as if he was utterly and undeniably in awe of not just the energy of the woman sitting in front of him alone nor the fact that she was by far the most unbelievable woman he’s known, but most importantly, he’s yet to realize how much in deep he’s beginning to be for the woman she actually were. 

Just as she is. 

𖥸

You left the diner a good hour before the sunrise and what must have been a quick five minute drive if you had only taken a cab, became a twenty minute foot race between you and Mathew.

You knew that walking was a bad idea but somehow, Mat’s charm and persuasive antics had a better hold than you thought you had on your very capable cognition. 

As you drag your feet into the confines of the elevator in your complex, you hear Mathew chuckling behind you with a firm hand securely placed on your waist supporting your balance. 

“You know— and not just ‘cause I’m an athlete, can I just say that you’re in a very bad shape?” he says almost a whisper in your ear, his voice low and deep.

You roll your eyes, leaning on the steel cold mirror once he pulls away, “You do it in heels then tell me who’s in a bad shape.” 

“Fair point.” he chuckles yet again, shying away. He presses the number for your floor before resting across from you. As Mat watches you catch your breath, he jokes in the hopes of breaking the ice between the two of you. 

“So…” he clicks his tongue, playful eyes looking at you, “Wanna tap?”

Disgusted to your very core, you let out a scoff just as you shake your head. “You’re fucking sick.” you laugh upon meeting his dumb grinning face. Seconds into laughter, Mat’s silence kills off the humor. The two of you exchange glances, the smiles on your faces receding into quietude. 

Mathew didn’t want to end the night letting you in the apartment not knowing what he’s been feeling the moment you’ve let him drag you out for an impromptu night out. And stupid as it was, the only thing he could think of was to slide his foot across the enclosed space embracing the two of you, nudging on your boot. You on the one hand were rather puzzled as to what caused such language. You send him a mental query by arching a brow. He lets his head fall back on the cold metal surrounding the elevator finally deciding to speak his truth.

 “I’m glad we get to hang out now. You know, just like friends do.” he genuinely says. 

“Me too.” you say, smiling. “I really had fun tonight. Thank you.”

As you meet his eyes, you see a glimmer of softness in his gaze. 

“Good thing I got bored, eh?” he says with a smirk. 

“Good thing I came back for you.” you reply.

A quiet smile parts from his lips.

“Yeah. I’m glad you did.”

It was a few seconds when you and Barzy parted from your respective walls to meet the sliding doors as it opened on your designated floor. You were pulling him closer by the tie of his coat whilst his hand was instinctively placed on your hips letting him press his body on you. Your faces were inches from each other’s, evident of not wanting to prolong the totally unplanned foreplay that’s about to go down in a communal lift. 

But just like every film you’ve watched your whole life, the inevitable cliché befalls the two of you when the next words that filled the enclosed walls you’re currently caged in came from the man who has yet to miss a morning jog. 

“What the hell is going on here?”

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | two

view pinned post for masterlist for links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut 

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: blood drinking, choking (like some serious choking you’ve been warned), crying kink, corruption kink, praise kink? idk, mentions of alcohol, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

It had been a few weeks since you’d last summoned San. The last time you’d seen him, he’d gone kind of crazy after tasting your blood. You couldn’t forget the darkness in his voice, his all-black eyes shining demonically as he lost it. He had left without even giving himself a chance to explain himself, he just disappeared to, well… wherever it was that demons went, you supposed.

Every so often, your hand would find its way up to check the scar where he’d punctured your neck. Honestly, you just wanted to make sure you hadn’t dreamt it all. As the days went on, you really couldn’t be sure. Eventually the scar dwindled to a faint red mark, and then to nothing at all. 

The sticky note was still pinned to the wall above your desk, taunting you every time you saw it. Each time you’d think today was the day you’d call him back, and yet, you hadn’t been able to do it.  

Until you were drunk, that is. 

You had a particularly rough day of classes. Your professor had called you out in front of the whole class for a mistake you made on an assignment, and it ripped you apart. When you got home, you had poured out a few pathetic drinks to drown the pain of the day, wanting nothing more than to curl up in your bed and disappear. But you forgot one vital thing. When you drank alone, you got sad. Like, really sad. The tears seemed to flow endlessly, and there was a point at which you even forgot why you were crying—or drinking—in the first place. 

There was a part of you that needed in that moment to not be alone, even for just a second. Embarrassed to call any of your friends over, you turned to the only companion who couldn’t turn you down.

Your demon boy.

You ripped the post-it off the wall, finally ready to use it, drunkenly singing out the Latin a few times until it was comprehensible enough to work.  

He was perched on your desk when he appeared. You stumbled back drunkenly, startled by his sudden appearance despite knowing you were summoning him. You just forgot how jarring it was. 

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” San grumbled. You weren’t sure if he was responding to your sudden summoning, or the fact that you were leaking tears all over the place pathetically, but you couldn’t even manage to choke out a response through your blubbering. 

“This is way out of my pay grade.” He hopped off the desk, sauntering slowly in your direction. “Have you been drinking, hmm? I can smell that cheap liquor from a mile away. It’s fogging up your pretty little scent.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes pitifully. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have summoned you. You can leave.”

“I did miss your cute little human face, I suppose,” he said softly. He was standing close now, towering over you. You pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes, and he gave a gentle pet to your head. In any other situation, it would be sweet, but the look in his eyes was chilling. He looked at you like prey, a piece of meat—and yet his words dripped off his tongue like the sweetest honey. “Don’t cry, okay?” 

His thumb drew across your cheek, passing faintly over your lips, collecting tears. He brought his hand up to his tongue, licking it clean of the saltwater, not breaking eye-contact for even a second. “Virgin tears. Almost as good as the blood,” he sang, eyes rolling back in his head in a quick moment of bliss for just a moment before fixing back on your face. “Almost.”

You forgot how alluring he was, his sharp-featured face in particular. There was something magnetic about it, you couldn’t pull your gaze away no matter how intense he was. 

“So why’d you call me, hmm, darling?” He flashed his teeth villainously. “Missed my bite that much? Have something new to offer, perhaps?”

You dropped your gaze, but he tipped your chin up to meet his again almost immediately. “Look me in the eyes, darling. You’re the one that summoned me, the least you could do is give me that.”

“I shouldn’t have called you here. I shouldn’t have even thought—I should have known you wouldn’t care beyond your own interests,” you said, voice hoarse and shaky through your tears. 

He shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

“Asshole.” 

His brows furrowed. “Okay, a little uncalled for. But not entirely untrue.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bed. It took only a small nudge to plop you down. You felt the effects of the alcohol wash over you. “We can make a contract. If it makes you feel better.”

“What, you’re gonna ask for my blood again?” you scoffed.

“No.”

“Then?”

“Your tears.”

You paused, considering the stakes. “Fine, take them. What do I get?”

He took a seat next to you on the plush blanket, placing a surprisingly comforting hand on your back. “I’ll listen to you. Like, uh… a demon therapist,” he smiled at you from your side, flashing his fangs cheekily. “I promise I’ll do my best to stay serious. I’m contractually obligated.”

“Fine,” you agreed, slightly annoyed at how difficult you found it to resist him. His devilish charm was too much for you—even sober, but especially drunk. 

“Tears first,” he said decidedly, and you caught a glimpse of desire spark in his eyes. 

You nodded, shuffling your butt on the bed to face him. You expected him to run his fingers over your face, like he had earlier. Instead, he brushed his thumb over the side of your face slowly, dancing along the cut of your jaw, then leaned in to brush his lips over your cheek. You flinched as his lips connected with your skin softly, and you felt the distinct wetness of his tongue brushing over the surface. He lapped at your tears through deliberate, drawn-out kisses, and the cold metal of his lip ring felt unexpectedly nice drawing over your cheek. 

His hand came around to the back of your head, lacing his fingers in your hair to steady you. It was incredibly sensual, whether he meant it to be or not. He moaned pleasurably at the taste of your tears, though he didn’t have the same animalistic hunger he seemed to have when he’d tasted your blood. Probably for the best. 

“You’re so cute when you’re crying. Like a helpless little lamb. If I weren’t supposed to be nice to you right now, I’d have a half a mind to make you cry again,” he purred against your ear. 

His other hand threaded around the small of your waist, like he’d done when he drank your blood before. And you couldn’t lie, you kind of loved it. His position was unexpectedly romantic: one hand cupped around your waist, the other laced in your hair, delivering soft kisses and licks across your cheeks. You closed your eyes to get a better idea of the sensation, fisting your hands needily in the silky fabric of his button down. 

You felt him pull away suddenly, an amused smirk dancing up on his lips. “Someone’s getting spicy. This wasn’t in our contract.” 

Fuck. Something in your mind was telling you to kiss him. Not just telling, but more like screaming at you. Fucking kiss him. His lips looked so soft and alluring, so dangerously off-limits. You leaned in slightly, magnetized by his aura, only to feel him pull away entirely. 

“Okay. I’ve had my fun,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, roughing it up messily, giving you a perfect view at the cut of his jaw. “Now I hold up my end of the deal. You talk, I listen.”

Do we have to talk? you thought, annoyed. I’d rather just make out.

You gritted your teeth together as you tried desperately to shift your thoughts away from kissing him. But you couldn’t help but think about how his lips would taste against your lips, how his tongue would dance sinfully against yours, his fingers laced in your hair—god, what was wrong with you? It was probably all the drinks you had, making you unnecessarily sad and even more unnecessarily horny for your hot demon errand boy. You needed to get it the fuck together. 

You pushed away your fantasies for the night, as hard as that was. For the next hour or so, you lamented to him about your rough day, even going into a few things that had happened in the past week. He listened thoughtfully, carefully, though in the back of your mind you knew he was only being so attentive because he was ‘contractually obligated.’ 

You poured your heart to him, feeling incredibly vulnerable under his concentrated gaze. Though this time it wasn’t entirely predatory, but more like interested. Caring, even. You doubted that even was possible. Even so, as you talked, you felt more and more connected with him. 

For a moment, he seemed almost human. 

Summoning San became an almost nightly routine for you. 

You’d summon him, have him help you with mundane activities like homework, cleaning, cooking—whatever task you could think of to keep him around as long as possible. Of course, he couldn’t turn you down unless you didn’t have a reasonable counter to give him. 

Each time you summoned him, it seemed as though he cared less and less about the contract and seemed to enjoy your company a bit more. Not that he’d ever unveil that information to you—he always gave into your mundane proposals begrudgingly, but there was a glint in his eye that said he wanted to be there, even if he wouldn’t admit it yet. 

“You know I have other clients, right?” he’d joke. “You can’t summon me every night.”

“Oh, so you’re cheating on me?” you’d tease back. 

“Don’t worry,” he’d say with a charming wink. “You’re my favorite human.” 

“Not that there’s any competition, but you’re my favorite demon.” 

You loved the playful banter between you. He felt somehow easier to talk to than any human you’d met, perhaps because there was little to no social pressure involved. Something about your dynamic felt almost boyfriend-ish, in a way—if you could consider being a glorified errand boy a boyfriend-ish thing to do. He rarely divulged any personal information about himself, but you got to know him through the littlest things. His small habits, the things that made him laugh. 

You couldn’t believe it, but you were falling for him slowly, like some sort of pathetic schoolgirl crush. The highlight of your day was the minute you could conjure him, even just to see his face smiling in front of you, that familiar devilish grin as he appeared in your room. 

There was still something that felt entirely off-limits, though. Sure, you’d let him drink from your neck a few more times—each time he’d get better at controlling himself—but you weren’t sure how to cross the line from there. He’d been so forward on the very first night you met him. He even asked to take your virginity, which of course you outright denied. But even if it was a joke, if he was just messing with you, the idea swirled in your mind every now and again. You even dreamt of him a few times. But he hadn’t mentioned it since. 

It was late in the night. You had summoned San to do some menial house chores, as you usually did, in exchange for dinner and a back massage—something you weren’t even aware demons needed. San had explained it to you, but you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the inhuman-soul in a human-vessel dynamic, so you chose not to question it too hard.

Today, something felt different about him. He was flirtier, sexier, more outlandishly charming than usual, if that was even possible. You watched him scrubbing your countertops like your hot demon maid—you even went so far as to dress him in an apron you spent a little too long picking out at the store—marveling at the small of his waist cinched in with the fabric tie. 

“Enjoying the view?” he teased with a playful glance over his shoulder, wiggling his hips. 

“Ugh, I was until you did that,” you joked back. “C’mon, that countertop isn’t gonna scrub itself.”

He gave his hips another shake, chuckling as you trained your gaze on his ass. “You’re so cute when you’re drooling over me. Get it together, darling. You’ve still got a massage to give.”  

He was just joking around with you, you knew that. He was probably just as charming with his other summoners, or his ‘clients’ as he called them. But he was right, you couldn’t help but drool over him. It was moments like this where you fell for him, hard, pretty much flat on your face. You wished so desperately for him to be human right now, just for a second. You wanted him to give you a sweet, squeezing hug, kissing your forehead. You wanted to feel his arms around your waist, pulling you in close. You wanted to ask him on a date. You wanted him. 

But you’d have to settle for watching him clean your house. God, what was wrong with you? You couldn’t have caught feelings for a human boy?

And now you had to give him a massage, which wasn’t going to make it any better. 

He laid himself face down on your bed, face resting gingerly against your pillow. You straddled him, setting yourself down gently on the back of his thighs. You had admittedly never given a massage before, but you weren’t going to let that stop you. Your hands explored below the hem of his shirt, lifting up slowly to reveal the soft, perfectly tanned skin underneath. You were able to get a better view of his proportions, the way his waist curved in so delicately and then up into his beautifully broad shoulders. He was fit, but not too muscular, slender, but not too thin. He was absolutely immaculate. 

You rubbed circles in his back, drawing out the sweetest moans from his lips as you massaged down on his muscles. “I may be cursed with this human body—ah—but this does feel kind of amazing,” he admitted in a voice slightly muffled by the pillows. 

You worked at his muscles until he seemed satisfied, even rolling your palms around his neck and shoulders to hear his sweet groans of pleasure. It was unbelievably enticing, and you felt dampness pooling between your legs.  

When you were done he rolled on to his stomach. You watched in awe at the rise and fall of his chest, the tip of his chin accentuating his sharp jawline. You didn’t want him to leave. 

He stood himself up from the bed, shaking his muscles out a bit before smiling cheekily, flashing his fangs as he always did. “Looks like our contract today is complete. See you tomorrow, hmm?” he winked. 

“San wait—”

“Yes?”

“I want another contract.”

He paused to contemplate, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip in thought. He cocked his pierced eyebrow up, stepping forward to close the distance between you. “What’s that, little lamb? Are you finally gonna let me take that pretty little soul?”

You swallowed, mustering up the courage to make your move. “I want you to kiss me.”

“You—what?” he sputtered, clearly caught off guard by your proposition. 

“I’m asking you to kiss me,” you repeated.

You watched his eyes go dark, slightly hooded as he trained his gaze back on you. In contrast from his lighthearted mood earlier in the day, he looked particularly lustful as his eyes found your lips. 

“So, if you want to make a contra—” 

He was on you before you could finish your sentence. His hands found your hips, squeezing tightly to pull you against him.

His lips lingered over yours, the warmth of his breath washing over you like soft waves. He didn’t stay there for long, pulling your lips against his fully. He tasted like heaven, hell, and everything in between. You craved for him as thirstily, barely coming up for air as your lips rocked slowly against each other’s. One of his hands was laced in your hair, the other steadying against your neck. For a moment, you forgot he was even a demon at all, except for the inhumanly exquisite taste of his lips.

He pulled away for only enough time to choke out his next words in a low growl. “I guess I’ll make an exception on the contract this once. Once.”

He bit playfully at your bottom lip, lightly twirling his tongue around the surface. Then harder. You yelped as his fang sunk in, tearing off a small piece of flesh. He smirked against your lips, drawing his tongue across the blood with sensual breaths. His hands came to your shoulders to swivel your hips around, backing you into the wall next to your door frame, caging you in with his body. 

“I always forget how good you taste,” he purred in your ear. He grasped at your body hungrily through your clothes, like he was ready to rip through them at any moment.

You could have stayed there forever, his body trapping you against the wall, lips on you like he would never have another chance to taste you. But he pushed away suddenly, his eyes flashing a demonic black for a moment angrily. 

“Fuck. I have to go. I’m getting another call,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“San wait I—” 

But he was gone. 

Your knees gave out under you weakly, sliding your back down the wall, staring at the empty space he had occupied. He wasn’t yours. He wasn’t your boyfriend, or even your friend. He was a demon. You couldn’t afford to forget that for even a moment. 

It was just too good to be true.

You didn’t discuss the kiss further, not for a while at least. He’d made a few passing comments on his nightly house calls, but you hadn’t dared bring it up again in conversation. However, on one night in particular, you had summoned him without purpose. You were admittedly lonely, and frankly, a bit horny. You wanted company, and he was always on call. 

“Yes, my liege?” he teased with a bow as he appeared in your room. And there was that intoxicating smile again. 

“Will you just talk to me tonight?”

“Okay, darling. And what do I get, hmm?”

“No contract.”

“You know that isn’t how this wo—” 

“I want to know you’re not just here because you have to be tonight. But if you really don’t want to be here, you can leave. You know the way out.”

He sighed heavily. “Y/N, you know this isn’t—”

“Please.” 

You saw the look on his face soften, and he gave in with a nod that said ‘fine, but just this once’.

You talked across from each other on the bed for a while, talking about anything that came to your mind, though not much about him. He mostly listened, cut in a few times with a quip or a cheeky comment, but kept his eyes trained on you with complete concentration otherwise. You actually hadn’t expected him to be such a good listener. Better than most humans you knew, anyway. You loved the moments where you caught a glimmer of humanity, although you knew that wasn’t possible. The only human thing about him was his body, after all. 

As you made conversation, your mind wandered elsewhere. You couldn’t help but admire the curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, his crimson eyes shining like rubies. You felt completely intoxicated by him, as you always did. He was entirely tempting and yet felt completely off limits, even though you had entertained many times the thought of him fucking you. The thought flickered through your head even now. You imagined every rise of the muscles in his chest, sweat glistening on his skin as he towered over you. You imagined what his dick might look like, sliding in and out of you. You imagined his lips all over your body, every curve of your skin, every inch of you from head to toe.

The tension in the room grew thick as you watched his mouth, concentrated on every movement, every flick of his tongue, the faint glimmer of his metal lip ring, the fangs glistening under his slightly parted lips. There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety in the way you watched him, and he slowly stopped moving entirely, focusing all his energy on to you again. You craved the intense heat of his gaze now—you were no longer uncomfortable with his severity, only further entranced by how it pulled you in. You were entirely in his trap. You leaned forward, initiating the kiss, and he leaned in to meet you. His tongue slid against yours, and you reciprocated fervently. He tasted incredible, and the way he moaned against your lips indicated he felt the same about you. “You’re intoxicating,” he purred, his heavy breaths sounding like music in your ears. You wanted him, entirely. Since the moment he’d first appeared you’d wanted him.

Your hands explored his chest, his arms, the small of his waist—everywhere you could touch, you did. His chest was rock-solid, a beautiful display of muscle sculpted beautifully on his core. You felt every desire you’d ever had compounding at once within you, it rocked through you like a wave: the need to be touched, held, fucked right this moment. Although you’d never done it before, at least with another person, you had plenty of experience with the vibrator in your room, and recently, with picturing San as you pleasured yourself. Either way, if you had done it with another human or not, it probably wouldn’t have even mattered—he wasn’t human at all, in fact. What he was was danger wrapped up in an alluringly human-like package.  

