#bc his eyes flashed red right. not black? i am recalling

[we-joyless-few]

Waking Up Again

[tagging @joyful-downer so u can see this!!]

summary:

Nick Lightbearer wakes up again, only instead of a pretty bird or his rat manager, it’s someone rather unexpected- someone… dangerous.

basically a Foggy Jack/Nick Lightbearer fic bc there r only TWO on AO3 and i am going insane

fic and warnings under readmore!

sorry it’s not longer ^^” i kinda ran out of steam for this one, but i have more Jack and Nick stuff in the works >:)

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things to expect:

-3rd POV

-dark content(WHF-typical)

-nsfw(mostly just suggestive stuff, questionably consensual though)

-alternative ending? i guess?

-hopefully not too OOC

-toxic relationship 🫣(>:3)

-more, probably

really hoping i dont let ppl down with this one [sweats nervously]

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Nick awoke with a start… again. His memories came in flashes that caused him to flinch slightly, mostly what happened to Virgil, but also other things done by Foggy Jack. God, why did he have to remember that?

Another thing he recalled was repeatedly waking up beside people who he didn’t remember being with. Honestly, it made him nervous to turn to his right, but his curiosity was eating away at him.

He peeked over to see a blonde-haired figure dressed in all black out of the corner of his eye, which seemed quite familiar… especially as the figure rolled over to face Nick. “Oh fuck,” Lightbearer whispered, scooting backwards until his back hit the juncture between his headboard and the wall.

“Good morning, dear friend,” Foggy Jack responded, his voice coming out soft. He sounded rather tired, but content. “Come back over here, Nick. I won’t bite.”

The musician shook his head fearfully, terrified of the man despite how little of a threat he posed at the moment. “You killed Virgil! Why would I even THINK to get all cozied up to you?!”

Jack chuckled and sat up with a yawn. “I’m not going to kill you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Nick scoffed. “I know I’ve been a selfish asshole, but I’m not worried about me.” His eyes darted around the room, trying to recall any other ways to abscond with himself besides his secret escape path. “Why do you like me so much anyway?”

“It’s… complicated.” Something in the killer’s tone was off; he sounded almost vulnerable. “I liked you long before I was- was this. Hell, I’d point out how your band was everyone’s favorite in my broadcasts!” He moved closer to Nick, making direct eye contact that left the rockstar feeling uncomfortable but unable to look away. “In reality, you were always my favorite. None of those idiotic, mindless, Joy-addled Wellies could EVER understand how I feel about you.”

The red-clad individual felt guilty for- well, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was similar to the guilt he felt when he let his fans down, and the discomfort that came with pleasing them. Anxiously, he fidgeted with the lacy cuffs on his sleeves and averted his gaze. “I… see.”

“You are my one true love, Nick Lightbearer, and I want you to be mine.” Foggy Jack was just inches away from the other man’s face as he reached up to stroke Nick’s cheek. “I’m your biggest fan- always have been, always will be… Will you please, please give me this chance?”

The guilt was making Nick feel sick to his stomach. “I-“ His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat to try again. “I… guess we can try.” He couldn’t bring himself to sound any cheerier, not even as the other man sounded enthralled.

“Oh, thank you, Nick, truly, thank you!” Jack cheered, immediately wrapping his arms around Nick as he settled himself on top of the other, his head resting on Nick’s torso under his cravat. Not only was he comfortable, but he felt secure in knowing that his object of his affection wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Nick awkwardly placed one of his hands on Jack’s head, running his fingers through his surprisingly-silky hair. The repeat motion of basically petting the other was surprisingly relaxing, and it didn’t take too long for Nick to become more comfortable. His other hand eventually moved to Jack’s back, curiously feeling the soft-yet-sturdy fabric of his well-crafted suit beneath his fingers.

“I think, if we weren’t so famous in our separate mediums, we would have been together sooner,” Jack mused, his eyes closed as he comfortably rested on his beloved.

“Maybe,” Nick quietly replied, nodding a little. “Healthier, too, probably.”

“Hmm, yes, I think so as well.” A soft sigh left Jack’s lips. “But we’re together now, and that is what I believe matters.”

“I- Yeah…” The musician faltered slightly, but Jack didn’t seem to care. “Why do you hurt people?”

“The same reason you did: to get what I want, and reduce my own discomfort.” Jack curled up slightly, as if trying to make himself be as close to Nick in his position as possible. “But you’re doing better now, and, well, I have exactly what I want, so there is no need for me to continue gutting people in the streets, I’d say.”

‘Christ, that’s dark…’ Nick thought, looking at his new partner anxiously. “Y-yep! No need for more killings, I’m right here.” He tried to speak confidently and triumphantly, but in reality he sounded like he was panicking- which he was, but Jack didn’t have to know that.

A smirk pulled at the corners of the killer’s mouth as he heard the fear in Nick’s voice. “What if I did kill again? What would you do then?” he purred, moving further up to rest his head against the left side of his obsession’s chest.

“I-I don’t bloody know!” Nick stammered, his anxiety rising. He felt his cheeks redden from the pleased sound Foggy Jack made at the fearful pounding of his heart. “J-just… don’t kill any more people, please… For me?”

The slightly-shorter man chuckled softly and moved up higher once again, this time being face-to-face with Nick. “I cannot make any promises, my beloved.” Right as Nick was about to protest, Jack took off his mask, leaned in and pressed their mouths together, kissing the rockstar until Nick nearly passed out. “You need to learn to breathe if we’re going to do this.”

Lightbearer coughed and gasped as he desperately tried to reintroduce air into his lungs. “Y-you’re fucking mental,” he wheezed, taking off his own mask to cool down his face. A little sound of surprise left his lips as Jack began kissing his jaw and neck, leaving him an anxious, trembling mess. “J-Jack, you- ghhh-!”

“Hush now, Nicky,” Foggy Jack whispered, pressing more kisses along Nick’s jaw. “Just let me take care of you.” His nimble, skilled fingers drew invisible patterns across Nick’s chest, even tracing his name over his heart a few times. “Don’t be scared… Or, maybe do be afraid. I like seeing you so helpless beneath me.”

Nick whimpered as he lay there. Jack was right: he was helpless, and honestly… it turned him on a little. “L-listen, Jack, I- I’m getting really, uh, tired! Tired, yeah! Um… Maybe we could just… sleep together?” At Jack’s raise of his eyebrow, Nick squeaked and stammered, “N-not in that way! I mean- I mean, uh… You’re the big spoon..?”

A raucous laugh erupted from the propagandist’s chest, making Nick flinch. “Oh, silly boy… I can tell you’re not being fully honest with me, but I cannot pass up on an opportunity to sleep so close to you~” He moved off the other, but kept a close eye on him in case he tried to run.

The rockstar blushed and scooted down on the bed until his head was on the pillows again, rolling onto his side. “Come on, then,” he softly said, inviting Jack to lie down by patting the bed behind him. “Let’s rest.”

And with that, Jack wasted no time in embracing Nick from behind, resting his forehead against Nick’s back. Their height difference would almost be funny to Nick if Jack were anyone else, so instead of a laugh, he let out a sigh and shut his eyes.

“Goodnight, beloved,” Jack whispered, nuzzling his partner gently.

“…Goodnight, Jack,” Nick mumbled in reply, relaxing as best as he could.

End (for now) !!

[nukenai]

embarrassing post sorry i’m really having a time i am a cringelord

sometimes i see a character like ultra magnus in tfp and i’m just publicly yelling AWOOGA AWOOGA SEXY into a bullhorn while my eyes pop out of my head and i’m shouting horrible innuendos at my television while i watch the show alone in my basement and my brain is full of impure thoughts

but then like, i get a new crush on a pokemon character, say, as an example that has no analogy to real life right now. and my stupid little heart just becomes, the softest fuzzy little pillow. and my head is full of butterflies and i’m just like. wow. man. holding his hand, huh? i’d die if he held my hand. i would just burn up in an instant like a piece of flash paper

and it’s extra embarrassing when i’ve played through most of the game and haven’t had much of an opinion of this character other than “there he is, he exists” and then like One thing happens and I sit there and feel my face heat up and i’m like. excuse me? what’s this about? and like. i know what it’s about.

so like that happened with Looker! lol. I played through a bunch of Platinum not caring about anything bc hey, I played Pearl. I bought this game because of the hot butler in the Battle Frontier! That’s what I’m here for.

But then he gave me the Black Flute in Mt. Coronet and I was like. Oh... the Black Flute.... that’s an item from Hoenn, those flutes that I made from ash running around Route 113, my second favorite place in all of Hoenn.... um.... okay..... that’s neat.... And then suddenly he was gone and I had to scramble to beat the game and get to Stark Mountain to see him again. And by then my brain was scrambled.................

So, it’s not like this happened again playing Violet, where I was pretty disinterested in everything happening. I didn’t care that much, sure sure I’ll go fight the gym leaders and do some team star stuff, and I guess I’ll find these titans. And I guess I... wound up beating the titan story first. I just picked that one. It was like 2am and I was like “sure I’ll finish this tonight”.

And then I beat the others and it was whatever, Elite Four was fun. I didn’t have much investment in Team Star but I like all the leaders, they’re fun. Lots of good music, Elite Four and ~Cassiopeia~ battle. Okay done now, let’s head to the crater.

And oh fun, a cutscene! Oh. Um. I don’t recall, giving you permission to grab my hand, and then-- excuse me sir -- put your hands on my waist

why is my face red? that’s fucking interesting.

I’M SO DONE!!!!! I WANT OUT!!!!! I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS THE LAST TIME I EVER TWEET THINGS LIKE “DOES THIS CHARACTER KNOW I HATE HIM AND IF HE DIED I WOULDN’T CARE” OR “I GUESS THIS IS THE FIRST POKEMON GAME TO NOT GIVE ME A NEW BOYFRIEND!!!!!!”

do you know the last 2 games i said that 2nd one about, very clearly????? ULTRA SUN and SHIELD. I think those were the last 2 games in general but. If you know me you know my FUCKING(TM) PROBLEMS(TM) THAT AROSE FROM THAT GAME

I’M HAVING A FUCKING FIT I CAN’T GET CONTROL OF MY FUCKING BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyways if you read this you have permission to run me over with a car please come do so immediately. i’m losing my mind. i’ve had a peaceful 2 years* without any new* boyfriends I guess.

*PLA Ingo doesn’t count as a new boyfriend obviously even though it was a derailment of a surprise for sure

[tragedynatural]

upset and angry that i did not get a crumb of how azazel taught jake his jedi mind tricks. was it blood? was there some sort of reverse baptism in hellfire ritual? could i please even get one scrap one snippet one teeny morsel of demon worldbuilding please please please

[ackerfics]

hi! i don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you are would you be interested in a soulmate au with mikasa. i adore soulmates au a lot! mikasa x fem!reader (aot cast reincarnated into the modern world and they get to have a happy and not stressful life)

she is half of my soul, as the poets say  — mikasa ackerman

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (soulmate au)

— warnings: none, just fluff

— summary: you finally found each other.

— word count: 3.2k

— author’s notes: thank you so much for the request !! i hope you enjoy reading this because i had a blast putting this all together. plus, i couldn't help but place a quote from 'the song of achilles' bc that was a masterpiece.

Underwater.

Your surroundings were submerged in the depths of the ocean to you.

The professor in front of the lecture hall continued his lesson in a cacophony of white noise. The occasional flipping of textbooks and the clacking of the keyboard droned, a majority of the students tried taking down what the middle-aged man was reciting. You should be doing those, too, but there was something about your day that made you want to skip class and bury yourself in a mound of blankets. The air-conditioning wasn’t helping at all, it just made you drift away, even more, images of flying people and humanoid giants flickering through your mind. Even your vision was becoming blurry as you stared at the seat in front of you, not noticing how your Ethics professor dismissed your class with a reminder of the paper that was due the following week. You were still seated as most of the students stood up, eager to spend the rest of their day inside their dormitories and apartments.

“[Name].” Somebody called out to you but the raw feeling of swinging in midair acted like a bubble, keeping you from going back to reality. The voice groaned in frustration at your lack of response. “Earth to [Name]! Hey, wake up!”

You shook out of your stupor with a blink, turning your head slowly at the person waiting for you. You took in her casual attire, so different from the daydream you were in. At first, you didn’t know about your whereabouts, making you look around the lecture hall — empty except for the two of you and the professor at front. The feeling of confusion once again dominated your sound mind as you breathed out, “Where am I? I thought I was just outside in this desert and I was surrounded by people who were crying like they were a hopeless case. Then there was someone screaming my name, saying they wouldn’t let me go.”

The person pursed their lips, concerned and slightly creeped out at the nonsense coming out of your mouth. There weren’t any deserts near you right now because you two were in the middle of the city, inside a university. The way you phrased those words sounded like a plot from an apocalyptic movie you were bound to binge during academic breaks. There were accounts scattered around the internet about reincarnation that the person drank in the early hours of dawn when they couldn’t go to sleep but witnessing it in front of them, was another whole level of conspiracy theories. A hand was planted on your shoulder, your friend smiling sympathetically at you, knowing that you sometimes have these episodes inside your shared apartment. The look you gave them was enough to erase the wariness bubbling in your friend’s stomach, which spurred them to gather your things and placing them inside your backpack. Your friend worked in silence, however, they were aware of the stare you never took off from the side of their head.