“I want you to fuck me, San,” you said confidently, letting the words the drip off your tongue, slowly and deliberately. 

Your bodies were nearly flush, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His finger traced along your jaw, a low grumble rolling up through his throat, coming up through his teeth in a hiss. “You can’t tempt me with that kind of offer,” he growled, and the way his fingers trembled as they met your skin indicated his ultimate self-control. “I don’t think you understand how I can get...”

“I saw it, San, before. Remember? I’m not scared of you,” you countered. But that last part was kind of a lie.

“I can’t,” He took a final step closer, closing any remaining gap between you. “Fuck… you don’t understand how… delicious you look to me right now,” he hissed through his teeth, his voice getting rougher and deeper as he held himself together. “I can’t help myself. It’s like some sort of animal instinct.”

“San, please. I can handle it. You even admitted you wanted my virginity the day we met.”

“I was joking back then… sort of. I might be soulless, but I’m not heartless. I couldn’t hurt you.” He gritted his teeth, restraining his heavy, lusted breaths.

“So you don’t want to?”

“Fuck, I do… I do more than anything. Every time I look at you I picture myself destroying you—”

“Then do it.”

“Gah, you—fuck.” He planted a few restrained kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck. He dragged his fangs along the taut flesh, threatening to sink them in. “I can try to hold myself back. No promises.” 

“Please, San,” you whined. Your hands fisted the silky fabric of his shirt, drawing his chest as close to yours as possible. 

“Mmf,” he grunted against your neck, digging his nails into your waist hungrily. “Fuck, you taste like a drug.” He pulled back, his eyes darker now. His usually crimson irises looked nearly black in his state of temptation, so much so that you could barely make out the whites of his eyes. He looked more like a demon than ever before, the wicked aura almost possessing him. He shook his head, as if trying to purify himself. “I can’t—I’m gonna hurt you. Don’t do this to me, I’m not going to be able to—” 

You pulled down the collar of your shirt, revealing your shoulders and a hint of your chest. His eyes went hungry, trained on the soft curve of your collarbone lustfully, wickedly. “I’m giving my body to you, please... Take it.” 

His voice was a low growl, and he seemed to be restraining himself with everything he had left. Thick, enraged veins bulged from his forearms as he grasped at your waist. “I’m telling you, I’m going to lose control… you’re not gonna recognize me.”

“I know. San, please. I’m asking you to take my virginity.”

He finally snapped under your words, his eyes almost fully consumed with black now. His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking gently at the soft skin around it. His desperate clawing nearly tore the fabric of your shirt from your skin as his kisses feasted on you hungrily. You tipped your head back, his lips and tongue eliciting soft moans from you as they danced along the top half of your chest.

His voice was so deep now it nearly rumbled, barely sounding like the San you knew. “You’re delicious—fuck—even better than I remember.” 

His hands pushed you back against the pillows with more strength than he probably meant to use, nearly knocking the wind out of you with his force. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped in surprise at the sting of his teeth in your flesh. You felt the distinctly wet and all-too-familiar sensation of blood as the canines pierced your skin. He licked it clean, his whole body shaking with desire as your blood washed over his tongue. He sang the most beautiful moans you’d ever heard into your skin, lapping up every last drop clean from where he’d punctured you. 

You had grown addicted to the sensation of his teeth on your skin and his tongue licking up the blood, like some sort of weird demon-vampire fetish you had never considered before. You laced your fingers in his hair as he worked his way down your chest, tearing away the fabric of your shirt apart with his hands like it was a wet piece of paper, and he didn’t stop until the mess of torn fabric that used to be your shirt slipped off of you easily. His lips kissed and marked your breasts as he worked his way down, then ripped off your pants with the same distinct sound of fabric being torn through like it was nothing. 

His dark eyes gleamed hungrily as he met your gaze. He used his tongue sinfully between your thighs, teasing you mercilessly as he kissed and licked around the seam of your panties. You were soaking wet now, the fabric of your underwear entirely drenched from the anticipation. Not just from today, but from the past few weeks of fantasizing about him completely wrecking you. His fangs gripped into the wet fabric, nearly taking your skin with it as he pulled your panties out from between your legs—the only piece of clothing he hadn’t entirely torn off.

“What a cute little human pet,” he purred seductively in your ear, dragging his fingernails across the cut of your jaw. You winced as he drew his hand over your freshly bitten wound. “It’s too bad your blood won’t be so sweet after I’m done with you, hmm, darling? Maybe just one more time, hmm?”

You felt his teeth sink down into your shoulder, and he pulled you entirely flush against him as he bit down with more ferocity than before. You cried out against him as he slipped his tongue delicately over the wound. His hungry grip around your waist grew tighter with every lick. 

“San—ah—” you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure as he soothed your wound with his tongue, hands coming up to squeeze your breasts.

“I could drain you right here,” he growled harshly, but there was still lust coating his words. You felt his dick harden in his pants as he pulled his teeth from your skin, leaving the aching sting of the fresh wound on your collarbone. You felt a bit dizzy now, not only with lust but also from losing quite a bit of blood to his tongue. He stood up suddenly, stripping like clothes meant nothing to him, ripping them off and tossing them to the floor. His breathing was less like breaths and more like throaty grunts. You were able to marvel at his naked body for only a second before he climbed on top of you, forcing you to lie completely flat under him, his broad shoulders closing you in completely.

“Such a cute human,” he praised, marveling at your smallness, your complete powerlessness beneath him. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, his body caged you in from all sides—it’s a good thing you didn’t want to. His eyes were intense, predatory, but not entirely possessed like he had been before just at the mere taste of your blood. You were surprised by his restraint he seemed to be holding on to. “Tiny, powerless… I want to hear you beg for me,” he purred into your ear. As he awaited your response, he lapped gently at the wounds he’d made earlier, collecting the remaining blood on his tongue with a needy moan.  

“Please, San—” you started apprehensively, unsure of exactly what he wanted from you. Your voice cracked slightly as you spoke, and heat rose in your cheeks. 

He clicked his tongue twice. “Tsk, tsk. I forgot, she’s too pure for this.” 

“Fuck me. Please—” 

“That’s better darling.”

“I want your cock, please, San.”

“I don’t want to hurt you baby, but you’re too fucking tempting. So cute and helpless beneath me.” He drew one of his hands lightly across your chest, dragging his fingers along every curve. “Begging. Embarrassed. It’s adorable.”

His hand drew over your stomach. Hips. Thighs. Then, finally, between your legs, delivering a small, fleeting taste of the pleasure you’d been searching for all night. You bucked your hips up involuntarily under his touch, and he drew his hand back teasingly. His eyes, hooded with desire, were fixed on your face, reveling in every reaction, every small noise that crept up through your throat. Darkness crept through them, nearly entirely black now. He looked like a real demon. 

“What a naughty girl. Practically dripping for me. I thought you were pure, hmm? What happened?” he sang condescendingly, a smirk twitching up on his lips. “Be a sweet little pet for me now.” 

He pushed his hips flush with yours, his cock aligning up against you. A low growl ripped through his throat, digging his fingernails into the sheets with a terrifying display of force. “This is probably gonna hurt, darling,” he purred. “Look me in the eyes. I want to see your cute little face as I ruin you.” He tipped your chin up to meet his eyes just as he rutted his hips in for the first time. 

The tip slipped in easily, but you couldn’t help but wince at the sensation. You’d tried toys before, but nothing could compare to the size—or feeling—of the real thing. “Ah—ah San, it—it kind of hurts,” you whined, your face twisting a bit as he pumped a few times, slowly and shallowly. He watched your face with blackened eyes. 

“You have no idea—” Thrust. “How hard—” Thrust. “It is to—” Thrust. “Keep myself from destroying you.” 

Your broken cries echoed loudly as his mouth came down on your wounds once again, delivering wet, desperate licks at the bloody remnants of the punctures he created. It stung harshly, and a single tear escaped your eyes. He pulled away from your chest, positioning himself completely upright, dick still halfway inside of you. You got a good look at his hard chest, an immaculate display of muscle. An unidentifiable tattoo snaked down his right side. He looked almost statuesque poised above you. 

“Such pretty tears. My little lamb,” he praised with a low growl, sinking his fingernails into the flesh of your thighs. “Fuck—tell me I can ruin you—” his fingernails dug deeper.

You nodded, urging him on. You initiated it, you wanted it, even if he scared you a bit with his harsh gaze and his tightening grip threatening to mark up your skin. “Yes. Please.” With a single thrust he bottomed out inside you entirely, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. You tossed your head back, but you could still feel the heat of his stare following your every moment, taking in every curve and scar of your body. “Good little human,” he praised, stroking your thighs as he thrust in again. Every movement he made overwhelmed your senses entirely—a lethal mix of the sting of your wounds, the sensitivity of his hands exploring your thighs, the feeling of his dick stretching out inside you, and finally, how much you craved him. 

His hand came up to your throat, latching on to it with a steady viced grip. His eyes went hooded, hungry as he squeezed the air from your lungs. Harder. Tighter. His fingers viced around your neck with dizzying force. You squirmed beneath him, clawing at his hand desperately. TV static buzzed in your brain, and the world went blurry. You just barely caught a glimpse of his black eyes fading back to red before your vision slipped away into darkness. 

Your eyes shuttered open to the familiar image of your ceiling. You recognized you were in your own bed, fully clothed, tucked under the covers neatly. Before you could survey your surroundings, San’s face was above you, eyebrows slightly furrowed, tilting his head as he looked down at you. You’d never seen his eyes so soft.

“Look, she’s awake.” His voice was calmer than usual, warmer. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” you croaked, voice hoarse as you choked out your words. 

“I don’t say this often...” he started, placing a hand on your head. “But I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have even done that in the first place. I went too far.”

“I—what happened—”

“You blacked out. I, uh, well... I choked you until you passed out. I told you, it’s hard for me to control myself like that.” 

“Did you—”

“Of course not,” he interjected, not even letting you finish. He knew what you were implying. “As soon as you stopped moving it snapped me out of it.”

You dropped your gaze, recalling how you saw his black eyes turn to normal right before you lost consciousness. “Right. Uh… thanks.”

“I like my prey fresh, anyways. It’s not fun when I can’t watch them squirm.” And there it was. His devilish smile again. His tongue twitched across his lower lip, playing with his lip ring absentmindedly. He quickly cleared his throat when he saw the unamused expression on your face. “I hope… uh, I hope at least you were having fun before—you know.”

You nodded in response as you tried to sit upright in the bed. Bad idea. Your vision went dizzy, and a rush of pain pounded through your skull. “Ah—ow, fuck.”

“Should I get you some water or something? Whatever it is that humans want when they hurt.” 

You rolled your eyes at his pointedly un-human response. “Sure, water sounds fine.”

He retrieved you a glass from the kitchen, setting it on the nightstand. “I hate to do this, but I’ve been here for way too long,” he started hesitantly. You could see the regret in his eyes. “Without a contract too. I could get in trouble for this.”

“It’s fine, you can go,” you muttered. “I could use some sleep right now anyway.” 

He nodded quietly, administering a small, strangely awkward pat to your head. “Right. Well, uh… get some sleep.” 

You barely blinked before he was gone, but it didn’t matter anyway. You were asleep before you could even take a sip of the water he’d gotten you. 

[rosecoloredbi-writes]

When the Spark Came Back

Summary: Y/N and Steve dating in high school until suddenly, they weren't. Steve had pushed Y/N away with no explanation. Years later, Y/N finds Steve on stage playing with his band and gathers the nerve to take a step towards healing.

A/N: there is a part 2 to this that I'll be posting momentarily.

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing? Mentions of parents divorce and kicking their kid out, I think that's it.

It had been too long since you had seen him. You think of the time that has passed by cruelly. Back then you had all been so full of life, so excited for the future, and now, here you were: a jaded 25 year old just looking for relief. College had been good to you, you grew into your own person instead of staying on the steady path of who everyone else had wanted you to be. You opened your arms to adventures rather than shrink from them. You put what you wanted first, and loved yourself first.

The thing that was cruel about time is that now, you no longer felt that excitement about life. Instead you dreaded facing the next day and drug your feet around.

But everything was different around him.

The steady beat of the bass filled your senses. The vibration practically waking you up from the awful nightmare life had been. Then you saw him, and your heart finally felt less heavy. He began strumming his guitar easily and you started singing along. Then you felt the warm glow in your chest and a blush rose to your cheeks as the memories started flooding back.

He had been your first love. In high school he was popular. Everyone loved him or was jealous of him. Eventually, a new boy moved to town and dethroned him of his title of King of Hawkins. He chilled out then. Became more down to earth, and that is when you really began to notice him. He hung out with kids around your sister’s age and could be found driving them to the arcade or bowling or every once in a while he would take them out one on one to get ice cream. He was more tender than he ever allowed himself to be.

To your surprise, he had begun to notice you too. He noticed the way you would shyly smile at him anytime he caught your eye. The way your eyes would light up when you got passionate in classes, and eventually on dates. He noticed everything and was quickly smitten.

The lead singer asked the crowd how they were doing, and the erupting cries brought you back into the present. He was just as lovely now as he ever had been. He had grown out of some of his boyish features, but his eyes still shined with childlike innocence. He still had his long wavy hair that he would run his hands through when they weren’t busy attending to the guitar strings and gripping the neck of his guitar.

You allowed yourself to get lost in the music, but as the concert came to an end you were filled with anxiety. Coming here had been a terrible decision. What if he had forgotten about you? What if that flame you still secretly held had fizzled out over the years apart? You knew that was a huge possibility, but your heart still silently thumped in hope that maybe, just maybe he still felt the same. Even though he had hurt you there had to be a reason, right? You don’t go from being absolutely in love to not overnight.. right?

Your feet carried you to the merch table where the band was hanging out, talking to fans and signing shirts and vinyls, and taking photos. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you heard your voice call out to him.

“Steve?” you yelled a little more than you asked. You closed your eyes for the briefest of moments and took in a deep inhale. When you opened your eyes, his were glued to you.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” he asked as he closed the large gap between the two of you.

“Ha, yeah, it’s me…” you answered, playing with your hair to give your hands something to do. “Uh, hi.” you smiled shyly up at him and suddenly you were both back in high school.

“Hey! Hi. Uh, you are Y/N, right?” Steve asked, running his hands through his hair quickly.

“Yeah… do you need something?” you asked. That would be the only obvious reason Steve Harrington would ever talk to you. Maybe he needed notes from a class or something.

“Actually yes,” he said smiling, “I am in desperate need of your number.”

Your eyes grew wide with shock, but you nodded, knowing words were not going to help you at the moment. You grabbed a pen from your bookbag and quickly wrote down your phone number on his hand, double-checking it to make sure you wrote it down correctly in your fuzzy state.

You hadn’t noticed then, but Steve blushed at the contact of your hands and he swore he had fallen in love with you right then and there.

Steve wrapped his arms around you in a soul-crushing hug that you wished could have lasted forever. Much to your disdain, you were the one to pull back, looking over him all sweaty and still pumped from playing with his band. When your eyes met his, you realized he had been staring too.

“Do you want to get some food once I am done here?” he asked, running his hands through his hair quickly.

You nodded, “I can wait over there?” you said pointing to a few benches, “Take your time, I don’t mind.”

Steve pulled you into another hug before you walked over and sat down.

You watched him interact with fans, and couldn’t help but feel the familiar rush of butterflies anytime he looked at you. You busied yourself staring at your hands and picking carefully at your nails, an anxious habit you had. You smoothed out the black, denim mini skirt you were wearing a few times and retucked your t-shirt until you were satisfied with how it looked and cleaned your glasses. Finding anything to help keep your nerves down.

Finally, you felt a hand on your knee and looked over to find Steve kneeling in front of you, smiling up at you, just like he would in high school.

“You ready?” he asked, offering his hand to help you up.

You took his hand and allowed him to pull you up before answering, “Hell yes I am ready.”

You both decided it would be best if you drove since the vehicle Steve had access to was the band’s tour van. So there you were, driving down the street to your favorite diner. It was still hard to think straight, him being so close to you, but you managed to drive safely in your dad’s old VW Bug. Once the car was parked and you were both out of the car, instinct took over and you grabbed his hand, leading him inside to your favorite booth near the kitchen.

After you had both sat there awkwardly staring at the menu for far too long and the food got there, the conversation started flowing freely. You guys talked about what you’ve been up to, college for you, the band for him. How your families were, how you handled the death of your father. You found out that Steve had gotten a dog, which had been his dream since he was younger, but never could because his parents weren’t around long enough for him to ever bring it up.

“Okay, Steve… I have to ask. What happened?” Your eyebrows drew up, worried about the answer you may get. “I mean… What happened to us? Did you not love me anymore? Was there someone else? I have just been so confused all these years. I haven’t been able to get over you because you never gave me closure.”

Steve thought long and hard before answering and stared long and hard at the mostly eaten burger in front of him. Steve looked like he was going to open his mouth, but stopped for a moment. Instead, he looked you in the eyes before reaching to grab your hand. Something that had always been comforting to you.

“After we graduated, I seriously felt like there was nothing we couldn’t do. That it would always just be me and you and we could take on the world. Then, my parents were home for a while if you remember. They had seemed like they were closer than ever, and I was so happy. I had my parents and I had you and we were no longer stuck in high school. Then, I watched as my parent’s marriage fell apart… and it shook me. It really should not have been a surprise, they generally acted like things were wonderful and they were happy before shit hit the fan. But this shit was permanent. They announced their impending divorce and that I should look at moving into my own place. I just… I couldn’t handle it. I mean, we had been looking at places to move into together, but this made me feel like I was being kicked out of my family. That my family didn’t really exist anymore.” Steve took his hand back for a moment and ran them through his hair a couple of times.

“Y/N, I felt like I had nothing. I know I had you, but the only way I knew how to cope with things was to push everything and everyone as far away as possible. I have regretted not saying goodbye to you every single day since and it has torn me apart. I so wish I could have explained everything to you, and maybe things wouldn’t be the way they are now.” Again he looked at you intensely, but his eyes were soft, before continuing.

“If you need to get over me, I understand. I was so, so selfish 7 years ago. But I also need you to know that I am still in love with you. Seeing you today, it was almost like the lights had come back on. I have been living in the darkness I didn’t know about until today and I will be damned if I don’t say something. Just… please think about it? I know so much time has passed and we are probably so different than we were, but I would be so honored to get to know you again.”

It looked as if tears were welling up in his eyes that he was willing to not spill over.

“Steve, you really hurt me. I need you to understand that one day we were attached at the hip and just, so enthralled with each other, and the next, you were gone. It was almost like you had died in the middle of the night. If you were to leave me again like that, I honestly think it would break me into pieces that could not be mended.”

You took a deep breath, soaking in everything, including the way your eyes began to fill with tears and even let them spill over onto your cheeks, finally getting the relief you have needed for so long. You dabbed at your face with a napkin and looked back up at Steve, who sat there utterly heartbroken at seeing the hurt spill out from you.

After another deep breath, you finished your thoughts.

“I would love to get to know you again too, Steve Harrington.”