“In case you don’t remember me,” your friend looked up at you with a twinkle of mischief in their irises, “I’m Hitch and I’m your roommate.” She was speaking to you as if you were a toddler, something that made annoyance tickle your chest.

“Hitch?” You mumbled, looking down on your lap for a solid minute until you gasped out loud, the sound echoing inside the lecture hall without any warning. The professor looked up from his seat, glare already in place at the disruption you caused. You buried your face in your hands, face erupting in hues of red because of the embarrassment creeping in your throat. “Oh, my God, don’t tell me I did it again.”

Hitch nodded with a shrug. “I mean, I’m used to your episodes but it always amazed me how you wake up from them all disoriented.” Finishing with her task of tidying your bag, she pulled on your arm. “I think I should record whatever you say next time, this could be my viral moment.” When you gave her a dry glare, she laughed. “Oh, come on, think of the possibilities! But pushing that aside, let’s have dinner first.”

“Hitch, it’s only four in the afternoon.”

She scoffed lightheartedly. “We can always have a midnight snack later. Right now, I’m craving something savory.” The two of you went outside the lecture hall’s door, not missing the look of relief from your Ethics professor as you linked your arm with Hitch’s. She turned to you expectantly. “Any ideas for dinner, bub?”

There was a churning feeling inside your stomach, very much like those life-and-death situations during exams where you rely on your gut for the correct answer if the test includes multiple-choice questions. This time, instead of the nagging voice telling you to encircle the first choice, your gut was telling you to head to the café near your university. Aside from their famous coffee blends and teas (the latter being one of their specialties), the café houses a variety of dishes in its menu, which doesn’t make them a café anymore but the owner still insisted that they’ll be known as that establishment. It was more of a restaurant than your regular coffee shop, making it a hit among the students in the University of Eldia, where a majority of the student body was either caffeine-dependent or reliant on fast food take-outs. The quaint café owned by Levi Ackerman was the perfect solution to yours and Hitch’s grumbling stomachs. 

“How about the café just outside of uni?” You suggested, hoping that Hitch will consider the idea.

The said girl hummed, a finger placed on her chin. “The one owned by that grumpy short-stack?” 

“Hey, that’s rude.”

Hitch shrugged without care, hoisting her tote bag up to her shoulder. “Even his cousin calls him that, you know?” At your raised eyebrow, all Hitch could do was laugh at your adorable, clueless expression. Between the two of you, the light-haired girl was the social butterfly in your friendship and you wouldn’t be surprised if she even had an inkling of the gossips happening around your year level. 

“Relax, his cousin is a good person (that is if she doesn’t kill you with her blank stare), along with their little friendship circle. I must say, all of them look so adorable. You remember Annie, right?” She continued when she saw you nod, the mention of the blonde made you remember your time when the three of you shared your apartment. It was a good kind of chaotic, the three of you balancing out each other’s personalities. Annie was always the indifferent one, Hitch the most sociable, and you being the mediator of the two. “She’s dating one of Mikasa’s friends, Armin. Mikasa is the cousin, by the way, and I can clearly see the resemblance between her and the café’s owner. With the permanent scowl and all.”

“Uh-huh.”

You didn’t know what to do with the information so you only hummed and nodded your head every time Hitch spewed out a couple of trivia involving people you have heard down the hallways or being called during roll-calls. She even told you how one of Mikasa’s friends, Sasha Braus, was reprimanded for eating inside the class of an infamous terror teacher, which landed the girl on that professor’s blacklist. The girl, Sasha, was actually in one of your classes but you never really talked to her, all of your attention poured out into absorbing what the teacher relayed in the class. All of Hitch's ramblings spanned the entirety of your walk to the café — a talent your roommate has that amazed you every time it happened. 

The smell of cinnamon greeted you once you stepped inside the café, the homey decorations making your heart warm in an instant. There were a couple of college students in separate tables, all of them draping their textbooks and readings in front of them, headphones plugged in despite the soothing background music brought by the café’s speakers. Now that you mention it in your head, midterms were coming up in a month and you hadn’t started organizing your revisions. As your mind was filled with the scent of flowers and coffee, Hitch tugged on the sleeves of your blouse, your light-haired friend wordlessly gesturing her head towards one of the empty tables overlooking the window showing the small garden beside the café. You nodded and flashed a thumbs-up, already knowing what Hitch’s order is the number of times she went home with take-outs from this establishment.

Thinking that you should order something for a change, you looked up at the menu board above the counter. With your order listed in your mind, you faced the person manning the counter, ready to relay your order to her. What greeted you, though, wasn’t a smiling cashier, instead, wide gray eyes stared at you with a slacked jaw — irises flecked with an emotion that sent your heart lurching inside your chest. She was a tall girl with muscles in the right places, black hair styled in a pixie cut that made you appreciate her features more. You faintly recalled that she was in one of your majors, which should explain the air of familiarity surrounding her. Her hands on the small notepad hovered over the current lilac paper, her posture rod straight as her breath hitched while staring into you. You weren’t sure what made her react like that so you slightly tilted your head back to look at the booths behind you. Hitch caught your eyes, raising her eyebrow in a silent question. Facing the counter attendant again, you were shocked to see that star-like tears were decorating her eyelashes, chapped lips wobbly. 

It felt like you’ve seen that expression too many times but you were sure this was the first time you saw her face to face.

“Oi, Mikasa, why are you stalling?” A short black-haired man entered the space behind the counter, arms crossed and gaze questioning as he took in the breaking form of his employee. “It’s been a full minute and you still didn’t take the customer’s order.” 

“Can I stay in the breakroom for a while?”

Your breath was taken away at the sound of her voice. It sounded like all four seasons were present in the soft-spoken tone she carried, very different from her tough physical appearance. You were left staring at her back, chest nearly bursting open because of how fast your heart pounded just from that sentence. Images of late-night trysts played in your head; of secret kisses that created an ocean of emotions inside you; of eyes looking at each other with tendrils of hope before the gates open, death beckoning you in its arms; of desperate promises, neither person could ever keep. All of them were so familiar and nostalgic that a swarm of butterflies was starting to infest your ribs and chest, sprouting flowers that clogged your throat from speaking. 

Levi glanced at you, eyes analyzing your form with a hint of concern for his relative and wondering what made Mikasa act like that. “Sure, go ahead, brat, your friends are at the back. Hello, ma’am, I’ll be taking your order.”

“Oh, sure,” you murmured before beginning to list down the food you and Hitch will be indulging in, eyes curiously staring at the girl going inside the breakroom. “Uhm, is she going to be alright?” You tried asking Levi, who only looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “It looks like she had a fright here.”

“It’s the first time I saw her in that state, to be honest,” Levi simply answered, with no room for other discussions. “Your drinks will be served shortly.” He gave you a small gadget, his pointer finger pushing a button on the device, making it light up in a blinding red. “Once your drinks are ready, this will light up and you can get it here on the counter. Thank you for your patronage.”

“Thank you, too.”

It was only when you seated yourself in front of Hitch that you realized Mikasa’s voice sounded like the one always shouting your name in your daydreams, failing to keep the promise of never letting you go.

-

Mikasa was a mess.

First, before waking up for her 7 A.M. class one autumn day, she was haunted by the memories of her previous life (or this is what Armin told her, with him also remembering being born again from a different timeline, another universe altogether rather). In that more outdated version of this world, they were on the constant grapple with these beings called Titans. Her dreams became more complex the more time passed by as these Titans disappeared, replacing with it a looming war between two countries. Her daydreams always resulted in tear-stained cheeks, eyes then finding her best friend who started a mass genocide in their previous lives, Eren. When Mikasa remembered that part of her last life, she would often find herself staring deeply at the side of Eren’s head, resulting in the brown-haired man complaining about her soulless eyes. It looked like Eren didn’t remember it, which nearly drove Mikasa mad. 

Until that day Eren came up to her after a three-hour lecture, all haggard with his man-bun in disarray, and shouting, “I’m so sorry for laughing at you, Mikasa! I had a dream during a lecture of those titan things you and Armin are talking about. I believe you!”

Second, the warmth of somebody was a constant in balancing out the horrors of her daydreams. Among the carnage, a body fitting against hers with the morning rays passing through the slit of the windows was a sight she didn’t want to wake up from. Threads of soft hair tickled her cheek, making way for an unforgettable shade of irises that she compared to the crystals they found underneath the Reiss estate. A smile so vibrant that it paled in comparison to the blue expanse of unknown waters they saw after killing all the Titans in Paradis. The smell of freshly picked flowers lingered in the air, acting like the comforting blanket Mikasa had when she was young. At first, she couldn’t see the face of the person but as the episodes became more vivid, Mikasa finally saw the woman of her dreams. 

Pulchritudinous — that’s what you are.

After that encounter with you in the café, Mikasa immediately talked everything out with her two friends.

“So you’re saying that you kind of knew her but you don’t?” Eren pointed out after a spoonful of ice cream. “This is some conspiracy theory shit right here.”

“Eren,” Armin sighed. “This is not one of those videos you watch at 3 A.M., okay?” The blonde glanced at the last member of their little trio, who was pacing in front of them with a queasy expression on her face. “Mikasa, I know you feel like you’re in a pinch but please calm down.”

Eren leaned forward and took a spoonful of ice cream from the tub on the low table. “It’s no use, Armin. You know Mikasa.” He nodded his head towards the said girl. “Once she enters that state, we can’t do anything about it.”

“I know,” Armin trailed off, dejected.

Mikasa buried her hands through her hair. “This was so unexpected.”

“Clearly,” Eren dryly stated.

The blue-eyed boy beside him instantly hit the back of his head. “Eren!”

Mikasa stopped pacing, not hearing how Eren exclaimed ‘finally’, her face and neck erupting in a warm shade of red that made her two friends exchange a concerned glance. Placing a hand on her pounding chest, she murmured with half-lidded eyes, “She’s much more beautiful than my dreams depicted her to be.”

Armin breathed out a silent ‘oh’ while Eren snickered, “Great, she turned into a simp,” to which the former slapped another hand at the back of the green-eyed boy’s head.

“That explains it,” the black-haired girl exclaimed. “There were times where a voice inside my head tells me to be at this specific place at a specific time.” (“I’m concerned,” Eren stage-whispered to Armin.) “While applying for this university, I had a feeling that I should take up medical sciences. Every time I’m at the campus, I will always find myself in the library after five o’clock and there are instances that I would search the tables. And you guys know how I hate helping Levi in the café.” Eren and Armin nodded as if they were children. “I just realized that she was always there, I can see her now. Why did I miss her when all this time, I was meant to find her? And now that she’s finally in the café right when I told Levi that I felt like helping the shop, I ran away! I’m such an idiot!” Mikasa then sunk on one of the plush chairs, her groans mingling with the gloomy atmosphere she created.

“You’re not an idiot, Mikasa,” Armin told her, to which she replied with an aggravated groan.

“Yeah, you’re not an idiot, you’re just having a gay panic moment,” Eren casually announced. Both of his friends slowly turned their heads toward him. He stared right back, blinking as he shrugged. “You have to admit, I’m not wrong.”

“You’re not helping right now.”

“I’m just stating a fact, Armin!”

The blonde boy rolled his eyes. “So what are you going to do about this, Mikasa?”

“About Eren?”

“No,” Armin shook his head. “Eren will be fine with his two brain cells.”

“Hey, I’m right here.”

Armin rolled his eyes and fixed his gaze on his gray-eyed best friend. “So are you going to tell [Name] that you two are star-crossed lovers pre-destined since your previous lives?”

The confidence she gained the day before during that conversation with her childhood friends dissipated as Mikasa awkwardly stood in the middle of the university’s library, eyes widely staring at you, who was browsing the shelves for the reference material for your papers. She didn’t expect to meet you this suddenly. All she was supposed to do was borrow a reference material and there she realized that the two of you share the same major so most of your schedule line up with one another — the both of you share a free period. Almost as if you were surrounded by a magnetic field, Mikasa went in your direction, her heart matching her footsteps. Meters became feet as she looked at your captivating figure. Even with a shirt tucked inside a pair of jeans, you are still the most beautiful girl inside the library. 

And as you lifted your gaze, your glinting irises meeting her gray ones, Mikasa swore her orbit was waiting for this moment to be tilted to you.

Tears were immediately present in your eyes when she stood in front of you, it was as if you remembered her.

“Hey,” Mikasa breathed shakily, hands gripping the strap of her backpack.

“Hey, starlight.”

That nickname. The one you blurted out when Mikasa invited you stargazing in the meadow beside the Survey Corps Headquarters. You said it suited her because her eyes reminded you of the glow of the stars forming a canopy above you. But for her, you were brighter than any star in the sky, you were an entire cosmos altogether. “You became a part of me the moment I laid my eyes on you in our town. Right then and there — wherever you go, I’ll go. Because I know, I’m a part of you as well.”

“You finally found me.”

You are half of her soul, as the poets say, and the Fates will do everything in their power that it stays like that for eternity. 

[clnriswood]

DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER

Something Different | Part Four

a/n: so glad to be back! things start getting a bit more, uh, intense -- but stay tuned for p5 bc it’s about to get vv steamy hehe.