[mortedeveles]

AHHH that last mha headcanon was amazing tysm! You did great!!♡♡ Could I ask for another one with the same boys? (baku,tenya & izu!) With a crush who draws a lot? Like maybe they doodle while in class and while on break, 'cause they're bored? And the bois get curious because they're ALWAYS drawing while in the middle of class and they space out! Bonus points if the bois check their notebook and there's dumb doodles of them doing/saying something funny and some with little hearts around them. ^^"

thank you!! of course, anon! here you go, I hope you like it! a friendly reminder that my REQUESTS ARE OPEN! feel free to request lovelies! i’m ready to write for whatever you guys have in mind. i have a project coming up in 1-2 weeks and i think you guys will like it 👁️👁️! i’ll be posting the bonuses of model for me soon enough and a new series (not bakuhoe) will be posted as well! so stay tuned for more <3 as always, please leave a like, reblog, follow and/or comment if you enjoyed! support and feedback are ALWAYS welcomed! <3 

PAIRING: IIDA T. X GN!READER, BAKUGOU K. X GN!READER, TODOROKI S. X GN!READER

THEMES: humor, fluff. [HEADCANNONS]

TW: cursing

IIDA, MIDORIYA, KATSUKI, TODOROKI WITH A DOODLER!CRUSH READER

Frankly, school can be quite boring. Even though you're in the hero course and you learn extraordinary things, it doesn't exclude regular civilian subjects such as history, math and so.

When you lose focus in class, you like to redirect your attention to doodling. It's fun, relaxing and effortless- it's also quite time-consuming and you've spaced out of class many times.

When you space out, you lose the function to pay attention to your reality- and ever since the first day you started doodling in class, you never noticed a pair of curious eyes watching you.

IIDA TENYA

Iida Tenya is quite the gentleman. He's also known for being strict and keeping the chaotic class 1A in order- (well, try and fail many times, but he does his best.) During classes with Aizawa, the majority of the classroom is quiet- but he always hears intense scribbling from your seat.

Usually, he does his best to ignore it and focuses on the class but you're his crush- and the fact that he always hears intense scribbling every day is quite concerning. But one day, he can't take it anymore.

It's a hot and sweltering day, it doesn't help that class 1A just finished hero training and even though everyone hit the showers afterward- the classroom is boiling.

Iida's neck is drenched in sweat, Aizawa's flat and tired voice drones on and he hears furious scribbling behind him- it's all giving him a headache.

Slowly, he turns around and stares blankly at you. Your head is lowered, hand sketching in your notebook. Your movements are fluid and bold and your arm is propped lazily on the desk, leaning your head against it.

He feels his nerves calm at the sight. But then he remembers that he's class president- you're not paying attention in class and that is not okay. Iida opens his mouth and delivers a long speech. Tenya is strict- but he's not stupid- he lowers his voice so he won't embarrass you in front of the class.

After his long speech, he expects you to look sullen or simply understand where he's coming from- but instead, you're snickering with a smile.

''I'm sorry, Iida. I just space out of class all the time and I like to doodle,'' there's a playful pout on your lips, a pleading look gleaming in your eyes.

Oh god, how is he supposed to reprimand you when you look so cute and adorable?

His voice is stuck in his throat- there's a flushed expression on his face and it only gets worse when Aizawa's voice booms.

''Iida, if you're done with your important chat with L/N, turn around and pay attention. You're class president, I expect better from you.''

Iida nearly squeaks as he turns around and nods, apologizing several times. Aizawa simply sighs tiredly and resumes the lesson.

After that time, Iida spots you doodling all the time in class. It makes him concerned- do you even pay attention in class? Are your grades failing?

Eventually, he confronts you about and explains his concerns. His face is beet red when he's done, but you simply brush him off with a smile.

Assuring him that your grades and knowledge are in perfect order, you simply doodle a lot in class. After that confrontation, Iida is much more relaxed about the situation, and every time he sees you doodle, there's a soft smile on his lips.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Midoriya is a very observant person. He has dozens of notebooks dedicated to quirks, Pro Heroes, and so on and while he doesn't write about his friends- he tends to notice several things.

For example, you. Since you began to attend U. A with Izuku, he's noticed that you spend most of your time sketching, doodling god knows what. You've never shown him your artwork.

Another thing he's realized is that when you start doodling- only Aizawa's loud voice or the school bell will snap you out of it. Izuku's tried everything- waving his hands in your face, throwing you paper balls- nothing. It's like you've been sucked out of reality..

Your manners leave him interested, curious to know more. He's sure you're not slacking off in class- he's been in several study sessions with Tsuyu, Iida, Ochaco, Todoroki, and you- you're always on track and usually have a good grasp of the subject.

You rarely share your notes- only with Tsuyu and Iida and occasionally Todoroki.

Midoriya doesn't mind, but it makes him burn with curiosity. So on the next studying session, he decides to come up with a plan.

''Y/N, what did you get on question 43?'' Ochaco asked. She leaned towards said girl and giggled.

Izuku frowned. What was so funny? The brunette's grin grew as she stared down at Y/N's notes, who was stammering and trying to hide their notes from the public view. 

When Ochaco and Y/N rose and said they needed to visit the restroom- Izuku struck. Tsuyu was chatting with Todoroki and Iida had his nose buried in his book- so they didn't notice when he grabbed your notebook.

He flicked through pages, greedily drinking in the sight of your doodles. They were all varied- some flowers, vines, others were small and cute animals- and others were more complex but in the end, doodles. Midoriya froze when he flipped through a page and saw a... peculiar sight. 

In the middle of the page, was a heart. You had doodled several headshots of Izuku, in which some of them he was saying corny or bad jokes, and in others, he was simply smiling. His cheeks burned when he saw the small hearts that you had doodled around him.

When he heard your voice and footsteps approaching the dorm- he quickly dropped your notebook in your spot and tried to act casual. Tsuyu raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing, while Todoroki asked him why his face was burning.

He had refused to answer and remained somewhat silent during the rest of the session, his cheeks red. His heart was soaring with happiness- those doodles only meant one thing- you had feelings for him.

Once the studying session was over, Izuku would pull you aside and confess his feelings. His veins were pumping with confidence- you liked him back!

BAKUGOU KATSUKI 

Ever since you befriended Katsuki, he's noticed that you're a very attentive friend.

That is when you're not in class. You submerge yourself into your notebook with a pencil and nothing else- and pour all your attention into it.

Bakugou thinks it's rather annoying, he's tried to get your attention several times, only to fail miserably.

Today is no exception. Bakugou's ready to pop- dunceface and shitty head have been bothering him all day, stupid Deku gave a speech that made him roll his eyes and he was tired and just wanted to go to bed.

Unfortunately, he found himself stuck in class, listening to Aizawa talk like a damn zombie- trying to grab your attention, but you were too immersed in your doodles.

Irritated, he pressed his sweat hand on your neck and ignited a small spark- not enough to hurt you, but enough to startle you. The effect was immediate. You yelped and snapped your neck upwards, clutching the back of your neck. Everyone stared at you, bewildered. Katsuki grinned, satisfied that he finally got your attention but when you realized it was him- you narrowed your eyes and scowled.

''Bakugou? L/N? What's going on?'' Aizawa asked sharply.

Your scowl deepened. ''Everything is okay, Aizawa-sensei. I apologize.'' Your eyes stayed on Bakugou as you spoke.

Aizawa hummed in response and continued with the lesson. Bakugou bit down on his lip, swallowing a snicker.

After class, you smacked Bakugou on the head, to which he responded with a growl and the two of you engaged in a match of playful fighting, and between snickers and lunges your notebook fell out of your open backpack, loose sheets slipping out. 

Immediately, you jumped back and began to gather them, but Bakugou kneeled down and helped you as well. He froze as he held a loose sheet- there were several sketches of him with different expressions- in some, he was smirking, frowning or screaming- but that wasn't what made him freeze. It was the several little hearts that you had doodled around him.

You nearly shrieked when you saw which paper he was holding and snatched it out of his hands. In a blink of an eye, you had picked everything up and ran away.

Katsuki was puzzled. He stood there for a minute or two, gears shifting in his brain as he processed the situation. Once it finally kicked in, he raced after you and found you sitting in a corner, head buried between your knees.

''Um,'' he cleared his throat awkwardly. ''Hey.'' his voice was gruff and tense.

You groaned and shook your head. ''Go away, Bakugou. I know you don't like me, so just spare me from the harsh rejection.''

''What?'' he furrowed his eyebrows and kneeled to your height. ''What the fuck are you talking about? That's not true.''

Slowly, you raised your head and peered at him, narrowing your eyes with suspicion. ''It's not?''

Bakugou scoffed. ''Of course not. I like you too, dumbass,'' he grumbled the last sentence, feeling his ears and cheeks warm up.

''Oh.'' was all you said. The blonde snickered and pulled you upwards onto your feet.

''C'mon dumbass, I'll walk you home. Gotta keep you safe.''

(bonus extra!)

TODOROKI SHOUTO 

Shoto is clever and can improvise quickly- but he can be quite dense or oblivious at times. He probably wouldn't notice your doodling habits and if he did, he would brush it off. You're just doodling in class, nothing too fancy.

He doesn't understand how far your doodling goes until he asks you to lend him your math notes after class, and you happily oblige.

Shoto spends the rest of the afternoon studying and writing down whatever he missed- all thanks to your notes that were thankfully complete.

Once he was sure he'd done enough studying, Todororki began to flip through your notes idly, appreciating your writing. The more he read, the more he realized that there were doodles...everywhere.

He thought it was quite impressive that you managed to doodle so much in class and your artistic skills were quite impressive. There was a variety of sketches- plants, animals, silly faces but the ones he saw the most, were the ones of him.

Shoto felt a strange flutter whenever he saw one of your doodles that were him. You captured him perfectly and he cracked a grin whenever he saw one in which he was saying a corny or silly joke. It was refreshing.

It made his heart warm, seeing that his crush seemed to be as fond of him as he was of them. I don’t think he’d truly understand why you would draw him several times and instead, would ask you for an explanation. 

The next day, he made sure to thank you for lending him your notes- and for making such beautiful and impressive doodles. 

[hiscyarika]

Some Things You Just Can’t Speak About

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Reader and Javier work through the emotional baggage that comes with their jobs in Colombia. (Unofficial Prequel to When It’s Finally Over)

Warning(s): Heavy Angst, Hopelessness, Grieving, Mentions of Death, Blood, Mentions of Violence/Terrorism

A/N: So like a lot of people, I’ve fallen in love with Taylor Swift’s new album folklore. And when I heard the song “epiphany” (which I highly recommend you listen to while you read. I would link it but I’m afraid the post wouldn’t show up in the tags. The hellsite has been weird about that lately), it immediately sparked the idea for this oneshot. I just hope that this hasn’t been done yet, because I’ve already seen that a couple of authors have used songs on the album as inspiration. I really hope you guys enjoy this. It’s taken a couple of days to get it just the way that I want it. And a special thanks to @bestintheparsec​ for beta reading this for me! I love you Lauren! ❤️

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Gif by @pascvl​, originally from this post. Please let me know if you’d rather me not use the gif! I’ll take it down immediately with no questions asked.

The thing about Colombia is that even after the smoke clears, the blood remains. It’s a crimson river that runs through the streets of Bogotá, then dries as a deep, lingering stain. The blood of men, women, and children. Guilty and innocent alike. And so long as Pablo Escobar lives, the stain will never wash away.

Even the sky burns scarlet with the dying sunset when you finally step out of the hospital. Ambulance sirens glow bright as paramedics attempt to bring more people into the already overwhelmed building.

Early in the afternoon, over two hundred pounds of C4 had been detonated outside of a crowded shopping center. Dozens were killed on impact and the death toll has continued to rise throughout the day. For hours, you haven’t stopped moving, trying desperately to save those who’d survived long enough to get to the hospital to be treated. Fortunately, recovery will be possible for some, but what weighs more heavily on your shoulders are the countless others that you could do nothing for.

Even now that you stand outside with a chance to breathe, your lungs can’t draw in enough air. The sharp stench of antiseptic still burns your nose, turning your stomach in violent knots. Every muscle is sore with a bone deep ache as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your car. But none of it compares to the stabbing pain in your soul, the helplessness and defeat that throbs more fiercely with every passing second.

You climb into your car, meeting your own eyes in the rearview mirror. You tear the nursing badge from your scrub shirt and toss it onto the passenger seat, not caring when it slides off the vinyl and onto the floor. Immediately, you have to close your eyes at the sight of the bloodstains on your clothes, a gruesome token of a day spent battling death.

All your years of schooling never prepared you to fight this war. You know how to read vitals. You know how to staunch bleeding and stitch wounds. You know how to intubate someone, to breathe for them. These are all things that can be taught. And you’ve learned them well.

But watching a woman die on the table, one close to your own age, is something entirely its own. You never get used to the shrill cry of the heart rate monitor as it flatlines. Nothing can prepare you for standing in front of an elderly woman, telling her that she’s outlived her daughter. They can’t teach you how to crouch down in front of a six-year-old boy and explain to him that he’ll never see his mother again. There’s no way to gently shatter someone’s world. As their reality crumbles, it takes a piece of you with it, and you only have so much of yourself to give.

The drive back to the apartment passes in a blurred haze, your mind on autopilot as you navigate your way in the growing darkness. You repress every emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface of your consciousness. Forcing numbness is far easier than letting your humanity tear you apart.

The last of the light dies from the sky as you pull into the parking lot, right next to Javier’s Jeep. You find your only solace in the fact that he’s home. In what little news you’d been able to hear, you’d learned that the DEA had been called to the scene. Escobar had never claimed responsibility for the attack, but a confession wasn’t necessary to know the truth, so you knew Javier would be part of the investigation.

Sucking in a deep breath, you try to prepare yourself for whatever state of mind he might be in. Javier brings work home in the form of endless files and a guilty conscience. Both he processes with whiskey and sleep deprivation. But you understand. You’re fighting with him on the front lines of this war. Losses are shared just the same as victories. Even the hard ones.

You drag yourself from the driver’s seat, locking the car up once the door is closed. The stairs to the apartment seem so much steeper as you stare at them now, and it takes what little remains of your perseverance to make it up.

The usual squeal of the front door grates on your nerves as you enter the apartment, more so than it normally does, anyway. You stop for a moment in the doorway, toeing off your shoes and listening carefully for any sign of Javier. From where you stand, you can see the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the living room and after a moment you realize that the voice you hear is coming from the television.

Padding quietly into the room, you feel your heart clench when you see what’s playing on the screen. It’s one of the local news stations, replaying footage from earlier in the day. You’re too tired to mentally translate the quick Spanish that the news anchor speaks, but when the numbers appear next to her to note the casualties, it’s not something that you can ignore. There are more than you thought.

You lose yourself in that news report, your mind running back through all of the trauma that you’ve seen. The shouting and screaming and crying becomes the soundtrack of your thoughts, all blended together in a somehow deafening cacophony despite the fact that it’s all in your head. You see that little boy again, the confused look he had given his grandmother as he asked her when his mother was going to come back from heaven. Oh, how her tear-filled eyes had pleaded with you to give some kind of an answer. And you’d tried. You really had.

You’re pulled from the violent reverie when the news report is replaced by a commercial. You pay it no mind, instead looking around the room for any sign of Javier. It doesn’t take you long to find him.

He’s passed out on the couch, sitting up with a glass of whiskey still in his hand. Even in sleep, his brow is furrowed, and worry lines cut deep into his forehead. Upon further inspection, you find the liquor bottle and a messy array of manila folders on the wooden coffee table in front of him, just as you expected.

You shake your head slightly, though he can’t see the action. The ache in your heart grows stronger as you watch him, his lips parted slightly as he breathes deeply and evenly. You suppose it’s the one thing that you have to be grateful for. As closely involved as he is with the hunt for Escobar, every night he comes home is a blessing. And for him to be sound asleep despite the day’s tragedies is truly invaluable.

You decide to leave him. Better for him to rest uninterrupted than to wake him. And though you know it’s better to work through the horrors you’ve been subjected to before you sleep, you don’t have the energy to face any of it right now. So you step closer to Javi, carefully prying the glass from his hand. Against your better judgement, you finish it off. You wince at the way it burns down your throat as you place the empty glass on the coffee table, but the warmth in your chest that follows is a welcome relief.

You scan the room then. It takes you a minute, but eventually you find the remote on the floor by his feet, probably dropped after he’d fallen asleep. You don’t hesitate to press the power button on the TV, and it brings you a bit of peace to watch the screen go black. Silence falls over the room, interrupted only by a soft snore from Javi.

You turn back to the coffee table, making sure that there’s a paperclip in each file to mark where he’d been. All the while, you try to avoid reading over any classified information, not that your brain could truly process a word of it in your current state of exhaustion. You then close the folders and stack them neatly on top of each other, letting out a heavy breath as you push yourself to stand upright again.

Your face falls in sympathy as you look at Javi once more. Even in sleep he looks exhausted. Your own emotional turmoil aside, it pains you to see the way that Colombia has worn him down. Every day he grows more desperate to find the man responsible for so much suffering, and with each day that passes, you know it only seems like he’s getting further and further away. You wish there was something more you could do to ease his mind.

After another moment, you take the blanket that’s draped over the back of the loveseat, unfolding it and gently covering Javi with it. Your movements are slow and cautious in an attempt to keep from waking him. Once you have the blanket situated, you cradle his cheek lightly in one hand, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

You close your eyes at the contact, the first and only gentle interaction of your day. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel your chest begin to swell, and emotion wraps around your throat like barbed wire. Your lips linger for a few seconds longer than necessary as the dam inside you cracks, threatening to give way to a flood at a moment’s notice.

But as you pull away, you feel the feather light brush of eyelashes against your cheeks. You open your eyes, finding soft, tired brown eyes staring back at you. You’re frozen in place as he takes a moment to rouse himself, and once he’s more alert, his eyes trail down your body, catching sight of the blood on your scrubs. When he looks at you again, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. You don’t have to tell him what you’ve seen, because he already knows. He’s seen it too.

Javier places his hands on your hips, gripping them gently as he tries to pull you closer to him. You brace yourself against his shoulders, resisting him while you’re still wearing your scrubs. Your chin falls to your chest in defeat. It only takes a moment to understand, and he carefully pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to keep the bloody fabric away from your face. Once it’s off, he tosses it carelessly to the floor.

You collapse into him as the dam breaks, and he takes it in stride, cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. Your knees land on either side of him, and with his free hand he guides you into a more comfortable position against him. In any other context, this arrangement with you straddling his lap would be carnal and passionate, but all Javier can feel now is the same pain that you force from your body with each gut-wrenching sob.

There are no words he can give you that will ease your pain. It’s something he knows from experience, repeated experience that he wishes you didn’t share with him. He knows what this constant fight against death and injustice can do to a person. He’s not blind to the ways that he’s changed in the years since he came to Colombia. Javier would do anything to make sure that you don’t suffer the same fate. You’re too good to have your gentle soul torn to shreds.

But he knows that all he can do for now is hold you. He can let you cry and mourn and release every emotion you’ve had to keep caged since you first stepped into the hospital this afternoon. And as you wrap your fists around the fabric of his shirt, he only holds you closer, clutching you tightly as his own pain begins to bubble back up into his chest. He’d tried so hard to drown it in booze and escape it in sleep, but Escobar had taken it too far this time. The saving grace is that the rest of the country agrees.

Javier cries silently with you, and though the manifestation of his grief is much quieter than yours, it’s by no means trivial in comparison. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And break he does, in the safest place that he possibly can. He knows that there’s no judgement here, and that there never will be. So he closes his eyes and presses himself closer to you, your proximity being the only thing that could possibly soothe him.

Time is rendered tangential as you mourn together, though eventually you both fall quiet again with no more tears left to shed. Only when you stir against him does Javier lift his head and open his eyes. He manages a halfhearted smile as you meet his gaze, gently wiping away the remnants of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. In turn, you do the same for him, and he turns his head just in time to press a kiss to the underside of your wrist before you pull away again.

He watches you intently, and for just a moment you seem to hesitate, but then you capture his lips with yours. Javier lets out a soft breath in surprise, but soon melts into your touch. You are the salve to his very being, soothing his soul in a way that no one and nothing else can. At the end of the day, when the smoke has cleared and it’s time to count the dead, he thanks whatever god looks down on him, because he has you. Never will he march into battle alone. And he’s grateful, because he knows that he would never survive the war without you by his side.

You pull away again, and the look in your eyes says far more than words ever could. Because in your eyes is the same reverence for him that he holds for you. It’s night like this where you question why you chose the life you did, why you endure more anguish than any one person ever should have to. But then you look at Javier, and you know that you’re fighting the good fight. You know that with him, you can keep going until you reach the end of it all.

Javier presses a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, then shifts again to turn out the lamp light. In the dark, he carefully maneuvers you with him to lie down on the couch. You’re both still in work clothes and the couch is far less comfortable than your shared bed, but that’s not important now. What matters is the feeling of his heartbeat under your cheek as your head rests on his sternum. In just a few hours, the sun will rise again and you’ll both be forced to return to the battlefield, but for now you can find just a glimpse of relief in each other’s embrace.

-

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[yeoldontknow]

Totem

Author’s Note: this story is entirely an act of fiction. it contains strong, mature themes and features subjects which may be triggering or uncomfortable to read. these themes include, but not limited to: themes of abduction, references to ptsd, extreme trauma, and paranormal activity. please take these warnings seriously and do not read if any make you uncomfortable. | this story is written as a script, rather than a traditional prose fanfiction. even though its unusual, i still hope you enjoy it <3 happy spooptober! Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) Genre: horror; suspense; thriller; haunted house au; light romance; au Summary: What follows is an account of YouTube vloggers Euripet3s1 and theJungProject. This is a report of the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok. Rating: M Warning: themes of abduction/ghostly possession; references to ptsd; extreme trauma; paranormal activity; explicit language; non-explicit nudity; graphic situations Word Count: 5.5K

Towards the end of my research for my Ph.D, I became fascinated by what has recently been cited as the "second wave" of realism films in production, thanks, in part, to the advent of creative social websites like YouTube and Vimeo. The introduction of reality and scripted reality television, alongside its relatively unilateral conjunction with the internet, sparked a new direction in filmmaking that prided itself on low budgets and the autonomy of immediate authorship. 

Where Vimeo encouraged, and favoured, well produced filmmaking and art house developments from a range of semi-professionals to professionals, YouTube saw a strong dynamic shift in what eventually was defined as vlogging. Video series like Marble Hornets, Fewdio, and curiously chilling uploads by users such as EverymanHYBRID became cult canon amongst internet users. Instead of humour posts, video game plays, and make-up tutorials, users sought creative expression in 'noise aesthetics' and the horror genre. 

On April 30, 2010, YouTube user Euripet3s1 (full name: Y/F/N Y/L/N) uploaded a video entitled #184-190 to her channel of 12,413 subscribers. It would be the final upload she would make before deactivating the account three weeks later, eventually removing herself from social media altogether. The video itself is an account of her trip to England to visit fellow YouTube vlogger and boyfriend theJungProject (full name: Jung Hoseok), who was residing in the country while finishing his degree, depicted through seven pieces of footage taken from video cameras and mobile phones. 

Euripet3s1's channel was a comedy and lifestyle channel, in which she would present everyday information in a humorous way. Therefore, the unsettling events in the final video left both fans and casual viewers stunned. Avid fans of the Marble Hornets series were the first to draw attention to the video, before it went viral on hundreds of forums, including Reddit and BuzzFeed. When the users’ account was deactivated, the video was removed from the website only to resurface two months later by user TwerK (full name: Kim Taehyung). There are only two videos on TwerK's channel: #184-190 and Help Explain This. 

Help Explain This was filmed in August 2011 and is the last surviving footage of Jung Hoseok.

Numerous attempts at paranormal investigations have occurred in the last two years with no results. Psychics have been brought to every location depicted, though their efforts have been futile. The pocket watch in the film has been defined, by paranormal researcher David Kelwayne, as a totem. To quote David:

 "A totem is an item left behind by the dead which they had ascribed deep personal meaning or symbolism during their life. To come into contact with a totem is to contact the spirit attached to it, even if said contact is relatively erroneous; to become connected to the totem is to become connected with the spirit, often permanently" (Seeking Answers: Beginner's Guide To The Paranormal, 54)

This report exists only to present the video as it was found, in its untouched manner, for archival and historical purposes. The research to be found on the events, people, and locations involved has lead many in vast circles and down endless rabbit holes. It is my hope that the academic world will provide its resources for the many seeking answers about what truly happened to Jung Hoseok during that week in April. 

 ~~

Editor’s note: Heretofore, the speakers will be quoted using their first initials rather than their usernames.

#184

Duration: 1:46

[Exterior. Night-vision mid-close up of dirt path. Leaves cover the ground and crunch audibly. Feet remain in view as two persons walk the path in brisk, even steps. A low male voice is heard, his accent distinctly Korean. ]

H: Are you filming, Y/N?

[A second voice speaks, female. She is American]

Y/N: I have no idea. Your camera is weird.

H: It's no different from any American camera. It's a SONY. Has the green dot gone on?

Y/N: Well, it's different in the dark. Yeah, it has.

H: Then it's filming. Point it at your face, dummy.

[Camera is lifted and spun towards the holder's face, the night vision on the camera giving her a blue glow. She is young, no more than 24. The fringe of her hair gets caught in her eyes, trapped there by the hood of her sweater. She smiles brightly, waving at the camera momentarily.]

Y/N: And so we meet again! Today I am joined by theJungProject -

[camera pans left. A young man, also no more than 24, is walking briskly with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He squints at the light of the camera and pulls a face by sticking out his tongue]

- say hi, Hobi.

H: [nods once] Hello, Tiddy Harem.

Y/N [sighing]: Must you call them that?

H: [shaking black hair out of his eyes; he sniffs, not looking at the camera] You have thirteen thousand subscribers and 12,950 of them are men. Yeah, I'd say it's a harem.

Y/N: [snorting] I do not have thirteen thousand. And that's an insult to my fifty female subscribers.

H: You know I’m playing. [sniffs] You have fantastic tits, though.

Y/N: You’re literally disgusting. [turns camera back to her face] So, as you all remember I landed last night in Heathrow, after which I got embarrassingly drunk on incredible beer. We spent most of the day being hungover before getting on a train from - what station was it?

H: [in background] Liverpool Street.

Y/N: Right, yeah. We got a train from there to here, [pulls camera back to wave hand, denoting surrounding location] which is apparently Suffolk…specifically Sudbury. We had a grand idea to go to the Borley Rectory because I'm in England and apparently that means it's okay for Hobi to go on a midnight ghost hunt.

H: I'm not ghost hunting, I'm just…exploring.

Y/N: [faces camera; raises one eyebrow]

[Camera turns off] 

~~~

#185

Duration: 7:08

[Interior; night. Camera pans from left to right as Y/N breathes heavily. The windows of the rectory are shattered. Leaves scatter the concrete floor. What little furniture existing within the house has been tattered and worn over time, the sheen of its once extraordinary grandeur decayed with dust and time. Y/N walks to her right, into a small dining area. The camera pans over a wooden table that is badly scratched, three long distinct marks marring the mahogany. A hand comes into view, Y/N’s, as she runs her fingers over the marks. The camera pans up and to the left, showing cabinets that are missing their drawers. She leaves the room, slowly walking towards the foyer. A mirror hangs on the wall, the light reflecting off the glass into the lens. She waves.]

H: [distantly; calling] Baby, come up here.

[Y/N head turns right, facing the direction of Hoseok’s voice. The camera turns right as she walks straight back toward a carpeted staircase. Slowly, she ascends it, her footsteps quiet and muffled by both the camera and the foliage. She sniffles. As she approaches the landing, a painting of a pasture comes into view. It is crooked. When she reaches the landing, the camera moves from right to left. There are three bedrooms]

Y/N: [loud whisper] Where are you?

H: [voice from left] In here.

[Camera passes through a doorway. Long shot of Hoseok at chest of drawers to the left. There is an empty bed on the right side of the room, the mattress bare and torn. The video pixelates for approximately two seconds, correcting itself. The windows of the bedroom are in tact, though the carpet has been ripped up from the floor in a seemingly random pattern. Y/N walks to where Hoseok is standing. Atop the chest are several items: a broken hairbrush, a small empty picture frame, an empty ring box and a pocket watch. Y/N zooms in on the pocket watch. Hoseok picks it up, his grip indelicate. Y/N turns the camera, and zooms out to a medium close up of Hoseok’s face as he inspects it]

H: [whispers] This rectory had hundreds of residents before it was condemned. I wonder whose this was.

Y/N: [also in a whisper] Hobi, this place was destroyed by a fire in 1939. Isn't it weird to you that there's still…..things, objects…belongings in here? Nothing seems terribly ruined.

[Pause. Hoseok does not reply. Y/N returns the subject to the pocket watch, appeasing him by maintaining focus on the object though her discomfort is evident.] It looks really old. Can't be from any time after 1920, look at the design. Early surrealist or something.

H: [humming in interest] How do you know that?

Y/N: I’m taking art history for my electives. I’m just saying it looks like something I’ve seen.

[The camera zooms back on to the pocket watch in Hoseok’s hand. There is a patch of dirt along the rim of the cover, but an intricate design of intertwined clock hands and numbers is distinct.]

H: This is mental. You know the more you look at it, the more it resembles a kind of face. Like from a masquerade. 

[Long pause]

Y/N: I don't see it. Where are you looking? 

[Hoseok’s thumb comes into view. It presses the button on the side to open the watch. The cover pops open with a soft click, revealing an elegant Victorian clock face.]

H: Too much to ask for it to be working, isn't it. [laughs]

Y/N: Probably needs to be wound. 

[Hoseok closes the pocket watch.]

[Cut. Interior. Y/N thuds down the stairs after Hoseok, hands clasped and both laughing They come to a stop in the parlor. Hoseok inspects bookshelves, looking for something or nothing, running his fingers over the dusted wood. Y/N turns the camera away and zooms in on a picture frame. It is badly singed. The image of a woman, who looks almost sad, is barely discernible.]

Y/N: [muttering] Something about this……isn't……

[The sound of piano notes echo loudly through the room. Y/N screams loudly, swears, and is visibly shaken as she turns toward the noise. Hoseok sits at a piano by the back of the room, playing Erik Satie's "Gnossienne No. 1." He is chuckling. Y/N approaches him.]

Y/N: There's a fucking piano?

H: [plays uninterrupted] Scare you, did I? 

Y/N: Hobi, is there anything about this that's ok? You said this place was destroyed by a fire and has been abandoned. Logic this out for me: why would there be a piano in a burned down house? Wouldn't the city have this cleared out?

[Hoseok shrugs]

Y/N: I think we should go. 

H: Don't want to spend the night here? We haven't seen anything yet.

Y/N: I paid £35 for a train ticket to this hell. I'll cut my losses and say we’ve seen plenty enough, okay? 

H: [expression softening, he stops playing. The silence is deafening.] Okay, baby, we can go.

[Cut. Exterior. Y/N and Hoseok walking along a residential sidewalk. Hoseok is holding the camera this time, pointed at Y/N in a long shot. Night vision is switched off, faces now illuminated by street lamps they pass. He whistles seductively.]

H: [whispering] Don’t tell anyone until she watches this guys...but I think I’m in love with her. [He turns the camera to face him. The camera zooms out to fit his face.] I mean it. [He looks over the camera to her.] I love her.

Y/N: [distant, off camera] What are you whining about back there?

H: [laughing, he catches up with Y/N and aims the camera at her profile] Say what you said again. 

Y/N: [biting her cheek, but smiling nonetheless] I said you're a twunt.

H: Look at that! Y/N has spent 30 hours in this country and is already adopting its language. 

Y/N: Yeah, well you are. Tell the audience what you did.

H: [turns the camera to his face and holds it out. His leather jacket is unzipped, revealing A Horrors band-tee shirt] I've been a naughty boy. [His other hand reaches into his pocket. He pulls out the pocket watch] Y/N’s upset with me because I wanted a souvenir. 

Y/N: It's not yours, Hoseok.

H: [turns his face to Y/N, camera still aimed at himself. He puts the watch back in his pocket] It's technically not anyone's. Besides, this is one thing we could at least fix. 

[Camera turns off]

~~

#186

Duration: 2:01

[Interior. Hotel bedroom. Y/N sits at the desk provided, laptop open as she uploads footage from the video camera onto her computer. Her back is to the camera. The pocket watch twirls in front of the screen. Hoseok hums. The camera flips, revealing his face. It is clear he is filming on his iPhone. He starts to mouth lyrics to "Don't Stop Me Now," which is playing in the background. He flips the camera back to the watch.]

Y/N: [turns her head quickly over shoulder] Holy shit, come look at this.

[Hoseok drops the pocket watch and hoists himself off the sofa. He is wearing plaid flannel pants. He approaches the desk, leaning against the back of Y/N’s chair and extending his arm as he films.]

H: [kissing Y/N’s head off camera, voice muffled] What is it?

Y/N: You tell me. [looks back at Hoseok, anxious]

[Y/N has Final Cut open. She presses play on footage taken earlier in the evening. She has selected footage from when he ascended the stairs and entered the master bedroom. It plays without sound.]

H: What am I looking for….I don't…

Y/N: [quietly] Just wait. 

[The footage shows the camera panning through the room. As it comes to the bed, the footage warps, revealing a figure wearing black sitting on the mattress. It turns to look at the camera. It is wearing a white mask. The footage warps again. The figure is gone]

H: [reels back] What the fuck is that?! Did you put that in there?

Y/N: [turns to look at Hoseok] No. How would I do that? 

H: [words unsteady] I don't know, you're the film wizard. I still use iMovie. Maybe you have clever special effects or something. 

Y/N: I can assure you that I have no idea how to superimpose an image that clear onto digital footage. I took one semester of New Media, I'm hardly advanced.

H: How did you not see it when you were filming?

Y/N: I don't know, the camera went all pixelated when I was filming but I just thought the battery was running low or something. 

H: You better not be having me off.

Y/N: [brow furrowed, disbelieving] What does that sentence even mean? 

H: Is this punishment for taking the pocket watch?

Y/N: [pursing her lips briefly before she speaks] I'm really not that upset about the pocket watch. Why would I do that?

H: Whatever. Let's just go to bed and forget about it. I don’t want this to turn into a fight.

Y/N: Fine by me.

[Video ends] 

~~~

#187

Duration: 0:53

[Interior. Mid-Day. Close up of Y/N’s face. She stares at something out of view. Behind her, the scenery has changed. Band posters line the green wall, gig tickets and setlists framed next to them. This is what many assume is Hoseok’s bedroom.]

Y/N: [whispers] He's been like this all morning. I have no idea what the hell is going on. He was fine yesterday when we got back from Borley. Fine when we went to lunch, fine when we went to The Borderline for the Lescop gig. Now, he won't stop staring at that goddamn pocket watch. Look.

[The camera is flipped, again the film is from an iPhone. Hoseok sits shirtless on the bed, hickeys dotting his neck and collarbone, the pocket watch in his left hand. He stares almost impassively at it.]

Y/N: [loudly] Hobi.

[Hoseok does not respond]

Y/N: [louder] Hoseok, what the fuck are you doing?

[Hoseok does not respond]

Y/N: [mutters quietly] Jesus Christ.

[The camera tilts and wobbles, tipping down for a moment as Y/N bends to pick something up. A shoe is thrown in frame and lands on the bed right next to Hoseok. Hoseok lifts his head, dropping the watch. He smiles]

H: Want breakfast, baby?

Y/N: [long pause; quiet breathing] Uh huh.

[video ends]

~~~~

#188

Duration: 3:21

[Exterior. Mid-Day. Extreme long shot of Hoseok as he stands in front of a wooden sign that says Boxer's Lake. From the pockets of his leather jacket he pulls the pocket watch]

H: [looking over his shoulder; calls] You sure this is a good idea.

Y/N: [loudly; voice garbled by wind into microphone] You should have seen yourself, Hobi. It's gotta be the watch and I don’t want to go back there to return it.

[Hoseok reels back and throws the watch into the lake. He stares after it, shoulders drooped and jaw tense]

[Cut. Interior of a car. Hoseok is driving. Y/N points the camera at his face.]

Y/N: How do you feel?

H: Like my soul has been ripped from my chest.

[Pauses. Looks at Y/N]

H: [bursts into laughter] Chill out, baby. I feel fine. 

Y/N: [laughs weakly]

[Cut. Interior. Hoseok’s kitchen. Y/N films as Hoseok brews tea.]

H: You want any, love?

Y/N: Nah, water is fine.

H: [looks up at camera] Are you going to film everything? 

Y/N: We have an interested audience. Need to keep them satisfied. And besides, I’m only here for a week. I want to remember everything with you.

H: [begins to pull off shirt, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.]

Y/N: [laughter] Don’t start with that!

H: [straightens and flattens shirt] You said satisfied! Y/N: [still laughing] Yeah, well, that’s just for me and I’d like to keep it that way.

[Hoseok bites his lip, happy, and walks to a cabinet to the left. He makes to open it, but his attention is brought to something on the counter beneath it. He pauses. His hand slowly drops from the knob of the cabinet. The colour drains from his face]

Y/N: What?

[Hoseok brings his eyes to the camera, lips parted. He is visibly disturbed. He lifts his right hand. He holds up the pocket watch. Y/N’s breath becomes heavy and labored]

H: [voice small] What the fuck.

[Camera shuts off]

~~~

#189

Duration: 8:32

[Interior. Mid-Day. Hoseok’s car, again. Y/N holds the camera as Hoseok drives, lens pointed out the windshield] 

Y/N: Slow down, Hobi.

H: [voice hollow] No. The fucking watch is ticking…and existing. How is any of what just happened possible?

Y/N: I don't know, I don't know.

H: This is fucking twisted.

Y/N: What are you going to do?

H: Leave it in a field? Pawn it off? Whatever, as long as it's far away from me.

Y/N: Why not burn it?

H: Any fire I make wouldn't get the metal hot enough.

Y/N: Just don't get reckless. [Pleading] Please, baby?

[Cut. Interior. A Pawnshop. The camera pans along a shelf. Various objects come into focus. A door opens and an older man comes into view from the back of the store. To the left of the frame, Hoseok walks over and introduces himself]

H: Hi. Uhm, I'm Hoseok. I need to sell a pocket watch?

[The store clerk looks from Hoseok to Y/N]

Clerk: Get your mate to turn the camera off and then we can do business. 

[Cut. Interior. Hoseok’s car. Y/N has rested the camera on the dashboard, pointed at the passing scenery]

H: WOOOO! £650 for a shitty old watch!!

Y/N: I think the fact that it was still working was what sold him.

H: Who knows how long it will work for. We practically robbed him.

Y/N: You practically robbed him. I almost got thrown out for having a camera.

H: Eh. He was probably drunk from boredom. I would be, too, if I had to sit in silence eight hours a day. 

[Cut. Interior. Night. Hoseok’s kitchen. Hoseok presses play on his answering machine as he takes off his coat. Y/N sits at a chair at the kitchen table and zooms in on a Sainsbury's frozen dinner.]

Y/N: Mmmmmm.

[In the background, a voice is heard on the answering machine.]