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X

If matters had been bad between Draco and the girl before, it was safe to say that the strength of their bond now was at an all time low, underground, even. On his end, she was a thieving traitor who was joined in Potter’s ranks against him, and in hers, he was a treacherous snake who was incapable of trust and had been solidified into his cruel habits. Their last encounter, at quidditch tryouts, had been the worst yet. It went something like this: Draco, as he left the field of Slytherin’s recently finished tryouts, jeered some nonsense about “any old fool who can swing a bat (Y/N played the role of beater) being allowed onto the team,” which was met by a swift reply from Y/N, who suggested cooly that Draco’s groin should be her bat's next target. This had led to quite the eruption of bickering between both of the teams, one which Madam Hooch, who was entirely fed up with both houses, abruptly put an end to. After that, the girl simply rode the wave of Draco Malfoy induced rage, and during the tryouts, envisioned the barrelling quaffles to be differing versions of his arrogant head. Shockingly, by an act of God, it had worked. Or, not really. Really it was months of training with Cedric over the summer that won her a place on the team, but, well, the rage certainly helped. And yet, despite it all, a nagging truth scratched relentlessly at the back of her brain. And this truth was that somehow, despite it all, Draco Malfoy was the thing of which she was apparently most attracted to.

“Whaddya reckon?” the voice of Ronald Weasley interrupted the girl’s drifting thoughts.

She and her three Gryffindor comrades had just escaped to the side of the Great Lake following the end of their first week of classes. Desperate to get the last of the sun before the soon to come autumn leaves and grey skies, the quartet had stripped free their thick robes and laid out a crimson picnic blanket upon which they sat surrounded by goods. Around them, other Hogwarts students of every year had done the same. With bellies now full, they’d thrown themselves happily back, their chins all turned towards the bright blue sky. As it was, Ron sat beside Hermione, who sat beside Harry, who sat beside Y/N. As they watched the ginger, he jovially made a stream of rainbow colored bubbles fly forth from the tip of his weathered wand.

“What’re you going to kill Voldemort with multi-colored bubbles?” Harry choked on the last pumpkin pastie with a snort.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, poorly attempting to conceal her own giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” Ron said, “some girl is going to fancy this, I’m telling you.”

Suddenly Hermione wasn’t laughing at all, and she’d gone quite pink, the girl noticed. Next to her, Harry turned into his elbow to cough, which was really just an attempt to cover the big stupid grin he was wearing. The girl chuckled and batted him away with the back of her hand. He winked in reply.

“I want to go for a stroll,” Harry beamed suddenly, sitting upright in a flash.

“Lovely, shall we come?” Hermione began to stand.

“No!” he protested quite loudly. Then, “sorry, just want a quick chat alone with Y/N, if you don’t mind.”

The girl arched a brow at the jet black haired boy beside her, reluctantly standing and throwing Hermione a confused stare as she padded slowly alongside Harry and away from her other friends. The boy drifted farther from the patch of red blanket and closer to the water’s edge, where the grass was long, green, and swampy around their shoes. For a moment, the girl caught sight of one of the Giant Squid’s long tentacles, and she watched as it went sweeping against the surface of the black water and sending ripples across its inky surface.

“What is it then?” she said when they had gotten far enough away.

“What is what?” Harry said stupidly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she replied gruffly.

“Ah,” Harry scoffed and shook his head, “just said that so we could give Ron n’ Hermione some time alone together.”

“Oh?” the girl answered quizzically.

“Totally fancies him,” he continued excitedly, “not that she’s ever going to admit it, mind you.”

The girl felt her lips split, “really?! I did always wonder… though I couldn’t be sure.”

“I’ve spent the last five years watching those two fight, believe me, I am,” he wrinkled his nose with a grin. “Duck,” he added.

Without hesitation, the two friends bent their knees, covering their heads as the Giant Squid sent a tentacle soaring into the air and slapping the water, making millions of airborne droplets come cascading over them. Knowing the system well by now, the girl snapped her wand up, creating a clear arc above herself and Harry. The dazzling white stream of magic sheltered them safely from the Squid’s tidal wave, repelling all liquid outwards from its top. From around the shore, the sound of unsuspecting student cries of surprise echoed loud in reply.

“Anyways,” the girl stood cooly, like nothing had happened, “I assume this means I shouldn’t be saying anything of it to Hermione?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, “she’d throw herself into the lake if she knew we knew.”

The girl laughed. He wasn’t wrong.

For a few minutes they walked, quiet as they enjoyed the hot sun on their skin. Behind them, though she only snuck a quick glance, Ron and Hermione were bickering; apparently Hermione had made bigger bubbles than Ron and he’d taken it as a personal attack. The girl shook her head, letting the moment pass her and the fresh air flow through her lungs before she spoke again.

“Harry,” she started nervously, “there er, is something I actually wanted to speak to you about.”

He stopped walking, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he sighed deeply with understanding, “you mean you causing a row with Malfoy?”

The girl froze in her tracks, “you knew about that?”

“Well apparently you weren’t too quiet about it,” he smiled half-heartedly. “I just… don’t understand what you were doing with him in the first place,” he admitted.

The girl felt her throat go hard, “dunno that myself, really.”

He blinked at her with his big green eyes, awaiting her explanation patiently.

“I- I just,” she started unconfidently, pausing to think. “I’d noticed there was something off about him. I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“And you think Malfoy’d tell you if there was?” Harry said, voice thick with doubt.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I know because he -- well, because he kind of told me so.”

Harry’s mouth dropped, “he did?”

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling her face prickle with warmth.

“So what does he,” Harry began, bewildered, “does he fancy you or something?”

“No!” the girl blurted, tucking her windswept hair behind her ears and finding her eyes suddenly glued to the muddy ground. “Of course not!”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry realized, ignoring her completely as he came quickly to an understanding of how this newfound information could play to his advantage, “and what did he tell you?!”

“Erm,” she gave a weak sigh, eyes back on him, “he said he knew I was working with you and told me to shove off, basically.”

Harry’s expectant smile faltered, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a reluctant glance.

“But you’re not,” he said confusedly.

“Yes I know that,” she echoed.

“Oh,” he said again.

Harry began walking once more, letting his thoughts brew a little before he continued. The sun’s rays were hitting his glasses hard, sending bright beams of light refracting off of them. The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and gave his head a scratch.

“So then, if that was all, what was it that you’d wanted to tell me?” he said at last.

“I wanted to ask you how I could help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes forward on the nearing edge of the lake.

“You want to help me?” he asked.

“Course,” she shrugged. “I still believe he’s off, or up to something at least. And you seem to be the only other one around here who's noticed it, I’ve heard.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed, “and given that Malfoy’s got some sort of soft spot for you or something, I bet you’d have more luck than me finding out what exactly that is.”

“Er, yes,” she voiced hesitantly. “Only, I think I stomped the soft spot out when I called him a fool,” she said. “And he seemed to have taken it a bit personally.”

“Has he?” Harry said with mock surprise.

“You know he spat on me in the hallway the other day?!” she recalled suddenly. “I mean, literally spat on me. Him and his goons were by the courtyard when it happened,” she recounted sourly.

“Ah, the Malfoy rain,” Harry grinned knowingly.

“The what?!” she gaped.

“Ron calls it that,” Harry continued without hesitation, “because it’s like rain… but from his mou-”

“Disgusting!” she gave her friend a shove, making him cackle.

“I’m surprised this is only your first time,” he chuckled, “I’ve been getting the treatment since my first year.”

“That’s foul,” the girl curled her lip.

“Yes, well,” Harry shrugged, unfazed.

The boy-who-lived adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his skinny nose before stopping at the water’s edge. The surface had gone completely still, making the water look like nothing more than a black sheet of paper. It was beautiful, she thought. Harry stared too, before turning back to her, his smile gone and his face hardened with seriousness.

“Y/N,” he started softly and gave a stiff sigh. “Whatever he says, or whatever he does, that soft spot is still there. Vulnerability like that doesn’t just go away, y’know?” he said. “If he had it before, he can get it again.”

The girl looked at him. There seemed to be some kind of knowing in his green eyes. It made her heart lurch nervously.

“And how might that happen?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, looking her dead on, “you’ll just have to make him get it back.”

. . .

“Well,” she tried, “how do I look?”

The girl stood before a large gold framed mirror in her room, her other self glaring steelily back at herself from within the reflective surface. It was late in the afternoon now. Yolky orange light rays seeped from the half-circle windows that encircled the girl’s bedroom and filled the space with a hot haze. One window, with its peeling paint flakes, had been forced open, providing a comforting breeze and the smell of fresh grass to the dormitory room. The circle shaped room, with its exposed brick walls, thick cream carpets, and vine stuffed walls, seemed like the nicest place for her to be at the moment. But, with Slughorn’s unfortunate dinner party approaching at an alarming rate now, the girl was soon to depart and had found her stomach turning faster and faster the closer her deadline approached. Truthfully, she’d take reading an old book whilst tucked sleepily away into her thick sheets over this charade any day of the week. And, judging by the look on her face, this feeling wasn’t one she was successfully concealing. The girl curled her fingers over her faded wooden dresser, sucking in a slow breath as she reluctantly brought her glittering eyes back up to the mirror before her.

She wore a flowing sheer cream dress, one with long sleeves and little patterns embroidered into its circumference. Wanting to stay casual, she’d thrown on her usual scuffed black boots, but swapped her school socks out for ruffle trimmed white ones that peeked over her shoe’s tops. Her hair was in its usual messy state atop her shoulders, too. Behind her, Hannah Abbott stood with her arms crossed, her head tilted as she looked her friend over.

“Erm-” Hannah started unsurely.

“Oh no,” she said, turning around with wide eyes, “is it that awful?”

“No!” the blonde assured her with a wave of her hand. “Just, well, come here.”

The girl stepped timidly closer, nervous as her friend procured her wand, looked her over, and then gave it a flourish. First, the girl’s hair started magically flattening, before finding itself lifting dreamily from her shoulder tops and into a thick bun, one with a huge loose french braid on its side, and with stray pieces dangling at the front to frame her face. Smiling with like, Hannah then stuck her tongue cheekily out and shortened her friend’s dress a noticeable chunk of inches, so that it stopped flirtatiously at the tops of her legs.

“Oi!” the girl laughed in embarrassment, throwing her hands nervously over her front.

“Oh loosen up,” the blonde giggled, looking pleased with her work.

“I’m rarely out of robes,” the girl huffed, turning back to the mirror.

“Exactly,” her friend said from over her shoulder. “You only get so many chances to show those legs off to Cedric Diggory.”

“WHA-” the girl clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, spinning around. “HANNAH!?”

“Oh please,” Hannah said, sinking down onto the plush yellow quilts that were draped over her bed. “Like I haven’t seen him trying to sneak a peak before.”

She felt her face go red quite suddenly, “excuse me?”

Hannah smirked, leaning against one of the four oak posters that closed in around her bed. She twirled her hair around a finger with glee as she blinked slyly at her friend. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and waved her friend off towards the Common Room.

“Well,” she shrugged, “go on then!”

The girl glared daggers at her unattentive friend as she cautiously approached their room’s door frame. She stuffed her hands in her dress pockets nervously, her feet feeling as if they were sinking through the now goo-like floor with every step. The green vines that trickled down the large woody door waved their tails in an encouraging goodbye.

“Well,” the girl decided with a smile, “I’m going to throw up.”

“At least wait til’ you’ve gotten out of our bedroom,” Hannah said, leaning back in bed with a sigh. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

She snorted, shaking her head as the door slammed tight behind her, and she went tapping quietly down the stone staircase and out into the Common Room. There weren’t many students around, as many of the non Slug Club members had the luck of eating their normal meals and going about their usual after-dinner-weekend plans, unlike her. Cedric was already awaiting her however, and he looked incredibly dashing in his white button up shirt. The shirt was peppered with little black dots, and had its first two buttons undone, so as to expose just a hint of the god-like collarbones Cedric was sporting. His gold streaked chestnut hair was stood just a little straighter than usual, like he’d attempted to neaten it before giving up shortly thereafter. Still, it was quite cute.

When he saw her, Cedric’s face became the sun, his lips splitting into that dazzling smile, and dimples coming to life across his lightly bronzed skin. From above her, one of the hanging plants whistled, not for the first time that year, she noted.

Cedric tilted his head towards the creature, “yeah, what it said.”

The girl chuckled, off put by the flattery and finding it hard to keep looking at the deathly attractive boy before her.

“Ced,” she protested bashfully, worming her fingers nervously around in her dress pockets.

He smiled wider, if possible, and put his own hands timidly into the pockets of his black pants.

“Sorry,” he chuckled warmly, letting her come to him. “You look lovely.”

They met in the centre of the Common Room. With the sun practically set now, the only light was from the flickering of the massive fireplace’s flames, which cast shadows over the hollows of her friend’s cheeks, jaw, and lips. For a moment, neither said anything. Instead, they just looked at each other. It was Cedric who cleared his throat first.

“Erm,” he said, “shall we?”

“O’course,” the girl responded awkwardly, trailing Cedric out of the Common Room and into the deserted halls.