Recorded Voice: Mr. Jung. It's Geoff. You sold me a watch not two hours ago. I’d like to make it clear I don't appreciate being fucked with. [Y/N brings the camera around, landing on Hoseok who is paused at his refrigerator staring at the machine, frowning.] I get enough shit in my town, and I certainly don't need non-locals breezing through and pulling pranks. I'm giving you twenty-four hours to return the watch or my money to the store. If you don't, I'm calling the cops and we can settle this with legal action. [Machine beeps]

[Hoseok remains paused at the refrigerator - frozen. He begins to visibly tense and Y/N gets up from the kitchen table. She approaches him slowly, before Hoseok slams the refrigerator door shut and rushes into the living room]

Y/N: [shouts] Hoseok!

H: [yells] Where the fuck is it? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME?

[Y/N enters the living room and turns right. Hoseok is standing in front of his mantle, hitting his chest with the flat of his palms. He stares at the ceiling and screams]

H: [still yelling] YOU CAN HAVE YOUR FUCKING WATCH BACK, I DON'T WANT IT.

Y/N: [yelling over Hoseok] HOSEOK, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE.

H: [looks at Y/N] Of course there is! How else would any of this be happening? [Turns abruptly and heads down the hallway. He disappears into his room.

Y/N: Fuck’s sake. 

[Y/N follows and enters Hoseok’s room. Hoseok is pulling books out of shelves. He abandons that project and quickly goes to his bed, where he up-turns his mattress]

H: [yelling again] WHERE IS IT, HUH?

Y/N: Hoseok, calm the hell down!

[Hoseok turns and rushes past Y/N. Y/N follows]

Y/N: Hoseok, ripping up the house isn't going to solve anything!

H: It's not in my room, it's not in the kitchen. It makes itself known, right? It wants to fucking be seen. The goddamn ATTENTION WHORE.

Y/N: It's an inanimate object, Hoseok, stop!

[Hoseok stomps into the kitchen and picks up his jacket. He pauses for a moment, softening, and reaches into a pocket. He pulls out the watch]

H: [staring at the watch] Something…someone…whatever…wants me to have this. I don't. Fucking. Want it.

[**In the recorded footage, a voice is heard. It clearly says “But you took it.” Neither Y/N nor Hoseok reacts to it and neither has spoken. This voice was pointed out by YouTube user Sarkozam12**]

[camera turns off]

~~~

#190

Duration: 8:00

[Interior. Night. The couches and chairs have been removed from Hoseok’s living room. Two pillows are placed on the ground, side by side, beneath the coffee table where a ouija board as been set up. The scene is lit by numerous candles along the floor and mantle. Fingers over the microphone cause muffled noises and garbled sounds. Hoseok enters from frame right. He sits, in jeans a tee shirt, on one of the pillows. He takes a swig of cider before setting it next to him. He looks slightly above the camera.]

Y/N: [off camera] This is a terrible idea, Hobi.

H: [solemn] Is the camera set up?

Y/N: [pauses, sighs] Yeah, it's just about.done tightening the tripod.

H: Good.

[Y/N enters from the bottom of frame left. It's a long shot of the living room. Y/N sits next to Hoseok. They look at each other briefly. Hoseok draws his eyes away and onto the Oujia board. Y/N’s brow furrows, and she reaches to twine her fingers with Hoseok’s. The contact has him return his gaze to hers, smiling before he leans in and kisses her deeply. Pulling back, he kisses her knuckles three times. Hoseok’s expression hardens]

H: [quietly] I love you.

Y/N: [smiling; quietly] I’m still not used to you saying that. [pauses] I love you, too.

H: [inhaling deeply] Let's do this.

[Y/N pauses. Hoseok looks at her, concerned.]

H: Don't tell me you're quitting on this.

Y/N: [looks at the ground] Ouija boards are scary, serious shit, Hoseok. I don't think we should fuck around with this. We’ve already fucked up so much shit.

H: [shaking his head] I fucked up. And I just don’t know what other choice I have.

[Y/N pauses briefly, hesitating before leaning in to kiss him once more. They whisper to one another as they break apart, kissing for a few more seconds before separating fully. Pulling her hand from his, she sighs and places both hands on the planchette. Hoseok follows suit and does the same]

H: [uncomfortable] What do I say?

Y/N: [loudly] Is there anyone here with us?

[They remain quiet and wait. The planchette does not move.]

H: What if we contact Zozo? That's the opposite of what I want.

Y/N: [giggling, though her sense of amusement is unconvicing] Don't be stupid. 

[Both are silenced by the planchette which has started to move in swirls across the board.]

H: Is that you?

Y/N: No, I'm barely touching this.

H: [shaking his head] It's not me.

[The planchette stops on the word 'Bye']

H: [pauses] Well, that's sinister.

[The video warps into pixels and corrects itself. Three candles have been blown out. Y/N is panicked]

Y/N: What the fuck did that?

H: [loudly] What is your name?

[The planchette moves, quickly. Y/N says the letters it stops on.]

Y/N: L…A…I…R…R…E. D…D…D…E…A…T…H.

H: Lairreedddeath? The hell?

Y/N: I'm busy focusing on the part that - [The video warps. the masked figure from #186 appears behind Hoseok, getting closer after each pixel correction. A white hand with sharp nails reaches for his neck. It disappears] in the fire?

[The Marimba ringtone of an iPhone goes off]

H: Shit. That's mine.

Y/N: Leave it.

[The planchette spins out of control and falls from the table onto the floor. All the candles are blown out at the same time, though there is no wind to disrupt the atmosphere. The camera shifts to night vision. Both draw their attention to the bright light from the camera]

Y/N: Does your camera shift modes automatically?

H: No, what -

[A loud thud is heard, the sound of a door slamming open to the left, its metal knob hitting the wall. The door to what is considered a broom closet has flung open, but its interior is black and occasionally blurred by pixelated static. Y/N turns to look at the noise, but Hoseok disappears from view. We hear him scream]

Y/N: Hoseok?!? [Y/N searches frantically for where the sound is coming from. She turns her attention back to the door, eyes wide in alarm.] Hoseok? 

[Y/N gets up and approaches the closet but the door slams shut. The lights of the house come on. Y/N opens the door to the closet. It is just a closet. The tripod falls over. The screen goes blue and flashes NO BATTERY]

~~~

Given the found footage nature of the editing and the allusion by Hoseok that Y/N was proficient in film editing, at least once mentioning the capability of using special effects in post production, many of the initial viewers of #186-190 believed the story of Hoseok’s disappearance was a clever hoax. While this report remains unbiased, it is important to point out several facts. 

Firstly, it is true that Jung Hoseok went missing from his shared home April 25, 2010. The phone call received on his mobile during #190 was from his mother, mentioned in Y/F/N Y/L/N’s police report, who had not seen her son since April 11, 2010. Secondly, the pocket watch, and the clothing in which Hoseok disappeared in, have never been found. Until August 2011, the footage captured during #190 depicted the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok. 

When Y/N deactivated her account, #184-190 was removed from YouTube in accordance with YouTube’s privacy policies, however not before user TwerK had downloaded the video to a flash drive. In June of 2010, the video was uploaded to Kim Taehyung’s channel, with reasons citing the urgency for fans and interested parties to continue to study the video - i.e in search of clues or proof of a hoax. It is worth noting that while there is a well documented friendship and romantic relationship between Euripet3s1 and theJungProject (ie: both were subscribers to each other's channels, the earliest comments on each party's videos date back to 2008, Euripet3s1 tagged theJungProject in a video called Top 10 Films of 2009, etc) TwerK did not subscribe to either channel, nor has he confessed to knowing either personally. 

It is because of these reasons that the footage in Help Explain This is, in a word, astounding. The film itself was uploaded with a description consisting of a personal plea from Taehyung to help explain what he had caught. Once the video was live, Taehyung experienced a brief period of notoriety on the internet, while simultaneously going under fire by those close to Hoseok who called his video 'tactless and offensive.' 

It is also worth noting that Y/N has become reclusive since these events and has not been available for comment since late 2010, on advice from her therapist.

~~

Help Explain This

Duration: 4:03

[Interior. Mid-Day. Footsteps thud up the stairs of Borley Rectory. The camera is pointed at the landing, but the painting is gone. The person arrives at the landing and he speaks. He is Korean.]

T: Okay. So. Kim Taehyung here. I’m sorry in advance for any English mistakes, but a few subscribers wanted me to visit the rectory while I am here on vacation. Yes, yes, I know it's weird that my YouTube channel only has one video on it, but some of you on Reddit convinced me to make this.  Here we are [Camera pans right to left, light pours in from holes in the ceiling. The home appears to be empty.]. Exact same spot where Euripet3s1 stood. As you can see there is no painting on the wall. Ehm.

[He turns to his left and enters the bedroom, panning the camera right to left as Y/N had done. A naked figure stands in the back right corner of the bedroom, his back to the camera, facing the wall]

T: Again, the room is completely empty. The walls are badly burned. I know you all want to believe this was a hoax, but there's no way these two had the budget. You can't even get up the stairs easily without worrying about falling through.

[He turns left, zooming to an extreme long shot. The right side of the room out of frame.] 

T: This is where theJungProject found the pocket watch. No chest of drawers here. [Camera pans down, showing his feet] You can see the boards of the floor are burned. I'm too afraid to even put weight there. [He presses his foot to the floor, retracting it immediately.]

[Raising the camera, he turns the camera back to right, slightly, showing the whole of the room. The figure from the corner has turned around and is standing naked in a full body shot. The camera pixelates. The figure is now close to the lens, able to be viewed from the middle of the waist up. His mouth and eyes are wide open, but blackened as though holes. The figure is clearly Jung Hoseok.]

T: That's it, then. Sorry the video was so lame.

[He turns and leaves the room. The camera does one last pan from the landing back to the room. The foyer below is empty. The room he had just exited is empty]

Fin.

Author’s Note #2: The locations in this story - Borley Rectory, Boxer's Lake, Liverpool Street Station, Suffolk, and Sudbury - are all real places. Borley Rectory was known as 'the most haunted house in England' and it did get severely burned in 1939. There is actually a woman who haunted the building named Marie Lairre. 

[queen-archeron]

Anything Could Happen

Chapter 3

A/N: This is a rewritten version of my very first fic which you can find here. I’ll post a chapter every Friday and Tuesday but I won’t be tagging people in this so if you’d like to read it I’ll tag it ‘anything could happen fic’ and you can find it on my blog. I hope you guys enjoy, let me know if you like it!

P.S. I know it’s Sunday and I’m so sorry for the delay, but I’ll be posting Chapter 4 tonight for anyone who’s interested! I hope you enjoy <33

~ Previous chapters ~

“Lucien,” Elain blurted, averting her gaze to the floor to avoid direct eye contact. She wasn’t sure she could handle looking at him so closely.

“Elain, where are you off to in such a rush?” He questioned, furrowing his brows and loosening his grip on her so she could stand upright. He stepped back and picked up her phone which was laying on the ground a few feet away. When he handed it back to her, their fingers brushed and she finally looked up as she pulled her hand away.

“I was going to grab some breakfast. Nesta and Feyre are still sleeping so I came down early,” she stated. Her mind was running through different ways to politely tell him to leave her alone, but it was just a tangled mess of thoughts which got her nowhere.

He leaned back on his heels and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, a nervous habit of his.

“Feyre should get her beauty sleep for tomorrow, I suppose,” he chuckled, and Elain let out a nervous laugh, hoping he couldn’t see that it was forced.

“I guess so,” she responded, shifting uncomfortably in front of him.

His eyes softened and he took a step closer to her. “Elain, I—”

Her phone started ringing and cut him off mid-sentence which Elain was thankful for. She glanced down at the cracked screen and tried not to smile when she looked at the name.

Azriel.

Deciding it was a good time to stop the awkward conversation, she glanced up at Lucien and frowned, hoping it looked convincible.

“I have to take this, but I’ll see you later!”

Lucien only nodded and she didn’t give him time to say anything as she began walking away. She answered the phone eagerly.

“Hello?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so uncomfortable during a conversation,” he chuckled, and her eyes widened. She rose her head and looked around the lobby until she spotted him leaning against the wall near a cafe entrance.

“Care to join me?” He asked, smiling at her from where he stood across the room.

“Of course,” she breathed into the phone. She ended the call and kept eye contact with him until she was standing a few feet away. Just like the day before, he looked perfect, and Elain hoped she looked somewhat presentable compared to the mess she was the last time they spoke.

He rose a brow and crossed his arms. “So, do you know that guy? Because if he was bothering you just let me know and I’ll make sure he stays away.”

She grinned but admired how serious he had gotten.

“It’s a long story, but I know him. I’m just trying to avoid him this weekend,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, and when they returned to meet her gaze there was a spark there.

“Why are you avoiding him? If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.

She released a sigh and motioned toward the cafe. “I’ll tell you over coffee.”

He only nodded.

They entered the cute shop and both ordered coffee. After a lot of arguing, Elain let Azriel pay for her drink, promising to pay him back later. He led her to a table near one of the windows looking out over the hotel’s main courtyard and took their seats. There was a fountain in the center of the courtyard surrounded by flowers of all different shapes and colors. She was stuck staring at them in awe until Azriel cleared his throat.

“You really like flowers don’t you?” He asked with a soft smile.

Heat rose to her cheeks and she fixed her gaze on her coffee mug. “I know it’s weird—”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” he stated, catching her stare for only a second before she returned it to her coffee.

“I’ve always loved flowers. When I was younger, my mother and I had a little garden in the backyard, and every time she would go to the store, she would bring home a different kind of flower for us to plant together. It was our special tradition.” She smiled as the memories took up her thoughts. “Eventually, I learned to take care of the garden on my own.”

She lifted her head and looked at the flowers through the window again, lost in the story about the woman who meant so much to her.

“When she died, I wanted to keep the garden alive so I planted her favorite flowers and dedicated all of my time to making sure it looked beautiful. I spent most of my childhood in that garden, and I loved it.”

Azriel was silent for a minute, and she glanced at him to see he was looking out at the courtyard as well. He didn’t turn away as he said, “That’s a beautiful story. Your mother would be very proud of you, Elain.”

He finally looked at her and she smiled, thankful to have someone to talk to after her stressful night.

“Now, about that guy,” she started. Azriel leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of coffee.

“His name is Lucien. Feyre introduced us a few years ago, and he’s…my ex-fiancé.” Elain saw Azriel tense, but ignored it and went on.

“We were supposed to get married last year, but I started to lose feelings for him before the wedding because he was so different from me. We had only dated for seven months before he proposed, and there was so much pressure on me that I said yes without realizing what I was getting myself into.”

She usually didn’t tell people the story of what happened between her and Lucien, but with Azriel, she felt safe, like she could tell him anything and he would listen.

“I think he was hiding his personality just to be with me, and slowly, it started to come out at some point. I’m quiet, he’s not. I like to stay home and read, or take care of the garden, and he likes going to parties and hanging out with big groups of friends. I tried to talk to him about it, to make him understand that maybe marriage wasn’t the best choice, but he just ignored it and said that I was just overthinking things since the wedding was coming up. But I knew deep down that I wasn’t.”

Azriel remained silent as she took a quick sip of coffee, debating on where to go next.

“It became harder and harder to talk to him, because he would always find an excuse for why I was wrong, saying that I just wasn’t thinking straight.”

She took a shaky breath and tightened her grip on her mug. Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement but he stayed silent, letting her finish.

“One day, I packed up my belongings from our apartment and started to leave because I was over being ignored constantly, but Lucien saw me and immediately thought I was insane. He tried to make me stay, but I couldn’t because in my heart it just didn’t feel right. Some harsh words were exchanged as I walked out the door, and the following days were even worse. He sent me texts and left voicemails apologizing, and I made it clear that it was okay, but my heart belonged somewhere else. So bumping into him today…I was so shocked, and I just didn’t want him to bring it up.”

She finally looked up at Azriel and his eyes were filled with sorrow.

“I think,” he began, “that if in your heart it didn’t feel right, then you made the right decision. And if he truly cares about you, he’ll understand that.”

He reached out and gently took one of her hands in his. There were faint scars on his hands that she hadn’t noticed before, and she made a mental note to ask about it sometime, but not to push the topic. He gently squeezed her hand and she relaxed.

“But if anything ever happens, or you need someone to talk to, I’ll be here to listen.”

Elain squeezed his hand back, and he didn’t pull away. “Thank you, Azriel.”

They watched each other for long minutes, his thumb brushing the back of her palm in a soothing motion, and she was frightened that if she moved their moment would end. So instead, they stayed like that, holding hands while taking sips of coffee, and for the first time in a while, Elain felt relieved.

~

After some small talk and laughter, Azriel and Elain finished their coffees and headed toward the lobby. Feyre and Rhysand were approaching the entrance and spotted them immediately, curiosity taking over their expressions.

“Elain, there you are,” Feyre beamed as the couple stopped in front of them. “I see you met Azriel.”

Azriel smiled at the youngest Archeron and Elain could feel him slightly tense beside her when Rhysand looked them over.

“We were just heading out,” Elain grinned, nodding to Azriel who gave Feyre a strained smile. If she noticed she didn’t say anything and instead grabbed Rhysand’s hand in her own.

“Well I guess we’ll see you two tonight then,” she said, giving them one last smile before pulling Rhys inside the small cafe.

Elain slid her hand into Azriel’s and her heart beat faster as he interlaced their fingers slowly, as if he wasn’t sure it was okay. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and glanced up at him.

“This way.”

She led them outside into the large courtyard and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of all of the flowers. Azriel chuckled from beside her and she rose a brow.

“Don’t you like the smell of flowers?” She asked, pulling him along the pathway that led around the large fountain.

“Of course,” he murmured, letting her drag him along.

She stopped every thirty seconds to explain what each flower was and how to properly grow it. She was sure that Azriel would fall asleep at some point, but he stayed alert and listened to everything she had to say. The look in his eyes made her turn away at one point because she was nervous about what it meant.

The last person to look at her like Azriel was had been Lucien.

“These are my favorite,” she gushed, kneeling down to gently run her finger over the petal of a peony. “They’re so beautiful.”

Azriel leaned down to look at the flower and whispered, “Like you.”

She almost didn’t hear him, but she did, and her attention went from the flower to him. Their faces were closer than she realized and her breath caught in her throat when she found her eyes moving to his lips. Several seconds went by before Azriel cleared his throat and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Uh, I think I saw a greenhouse up this way,” he muttered as he pointed up the pathway. “We could go check that out if you’d like.” 

Elain knew her cheeks were bright red, but she nodded and began walking beside him along the path. She pushed down the disappointment that was growing inside her and brushed her hand along his as they strolled up some steps. Without looking down, he interlaced their fingers once again, and without looking at her, he smiled. 

~

By mid-afternoon, Elain and Azriel had practically toured the entire hotel. They had visited the greenhouse and spent some time by the outdoor pool, observing everyone go on with their day while they talked about little things to fill the silence.

It was only when the sun began to sink below the horizon that Azriel escorted her back to her room, holding her hand the entire time. When they stopped outside her door, she glanced up at him with a kind expression. 

“I had fun today,” he murmured as one corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

She didn’t reply and instead rose on her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. He tensed but didn’t pull away or flinch to her relief. When she leaned back she spotted a faint blush reach his cheeks and smiled again.

“I’ll see you tonight, Az.”

He nodded and watched her until she was in the room and shut the door. Her smile grew even more and she nearly squealed to herself until a small piece of paper on the ground caught her eye. It looked like it had been slid underneath the door at some point during the day, and she leaned down to read the message.

Meet me by the elevators before dinner. 

We need to talk. 

-Lucien

Elain sighed in irritation and buried her face in her hands. Of course, just when things were starting to look up for her, something had to go wrong.

[kassandra-lorelei]

Prompt: Niles leaves CC little love notes places for her to find after they start dating. At first she's annoyed and thinks he's being too mushy. Eventually she decides it's actually endearing - she's never been in a relationship where the guy cared so much. After a while she occasionally leaves some for him too, but hers are generally more sarcastic /banter-y and/or make fun of ones he left for her. It becomes one of their favorite things and they continue it the rest of their relationship

Here we are my friend! It deviates a little from the exact prompt because my brain just kind of ran with the idea. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! <3

@missbabcocks1 @holomoriarty

After a long day of pouring over contracts C.C. thought shecouldn’t stand the sight of one more piece of paper, but it was sort of hard toignore the bright pink Post-It note stuck to the lapel of her favourite beigecoat. The coat that she’d left alone in the closet for the work day and hadjust returned to get before she went back to the penthouse for the night (Nileshaving understood that she had to go back there by herself sometimes).

It was also the coat that had been distinctly note-less whenshe’d left it there, ruling out the possibility of a laundry tag oversight byher dry-cleaner.

She snatched it off immediately, hoping the glue on the backhadn’t seeped into the suede, and peered at it.

“Sorry I can’t see you off – I have an errand.Have a lovely night, I’ll see you bright and earlytomorrow. N.”

He’d not only signed it off with his initial. He’d alsodrawn a small heart in the corner of the paper, which the producer blinked at. Theentire thing was loaded with…well, feelings. Something which had previously beenalien to her in a lot of ways, especially like this.

But now that she and Niles had decided to give the whole“relationship” thing a chance, they were coming at her thick and fast!

She wasn’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, there was nothing to be done about the note she had inher hand, anyway. Niles wasn’t there to ask – or not ask, if she chickened out –and she had to get home. So, she stuffed the note into her pocket, called outone last goodnight to everyone in the living room and left, intending to forgetall about everything that little piece of paper was saying.

Not that it was easy. Even if she had forgotten the firstnote, the ones that she got over the next few days made up for it. They were everywhere– they showed up stuck to files, on walls near places Niles knew she would go,and one was even presented to her on a breakfast tray, the morning after she’dspent the night in the butler’s room!

And each of them had a message that was just as warm and saccharineas the last.

“Knock ‘em dead today – your favourite dinner will bewaiting at the end of it. N.”

“You don’t need to check the mirror, you look stunningalready. N.”

“Last night was simply wonderful. And here’s a littlesomething to replenish that energy of yours! N.”

Eventually, C.C. had enough notes to cover her apartment coffeetable, and there was no end in sight. She’d only just managed to gather herresolve to talk to Niles about it, and had gone to the kitchen to do so.

He was busy doing the dishes when she got there, but at thefirst click of her heels he looked up and smiled.

“Taking a break from work?” he asked, a hint of suggestionin his voice. “I can easily leave these to soak for a little while longer, ifyou feel like it…”

Normally an invitation like that would’ve resulted in themboth slipping upstairs. But not then.

“Actually, I, uh…don’t really have that long,” she replied,feeling oddly nervous as she folded her arms over and came closer. “Can we talkabout something?”

She saw the butler lose grip of the plate he’d been holdingonto, and it slipped beneath the dishwater. He was worried already – it didn’t takea genius to work that out.

Not that this was anything that bad! She just wanted him tocool it off with the notes, that was all!

“Of course,” he nodded, apparently trying not to do itstiffly.

She’d put him out of his self-inflicted misery right away. Whatelse could she do, when he was (perhaps only clearly to her) having a small internalbreakdown?

“It’s about these Post-It notes you keep leaving me.”

“Oh,” Niles visibly relaxed, and even began to smile again. Heleaned against the counter. “What about them?”

Here came the hard part.

“I, uh…wouldn’t mind if I had…less of them,” she told him,reaching up to rub the back of her neck – it felt sweaty, for some reason.

The butler looked confused – hurt, even?

“Less of them?” he repeated. “May I ask why?”

Now, what was she supposed to say to that? That the noteswere too mushy, and they made her feel weird? That she got them every day andshe felt smothered? Neither of those felt like great answers, if she washonest. And he was looking at her with those blue eyes of his, it was like…God,she was in danger of getting mushy herself, if she started thinking of analogies!

Instead, she gave a vague shrug and came towards him, hopingto soften the blow by closing the space between them a little.

“Well, I just think that we see each other enough around themansion that we don’t need to use notes,” she explained, hoping she sounded gentleenough. But not so gentle that she didn’t sound serious as well.

Niles frowned, “You don’t like them, then?”

His countenance made her backtrack, and C.C. came even closerto put her arms around his middle, “No, I do, I do – I just…prefer hearing allthose things directly from you, instead of finding them all over the house!”

“Oh,” the butler blinked, and settled his hands on her hips,giving them a soft squeeze. “Well, if that’s the way you feel, then that’s theway you feel. You’ll hear things from me from now on. No more notes.”

“Thank you, lover,” she smiled, and pecked him on the lips. “And,um…if the offer’s still open, I’d be glad to take it up…?”

He pulled away from her a little, cocking his head to oneside, “What about your work? I thought you said you didn’t have long.”

C.C. started to lean back in, grinning, “I can make a littlemore time…”

…………………………

More days went past, and true to his word, Niles didn’t sendC.C. a single note. They weren’t there when she woke up in the morning, whenshe went about her day, or when she took time out to relax. He was thereinstead, doing all of the things they had been doing before, and life carriedon pretty much as normal.

But something felt wrong. Niles had lost some of the sparkin his eyes, and his grin wasn’t quite as wide as it had been before. It waslike the butler was pretending to be happy for all of that time – the producer couldsense it, even if he kept on insisting that he was fine.

She didn’t quite get it, either. They were affectionate,they had all kinds of fun, and their sex life was better than she’d everremembered having with anybody!

He was better than anybody she’d ever been with, period. Shedidn’t remember any other man caring about her quite so much – none of them hadever left notes for her to find!

That thought happened when she was trying to read a file inthe office, and it struck her so suddenly that the whole thing nearly flew outof her hands with the twitch it caused.

It was large enough that Maxwell noticed at his desk, and hefurrowed his brow, “Is everything alright, C.C.?”

That was just it. Not everything was. Niles had writtenthose notes specially for her – he took time out of his day to do it, and to leavethem in places for her to read! And he did it because he cared! It might’ve beenmushy to some, but they were together – mushy was all a part of that, or so she’dheard!

What was wrong with her? She’d taken something he thoughtwas a sweet gesture and thrown it back in his face!

Well, she had to rectify that right away! There were some Post-Itslying around on the table by the wall, and she ignored Maxwell’s quizzical expressionto toss her file on the loveseat, get up and grab the little paper squares.

She knew the butler had gone out, so she had to get movingif she was going to set up what she had in mind in time.

…………………………

In under an hour, she’d thought about, written, and strategicallyplaced all of the notes she could think up. That had only been about four, andnone of them had come out as sentimental as Niles’, but she hoped it would meansomething to him anyway.

She’d always been better at the other side of their relationship,anyway.

“Sorry I didn’t appreciate the Post-Its. I’ve never hadanybody want to write things for me before.”

That one went on the kitchen door, where she knew he’d comein.

“I should’ve known someone so old would pull an old romanticstunt like passing notes.”

She put that one on the fridge, where he’d put the groceriesaway when he came in.

“I’ve thought about it more, and I want to try doing it,too. It could be fun.”

The third went on the handle of the kettle, where he’d get apot of tea started.

“And I know how much you like to have fun with me…”

She placed the last one on the door of the office, prayingsilently to herself that Niles would be the one to find it and not Nanny Fine.

She waited all afternoon for him to give a sign that he’dseen the Post-Its. She worked through files at a snail’s pace, expecting him toappear at the door at any minute, but it never happened.

She’d gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and come back to theoffice when she finally saw that something had changed.

There were a couple of Post-Its, stuck to her spot on theloveseat.

She picked them up eagerly and read them, one after the other.

“So, you don’t mind having to test your limits by readingEnglish?” and “I thought it might have been too much of a change from yourusual hieroglyphs.”

C.C. bit back a grin. This felt more like it, and she wasgoing to respond in turn. She picked up her pen and another Post-It, and set towork.

He was back in the kitchen again when she brought the notein, and stuck it to the front of his apron, right on his chest. She took a proudstep back as he read what she’d written, which had been signed with a winkingface.

“Not more than you and your usual cave paintings.”

He looked up at her, and after a few seconds he started to smirk.

“You don’t mind the idea after all, then?” he asked aloud.

“As it turns out, no,” she replied, leaning against thecounter. “That is, if I haven’t spoiled the whole idea for you…?”

That was when she noticed the small pile of Post-Its on the counter,fresh and ready to be written on. Niles plucked a pen from his pocket, scribbledsomething down on one, and stuck it to her chest, just over her heart.

“Unspoiled.”

C.C. held back spluttered laughter as she read that, lookingback up to meet his beaming expression.

“You really think so, Butler Boy?”

He came closer and wound his arms around her as he replied, “Yes,I do. In fact, I think this could be the start of a new tradition for us.”

The producer’s expression softened. She liked the sound ofthat – a new form of communication that only they shared, that could be carriedon no matter what they were doing! It was like they’d never be without theother again, in some ways.

Funnily enough, the mushiness of that thought didn’t matterat all, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned in to kiss her.

He really was too good to her sometimes. He did things thatshe’d never even imagined doing in a relationship, and even if it looked like somethinghad gone wrong, it was always possible to fix it. All they needed was to talkthings through. He was good at that, and at so many other things – looking afterher, giving her the time and attention that any other loving man would, evenwhen they were both busy…

She had to let him know how much she appreciated it. Inwords, not just through physical pleasure.

Maybe she’d write him a note later…

[hikarikirameku]

After the Sun Sets

I’ve debated, and I’ve decided to post the full fic on Tumblr as well, since I guess some people don’t like AO3? *shrugs* (As always though, the fic can be found here: [X] Since this is playing catch-up, I’m going to post all three chapters in one go under the cut, with chapters separated by line breaks. Summary:  Miguel makes it home after his fateful Día de Muertos. Everything appears to be back to normal, but little does he know the curse still lingers... 

After the Sun Sets: Sundown

It had been a long day for Miguel. Even longer considering the fact that he hadn't actually slept yet. During that fateful Día de Muertos, he had managed to get himself cursed, gotten nearly killed twice by his former idol, found his long-lost great-great-grandpa Hector, barely got his blessing to get sent home before the sun completely rose, and had managed to successfully spark Mamá Coco's memories to save Hector from succumbing to the Final Death. After all of that, he still had one last challenge...how he was going to survive the aftermath of having disappeared for the entire night from his living family.

He knew he was going to need some kind of explanation. His parents weren't about to let him off the hook that easily. If only he could tell them the truth without sounding absolutely crazy. Fortunately, he had a reprieve. After Mamá Coco had shared her memories of her Papá Hector with the family, the family was too stunned at the seemingly miraculous events to want to have to spoil them with any more family drama for the time being. Miguel's father, Enrique, merely told Miguel that he was to stay in the family hacienda until further notice. That was easy, since once the exhaustion of the evening caught up with him, he immediately went to his room, hid the guitar under his bed as a precaution, had a quick breakfast, a bath, and a change of clothes into a comfy t-shirt and jeans combo, he fell asleep in his room soon after.

A few hours later, he was woken up by his mother, Luisa, for lunch. His mother wasn't about to let him sleep all day, even if he was still groggy. After lunch, he at least confessed as to where the guitar had come from. So now, the adults were currently preoccupied with how to explain a stolen guitar from a tomb, even if it had belonged to a family member. Miguel stubbornly refused to give it back. He couldn't tell them about it, but he refused to let that precious guitar sit in tomb of its rightful owner's murderer any longer.

Instead, he made the argument that it rightfully belonged to the Riveras, and that the photo proved it. The letters Mamá Coco had kept also proved that Hector's songs had also been stolen, and Ernesto de la Cruz didn't deserve the praise he had been given at all, let alone having Hector's guitar in his tomb. Not knowing what had come over Miguel all of a sudden, but seeing how adamant he was about some sort of justice being done, his father and his  Berto decided they would talk to the city officials about it.

In the meantime, Miguel busied himself with cleaning the guitar. He borrowed some soft brushes and a clean polishing cloth from the workshop, and carefully coaxed the dust out from the nooks and crannies of the guitar, restoring it to its former glory. It really was still a sight to behold. A beautiful, one of a kind instrument, that had finally found its way home. He couldn't even be upset that it had caused him to be cursed the past night. He just wished there was some way he could give it to Hector without having to wait.

He sighed, resigning himself. "Next year, at least", he said to the guitar, as if it could understand him. "Mamá Coco remembered her papa, so he should be okay. His photo can be put on the ofrenda, he can cross over, and I'll make sure you're there waiting for him. He should be able to do that....thing...I saw the other skeletons do, and take you with him, right? At least sort of?".

He knew the physical guitar would still, at least, be left behind.

"...and I may not be Papá Hector, but I promise I'll take care of you just like he would!", he said earnestly.

While he didn't think the guitar was really listening, and definitely didn't expect an answer, it made him feel better to talk to someone...or something in this case. He couldn't exactly talk to his family about any of this. Normally, he'd talk to Dante about his troubles but, even if he was around and not in the Land of the Dead as a new alebrije, he still wouldn't have been able to sneak him into his room.

"You know though?", he continued as he took the guitar and absentmindedly strummed a few notes, "If I could, I really would love to see Papá Hector, Mamá Imelda, and everyone else again...if, you know...it wasn't so dangerous".

He wasn't exactly too keen on pushing his luck after his previous brushes with death. As it was, the memories made him shudder, causing the note he was currently playing to waver a bit.

He decided to focus on happier memories instead, and before he knew it, he was performing a much less raucous version of "Un Poco Loco". His family let him keep the guitar for now, but he wasn't willing to push his luck. For right now, at least, he was content to be able to play quietly in his room and he was hope that the music ban would be lifted for good.

Eventually he tried working on playing the melody of "La Llorona", reminiscing about his Mamá Imelda's amazing performance (as well as stomping on Ernesto's foot, which made him smile to himself). It was during this time his mother knocked on the door, coming in to check on him. Startled, he let out a small gasp, and there was a soft "thunk" against the guitar as he muted the sound of the strings.

"C-come in..." he called out tentatively, his nervous, sheepish smile on his face as his mother peeked inside.

"I-I'm being good mama, I promise. Look, I cleaned Papá Hector's guitar! I just got bored so I...was playing...i-if that's okay?".

Luisa merely smiled.

"Está bien. Just don't play too loudly. I don't think your abuelita is still too used to the idea of music in the house again just yet".

As she saw Miguel frown a little, she added, "But I hope you'll be able to play some of those lovely songs for your little sister someday."

He lit up at that, and his mother smiled once again before taking her leave. He remembered that his mother would have listened to music before he was born, before she'd married his father. She had to give up music for family. After last night, he finally understood what that felt like. Now, however, he was on the verge of seeing it returned, as it should be. It was a bit surreal, almost as if his Mamá Imelda's change of heart had somehow crossed the threshold of death, and made it to her living family as well.

He made a mental note to ask his mother what some of her favorite songs had been. He might be able to learn to play some of them for her later.

Miguel mostly stuck to his room the rest of the afternoon, barring a quick trip to visit his Mamá Coco in her room. He had wanted to tell her of his adventures in the Land of the Dead, and meeting her Papá (as Mamá Coco was the only person he was willing to tell). However, his abuelita Elena was already in there at the time, so he merely ended up peeking in. Mamá Coco seemed to have started becoming her usual forgetful self again. Miguel would make sure to play "Remember Me" for her as many times as he could, to help her remember. Even if she'd passed down Hector's stories, protecting his memories for generations to come, it was still sad to think about her slowly forgetting about him again.

Eventually heading back to his room, he had taken to the task of coming up with an appropriate place to keep the guitar. A guitar stand of some kind would have been preferable, but on such short notice, it wasn't an option. He eventually made due by clearing a corner of his room of the bit of clutter any 12-year-old tends to have, and set a spare pillow there. He placed the body of the guitar on it, and carefully leaned it against the wall, so it was snug. Satisfied with his work, he smiled and hopped out to his bed, opening the nearby window above it.

The early evening air felt wonderful, and was still a comfortable temperature. He leaned on his windowsill to just appreciate the view, and the slight breeze on his face. As it neared closer to sunset, his little town of Santa Cecilia was bathed in orange hues reminiscent of the stray Marigold petals that still scattered the ground after last night's celebrations.

He heard his mother knock on his door.

"Miguelito, dinner's about ready. Go get cleaned up and come eat."

"Okay!", he called back, and closed his window and curtains for the time being, hopping off the bed and heading towards the door.

It was as he reached out to turn the doorknob that he saw it. A foreboding tinge of white at his fingertips, the skin turning transparent with only the faintest outline.

It took a moment for him to process what he was seeing, but there was no mistake...

Somehow, horrifyingly, he was once again becoming cursed.

“AAAAAAAHHH!!!!!” Miguel screamed in horror, and stumbled backward til he was on the floor, his legs giving out from the shock. He stared at his hands, the skin on his fingertips completely transparent now, and quickly disappearing down his fingers. Not only was he still cursed, it was happening so much faster than last time! “NO! Nononono! This can’t be right! I got my blessing! What is going-!!!”, he gasped, his eyes widened as he heard footsteps quickly approaching his door. Scrambling up off the floor, he got to the door just in time to lock it before his mother could reach it. “MIGUEL! Are you alright, mijo?!”, Luisa called out, her voice concerned. She tried to enter, but the locked doorknob merely rattled. When she heard no reply, her voice became even more anxious. “Miguel, what’s wrong?! Please open the door!”. More frantic footsteps followed, this time Miguel’s father and abuela. “N-NO! DON’T! DON’T COME IN!”, he cried out in panic from his position on the floor, his voice shaky from his body trembling. He knew the last thing he wanted was for his family to see him as a skeleton, as he was sure he would be soon at this rate. The curse had finished its work with his hands, and was now creeping up his lower arms. Of course, his outburst only served to make matters worse, as his family on the other side of the door were now desperate to get in there. “Migue! It’s Papá! Please, open the door!”, Enrique begged. Off to the side Miguel hear him add “Mamá, go get the keys!”, and Mamá Elena was off to fetch them, wondering where Miguel’s newfound habit of locking them out of rooms today was coming from. It was only a matter of time before his family would see him at this point. Miguel tried to think, but the gears of his mind screeched to a halt as he watched the curse claim his upper arms. He pulled up his shirt, and sure enough, only his hip bone and spine met his gaze, with his ribs quickly following. It took most of his remaining willpower at that moment not to faint, as he caught himself from falling over on the floor completely.