The two were quiet as they made their way around corners and over moving staircases. Neither spoke, or looked at each other, really. Halfway up a moving staircase, Peeves had attempted to toss a water balloon onto the two, but Cedric stopped the thing midair and sent it flying back at the ghost, who cackled as it went through his stomach and splattering against a wall. The two friends couldn’t help but give a laugh there. One of the portrait’s, which was just nearly missed, screamed defiantly at the friends in protest. Then, about a minute later, Cedric and Y/N turned into the corridor outside Slughorn’s, where they ran into none other than Harry and Hermione.

“Hullo,” Harry grinned.

“Mate,” Cedric scrunched his nose with a smile, the two boys clapping a hand together in greeting.

“Y/N!” Hermione beamed, “you look lovely! You too, Cedric.”

Hermione was wearing a pale pink blouse, Harry a black button up. Both looked nice for the occasion. Also, both looked a little nervous.

“You as well,” Cedric and the girl replied in unison.

Hermione smiled, mumbling, “nothing really,” or something like that.

Harry, uninterested, had jerked his head towards the girl, “I take it you’re not interested in being here, either.”

“How’d you know?” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, me n’ you are only here because Slughorn fancies our dead parents-” he began.

“Harry!” Hermione gaped, slapping her friend upside the head so as to shut him up.

The girl let out an explosive cackle, going weak in the knees with laughter, “he’s not wrong you know.”

Harry rubbed his head as he flashed his teeth at her and raised a hand for her to slap hers against. She did, making the two only laugh harder.

“You two are awful,” Cedric said with alarm, gaining a supportive nod from Hermione.

It had seemed that the group’s commotion had drawn the attention of Professor Slughorn, who poked his head out from around the entrance of his room. He wore, on his body, a quite excessive frayed brown blazer with his black pants, and on his face, an almost terrifyingly supportive smile. When he smiled in such a way, his forehead creased with a set of expressive little lines, and he looked somewhat like a happy frog, she thought.

“Dear boys and girls, you’ve arrived!” he declared loudly.

“We have,” Harry echoed in an obvious reply.

“Come in! Do come in!” Slughorn chuckled joivally, ushering his students into the room he’d cleared for them.

It was an interesting sight to see. In the middle of the room, a huge polished oak table had been set up, around which just over a dozen large and eloquently carved wood chairs stood. Students of every house had gathered; notably, Blaise, one of Draco’s henchmen, and Neville, their friend. The table had been filled with large glass mugs, which were topped to their brims with seven massive scoops of decadent chocolate ice-cream each, atop which were further chocolate shavings. Neville, who looked just about ready to faint, sighed in heavy relief as his friends pulled aside chairs next to his own. Instantaneously, Slughorn began his unsurprising fire of questions. First he spoke to two dark haired Ravenclaws the girl was unfamiliar with, then the boisterous Marcus Belby, and finally he landed his beady little eyes on Hermione.

“My parents are dentists,” Hermione blurted nervously when Slughorn asked of her.

The girl slid her mug forward, dipping her silver spoon uninterestedly into the dessert and swirling it around dismissively. Beside her, Cedric was taking polite tastes of his desert, and, beside him, Harry was uncomfortably shoving spoonfuls worth of ice-cream down his throat. The girl snorted, elbowing her friend, who snapped his gorgeous hazel eyes to hers, his lips crinkling into a little smile as he shifted his attention over to Harry. Cedric nudged Harry, who lifted his chocolate covered face up slowly.

“What?” he said defensively, his voice low so as to be unheard as Hermione continued speaking.

“Is that a dangerous profession?” Slughorn asked the frizzy haired brunette.

“Erm… no,” Hermione said awkwardly.

Everyone, including Cedric, stared at her in awkward silence.

“What’s a dentist again?” Cedric said through the corner of his mouth.

On either side of him, Harry and Y/N tried miserably to stifle their giggles. Luckily for them, a perfectly timed interruption shifted the attention away from the two, and instead to Ginny Weasley, who had just entered the room sporting a cute black dress and some unfitting red eyes. Harry scooted loudly back in his chair, emitting a deathly screeching sound that matched perfectly with the absolute silence of the room. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, a smile spreading beneath her fingers.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Slughorn beamed, “come in!”

“Sorry,” she replied through a mumble, “not usually late.”

Harry let out a loud grunt and scooted back forward in his chair as if unaware he’d done anything odd. The girl looked first at the-boy-who-lived, then to Ginny, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes travelled. Next she looked to Cedric, who mirrored her expression, and finally to Hermione, who flickered her eyes indicatively at the two Gryffindor’s before turning her nose back to her food.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn said loudly, refocusing his attention once again to the girl.

Her eyes darted forwards to her professor, “yes, sir?”

“Your parents,” he said, “tell me a bit about them, will you?”

It had been expected, of course. But she’d dreaded it nonetheless.

“I’d rather not, sir,” she tried.

“Please,” the old man quite literally begged.

“Uh, well erm, she started awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. “They both died when I was quite young-”

“Yes, actually about that,” Slughorn fed in, “how was it your father passed? There was little heard of him after he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”

The girl was quite taken aback. How bold of him. Actually, how rude.

“Er,” she blinked frustratedly, “an explosion, I think.”

“Go on,” the professor encouraged.

Everyone, not just Y/N, it seemed, wasn’t comfortable with such a discussion. What was the point of asking such things? How did this add a shine to his little collection of trophy students? Mostly, though, how was it that the man was so oblivious to his indiscretion?

“The Ministry notified me about it when it happened. He took out a bunch of muggles with himself, they said. Only, they didn’t do much reporting on him because...”

“Because?” Slughorn persisted.

“Sir-” she tried again.

But the professor looked absolutely carefree as he took a large spoonful of ice cream in with a wave of his small chubby hands, “do tell us, Y/N, we all want to know.”

The eyes of every student in the room were glued eagerly to her, whether in mild interest, discomfort, or both.

The girl felt her whole body heat up. She’d never disclosed the second part of that story with anyone before, let alone a whole damned Slug Club. Flustered, she blinked rapidly, turning her head left, right, and back left again, as the left was where the door was. And by God, did the door look good at that moment. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her feet preparing to bring her to a sprint, a nervous glimmer soak her brow, and yet, just as she’d decided to stand and run, something stopped her.

Beside her, the girl felt one of Cedric’s large hands snake under the table and take a reassuring hold of her wrist. It caught her off guard, the way he’d so swiftly done it. The boy’s long fingers dipped straight into her own, first landing on her wrists for a soft little rub, then sliding right up into her palms, where he closed his fingers in on her own. His hands were wam. Warm and rough. This settled her hard beating heart, if only for a moment. And that was all she needed.

“Sorry professor,” she responded flatly, “but no.”

Her eyes scanned those of her classmates more confidently, and most all of them glittered back proudly in reply. Across from her, Slughorn released a disappointed sigh, before continuing on his little train of questions and peppering Cedric with his next rounds of interrogation. Of course, Cedric was as cool, calm, and collected as ever. The boy put on his most handsome and proud lopsided smile as he answered the professor’s questions of -- well, honestly she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. For while he spoke, Cedric had released her fingers and found himself absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his friend’s hand, not that anyone could have known. And she, incredibly flustered, but more comforted than anything, let him. Only when dinner ended did the boy retract his touch.

. . .

“Excellent,” Harry declared, the second they’d stepped foot outside of the dungeon. “You were excellent, Y/N.”

The jet black haired boy gave his friend a huge slam of appreciation to the back. He, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, and Y/N were making their tired escape from Slughorn’s party. Together, the group made their defeated and slumped ascent out of the dungeons.

“Thanks, Harry,” she half laughed and half grumbled. “I couldn't have done it on my own.”

Her large bright eyes flickered up to Cedric’s glowing ocean ones, and they twinkled adoringly at her in silent communication. Beside her, Hermione raised a quizzical brow, though, truth be told, Y/N wasn’t paying her much attention at that moment.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting an invite back, though…” she’d muttered dryly.

“It’d be his loss,” Cedric fired back confidently, earning a half smile from his favorite girl.

She’d gone to say something else, but her lips had hardly opened when she saw him.

Draco. Draco, with his snow white skin and blue-grey eyes, was heading their way. This was unsurprising, given that they were on Slytherin’s side of the castle. Honestly, he was the last thing she’d wanted to be confronted with at that moment, and judging by the look on his sallow face, it went both ways. As he drew nearer and nearer, his hands stuffed into the black folds of his robes, she waited for the blades of his sharp words to slice her, for him to mouth insults her way as he had so frequently loved to do. But, shockingly, the boy was quiet. In fact, it seemed he had no plan to say anything, but rather to snake right past them, silent and unheard, like a figment of their imagination. He’d almost done it, actually, but the girl had other plans.

“What?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Draco had just passed her, and gone deathly still.

She turned on her heel, asking again, “what? Not going to say anything?”

The boy turned slowly to face her, his icy eyes narrow with dislike, his teeth clenched so hard she could see the definite pulse of his hard jawline beneath his porcelain skin. Beside her, her friends all warily stopped walking, their faces clouding with concern. Apparently, they all thought it better to not acknowledge his existence. The snow white boy blinked silently, keeping his pale lips pressed harshly together.

“What? So now that you don’t have any goons around, you’re no longer interested in making a show out of us?” she asked with a bitter chuckle.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a hard grimace taking shape on the curvatures of his perfect mouth.

“You know what I think, Draco? I think you don’t actually care for it. I think you only do it for others to maintain some sort of facade. And I think, you’re too cowardly to face us alone.”

“Y/N,” Hermione tried, “don’t fire him up.”

Draco flickered his narrowed eyes to Hermione, then settled back on Y/N’s. Finally, he spoke.

“Much to Granger’s disappointment,” he started softly, “you don’t have the power to fire me up.”

Her lips split into a sour smile, “don’t I?”

“Y/N,” Cedric huffed with concern, “just drop it.”

Now Draco’s eyes were on Cedric.

“You, however,” he drawled, “are all very easy to fire up.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, but, as she should have expected, was beaten to it.

“Diggory,” he began, “congratulations on giving your little girlfriend an express pass onto the Hufflepuff quidditch team. I expect she returned the favor nicely with her mouth.”

Cedric flushed a bright red, his nostrils flaring, and eyes growing cold with distaste. This enraged Y/N, yes, but it enraged Cedric more. Before he had the chance to fight back, however, Draco was onto his next target.

“Mudblood,” he mouthed, addressing Hermione. “Did it hurt when Potter here beat your pompous, self righteous self to the Felix Felicis? Is that why you’ve told everyone that he cheated his way to it?”

“N-no,” Hermione replied unconvincingly.

“Shut up,” Neville added.

“You,” Draco chuckled, snapping his attention mechanically to Neville, his lashes fluttering to the beat of his laughter. “Longbottom, please. You’re so pathetic, I could almost find the sympathy to feel bad for you. Everyone can. But, I really needn’t say anything for you to know that, do I?”

Harry had a hand on his wand now.

“Go ahead,” Draco dared, focusing now on the boy-who-lived. “You’re awfully more of a milksop than one would expect of a Gryffindor,” he said, “so you won’t. Especially not on my side of the castle, where you’d be under professor Snape’s jurisdiction.”

He had a point. About that second part, of course. Slowly, Harry released the grip on his wand.

And then Draco’s eyes were back on the girl, and they were a cold stormy gray, touched lightly with a hint of mild intrigue. The girl felt her fingers shaking now, practically aching to take form into a fist. But she had to stand her ground. She had to prove his lack of power over her.

“And you,” he finished with a heavy sigh. He brought his eyes up to her friends before saying his next words. “As of late, this little thing has been of most interest to me.”

Everyone seemed to have frozen in place, including Y/N, who was capable only of blinking up angrily at him, her jaw tilted up so as to be able to reach his searing and curious gaze.

“And d’you know why?” he arched a silver-blond brow, stepping closer to her.

He looked like he wanted to touch her. Wanted to force her jaw up within the tight grasp of his hands. Wanted to step close enough that her heaving chest would bump against his own. But a flicker of his eyes to her friends stopped him, and instead he just stood there, about a foot apart from her, his hands still buried in his pockets.

“Because,” he continued bemusedly, “unlike everyone else here, you have a secret.”

“And what’s that?” she dared lowly.

Draco’s lips split into an awful, cruel, smile.

“You like having me put you in your place.”

There was silence.

The girl wanted to speak. She’d tried. But only a mute and incoherent stutter toppled forth from her agape lips.

“Fascinating,” his lips stretched wider yet, his voice dropping lower yet, “isn’t it?”

And then his hands withdrew from his pockets. Draco let his slender and silver ring clad fingers find themselves on the bend of his knee as he lowered his height so as to be level with the girl’s fiery stare. For a moment, he just let the blazing blue sear of his scrutiny make its way across her face. She could smell his cologne invading her lungs, the inexplicably alluring scent of Draco Malfoy growing vile to her. He lowered his voice, then, so that only she could hear his almost inaudible murmur.

“This little game of ours,” he whispered. “I quite enjoy it.”

Then he raised a finger, a long and slender index finger, and tapped the tip of her nose.

She just stared at him, and it was a long and wordless encounter. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her own and into the depths of her soul. He seemed eager to see her either crumble beneath him or expel with rage, but what he did not expect is what she said next.

“Incendio.”

Suddenly, her dress was on fire.

Draco leapt back in surprise, his brows knitting as the base of the girl’s cream colored clothing went up in flames. Around her, her friends all gawked and toppled back in shock. In her right hand was Draco’s wand, plucked straight from his pocket only a moment ago.