In full-on panic mode now, an even worse thought crossed his mind. What if he was about to get sent back to the Land of the Dead? What if he’d still end up stuck there for good, regardless of the blessing? Even if he wasn’t, It was only a matter of time before his family managed to get in there and they’d see him like this, and how was he going to explain?! Either way, he was trapped and out of options. At this point, he did the only thing his panicked, 12-year-old mind could think to do…

He dove into his bed and buried himself under the covers. By the time Luisa, Enrique, and Mamá Elena got into the room, the only hint of Miguel was a sobbing, shaking mound of blanket. The crossed look on Mamá Elena’s face softened, as his parents gave each other brief worried looks before Luisa made the first move. “Mijo?” Miguel heard his mother moving closer towards the bed. He wrapped the blanket around himself and pulled back closer to the wall, sniffling loudly. He felt a shift on his bed to his left, his mother sitting on the edge of it beside him, and soon on his right when his father followed suit. He couldn’t see his Mamá Elena, but he was sure she was most likely standing in front of the small bed. He was surrounded. He wondered if the rest of the family was also listening in on them all at this point too. “Mijo, it’s okay...we’re not angry. Your papá and I are only worried about you. Please, tell us what’s wrong?” He felt his mother’s hand rest gently on his shoulder. He flinched and pulled back, bumping up against the wall and clutching the blanket even closer. “N-NO!...I-it’s not...it’s not okay!” Miguel choked out between tears. He wished at that point that he could become invisible to the living like before, but it didn’t seem he was so lucky. From their next response, they had clearly heard him. It was his father who spoke up this time. “Mijo...I know we weren’t...the most understanding yesterday, but I promise, whatever it is you have to say, we’ll listen.” “Your family is here for you”, Mamá Elena added. “So, whatever is worrying you, we’re here to help.” His mother gently caressed the back of Miguel’s blanket-covered head, and he flinched, though this time he didn’t back away. He could feel himself shaking like a maraca, and thought it was a small miracle his bones weren’t rattling, though it might have been drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his chest...the feeling of which was now the only sign it was still even there.

He wished he could tell them, he wanted to be able to tell him, but he wasn’t even sure how. He was sure no matter which way he tried, they’d freak out (dios knows he did), and he wasn’t even sure if they wouldn’t kick him out of the house at that point. What would he do then?! He didn’t even want to think about it. He felt his mother move to pull him closer and try to calm him. At first he clutched at his protective blanket and refused to budge, but then found himself slowly allowing himself to be drawn towards her...desperate for some form of relief. Without relinquishing the blanket, he slowly allowed himself to shuffle into his mother’s embrace all the same, and she wrapped her arm around him and gently held him to her side. He couldn’t be more thankful that, as transparent as it was, his skin and flesh were still there, keeping his bones from betraying his current state to his mother’s touch. He then felt his father’s hand on his head, almost as if to ruffle his hair, before joining his mother by bringing his arm around Miguel’s other side. His abuela also came close and patted his head, but had to resign herself to standing nearby since the bed was already full. He just sat in his parents’ embrace, sobbing, not sure what to say or do. Luisa caressed the back of his head once more, but this time the blanket shielding it pulled back, and by the time he realized, it was too late. He could see his family, and they could see him, or at least his face. He froze, his eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. What did he look like now?! His mother merely smiled gently as she brushed tears away from his eyes. “Está bien, I’m here...nothing to be scared of…”, and gave him another hug, before his father gave him a hair-ruffle for real. Miguel could just look back and forth at them all, his mind racing...how did they not notice anything wrong? Could they not see it? The curse had already had plenty of time to overtake him...unless it didn’t? He gently pulled away from his mother before moving back towards the window. He nudged the curtains open just slightly with his blanket-covered hands, enough to see his reflection in the window glass.

He was greeted by a red, tear-streaked, but still very much alive-looking face. His skin, cheeks, and the dimple he was so fond of were all still there, much to his surprise and relief. It wasn’t affected by the cursed. Could, by chance, this whole thing have been some kind of dream or hallucination? He risked peeking down under his blanket, so only he could see. His sliver of hope was soon crushed, however. As he looked down, he could see the bones of his sternum and collarbone peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. He quickly wrapped himself back up tightly. He was still most definitely cursed. While it was a small comfort to know that at least the curse didn’t overtake him completely, he still had no idea what exactly he was going to do. He was back to square one, and still very much surrounded.

His odd behavior didn’t go unnoticed. “Migue? You’ve been acting strange this whole time. What’s wrong? Can you tell us?”, Enrique said, gently, but concerned. “Ay, Mijo...I know I was hard on you yesterday. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been. I want you to be able to trust me, us, to trust your family”. He could tell his Mamá Elena was trying at an awkward apology. He turned to face all of them again, shuffling back into the space between his mother and father, tears still in his eyes. He wasn’t sure what to tell them, how to tell them. He still didn’t even know exactly what was going on. It was all too much. “I…”, he finally managed to say in a shaky voice, barely above a whisper, “I want to. I want to be able to...to tell you...but, I don’t… I mean… it’s crazy. I’m not even really sure what’s going on.” He was barely able to keep his train of thought. Could he do this? Or, would he just resign himself to spending the rest of the foreseeable future as a blanket burrito? The last option was definitely the most appealing right now, but it wouldn’t do anything except delay the inevitable. He was sure there was no escaping his family this time. It was a miracle they hadn’t interrogated him this morning when he’d come back after disappearing all last night, and those rarely happen twice in one day. “It doesn’t have to be everything, if it’s too overwhelming. Just start by what you’re most comfortable with, and we can go from there”, Luisa encouraged him. He couldn’t have been more thankful for their patience at this point. He knew, however, that he was about to put it to the test. “Okay”, he said softly. “You have to promise me you’ll listen to everything though, no matter how loco it sounds…” Luisa, Enrique, and Mamá Elena all looked at each other with slightly concerned, slightly confused looks before looking back to Miguel. “O...kay?”, said Enrique, not really sure what to expect. “Seriously, this is going to be the craziest thing you've ever heard in your life”. More awkward looks from his family. Miguel just sighed. He was still nervous, but it was time to get this over with. He took a deep breath to calm himself, like he did before a performance, and did his best to steel himself before he launched full-bore into his story. “Okay...Last night I got cursed by trying to take that guitar, ended up like a ghost, met our dead family, who were all skeletons, and spent the night in the Land of the Dead trying to get a blessing to come home from my great-great-grandpa because Mamá Imelda refused to give it to me unless I never played music again. I thought it was De la Cruz so I tried to meet him, and I did, but then it wasn’t, and it turned out he’d murdered Papá Hector for his songs, and Papá Hector was my real great-great-grandpa, but I didn’t know cause the picture was torn and my only clue was the guitar, which was also stolen. We tried to get his other photo to bring back, cause De la Cruz took that too, so he could see Mamá Coco one more time, cause he was disappearing cause she was forgetting him, but I lost it when I got thrown off the...err…”, he decided not to elaborate on that part, “...but anyways, the sun was coming up, and I was about to be stuck there as a skeleton forever, so Papá Hector and Mamá Imelda gave me their blessing with no conditions, and I came back and saved Papá Hector by making Mamá Coco remember with their song…” He was breathing hard and talking a mile a minute, knowing full well his parents and Mamá Elena were already at a complete loss, and just wanted to get it over with. “But even though I got their blessing, and the curse should have been broken, for some reason I’m cursed again! I don’t know!” And with that, Miguel finished his story. The embarrassment of how ridiculous it all must have sounded made his already red face even brighter, and he held is head in his blanket-covered hands. He wasn’t surprised by what came next. “Mijo, what...?” “Cursed?” His Mamá Elena wasn’t really sure what to think, but she’d caught the words ‘cursed’ and ‘guitar’ in the same sentence, and threw a glare at it in the corner of the room all the same. “It wasn’t the guitar’s fault!”, Miguel’s face shot back up, sensing the danger. Even if he wasn’t sure she even believed him, there was no doubt in his mind his Mamá Elena wouldn’t take a chancla out on the guitar if she got even a hint of suspicion it had done something to harm her grandson. He figured she was still merely tolerating its presence as it was, priceless family heirloom or not.

It was then Miguel heard muttering from outside his door. His extended family members were out there too, eavesdropping. Miguel wasn’t surprised. At any rate, the amount of crazy he’d just dropped was too much for them to stay quiet any longer. Miguel once again pressed his face into his blanket with a groan, frustrated that even though he worked up the courage to tell them the truth (albeit a very confusing, abridged version) that it was still getting him nowhere.

“Migue, what...do you mean? I’m sure it was just a dream?��.

“It wasn’t a dream either! Argh , I knew you weren’t gonna believe me. I mean, I told you it was loco. It’s true though, I… I can prove it...”. That last part was more softly and reluctantly than the rest, as he really didn’t want to have to show them anything. He knew it wasn’t going to end well, but he also knew his options were also very limited at this point.

‘Well, if I’m going to get this over with, I might as well all at once’, he thought.

“Everyone should just come in, if you’re just spying on me anyway”, his reluctance giving way to a hint of annoyance. Sometimes he really wished his entire family didn’t have to get involved. Bad enough he was going to have to show his parents. Still, there wasn’t any use in keeping secrets once anyone in his family found out anyways, so he just resigned himself to getting this all over with at once.

To be honest, it wasn’t really easy for everyone to gather in Miguel’s tiny room, but they managed. His Tías and Tío lined up behind Mamá Elena, while his primos Rosa and Abel stood behind their parents closer to the door. He could see the two twins chasing each other back and forth outside the door, the only ones too young to be interested in the family drama. Everyone else was looking at him with mixed expressions of worry, confusion, and incredulity. He merely looked back at them with nervousness, as he overheard his Tías and Tío muttering something about him making up wild stories, and Rosa was rolling her eyes at him and shaking her head as she said something to her brother. He started to regret calling them in. “Miguel?” His mother put her arm on where she figured his was under his blanket, a look of concern on her face. “I know you don’t believe me mamá, but I swear I’m not crazy, and I’m not making this up”. “But…” “Just...just look”, he said, exasperated, as he held out his right arm, though the blanket still draped over it. “This is going to be scary, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The annoyance in his voice hid his trepidation, though his trembling body betrayed otherwise. While he still wasn’t sure if this was even the right thing to do, he slowly pulled the blanket away with his still-covered left hand. The arm Miguel revealed was nothing but bones, their shining white reflecting the soft yellow of the light from his room. The outline of his transparent skin shimmered, the rest practically invisible.

It took a moment for his family to register what they were seeing. To Miguel, it was almost like watching in slow-motion, as the expressions changed from doubt to shock and horror. A chorus of small gasps could be heard, hands were drawn over mouths, and Miguel immediately regretted his spur-of-the-moment decision. His resolve shattering by the second, his arm slowly dropped to his side before he drew it back under his blanket. Then...

“Ah, no, don’t faint!” Miguel yelled, as his mother, Mamá Elena, and surprisingly, his cousin Abel all nearly succumbed. The latter two were steadied by the rest of the standing family, while Miguel managed to support his mother long enough for Enrique to intervene, quickly moving over and supporting Luisa from behind. Almost everyone, whether they’d realized it or not, had backed away from Miguel, save for his mother and father who had been forced to stay near the bed. Everyone present looked like they’d seen a ghost. Well, Miguel was close enough. He quickly looked back and forth at the scene. He’d known this was bound to happen, but he hadn’t planned for the aftermath. He hadn’t really had a plan for any of this. All he knew is the looks he was getting from his family hurt , even more than any of the reactions he’d gotten from the skeletons in the Land of the Dead. The looks of absolute shock, horror, confusion, and disbelief, and worse yet, fear , written on their now pale faces filled Miguel with feelings of shame, embarrassment, and guilt. “I’m sorry…”, was all he could manage to say. A horrible, awkward silence permeated the room. Miguel couldn’t stand it. He wanted to reassure them, but couldn’t. His earlier reaction was proof enough he was just as freaked out as they were, and he was still almost just as clueless. He’d tried to handle this as best he could, but he’d finally hit his limit. His route was open and before anyone knew it, he’d jumped off the bed, still clutching his blanket, and ran. He barely missed bowling over the twins right outside the door. He kept going, past the kitchen area, and the dinner that had been waiting for everyone.

He wasn’t really thinking. He just knew he needed to escape, to get away, to go someplace safe. His legs automatically led him to the one place he felt he could go at this point, to the one person who hadn’t been present during this whole ordeal, but who he’s always felt he could tell everything to. He ran to his Mamá Coco.

Miguel didn’t have far to go. Mamá Coco was in the ofrenda room, sitting quietly in her wicker wheelchair as always. He ran to her, falling to his knees, arms crossed in her lap, and just sobbed into his blanket. As he knelt there, wracked with sobs, his Mamá Coco merely gave him a gentle smile as she gently patted his head with her withered hand.

-----

It took a minute or two for the rest of the family to register what had just happened, and by then, Miguel was gone. Again.

Luisa looked to Enrique, to the door, then back to her husband.

“Miguel...w-we need to find him!” she whispered, her shock slowly being replaced with worry. She had a bit of difficulty getting up off the bed thanks to her pregnant belly, but Enrique was there to offer assistance. He was also still looking a bit shaken, but was also becoming more concerned with his son’s well-being.

“I don’t think he would have gone far...we'll search the hacienda first.” He said, and two of them were out the door without another word. Mamá Elena watched them leave, and it took her a moment to collect herself before she turned to the remaining Riveras, finally finding her words. “We’ll all look for him,” she ordered. While Papá Franco wasn’t one to argue with his wife, the rest of them were a little less than enthusiastic, looking around at each other with apprehension, murmuring comments to each other. “Ay, Dios mio...” Mamá Elena said, shaking her head. She stepped up as Matriarch and rallied the troops. “I know we’re all shaken up over this...curse, or whatever it is we’re dealing with here, but our poor Miguelito must be more frightened than any of us. I’ve told him his family will be there for him, and I’ll be damned if I’m taking that back now.” “So, no more complaints, find him before dinner gets cold. He can’t have gotten far in just socks. VÁMANOS,” she yelled that last bit, reaching for her chancla. No one needed to be told twice. They decided they’d much rather deal with a cursed child than her wrath at that particular moment.

Alone in the room, Mamá Elena took a moment and glanced at the guitar in the corner, and then shook her head. “Ay, this was my fault,” she muttered to herself with a hand on the bridge of her nose, before she also joined in the search.

-----

Miguel sat with his Mamá Coco, his eyes now out of tears, just kneeling with his head in his arms on her lap. He wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do. He’d only come here out of a last-ditch effort to find someone not terrified of him now. He looked up at his Mamá Coco’s wrinkled face, and she returned the look with a gentle, one-toothed smile. He couldn’t help but give a small smile back. Everything he’d gone through, everything he was going through now, was a result of the events that eventually saved his great-great-grandfather Hector, her papá, from being forgotten and disappearing forever. Knowing Hector would one day get to see Coco’s smile again after almost one hundred years of waiting made it all worthwhile. His only regret was that his living family would now be terrified of him. Would that even matter though? What would happen to him after sunrise? Had the blessing he received been just a bit too late? Just enough to send him back for one more day before he was forced back to the Land of the Dead as a permanent resident? He tried to banish the thought from his mind. There was no telling what would happen, but there was no point in thinking of the worst-case scenario either. It wouldn’t do any good. His Mamá Coco looked down with gently questioning eyes. He was sure she’d been curious as to why he had suddenly come running into her room crying his eyes out, but she hadn’t spoken. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if she even realized who he was right then, but she also didn’t seem to be the type to turn away a child in need of comfort. Miguel’s thoughts were interrupted, and his head shot up as he heard footsteps coming his direction. Were they looking for him? What were they planning on doing with him now? He wasn’t ready for that just yet. “Mamá Coco, don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he whispered to her, before he scrambled under the ofrenda tablecloth, moving under the far left side where the vases of flowers blocked the underside from being easily accessible, clutching his blanket and trying his best to breath as quietly as possible. Just in time, because a moment later, his Tia Carmen came running into the room looking for him. “Miguel? Are you in here?” she called. He didn’t answer. Her footsteps paced the room, and Miguel’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of the middle tablecloth being pulled up. He held his breath. Then there was the sound of cloth being dropped, and footsteps rushing back out. “He’s not in the ofrenda room either!” he heard her call to what he could assume was the rest of the search party.

As the footsteps faded, he left out a sigh of relief. It’s a good thing he thought not to hide in the middle, but after using it to hide Dante and his makeshift guitar, he knew it’d be the first place he’d look, and figured the adults might too this time. Crawling back around, he peeked to make sure the coast was truly clear, before coming back out from under the table. “That was close...thanks for not telling them I was here Mamá Co-” he stopped. The blanket had gotten snagged on the way out, and had pulled away from him. He looked down at his now exposed arms, then back at his Mamá Coco. She merely stared at him a moment before giving a small smile. Did she not realize it was real? Maybe she thought it was a costume? She beckoned him over to her. He slowly, anxiously complied. “M-Mamá Coco?” he asked, unsure. She had held out her hand, wanting Miguel to take it. The calmness of the situation was almost eerie, and made him uneasy given what had just happened with the rest of the family. Still, he tentatively placed his hand in hers, and she drew him in closer to inspect it. As usual, her hands felt almost as boney as his now looked but, despite that, were still warm and soft. She rubbed the back of his transparent hand with her thumb. “Um...Mamá Coco?” No reply. She merely turned his hand over, and poked at his palm a bit. He couldn’t help but stifle a small smile at his Mamá Coco’s investigation. He found it amusing. His hands still had the feel of flesh, despite it being practically invisible. At least she seemed to be taking it well. “You met papá.” She finally spoke. It wasn’t a question. More like she was merely confirming it. He was surprised. It had been the last thing he’d expected to hear. Had she actually heard him when he told her earlier? Or had she managed to connect the dots on her own after? Either way, if you really thought about it, it would have been the only way Miguel would have known the things he did. “S-sí, you might not remember, but I told you this morning,” he answered. “It’s a long story but... I was cursed, and stuck in the Land of the Dead. I met your papá, learned who he was, how he died, and how much he loved you and wanted to come home. No one had put his picture up, so he wasn’t ever able to cross the bridge to see you, but he wanted to more than anything. He sang your song for me, that’s how I learned it. I heard your Mamá sing too, “La Llorona," while your Papá played the guitar. It was beautiful, like you said in your story.”” Mamá Coco was smiling, giving Miguel’s hand a light squeeze. She definitely believed him. It was obvious from her face that memories she could still recall from her childhood were once again coming to the forefront. Miguel smiled, and he continued.

“Your Mamá and Papá looked like they’ll make up. They’ll be happy again. They sent me back with a blessing too, and I’m even allowed to play music, but...” his smile was short-lived as he looked down at his hands. “It doesn’t look like it worked. I had to get my blessing by sunrise, and I thought I did, but now I think it was just a little late,” he said, with a look of sadness and worry. “You’ll be alright, mijo,” his Mamá Coco said as she cupped his hand in both of hers.

He knew she couldn’t be sure, but she was trying to comfort him, and that alone made him feel a bit better. At least she believed him, she wasn’t afraid of him, and he was more than grateful for that than anything. At that moment, he help but give his Mamá Coco a big hug, though he was careful not to hug too tightly. She was rather fragile after all. Plus, it was going to be Papá Hector’s job to give her the biggest hug. “Thanks Mamá Coco....and...you’re really not afraid of me? This is real, you know," he asked, holding up his free hand and wiggling his boney-looking fingers. She shook her head with an amused smile. “Thank you for Papá’s message," was her only reply. For the first time that night, his tear-stained face beamed. He gave his Mamá Coco one more hug. As he pulled away from her, he noticed she was pointing behind him.

He turned around, and his bones nearly jumped out of what was left of his skin. “M-mamá, papá!?" Miguel shouted, having been caught completely off-guard. He jumped behind his Mamá Coco’s wheelchair, peeking out from over the back of it.

His parents tried to give him an awkward smile. They were relieved to have finally found him, but now that they had, they weren’t really sure what to do either. They were worried for their son, but at the same time, seeing him like that filled them with dread. It wasn’t a sight any parent would want to see of their child, and something any normal parent never would, but by some twist of impossible fate, here they were. How were they even supposed to handle this kind of thing?