“Catch,” she grinned, throwing the boy his wand.

The blond chuckled in bitter surprise, “and what does that achieve?”

“A spell search will reveal that you just casted a fire charm on me,” she gaped in mock shock as she extinguished the flames on her dress with a newly learned Aguamenti charm.

Beside her, the faces of her friends told her they were utterly lost. But it was alright, they’d soon find out what had happened.

Draco let loose a chuckle, “and you think Snape is going to believe that, from you?”

“Sure I do,” she shrugged, “because I also did.”

“What-” he began.

“Incendio!”

Now it was Draco whose clothes erupted in flames. Quickly, he stifled the orange licks up his robes with his own water charm. Now it made sense. The boy’s pale face had gone flush with rage upon realizing what she’d done.

“Oh no,” she shrugged sarcastically.

And then they heard the footsteps. No doubtedly, Snape was on his way to see what the commotion was about. From behind her, her friends all gaped, impressed. Then, on her command, they took their cues and bolted, cackling as they disappeared down the hall and away from the scene of the crime. In front of her, Draco’s mouth trembled with a newfound sense of rage. His white and slender figure slumped slowly with defeat, knowing he’d been outsmarted.

“What?” she teased.

He practically snarled, his eyes alight with a blazing hatred.

“I thought I couldn’t fire you up, Draco?”

. . .

“Our detention will be next week!” the girl exclaimed.

Beside her, Julian, Hannah, and Ernie all roared with approval, the group meeting their large mugs of butterbeer together in celebration. After being issued a lovely disciplining from professor Snape, the girl had headed back to the Common Room in her tattered dress, only to enter a hero to her friends, who’d heard of the encounter from Cedric. Together, by the light of the dying fire, the group celebrated the girl’s triumph over Draco Malfoy. She could only assume that somewhere, on the other side of the castle, a set of Gryffindors were doing the same.

Now, by the dim light of the fire’s embers, the group had jovially devoured a set of gooey celebration biscuits and leaned back lazily in the overstuffed armchairs of the Hufflepuff Common Room. From above and around them, plants snored lazily as they embarked upon their nightly slumber. Slowly, one by one, her friends departed for their beds, until it was only Cedric and Y/N who remained in the Common Room. Cedric was unusually quiet as they left. In fact, he’d been unusually quiet the whole evening. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, but rather that she didn’t want to. And so, upon being left alone with him, she said nothing. Finally, after a minute of deathly awkward silence, he spoke.

“So. What was all of that about then?”

He’d said it softly. And not the way he usually did when he spoke softly to her. No, he sounded outright disappointed in her.

“What d’you mean?” she arched a brow at him.

Cedric sat stiffly upright on the squashy yellow couch, his ocean blue eyes set forward in thought. His previously neat goldish brown locks had found themselves resuming their usual messy state atop his head, with one little curl springing forth attractively upon his forehead. He still wore his button up, but his hands were folded gently upon his lap in an odd manner.

“I mean,” he continued softly, “why would you do what you did tonight?”

He turned now, his stare intense as it bore into her own. The girl found her throat closing up, and her chest tightened with uncomfortability.

“You went explicitly out of your way to rile Malfoy up. And then- and then you make some feat of landing yourself in detention with him.”

“It was about time someone stood up to him-” she began.

“No, but that’s not why you did it,” he interrupted, hurt.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, or to him, really. The boy looked weakened, his handsome figure bent over with a sort of sadness, casting a rather sad looking silhouette over the dark wooden floors of the Common Room. She’d opened her mouth, but upon meeting his eyes, stopped. They were strained. They were strained and ever so softly moistened with hurt.

“Is it?” he asked, more quietly this time, the look on his face desperate for her next word to be ‘yes.’

But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know,” she admitted begrudgingly, her shoulders falling. “Something about him just gets me going, Ced. Now more than ever. It’s- It’s because I know he’s capable of better.”

“Is he?” Cedric said with a raise of his brows.

Cedric, more than anyone, knew how to see the good in people. And Cedric, now, voiced doubt for the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

“There’s just something different,” she exhaled, feeling far too guilty to hold her friend’s gaze.

“I see that now,” Cedric agreed. “I do.”

She blinked up curiously at him.

There was an eerie silence. Aside from the faint chirping of crickets, the rustling of the flora and fauna upon the stone walls, and the gentle crackles of the dying fire, the only thing to be heard was her own faltering breath.

“But not about him,” he said. “About you.”

Her heart sank.

“I see it, you know?” he murmured lowly. “I see the way you look at him.”

“Ced-” she tried.

But he wasn’t having it.

“And I know in that… in that look, you know?” he continued. “There’s something different.”

Her heart was racing now. Cedric had never talked like this to her before, and the feeling was one she was unfamiliar with. And then there was the way he was looking at her, which hurt. It hurt because he was hurting. It hurt because she didn’t know why it hurt him. And then, this certainly wasn’t a revelation the girl had either expected or wanted to be confronted with, of course. But more to the point, to have it told to her like this, by the person she loved most in the world, was too much.

“How would you know that, Ced?” she murmured, the sound of hot blood in her ears making her dizzy.

“Because,” he started.

Then he stopped. His lips quivered and his lashes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that this next act was going to injure him further, that his next words weren’t ones he could take back.

“Because it’s how I look at you.”

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Socks with the Rainbow Guitars || Brian May x fem!Reader

summary || roger wants his damn socks, and he won’t take no for an answer. even if it means interrupting your ‘alone time’ with brian.

rating || explicit (18+ only). do not read if you are under eighteen. there is implied roger x reader, and reference to a previous roger x reader x brian threesome

word count || 2.1k

author’s notes || click here for the rest of the try series. despite what this may appear to be from the summary and rating, this isn’t some ‘spontaneous threesome’ fic. it’s just roger being a little shit, mostly. a filler chapter, sure, but i enjoyed writing it, so i hope you enjoy reading it! fun lil fact - the socks that roger describes are actually socks that i own and i 100% understand roger’s insistence that he wears those socks bc they’re great socks. (sidenote: for those of y’all who have recently sent in requests, i am getting to them eventually, but i’m taking a lil break from writing while my creative tank refills. the past few instalments in this series were actually written a few weeks/months ago; they’re not newly-written.)

masterlist

     “Christ, why don’t we do it this way more often,” Brian said as you wriggled your hips experimentally in his lap.

    You laughed, glancing over your shoulder to reply. “What, you don’t like to see my face when I’m riding you?”

    “Shut up,” Brian said. “You know that’s not it.”

    You leant forward, bracing yourself on his shins, and dragged yourself up and down his cock, and a moan ripped out of him.

    “Oh, my God.”

    You smiled to yourself. Sure, you knew Brian liked your face. But he also liked your ass. A lot. You didn’t do reverse cowgirl very often, but when you did, Brian always reacted like you’d showed him the secrets to the Universe.

    His hands smoothed over your hips and lower back as you took your time. His thumbs ventured over your ass, pressing into your flesh, and he hissed.

    “I know you don’t like being spanked,” he said, “but, Jesus, would your arse look so pretty all red and marked.”

    “Thanks,” you said mildly. Then you added, “Maybe you’ll just have to think of a different way to make it all pretty and red.” 

    “As if I haven’t thought of a hundred already,” Brian muttered.

    “Which are?”

    Brian’s hips bucked up against yours, and he hissed again, his thumbs digging into your skin even more. “Scratch it up,” he said. “You can ride me, and I’d just scratch it up so good, all the way up your back, too.”

    You hummed in thought – Brian loved it when you scratched him up, but it didn’t really do much for you – then gasped when Brian gripped your hips and pulled you sharply against him.

    “A whip,” Brian grunted, just about shoving you up his cock and slamming you down again. You got the message and went a bit faster, a bit messier.

    “Too similar to s–spanking,” you said.

    “I know,” Brian said.

    You let your head hang between your shoulders, your eyes closing. “Fuck, Bri, you feel so fucking good.”

    Brian’s hands slid to your waist, and you shivered.

    “My teeth,” he said. “I’d leave hickeys all over you, fuck.”

    You moaned. That you could get on board with. “Yeah?”

    “Yeah.” Brian’s thumbs dug into your ass again. “So pretty, all red and purple – shit.”

    You could picture it. It would look pretty. “Yes, Brian, fuck.”

    You sat back, and Brian’s hands went to your breasts, kneading them, pinching your nipples as you bounced in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned, one of his hands going down to your clit. You slowed down, circling your hips, enjoying his talented fingers. He bit into your shoulder, his breathing laboured.

    Then a knock on the door.

    Both of you froze, and, after the initial shock, you could feel the irritation radiating from Brian like he was radioactive. “What,” he demanded.

    “It’s me,” Roger said. He cracked the door open just a touch, just enough for his voice to carry more easily. “Bri, have you got my guitar socks? The black ones with the rainbow guitars? I wanna wear them tonight.”

    “For the love of God, Roger, can’t this wait?” Brian said.

    “Well, do you have them?”

    “I…” Brian sighed, and pressed his forehead against your shoulder in exasperation. “Yes, I think I do.”

    “Can I just grab them? I’ll be super quick.”

    “No!” you cried indignantly. “We’re a little busy at the moment!”

    “I know, I know,” Roger said. “But it’s fine, I don’t mind. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ll barely even look.”

    “I’ll give you your bloody socks when we’re done,” Brian growled.

    “I have to leave in two minutes.”

    “You couldn’t have thought to get them before?”

    “I forgot it was your guys’ night,” Roger protested. “You disappeared into Brian’s room before I could get them. And anyway, Brian, if you hadn’t taken my socks, then we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.”

    You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes. “Just let him in,” you whispered to Brian. “We’ll be here all night otherwise.”

    “I am literally inside you right now,” Brian hissed. “We are naked.”

    “I know, but he said he’ll barely even look. He’ll be quick.”

    “What’s his other option, hold a conversation? And he shouldn’t be looking at all. He can just wear other socks.”

    “My ride’s almost here,” Roger said impatiently. “C’mon, please?”

    Brian groaned, but it most definitely was not a sound of pleasure. “Ugh, fine. Fucking twat.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you close. You didn’t know whether you should cover yourself in any way – it felt strange to be completely exposed, but just as strange to cover yourself up too much – so you hesitantly crossed one of your arms over your chest, half-concealing your breasts, but not entirely.

    Roger exploded into the room, hurrying over to Brian’s wardrobe. Like he’d said, he barely even glanced your way. “In your undies drawer?”

    “Yes,” Brian said through gritted teeth.

    You curled in on yourself, unsure whether your body felt like it was burning from embarrassment or from the thrill of being caught in a more than compromising situation, and you covered your mouth, giggling into your palms.

    “I can’t find them,” Roger said.

    “Roger,” Brian snapped, “I swear to God–”

    “Oh, never mind! Found them.” Roger turned to the two of you to present the socks proudly.

    “Roger!” you cried in admonishment, shying away from him.

    “Sorry, sorry,” Roger said. He turned away, and started pulling on a sock, balancing on one foot.

    “What are you doing?” Brian cried. “Get the fuck out.”

    Roger teetered, struggling with the sock, and lost his balance, his head almost hitting the door of Brian’s closet. He gave up. “Fine, fine, all right,” he said huffily, holding his arms up in surrender. “I’m leaving.”

    He scurried out, and went to close the door behind him, but poked his head back in to say, “You guys are doing great! You look fantastic. And you sound–” He held up his free hand in a ‘nice’ gesture, clicking his tongue in approval, flashing you a wink.

    You laughed, and Brian yelled, “Roger!”

    Roger ducked out again, closing the door. “Enjoy your night!” he called cheerily.

    You listened to him head into the living room, then you dissolved into giggles, and Brian sighed, squeezing you closer to him.

    “I can’t believe that just happened!” you whisper-yelled, rubbing your hands up and down Brian’s forearms soothingly. Brian was still inside you, and it still felt good, but you didn’t know if you were in the mood so much after that wild turn of events.

    “Yeah, neither,” Brian grumbled. “What a complete and utter bitch. I bet he did it just to piss me off.”

    “Can we stop?” You leant back against Brian’s chest, reaching behind you to stroke the side of his face. “I don’t really feel like it anymore.”

    Brian sighed again. “Bet he did it on purpose,” he said again. “Yeah, course we can stop.”

    You climbed off him, and turned around to give him a soft kiss. He took off his condom, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed.

    “Here,” you said reassuringly, reaching down to wrap your hand around him, casually jerking him off.

    Brian made a sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t have to.”

    “Nah, I want to. Wanna take it slow, though.” You paused, getting comfortable, and then resumed. You’d done this so many times you barely had to look at what you were doing anymore, relying solely on feel and how Brian’s breathing changed.

    Brian reached over and ran his large hand over your thigh, and you gave him a smile. Your mind strayed to Roger’s bizarre entrance, and you let out another giggle. Brian rolled his eyes, but smiled as well, and then took your hand, tugging you towards him. He cupped your jaw in his hands and kissed you – gently, but with just enough bite to it that it was still unmistakably Brian – and you twisted your hand in just the right way, making him moan into your mouth.

    You smiled against his lips, and he smiled back, then kissed you once more. You heard the front door open, and slam shut a second later.

    “So,” you said as you pumped your hand, “did you like being watched?”

    Brian grunted, his hips bucking into your hand. “Wh– What?”

    “Being inside me when Roger was in the room?”

    Brian frowned slightly. “He wasn’t watching.”

    You shrugged a shoulder, and kept the steady pace. Not too slow that Brian would get impatient too quickly, but not too fast that he’d come earlier than you wanted him to. “I know,” you said. “But he was still here.”

    “He’s been in the room when we’ve fucked before. He’s been on the bed when we’ve fucked before. In fact, if I recall, he was once actually lying underneath you when I fucked you.” Brian let his head fall back against the headboard, eyes closed, mouth hanging open slightly. “Not that… Not that exciting.”

    There was a lot to unpack there, but you pushed it aside for now. “But he’s never walked in on us like that before.”

    “Why are you drilling me with questions while you’re wanking me off?”

    “Sorry.” You focused back on task, taking the time to drink in Brian’s flushed skin and his blissed-out expression.

    His hand twitched on your thigh, and you knew he was about to move it over yours to speed you up, so you did it without him having to ask.

    His breath caught, and he moaned softly, then said, “Did– did you like being watched?”

    “Maybe a little? I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “Not really. It was more funny than anything else.”

    Brian huffed a laugh. “I did like–” You sped up the tiniest bit more. His leg shifted on the bed, his back arching slightly. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

    “Just like this?”

    “Yeah, yeah.”

    You hesitated, chewing on your lip, then said, “What were you going to say? You did like what?”

    “Can you – ask me after I’ve… after I’ve come, please?” he gasped.

    You pouted a little, but sighed, and kept going.

    “Don’t sigh.”

    You chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

    Brian let out a strangled gasp, his core tensing, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Faster, please.”

    You complied, and his hand was squeezing your thigh. His breath raked in and out of him in short bursts.

    You sped up even more, and he panted out, “Ah, I’m coming, fuck.”

    You always liked watching Brian come, watching him twitch like he was only just stopping himself from completely writhing, watching his whole body tense and his cock pulse, watching how he went loose and relaxed afterwards, watching his chest heave as he tried to get his breath back, watching his eyes flutter open and search for you, land on you, slowly come back into focus. Watching a smile bloom on his face.

    You leant forward to kiss him, and he cupped the back of your head, his other thumb rubbing across your thigh. He hummed contentedly against your lips, and then you pulled back.

    “Thanks for that,” he said with a warm, lazy smile.

    You smiled back. “You’re welcome.” You ducked forward for a quick peck. “Pass me a tissue?”

    He reached over to the bedside table and passed you a handful of tissues – you wiped your hand, and he cleaned himself up.

    “I was going to say I liked telling him to get out,” Brian said. He held out his hand, and you scrunched up the tissues, handing them over. He threw them into the bin beside the bed.

    “Oh, you liked bossing him around?” you said flirtatiously, tracing a finger down the centre of his chest.

    Brian caught your hand, smiling, slightly exasperatedly. “No,” he said, his eyes soft on you. “I don’t mean it like that. I enjoyed telling him to piss off the same way I enjoy… getting a good mark on an exam. A sense of satisfaction. And I also liked that he wasn’t even allowed to look at you. I’m fine sharing when it’s a pre-arranged thing, but when it’s just you and me, you’re mine.” He paused, his gaze going to the ceiling as he considered his words. “That part was a little less a sense of satisfaction and a little more…”

    “Kinky,” you finished for him. “Possessive. Jealous.”

    “Maybe,” he said, grinning at you. His teeth caught your eye, and you pressed your fingertip to one of his pointy canines, then your thumb.

    His tongue darted out to lick your thumb, and you withdrew it with a squeak. He laughed, and pulled you in for another kiss. You happily obliged.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

49 ideally coming from Peter’s mouth bc I’m very much about dirty talking 🥵Spider-man

I’m roping these two anon requests in with yours, @redpepprflakes, because, to paraphrase Brian McKnight, it’s undeniable that they should be together. Hope you all enjoy one very dirty-talkin’ Peter Parker! (And I hope you enjoy the title, @seek-rest lol)

The Achilles Kneel

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFWWord count: 4427

2. “Can you help me with this zipper?

21. “Get on your knees.”

22. “This cock isn’t gonna suck itself.”

49. “I want to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my cock.

They got home from the restaurant, brushed the teriyaki sauce out of their teeth and off their tongues, put their pajamas on, and climbed under the sheet like two kids with a set bedtime. It’s tense though, so tense that MJ has to hold in hysterical laughter. They’re going to have sex―they are. Doesn’t matter that Peter’s on his back with his legs bent weird and she’s hugging the edge of the mattress, tipping her head over the side every so often to let the blood pool. She can sense the sex nights. Not to shit on the Peter-tingle, but…

(MJ’s sex sense is so much better.)

She’s lying there in a stretched-out, oversized Blackhearts t-shirt with armholes that twist funny when she suddenly flips over because there’s been the slightest dip on Peter’s side of the bed. On nights like these, his tiny movements are jangling bells calling for her attention.

“What if we…” he starts.

His arms are stretched up, ready to catch a falling star. Or, more likely, their collapsing ceiling because MJ’s pretty sure 8E above them recently augmented his home fitness regime with a mini trampoline.

“…tried something,” he finishes.

MJ rustles the sheets with her shoulders, settling onto her back.

“Like a different Japanese place? Because, yeah, they aren’t doing the sake chazuke as well as they used to.”

Peter sighs.

“M…”

She giggles.

“Sorry. I’m nervous. Not nervous,” she corrects herself quickly, “but I have that funny energy.”

“Can I…?”

“Oh, for sure. Continue.”

“I thought maybe you could… or maybe I… what if…?”

MJ reaches out to place her palm on his abdomen. Slowly, she slides it back and forth, dragging his t-shirt with it, then turns her head to peer at him in the dark.

“What d’you want?” she asks softly, aiming for seductive.

Her boyfriend laughs self-consciously and rubs a hand over his face.

“Oh man, that definitely helps.”

“What, this?” MJ inches up the hem of his t-shirt and lets her fingertips skim his bare skin. “A little of this?” She props herself up on an elbow and pulls at the neck of her shirt, flashing a hilariously modest bit of shoulder.

Peter laughs at her straight-faced antics like his regular self, then blurts, “I want to dominate you.”

For several seconds, she actually thinks he’s joking. She starts to snort and has to swallow the sound back down as a dry cough.

This is new for him. Their sex life isn’t scandalously colourful, but they’ve each got some moves. Usually, though, it’s sort of just the two of them making love in a balanced way. It can get intense, actually, the unity of them. She, at least, isn’t thinking about control on the nights when it really does feel like they might be one complete person. Other nights, she rides him rough and they knock assorted junk off the coffee table because Peter’s sprawled out on his back on the living room rug, shoving things aside to make room with MJ not helping at all because she’s already crawling on top of him.

But him being the boss? He’s never shown any hint, any inclination. Apparently, Peter’s better at keeping some secrets than others.

“Ok,” she says.

“I haven’t even explained―”

“I know what dominating is, Parker.”

“―and you’re saying ‘ok’?”

“I’m saying ok.” They look at each other and she smiles. Holding his eye, MJ mouths, “I love you.”

“Oh, right.” Peter smiles back.

“So there’s that,” she says aloud. “Talk to me about it,” she prompts when he seems to be floundering.

“Uhhh…”

“Come on, babe, take charge.”

For encouragement, she sneaks her fingers barely beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

“I want it to be like…” Peter glances at her and she nods, “…like I come home and you’re, you’re here in bed. And I… wake you up.”

“Right?”

He inhales deeply.

“And make you suck me off,” he says in a rush.

“So this is a whole…” She waves her hand in the air above them. “…scenario?”

“If it freaks you out…”

“I’m not freaked out,” MJ blurts. She thinks it’s hot as fuck and didn’t realize it was something she craved for them until Peter sprung it on her. In a blink of a fantasy, she imagines his insistent hand on the back of her head. There’s a greedy pulse between her thighs. “You wanna do this now? Tonight?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he whispers.

She extracts her hand from his pants to run it soothingly up his arm. Peter pulls her close for a minute, presses their cheeks together so she can feel the tip of his nose against her ear.

“I’m gonna get up and get dressed.”

MJ rubs his chest.

“Show me who’s boss, Tiger. You’ll be great.”

Her boyfriend slips out of the sheets and starts gathering the clothes he was wearing earlier. Figuring she won’t be needed for a couple of minutes, and that ignoring his presence will play into Peter’s fantasy, MJ curls towards the far side of the bed again and shuts her eyes.

When the lights flick on, she gives a genuine groan at the brightness.

“I was sleeping,” she complains, yanking the sheet over her head.

“I need you up.”

He grasps her covers from the foot of the bed where he now stands and snatches them off of her. All the way off. MJ tugs her t-shirt down over her hips.

“Am I being too reluctant?” she asks, breaking character. Peter looks relieved by the fact of her asking a question.

“No. Am I too domineering?”

MJ shakes her head and they get back into it. She sits up.

“Why do you need me up?” Exhales heavily and yawns for effect.

“Well…” And here’s Peter gathering his courage again. “This cock isn’t gonna suck itself.”

There isn’t enough ego in his voice to make it a demand, but this is her Peter, talking about his ‘cock.’ She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him say the word before, can’t recall a conversation where he ever referred to his penis so pointedly that a noun was required.

“Oh no,” he says abruptly, “and tell me to stop any time if you hate this and you’d rather we―”

MJ holds a finger to her lips and smiles behind it.

“And this is a pressing need?” she checks, voice teasingly sexy. “Couldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“See for yourself,” Peter offers, and then he―good god―he fucking crooks his finger to invite her closer.

She sighs like her boyfriend’s words aren’t getting her wet and are instead a major inconvenience to her sleep schedule, rising to her knees and crawling down the bed to him. MJ knows damn well that he can see down the front of her shirt. She sits on her feet, in a spread-kneed slouch. Now he’s getting a view of the rest of her, if he has the balls to openly look. Peter’s always been a little shy about staring.

He glances down and his face flushes―all of a sudden, MJ’s thankful for the overhead light. Recovering, he steps closer to the bed and nods in the direction of his crotch. Her eyes flick up and down. So Peter’s into this. The visible strain against the dark grey of his dress pants is proof enough for her, but she gets the feeling that isn’t how this game works. She’s going to make it good for him, embrace her boyfriend’s request.

MJ presses her palm to the front of his trousers, running her hand unhurriedly up and down before gripping to feel him hardening further.

“I guess it can’t wait.”

“Told you,” he says.

Her heart feels pounded by a mallet when Peter stares her down and unbuckles his belt. Surely MJ has watched him do this before, she just hasn’t specifically paid attention to it, nor seen it happen near eye level. The way his fingers move. The sound of leather hitting leather as he flips the short, pierced length back to get the buckle undone. He leaves the ends dangling to pop the button and MJ almost moans in second-hand relief at the thought of the extra room his erection will have to swell. She’s warm without the sheet now.

“Can you help me with this zipper?”

“A little sterner, I think,” she suggests, hand hesitating less than a foot from his groin.

“I told you it was a need, didn’t I?”

This isn’t Sweet Peter crosschecking their transcript, it’s sarcastic Dominant Peter, and, a fan of sarcasm herself, MJ approves. He grabs her wrist, light but swift, and brings her hand to his zipper himself.

“Pick up the pace, I can’t wait to feel your tongue on me.”

Unconsciously, MJ uses her other hand to gather her hair away from the back of her neck, letting some air hit her skin. She feels like a piece of bread that, every time Peter says something unexpectedly horny, gets slammed back down into the toaster, radiated by heat from those wiggly red wires.

“You want to hold my hair?” she asks when she catches her boyfriend watching her hungrily.

“Soon.”

MJ releases her hair just to give him something to look forward to and grasps the waist of his pants, edging the zipper down with the hand he placed there himself. She sighs longingly; she loves it when he wears the black boxer briefs. They’re a clothing item that really look their most flattering with his erection stretching the cotton. Very becoming. (She could ghostwrite for Austen.)

“You want it, don’t you?” There’s grit in Peter’s voice that shoots up her spine like reverse-lightning.

She cocks her head, narrows her eyes, and gives him a smirk.

“You know I do.”

But when MJ goes to free his dick, he grabs both her wrists in an unbreakable yet tender grip. Peter―seriously, fuck this guy, in every possible meaning of the word, what is he doing to her?―leers down at her, doing a second ogling of her body that’s half the speed of the first (good for him, she thinks).

“Not like this. Get off the bed.” He releases her wrists and his gaze doesn’t wander as she stands in front of him.

They assess each other for a minute. MJ gives the questioning look in his eyes a reassuring smile that makes it disappear. She exhales steadily through her nose, feeling their soft bedroom rug under her feet and thinking about the usual circumstances of her knees grazing it. When she has to look below their bed for her shoe because she has a bad habit of kicking them off her feet from a distance. When she loses the rock-paper-scissors match for who has to clear the buildup of spider webs from underneath their bedside tables. Boring, perfunctory reasons. Not giving her boyfriend a blowjob reasons.

“I’m assuming you’d like some help with these buttons.” MJ fingers the front of his navy button-down. “Can I do that for you, Sir?”

Peter’s eyes close in obvious pleasure and he breathes slowly.