They looked at Miguel, then back to each other. Enrique tried to make the first move, but Luisa put her hand on his shoulder, and he relinquished his attempt to her. After all, while Miguel did adore his papá, he knew if anything could coax out his son, it would be his mamá’s patience and warmth. It’s one of the reasons he fell in love with her, after all. “Miguel?" Luisa spoke softly to her son, trying not to spook him after he’d already run off once before. He still had an open door he could attempt to escape from after all. “S-si…mamá?" there was no hiding the nervousness in his voice. “Can you...will you come out?” Miguel ducked down even lower, so all that could be seen was his hair shaking back and forth.

“I don’t want to scare you again…" was all he said, a tinge of guilt and sadness in his voice. “Mijo, está bien ..it’s okay. This is a rather...well, odd circumstance, and your papá and I, well we weren’t really prepared for anything like this, but… we’re sorry we reacted the way we did.” Miguel shook his head again, peeking back up. “No, it’s freaky. It scares me too. I can’t really blame you. I mean…” He grasped the back of Mamá Coco’s wheelchair enough for his stark white fingertips to curl over the top. He could see his parents flash uncomfortable looks, but they were quick to put the brave faces back on for his sake. “It’s not really a normal thing to be able to see someone’s bones when they’re still on the inside," he added, rather sheepishly. He hated freaking out his parents more than he had to, but he also needed to know if he could really, truly expect them to try and accept him the way he was now, like his Mamá Coco had. Maybe, he thought, he could get them used to seeing it, little by little. “It doesn’t hurt, does it, mijo?" Enrique finally asked, worried. “Oh, no! It doesn’t at all.” Miguel shook his head again, quick to assuage any fears his parents had. “I actually don’t really feel any different. Ummm...actually…" he said, and they could tell from his voice he seemed to have gotten an idea, granted still unsure about it. He crouched down out of sight for a moment, before they noticed the shifting blanket on the floor. He was pulling it towards him. A moment later, he was confident enough to slowly step out, once again wrapped in its obscuring safety. He looked over to his Mamá Coco, before looking over to his parents.

“This is going to sound weird, but could you close your eyes?” His parents looked at each other, not really sure where he was going to go with this, before they looked back at him with bemused looks. “I promise I’m not going to run off again, so just...please?” He gave them a look like he was desperate for them to go along with whatever it was he was trying to do. “Alright mijo," his father relented. “Do you want us to just...stay here?” Miguel nodded. His parents did as he asked and closed their eyes. “Don’t peek, okay?" Miguel instructed. He cautiously started walking towards them. They were looking in his direction, following the sound the blanket made dragging across the floor. He stopped in front of them. They had looks of both bemusement and apprehension, but he appreciated that they were willing to play along when he knew they had to be just as nervous as he was. Letting the blanket fall, he reached out with trembling hands towards his parents, taking one of each or theirs in his. They flinched ever so slightly, but more out of surprised of being touched unexpectedly than anything. He’d gotten the idea from Mamá Coco inspecting his hands. Maybe, just maybe, they’d feel less anxious once they actually got to touch him? “See? It doesn’t feel weird. I don’t know how , but everything’s still there.”

Indeed, it was. If they didn’t know any better, they’d say he wasn’t cursed at all. He was still there, just as alive and warm as he’d always been. His mother let out a relieved sob, while his father fought back tears. Eyes still closed, they both followed Miguel’s arms to the rest of him, and embraced him. He tightly hugged them back. They didn’t flinch at his touch, and his eyes nearly became teary-eyed again from the happiness swelling in his chest. He knew then that they weren’t going to reject him. They still loved him. Even if they had trouble with his appearance, he’d understand too, but that’s something they could work on. He really could count on his family now, both Dead and Living.

“I-if you want, you can open your eyes now, but you don’t have to if you don’t want…" Miguel told them, as they released from the group hug. His parents opened their eyes, and Miguel gave an awkward sideways glance. He was relieved, but was still self-conscious about his appearance. He realized his parents wouldn’t be the only ones that would have to work on that. “I guess...I’ll have to get used to this again too...heh," he admitted, giving a small sheepish smile, rubbing his forearm. “It wasn’t so bad when I was only around a bunch of skeletons. They’d freak out and stare cause I was alive instead. Kinda funny if you think about it, right?” Miguel attempted to try and keep the mood from getting heavy again, now that most of the tension of the situation had dissipated. To be safe, he picked up his guardian blanket once again to wear. He’d take things slow. On second thought, he realized casually talking about skeletons might not be the way to go, but his parents didn’t seem to mind. “But...are you sure you’re going to be alright?” “Is there going to be any way we can...fix this?” His father and mother both asked, concerned. Well, it was only natural they’d be worried too. Miguel didn’t have any easy answer for them. “I don’t know. This was all supposed to be fixed already," he said, sadly.

His parents were silent for a moment, also looking disappointed at the lack of answers, before Enrique put on a more cheery face. “Well, we won’t get anywhere just moping around here. Your abuelita has dinner ready for us. Why don’t we eat first, and we can try and figure out the rest after?” “You’re hungry too, right?” His mother asked. “Yeah, I’m-" then he paused. “Umm, but if it’s alright with you, could I maybe...umm...eat in my room? I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with, you know, everyone else yet.” “As long as we can manage to convince your abuelita, but I think she’ll understand," Enrique nodded.

“Go wash up, and wait in your room. We’ll go round everyone up and let them know you’re safe," his mother instructed, and patted his head before she gave him a small nudge to his back to send him on his way. “Ah, and pick up your blanket so you don’t trip! I’ll be in to wash it later," she called as he made his way out. Once Miguel was out of sight, his mother finally broke down. Enrique held Luisa as she finally let loose all the tears she’d been holding back, and even he was misty-eyed as he tried to stay strong for his wife. Mamá Elena finally made her presence known, walking into the room and hugging the both of them. She had actually been the one to spot Miguel as he’d snuck out from under the ofrenda, but was wise enough to know she wasn’t the right person for the job, and alerted Enrique and Luisa instead. After instructing her husband to round up the others in the dining room, she had listened in from outside the doorway. “Ay, I think we could all use some time to help us deal with this. I’ll take Miguel’s dinner to him. You go sit with the rest of the family," she said, as she started to gently herd them to the dining room as well.

-----

Miguel was in the bathroom, washing his hands, making a frown at his reflection in the mirror as he did so. He hadn’t really seen that much of himself either. It really was no wonder everyone reacted how they had. In the Land of the Dead, outside of his hands, he’d been hidden by his hoodie most of the night, only getting glimpses of other bones here or there. Now, he could see nearly his entire arm, as well as his sternum and collarbone, even some upper ribs, peeking up from his collar. In the bright light, one could even make out the vertebrae of his lower neck, through his translucent skin there started to become more opaque as it got further up. He pulled up his shirt, and sure enough, nothing but spine and ribs, with his pelvic bone just peeking out over his jeans. “Man, this really is the worst…” he sighed, pulling his shirt back down.

“Well, at least my face is normal, I guess?” he then added, looking back in the mirror, poking his cheek with his skeletal finger, trying to stay positive.

With that, he decided there’d be more time to debate over his current form later. For now, he made his way out and went back to his room. He set his faithful blanket next to the bed, it’s duty over for now as it awaited it’s wash, before he hopped onto the bed. He’d left his door open slightly, though he still heard a soft knock on it regardless. “Come in, it’s open," he answered.

His Mamá Elena pushed the door in, carrying a small tray with a plate and a cup on it. “Ay, I know. I was just being polite," she replied. “Abuelita?! I thought mamá and papá would-” “I had them go and eat with the rest of the family. They need some time to come to terms with all of this, and I thought being with the rest of the family would help. I brought you dinner, plenty of leftovers from last night! We didn’t quite get through as much as we thought we would.”

“Sorry…" Miguel winced. He had a feeling that was probably his fault, since his family had spent most of the last night looking for him. “Nothing to apologize over," she said as she sat the tray down on a small table, and her face became soft. “Mijo, I’m the one who should apologize. I wouldn’t listen to you, and thanks to that, you went and got yourself into this mess. If I hadn’t smashed your guitar-” “Then Papá Hector would have been forgotten, Mamá Coco would never be able to see him again, and De La Cruz would have gotten away with everything," Miguel cut her off. “I’m glad you’re sorry for breaking my guitar, but I would totally do everything last night over again. Plus, I got a new guitar anyways,” he motioned to his Papá Hector’s guitar in the corner, with a smile. “Ummm, I’m actually wondering more how you don’t seem all that, you know, more weirded out by all of this," he motioned to himself. Mamá Elena chuckled. “Sometimes being old and superstitious can work in your favor. If I can believe in spirits visiting and musical curses, this isn’t that much of a stretch. Though, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that it breaks my heart to see you like that, my poor mijo," she admitted, he face looking saddened. “It’s not as bad as it looks though, I mean, I’m otherwise pretty normal...I think. I mean, everything feels normal, and I still get hungry, and-” “Ay, and here I am yapping and keeping you from dinner!” she exclaimed. “I brought you plenty, so eat up. If you need anything, just holler.” With that, she gave Miguel a big kiss on his cheek, and left the room. Miguel just kind of stared after her for a second, slightly stunned. Everyone seemed to be taking this in so many different ways, it was hard to keep up. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and focused instead on the tray his abuela had left him. It was piled high with a variety of foods from the night before, way more than he could ever possibly hope to finish. “Abuelita ~" he whined to himself, rolling his eyes, before taking his tray and setting it on his bed.

He sat next to it, plate on his lap, drink still on the tray so it wouldn’t spill. At first he was a bit apprehensive about his dinner. Would he even be able to eat normal food like this? He experimented with a nibble, and after succeeding in swallowing it, decided that he was okay. A thought crossed his mind part-way through his meal, wondering if he’d be able to see the food in his stomach if he looked, but he didn’t dare. That was a mystery he was very happy not to answer that particular night (but maybe later, if he could work up the courage). For now, he just relished the peace and quiet, something he found he really did need after everything that had happened. He let his mind focus on his food. When he’d eaten what he could, he set the tray back down on his table, and laid back on his bed to relax.

What a crazy day it had been. He thought about everything he’d been through even within the last twenty-four hours. He’d still been running around the Land of the Dead by this point last night, then there were the crazy events from just that day, and his evening. This would definitely be the absolute craziest Día de Muertos holiday that would happen in his entire life, he was sure about that. He started wondering what his life might be like from here on out. He might be able to hide everything easily enough in these cooler winter months with long sleeves and gloves, but summer was going to be brutal. Would he even still be able to go to school? How long would he have to live like this? That’s assuming he was still there in the morning... “Uuurgh...I don’t want to think about it," he moaned to himself as he let his arm drop to his side and flop over the edge of the bed. He was mentally and physically drained, but at the same time, too anxious to want to sleep. He still had a lingering feeling of dread over what might await him come sunrise.

His thoughts were interrupted by another knock on his door. “Mijo, have you finished your dinner?" it was his Mamá Elena again. “Yeah, come in. Everything’s on the table.” Miguel didn’t bother getting up. As his abuela walked in, she saw him moping on the bed, put her hands on her hips, and gave a sympathetic sigh. She could understand he was feeling depressed. She looked over at his plate, noticing the uneaten portions. “Are you sure that’s all you’re eating? You poor thing, you should eat more. You’re nothing but skin and bones,” she said, a sly grin on her face. She’d seen her chance and took it. Miguel’s face shot up, giving her a mildly annoyed expression that just said ‘ Really?! ’, before he flopped his head back down and gave a chuckle. “That was a horrible joke, abuelita.” “Yes, but you laughed,” she smiled back. “Your mamá will be in soon to collect your laundry, so go ahead and get changed for bed before she gets here. We’ll wash your bedding too, while we at it, so we need you up. Come, up, up!” She nudged at him a little, coaxing him off the bed. “Alright, alright,” Miguel conceded, a playful tone in his voice. It was hard for him to believe he was having a normal interaction with anyone in his family that night. He seriously wondered how his abuela was taking everything so well, despite what she’d said earlier. In truth, she still felt partially responsible for Migue’s current condition, and if staying strong and handling a skeletal grandson was some way she could make up for it, then she’d be damned if she didn’t help him any way she could. Besides, it wasn’t just guilt that motivated her. She also loved her grandson dearly, and just wanted him to be as happy, even if she’d made missteps in that goal. She left the room with the tray, as Miguel set about rooting through his drawer, shutting the door behind her.

Miguel weighed his options before deciding on a pair of lightweight, but long-sleeved set of pajamas with a print of yellow crescent moons on a blue background. It was cool enough on the early November evenings that he wouldn’t overheat in it, but it would still do well to hide most of himself. He didn’t want to have to have his family deal with seeing more bones than they were ready for. He took his shirt off, doing his absolute best to not look at himself (still remembering what he was thinking about when he was eating dinner), and quickly slid into his pajama top.

As he slipped out of his jeans, he realized it was the first time he’d actually seen his leg bones. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with that right now, and quickly got his pajama pants on. It was then he realized he’d have to relinquish his socks as well. He sighed. Normally he’d be okay with running around the house barefoot, but tonight was not that night.

He went back to his drawers and rooted around again until he found what he’d been looking for, a pair of soft, fluffy slipper-socks. Normally he’d reserve these only for the chilliest of nights, but they were needed tonight. Much like his pants, he slipped off the old socks as quickly as he could, before doing his best to get into the others without focusing too much of the bones of his feet. Although, weirdly enough, they didn’t really seem to bug him as much. Maybe it was because they looked similar to the bones of his hands, which he was becoming quite used to seeing at this point. He realized he probably had some gloves somewhere, but thought that if his family, and himself, was going to get used to this, he may as well at least leave something exposed. At any rate, he’d successfully changed into his pajamas. He went over to open his door, so they wouldn’t have to knock for him later, and started gathering up the stray articles of clothing he had lying around, throwing them into the basket against the wall that they should have been in the first place. “Oh, look at you, cleaning your room!” His mother had finally arrived. “Hey, I do clean it! Kinda...” Miguel tried to defend himself. Outside of the scattered clothes, and a few toys, his room really wasn’t too terrible, but not exactly the vision of tidiness either. His mother just grinned and shook her head.

“Finish putting your dirty clothes in the basket, and I’ll get your bedding. If we’re washing the blanket, we may as well do all of it. It’ll be nice sleeping in a fresh bed.” She went over to start pulling the rest of Miguel’s sheets off his bed, and he did what he was told and put his clothes in the basket. Despite the seemingly normal interaction between mother and her 12-year-old, there was still a slight sense of tension in the air, as they both silently, awkwardly went about their chores. Miguel finished placing the clothes in the basket, and his mother placed the bedding on top before picking it up. She had turned around to leave the room when... “Mamá?” Miguel finally asked, not being able to stand the silence any longer. “Hmm?” Luisa turned around, looking unfazed, basket in arm. “Is everything...are you sure you’re...okay? I mean, I’m still kinda freaking you out a little, aren’t I?”, he said, a resigned tinge of sadness in his voice. Luisa set the basket down before walking back over to her son. She crouched down, and cupped his face in her hand. “Mijo, I’ll be alright. I’m more worried about you right now. Are you doing okay?” Miguel nodded.

“More or less. Everything’s still just really weird, and I’m a bit scared about what might happen later, but...for now, I’m alright.”

He wondered if he should voice his concerned about sunrise with his mother or not. He’d hate to worry her any more than he already had, but on the other hand, he’d hate it if he disappeared on them with no explanation and never came back. His mother straightened up and gave him a reassuring pat on his head. “We’ll work this out...somehow. Your father and I, and the rest of the family have been talking, trying to come up with something. Don’t worry about school in the meantime. We’ll just say you’re out sick.” She picked up the basket once again, and started to head back out before turning around once again. “The rest of the family has been calming down now too, so if you’re feeling up to it, you can join everyone in the family room for some television time. Once I finish your laundry, it’ll be getting close to your bedtime.” “Sí, mamá.” Miguel was fine with that, he was already rather tired. He watched his mother leave with the basket.

As he stepped out of his room, he realized he had one extra stop to make. One he hadn’t been sure if he was going to, but did nonetheless. He had to use the bathroom. Somehow he hadn’t the entire time in the Land of the Dead, but...he wasn’t there anymore. Now he got tired, he got hungry, and... He gave a resigned sigh before making his way there. It was the most awkward bathroom trip he had ever had in his entire life. At least now he had the assurance that everything was still there and working. He took a moment for his face to stop blushing before he made his way to the family room. He found everyone gathered around the TV. They were watching some movie, from the looks of it. As usual, the TV was muted, but the captions were on, since the family ban on music even extended to background music on TV shows. Miguel could only guess the transition for the rest of the family back into the world of music was going to be a bit slower. He found his father, along with Tío Berto, sitting on the couch, an empty space to his father’s right, on the end. Probably where his mother had been sitting with him earlier, he guessed. “Um...papá?” He spoke up quietly. “Ah, Migue?!” Enrique twisted around, as did the rest of the family when they’d heard Miguel’s voice. It made Miguel feel a tad nervous.

“We weren't expecting to see you out. Are you...feeling a bit better now?” Miguel nodded. “Yeah, sorry I worried you and mamá. She said I could come watch TV if I felt like. Can I, umm, sit with you?” he asked, nervously fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. “Of course, mijo.” Enrique said, and he patted on the cushion next to him.

Miguel made his way over, and got up onto the couch, curling up next to his father. He made a point to tuck his hands in as best he could to hide them from view. He noted his family was giving him a few curious glances here and there, but for the most part, they seemed to try and focus on the movie. It seemed like some period drama of some sort, nothing very interesting to him. Apparently Rosa thought so too, since she was actually reading a book. Either way, he only really wanted to be there for the company. Now that things had calmed down, it felt like just another normal evening in the Rivera household, despite the anything but normal day. Miguel’s father had wrapped his arm around him, and Miguel felt his eyelids get heavy. In the comfort of his father’s presence, he let the exhaustion of the day overtake him, and he drifted off to sleep.

He awoke slightly when he felt something on his forehead. His parents were taking turns giving him a goodnight kiss, as they tucked him in, his bedsheets now warm and clean. His father must have carried him to bed after he fell asleep on the couch with him. Groggy, he looked up to his parents. “Ah, sorry to wake you, mijo...you can go back to sleep,” his father smiled down to him. “We’ll see you in the morning,” his mother added. Oh, right. Morning. “Papá, mamá…” Miguel sleepily called. He knew that whatever happened come sunrise, there was at least one thing he wanted to make sure he told them. “Goodnight, I love you.”

“We love you too. Goodnight,” his parents both replied, and his father gave him a light ruffle of his hair before they gave him one last round of kisses, turned off his light, and let him drift back off to sleep. Miguel was satisfied with that. No matter what happened from here on out, he could be sure that in both worlds, Living and Dead, his family would be there for him.

Author’s Notes: If you made it this far, thanks for reading! This is my first fanfic, so I’m still getting my bearings, but I think I’m doing pretty well all things considered. I’ve managed three chapters so far on AO3 at least, with hopefully many more to come. I’ve always wanted to toy more with the whole “Miguel being a skeleton, but not really” curse thing, and adding the living Riveras into the mix was SO much fun. I don’t have the heart to kill him off to make him a skeleton proper, so this will have to do (but if you want a fic with dead, skeleton Miguel, look up “Ojos Que no Ven”, it is amazing. I’m reading it, and it’s stomping on my heart, but I love every second). Anyways, this concluded the first part of the storyline, “Sundown”, so the next chapter will be under a new title. Think of the chapters more like parts of “episodes”, as this will be a rather episodic fic. I’ll be slowly explaining the new rules his curse works under as we go (the readers will find out as Miguel does). Feel free to leave me any messages, questions, asks...whatever! I love hearing feedback, especially things you like, so I know what people might like to see more of. I’m also always up for constructive criticism (just don’t be mean).