“Take it easy with that one,” he requests, his everyday self again for a moment. “You have no idea how―well, I guess you probably know exactly how powerful that is coming out of your mouth.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She raises an eyebrow. “I know what comes with ‘great power.’”

“Hopefully me.”

Abruptly, Peter wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her against him. His erection feels like a flashlight denting into her stomach. MJ wonders, in his superhero capacity, if he’s ever considered a utility belt. She’ll ask another time.

“The buttons,” he reminds her, ducking his face to her throat. She doesn’t expect the first thing she feels to be his hot tongue tracing along her skin and she jumps. Peter holds her tighter.

Collecting herself enough for the moment, MJ works from top to bottom, undoing his shirt, then parting it to smooth her hands across his naked skin. She’s happy to find he didn’t put the undershirt he’d had beneath back on. She wants to say so, but Peter grabs her jaw and kisses her suddenly and insistently. Inhaling sharply through her nose makes her ephemerally dizzy and she’s more than content to be folded into his arms, pressed up against his waiting length.

When their mouths separate and her boyfriend gives her a little space to move (his eyes looking blissfully glassy), MJ holds his gaze and pushes the shirt off his shoulders, sliding it down so she can feel the firm arc of his muscles from shoulder to forearm. The indent of his defined triceps is deep enough to linger in for several additional caresses. Fuck, he is a sight to behold.

With the shirt on the ground behind him, MJ drops her gaze meaningful, then looks back into his eyes.

“May I?”

His jaw tenses with a strength that would likely crush an unenhanced person’s teeth into powder instantly. He’s probably holding in some curse words that she’s going to coax out of him during their future sessions. Which they will definitely be having because, ugh! He’s flushed, he’s flexing from the anticipation, his cock is straining so violently that it’s practically beckoning to her, he’s clutching her with a desperation that sets her pulse pounding everywhere (everywhere). MJ listens to her sudden urge to take her shirt off.

“Holy fuck,” he says to the reveal of her nude body. She sees him pant a breath and compose himself.  He shifts his bare feet. “Get on your knees.”

Now there’s the sternness he was afraid to employ earlier. Still, Peter says, “holy fuck,” again when she sinks down as ordered, trailing her hand down his chest as she goes. Or maybe his repetition was in response to the quiet, “yes, Sir,” she said under her breath, knowing he’d hear it.

(Mentally, she takes a second to appreciate the rug that’s allowing her to do this in comfort. May picked it, always looking out for them. MJ’s new favourite purpose for it is a secret that will never leave this room.)

She leans in and kisses along the waist of his undone trousers―along the top of his underwear where the pants hang open. Peter’s breathing loudly above her.

“This was hot, by the way,” she speaks into his skin, making his abs jump. She walks her fingers along his belt and glances up at him. Her brain flatlines for a second, viewing her boyfriend at this new angle. “Watching you unbuckle this.”

“Hey, if you have a buckle fixation, we could look into c-cuffs,” he chokes on the word and MJ watches his dick jerk, “for the bed.”

She actually hadn’t thought of that, considering her apparent thing for watching Peter’s hands work buckles is less than ten minutes old. Sidetracked, MJ imagines him securing her wrists and using his mouth on her body at his leisure. There’s a thick, wet squeeze of approval from between her legs. The concept has… potential.

Flustered, MJ goes back to kissing Peter’s stomach, sliding her hands around to brush over his ass before grabbing his pants and pulling them down. The slippery material of dress pants probably makes them drop to the floor easier for dudes with less beefy thighs. She doesn’t mind the extra effort.

“If you want the option, Sir.”

“Fuck,” Peter mutters. And just like that, his fingers are already in her hair as he steps out of his pants, lightly mapping the wave and twist of a strand. “So you’re not going to take it easy with the ‘sirs,’ then.”

An observation, not a question. The distinction in how he talks to her, how he deals with her assertions and opinions, is one of the reasons MJ loves him so much.

He removes one hand from her head to trace her face from cheek to chin, skirting her jaw, with a trembling finger.

“I know something else you could do with your mouth.”

“Do you?” It’s not playing innocent if she stares back at him with challenging eyes, right? His brown eyes say he’s ravenous.

“You wanna know the truth?”

Peter’s fingers―both hands now―dig deep into her hair, cupping beneath the curve where her neck meets her skull. It’s still careful, but it isn’t sweet.

“I want to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my cock.”

Her lips do part, but not immediately for the purpose he said. It’s the surprise. There’s Peter’s new favourite word again. God, how deep does this go? What other terms and phrases is he going to spring on her? Is tonight the gateway to her boyfriend’s kinky side? This is exciting, this is front-page news.

Lacking a witty retort, MJ plants a kiss on his hip, gliding her mouth lower to his thigh as she peels his underwear down. Bye-bye sexy boxer briefs. The way they strain going over his thighs has her whole chest quaking with heavy breathing.

“Ok?” he checks, rubbing softly with his thumbs behind her ears. “You look kind of… stunned.”

She nearly laughs at the idea of this being daunting or anything besides… magnificent? In the interest of minimizing miscommunications that could make Peter feel mocked or self-conscious, she shakes her head.

“Just taking in the sights,” MJ assures him, then quickly leans in to brush her lips along his shaft. “Don’t forget to breathe,” she says when Peter makes a strangled sound above her. “Sir.”

Tempted to see how long she can tease him before he remembers he’s supposed to be the one calling the shots, she runs her closed lips over him leisurely, keeping her hands lightly on his outer thighs. She avoids the head of his dick for the moment because nudging there without a grip on the rest of him has the potential to get his erection swaying like a pendulum (ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration)―she’d have to laugh and the whole thing would go to hell. Gradually, her tentative passes turn into distinct kisses and she licks her lips in between, wetting his cock one kiss at a time. MJ holds her mouth loose enough as she sweeps upward that her lower lip drags and gives him a preview of the inside of her mouth. He emits a suffering sigh and she grins, peeking her tongue out to lick the vein that pulses in response.  Peter makes the beginning of a grunt and, fuck, she feels that primally.

MJ kneads his thighs with both hands as she covers his cock with open-mouthed kisses now. At first, she doesn’t move her hands any higher, only inward, over the juicy curve of muscle at the front of his leg; visions of thigh-riding dance in her head. Peter’s fingers begin scratching gently at her scalp, sending tingles through her. (Is this the real Peter-tingle? Somebody needs to ask the tough questions.) Soon, his fingers are all scratching upward―he’s trying to shift her higher, onto the head of his erection, dribbling pre-cum for want of her tongue. It’s such a powerful position, controlling his pleasure like this, that it takes her a minute to remember that the point of this little exercise is her bending to his will, not the other way around.

Peter switches from gentle scrapes to tugging her hair and, a little wetter between the thighs, MJ obeys as her eyelids flutter briefly closed. She brings a hand to the base of his dick, encircles it with medium firmness, and strokes her closed lips over the head of his cock. He whines from his throat and she applies her tongue, trying to keep it in place as he jerks in her hand. Moving her head away, she ducks to lick straight from her grip to his head and over, blurring her saliva with his fluids like mixing colours on a palette. A full groan from above.

“Fuck, M, open your mouth. Let me in your fucking mouth,” he rushes out.

She breaks her grip and strokes a sweetly tormenting finger over his balls. As Peter’s abs seize in surprise―if she’s drooling at the view, that can really only help her―MJ takes the head of him into her mouth, cushioning him with her tongue in case he jolts in response. He does, so she closes her fist back around his length as well.

“That’s it,” her boyfriend sighs, voice arousingly deep with relief.

She smoothes her other hand up to his hip to get it closer to the action. It’s not that she thinks he’ll buck too deep into her throat on purpose, but the option of pulling him closer or holding him back sinks her further into the moment. Plus, the guy is Spider-Man, so animal instincts are not to be discounted. And few animal instincts come ahead of the drive to fuck.

For now, MJ works mostly with her mouth, giving her encircling hand the faintest twist while she rolls her tongue against him. Peter shifts on his feet and she takes the opportunity to shift on her knees. The fluffiness of the rug is not failing her yet though. She backs off of him and blows air across his slick head (he shudders wonderfully), then plunges down again. Her lips wrap around him lower, the whole head of him in her mouth, and she daydreams about wearing red lipstick. He’d probably go wild for a lipstick-marker souvenir, a line for visualizing how far inside her mouth he’d been. Hmm, another thought for next time.

Oops, she’s hummed aloud and Peter scrunches her hair in both hands, rolling his hips. Normally, she’s witness to the strain of him forcing himself to stay totally still as she gives him a blowjob. This is… this hint of him reacting solely for his pleasure… Well, she’s rolling her own hips over nothing and squeezing his hip with fingers she’d like to hook inside herself. He’ll be good to her after this though. It’s not even a question. MJ just needs a little discipline to prevent herself from rushing to get there.

Or discipline from Peter, ‘cause that’s an option too, with him mumbling, “Deeper,” then more clearly, “Deeper.”

About ready to start rubbing her clit against the rug in desperation, MJ slides her fist up and down his length, then dips to feel his head in the back of her mouth, pushing towards her throat. Before the choking sensation can take hold, she backs off, easing down again after a deep inhale through her nose. She turns her head, rotating to let her tongue glide along as much of his circumference as she can get at. Stretches down, sucks on the way up. A vein is twitching in Peter’s groin, one that climbs from her current eye level up towards his navel. His fingers flex in her hair.

“Just like that,” he mutters when she takes as much of his cock as she can and sucks hard on the upstroke.

Peter’s nervous to rock his hips now, which means he really wants to. MJ skates her hand around to his ass and he clutches insistently at the back of her head. It’s what she imagined, and better in reality. Sex with a superhero is just one of those things, she guesses, that supersede even the best presupposition.

From opposite sides, but with the same method, they push themselves together―her, inviting his cock, him, compelling the slackening of her jaw as so much of him disappears between her lips. He’s watching too; she looks up at him on a withdrawal and sees a version of her boyfriend who’s never been in their bedroom before: lost. Profoundly lost, like he never wants to be found. He has his eyes shut, lips parted. Flushed cheeks, nose, the tips of his ears.

She lets him thrust blissfully along her tongue and sneaks her hand from his shaft to his balls. He notices once she’s there, of course, cupping him in her palm.

“I’m so… close.” It takes a handful of seconds for his fuzzy brain to come up with the word.

MJ clenches between her thighs and takes a death grip of Peter’s marble sculpture of an ass, propelling him in and out of her mouth. Her boyfriend moans now, freely and endlessly. Rubbing her fingertips over his balls, she rapidly debates spitting or swallowing. Spitting. It’s what she usually does―no shame, it’s her damn choice―and a great use for the sink in the bathroom right off their bedroom.

Wait, the rug! If she pulls away at the wrong moment. No, no, no. Swallowing.

She says it aloud too, before diving back down on what becomes her final suck because Peter goes nuts at her announcement and loses it, releasing on her tongue and down her throat. His fingers are tangled determinedly in her hair, lifting it into a snarled updo, the yank making her swallow with a gulp, lost wherever he’s lost, even sans orgasm.

“MJ,” he pants, riding slower across her tongue as he comes back to himself. “Oh god, MJ.”

Once she’s swallowed everything he jetted out and felt around her mouth for drips, she pulls away and stretches her jaw. Her knees are feeling it now, even through the rug, and her legs are wobbling because of the sheer intensity of everything else, but she doesn’t ask Peter to help her up. He just knows.

MJ doesn’t get a second to stand on her own because her boyfriend folds her into a tight hug, heavy head on her shoulder. Truly wrung out. She feels pretty good about that as she tucks her arms under his to press her palms on his bare back.

“I’m tired,” he says eventually and she laughs hysterically, shaking in his arms, finally getting it out.

“That’s ok, you can lie on your back for the next part and I’ll do all the work.”

“Uh-uh,” Peter argues, shaking his head against her. “I’m gonna take care of you. Mmm.” He hums into her collarbone and MJ feels truly safe, loved. “I’m gonna take care of you,” her boyfriend repeats.

They begin kissing slowly, subtle shifts of their heads to reach temples and chins.

“That was incredible,” he whispers, and she doesn’t know if he speaks it against the skin of her throat for more reasons than one.

“Good,” she sighs, tipping her head back lazily as he kisses beneath her jaw.

“Gonna take care of you.”

“I know, I trust you.”

His body’s hot against hers, blood surging south. Entwined, they return to bed.

[cle1024]

i am who | bc

member: bang chan 

genre: fluff (but only the tiniest bit), angst 

summary: how can i know where to go? i lost my path to the answer. 

warnings: mentions of suicide—please do not read this if the topic will trigger or upset you. if you, or someone you know, are in need of help, please reach out to people. you are not alone. i sincerely apologise if this comes off as a glorification of suicide, that is not my intention.

a/n: this goes for all my writing, but the gifs i use are from we heart it. if i use your gif and don’t credit you, it’s because i found it on there and there was no credit given. i apologise in advance my dudes ♡ 

You fiddled with your thumbs as you anxiously glanced at the black screen of your mobile phone. The cafe bustled with noise, letters being tapped on keyboards under the sounds of hushed chatter and whirring coffee machines. In all honesty, you hadn’t a clue where you were. Whatever city or suburb a train drove to, whichever felt ‘right’ as you glanced out the window, was the one you’d end up in for a certain amount of time—depended on how unsatisfactory the area was. The scent of new coffee infested your senses, even more so than before if that was possible, as the server yelled out your name to alert you to the preparation of your order. You fumbled slightly prior to swiftly moving to the counter, picking up the caramel macchiato you’d wasted four dollars on. Caffeine was an adequate substitute for exhaustion you supposed, even if some of it was too hot, too bitter or too sweetened. You plopped down into your chair tiredly eyeing the drink with an unintentionally sombre expression, one you were peacefully oblivious to until a voice broke your stare off with the liquid, “hey, is everything alright?” You glanced upwards in curiosity to be met with brooding dark eyes and slightly lighter curly hair, still a dark shade of brown. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a gentle smile as you glanced back down at your order. The male hesitated slightly before sliding into the seat across from you, leading you to look up at him curiously. 

“I’m sorry to be bothersome. I swear I only came over to check if you were alright, but I just saw someone that I really don’t want to run into so can I please—” you chuckled lightly as his panicked rambling. 

“It’s alright, sit there as long as you like,” your reassuring smile faltered slightly as you paused to mumble faintly, “it’s not like anyone else was gonna sit there,” the male noticed your words but chose to ignore them, it wasn’t his business after all. Though there were still questions plaguing his mind about you. 

“Are you from around here? It’s a pretty small town, you know, ‘everyone knows everyone’ kind of crap.” 

You smiled softly with him, “no, I’m not from this area at all.” 

“What brought you here?” 

A soft hum passed your lips as you pondered the most vague yet satisfactory answer, “perhaps fate or wonderlust, a train,” he chuckled melodically while you shrugged, “guess I just needed a change of scenery.” 

His head moved in an understanding nod as he fiddled with the sleeve of his black sweater, “yeah, I get that,” there was a long pause in the conversation. You swirled the drink sat on the dark wood table while the boy across from you drummed a beat on the table lightly, watching pedestrians wander about on their daily lives. He sighed gently as he turned to face you once more, “do you think people are bored here?” 

You didn’t hesitate to respond, “everyone’s bored,” your fingers let go of the straw as you folded your arms over the table, looking past the boy’s shoulder, “people want to be remembered for something but they never actually do anything. Everyone just sticks to the same routine hoping something in their tiny bubble will change, as if one day they’ll wake up and get smiled at by every person on the street.” 

The curly haired boy analysed you momentarily, taking in the way you furrowed your eyebrows and focused on his shoulder rather than his face as you spoke. He let out a sharp breath through his nose as a smirk engraved in his lips, “everyone has their fantasy,” his eyes downcast to the time displayed on his phone, “what’s your name?” 

“Y/N.” 

He shoved his phone in his pocket as he slid from the chair across from you, “well, Y/N, you’re one interesting soul.” 

With that he smiled warmly, showing the deep indentations of his dimples, turning to walk through the glass door to the cafe. You hadn’t a name to recall him by, nor a way of contacting him in the future. Then again, why would you bother doing so? You wouldn’t stay in this place for long, you never stayed in one place for long, there was no point in getting attached to another person. He’ll just leave you like the rest of them. 

Although you supposed that searching ‘best rundown ramen restaurant near me’ wouldn’t provide you with the responses you were hoping for, that didn’t stop you from allowing your fingers to swiftly tap the letters to form the sentence—of course it showed up with nothing close to what you were looking for. Perhaps a poor review of a ramen restaurant would provide you with the answers you hoped for, the search of which landed you outside of the shitty motel waiting for your taxi to swing by and rid you of even more money, even if for a short journey. The car was sleek, well polished and clean on the inside, the driver of which seemed to be around your age with a nurturing smile and gentle voice. 

“Where to?” 

“Just to the Kalguksu and Mandu ramen place,” you responded curtly. Your head rested against the cool glass window of the car as the lights of the city flashed past in blurs of red, yellow, white and green. Every now and then the yell or obnoxious laughter of a pedestrian would force its way through the confines of the car, tickling your ears for less than a second before it faded out just as fast as it came. Time seemed to slip by you in the car, soon the ten minute journey had ended abruptly and you were now sitting in a stationary vehicle. You handed the money to the driver wordlessly before exiting the cab, watching as the black-haired driver began the drive to his next location. Now that you thought about it, he resembled a bear. Not that it mattered. 

The steam of the meal wafted abruptly in the air as you blew away the evidence of the scalding heat, your patience wearing thin as your stomach grumbled. The restaurant, store, whatever it was, was empty for the majority. Of the numerous tables, you occupied one while a male sat diagonal to you on the other side of the store. There were two ladies closer to you, young and pretty, chatting amongst themselves in what you identified as Japanese. The one facing you had a black hime haircut, the other with a sleek brown ponytail. You pondered over what they could be talking about—maybe friends, drama, how much they despised work. You hadn’t a clue, nor did you need to know. 

“Did fate and wanderlust bring you here too?” Your focus changed from the two women to the source of the voice in front of you, eyes met with the same boy from a matter of days ago—though his hair had dramatically shifted from a dark brown to a dirty blonde. His smile still remained as bright, charming dimples and all. You smiled in amusement as he sat across from you with his own food. | “No, just a taxi, lack of money and painful hunger.” 

He laughed at that, melodic and smooth was the best way to describe the sound, “figured just as much. I only think rich people get wanderlust and ogle over rundown places like this.” 

“Watch it, Christopher,” the voice of the young employee behind the counter rang through the air as he smiled smugly in the direction of your table. The coffee shop boy, Christopher you’d now learned, rolled his eyes with a warm smile directed at the other boy. 

“Christopher, huh?” 

“Eh, I prefer Chan. Minho only calls me that because it drives me up the wall, little prick,” he muttered the last part to himself, evidently trying to avoid the wrath of the sharp eyed employee. You pondered momentarily over how they knew each other, though the thoughts were gone once Chan began questioning you instead. 

“How long have you been here for?” 

Your hand picked up your mobile, previously resting on the table, to glance at the white numbers on your home screen, “six days, as of eleven minutes ago,” the blonde’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he chewed on his heated food. You tilted your head slightly at his expression, “what’s that look about?” 

Chan shook his head lightly, “just, most new people don’t last that long here.” 

You nodded as if you understood, yet there was an underlying confusion and ignorance. The gesture seemed to slip by Chan who happily slurped at the noodles in his bowl. You pondered over what his story could be—what the area meant to him, how he knew the employee at the restaurant, why he seemed so interested in your life. For some reason, you didn’t really care for personal information, didn’t care for his birthday or passion, you wanted to know the same things he knew about you. What brought him to this shit hole? Was it birth or a vehicle? Judging by his past comments it must’ve been birth. He seemed to make it clear that no one willingly stayed here—this was a place for desperate people, exactly what you were. 

It had been an aggregation of nine days since you ensured to mind the gap between the train and the platform of the station. You’d met Chan twice, unseen since you stared out the window of a rundown restaurant while you sat across from one another. Three days since Minho had teased him about his name being Christopher, three days since you’d been asked questions you couldn’t truly answer. You weren’t sure why the blonde was on your mind, eyebrow slit and dimples seemed to infest your mind like a mound of ants on a dead cockroach. A shiver ripped through your body as the frosty air nipped past your thin jacket, your legs straining as they carried you around the area. Your phone had been shoved in the pocket of your jeans minutes ago after deciding you could find the rest of your way to the secluded area—some hill that allegedly had a brilliant overview of the city. At least, that’s what Chan told you three nights ago. As your ninth day transitioned to your tenth, you found yourself stood at the bottom of the greenery. There were no plans at the top, not that you could tell at least. It was steep and stretched out quite far, making it near difficult to see the top or what it hid over the other side. Your calves burned slightly as you hiked upwards, fists clenched in the pockets of your jacket. As you heaved gently at the hilltop, you identified a dark figure already sat in the middle of the hill, very top. Just past them you could make out the cement barricade that surrounded the bottom of the hill, likely to stop people from flying off the edge of the cliff if they went running too fast. A bitter sigh passed your lips as you questioned how many deaths it took to erect the infrastructure. The figure turned towards you at the sound of your escaped breath. Their eyes must’ve already been adjusted to the dark, allowing a sound of remembrance to pass their lips before they spoke in full words, “the tables have turned, I see.” 

A smile stretched across your lips at the familiar velvety tone of Chan’s voice, bringing yourself enough steps forward to stand in the vacant spot on the right of him. Your knees bent as you lowered yourself to a seated position, crossing your legs as you placed your hands in your lap. Chan watched you, all the while, his hands resting on the slightly dewy grass behind him as his legs remained outstretched in front of him. He looked at peace in this place, you understood why. From this view, the city seemed so insignificant, like there weren’t people pushing and shoving on the sidewalk or calling out for people to enter their stores. Nothing changed for them, though, nothing would ever change. 

“Nice, huh?” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

Chan moved his eyes sideways, glancing at you momentarily before flicking his eyes back to the scenery. He never took notice in the ‘vibes’ people gave off, thought the whole idea was pretty fucking stupid—he met Minho and thought he was a kind employee at a restaurant, yet a month passed and Chan had learned that he more commonly wore a satisfactory smirk while standing over an unconscious opponents body in a boxing ring. In short, he didn’t judge people by the exterior. 

Silence had riddled the air for a decent ten minutes at this point, excluding the noises the midnight city permitted from below. Your eyes darted around smoothly, to the grass, the sky, the stars, to the body next to you. Chan stared absently from the hill, eyes glazing over at the neon signs of cheap stores and the locked doors of others. He took in every sharp edge of every office building, every curved bumper of the cars, he lost himself in the sight. All those tiny people, unrecognisable and insignificant from such a great distance, “do you think anyone will remember you?” His voice sounded lost, as if it came out without acknowledgement from his brain. 

“No,” your head lowered slightly as you shook it in disapproval, “I have no one left to remember me,” Chan eyed you curiously, you could feel it. The sensation burned into the side of your face even as you avoided staring back at him. A pitiful laugh passed by your lips, “I have nothing—I don’t have friends, I don’t have a family. I don’t even know who I am,” you knew you were oversharing, but it wasn’t like you knew Chan. It wasn’t like you’d see him again—but that was what you told yourself in the cafe, yet here you were. Fucking hell. 

Chan cleared his throat uncertainly, “you—you have me.” 

Your stare remained on your lap whilst your vision began to blur from the water pooling in your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you rid the evidence of your feelings, your vulnerability. A forced smile was mustered up on your face as you looked at Chan, “I guess I do.” 

It didn’t feel that way. 

Your hands shook timidly as they outstretched towards the metal railing in front of you. The noise was distinct and heavy, ocean waves crashing against jagged rocks that covered the shore. It drove anxiousness through you like a slick knife, you hadn’t a clue why. You weren’t facing the possibility  of drowning, nor could a gust of wind somehow pick up your body up high enough to throw you over the top of the railing so you could plummet to your death. The thought obviously lingered in your mind, though. If you wanted to, you could do it by yourself. Not rely on wind or water, just use your two legs to climb up and over. A mild sigh tainted the air as you looked away from the water below. It was stupid, really, how a walk near a beach turned into pondering the numerous ways you could end your life—if you wanted to. You didn’t know if you wanted to yet, hadn’t thought long enough. 

“I don’t have to test my reaction time and run to save you if you fall, do I?” 

You jumped in shock before turning to face the owner of the voice. Chan smiled widely at you, a mix of cheekiness and apology—you forgot you were meeting him here, “Jesus, Chan. I wasn’t planning on it but that scared me enough to fall.” 

He chuckled at your hyperbole, taking gentle strides towards you until he was close enough to rest his arms on the railing beside you, “beautiful, isn’t it?” 

You smiled at the contradiction of some of his past phrases, “yeah, just like everything else in this town. Don’t know why people ‘don’t last that long’,” you mocked towards the end. Chan shifted slightly in his position, “what did you mean by that anyway?” He sighed, scratching his neck. 

“Just… no one sticks around here. Nothing ever happens, nothing ever changes.” 

“Change only happens when you make it happen,” you swiftly rebutted before rolling your eyes softly, “people can’t expect things to be different overnight.” 

The blonde let out an unamused laugh, “tell me about it.” 

You allowed your eyes to wash over the blue that engulfed the landscape. Seafoam and waves, snapped against rocks as the ripples flew in and out. The evening sky was a splatter of dark blues and orange as the sun lowered beyond the horizon, resting for the night until it had to rise. The sun would rise, and you would try again—try the best you could, at least. Time was shifting at a faster pace in your mind. Nine days have passed in this town, soon to be ten in a matter of hours, and you hadn’t a clue how much longer you had. Money was shortening, the motel you were staying in seemed to be draining your wallet much faster than you hoped even though they charged a low price for low quality. 

There was a guilty feeling sinking in your stomach, it was weighing heavier and heavier, to the point where it felt like you were being forced against the metal railing. You knew you’d have to leave town, this was always how it went. Though, this time it would be much more difficult. You’d known Chan for a grand total of… seven days? Six days? You hadn’t a clue, but why did it matter? It didn’t stop the guilty feeling of leaving him without an explanation, without future contact, without a goodbye. Maybe you felt that way because there was a hint of understanding in his eyes when you talked, a genuine curiosity about how you were doing and why you weren’t at home. Home—you hadn’t thought of such a thing in a long time. There wasn’t really a point, in your eyes, home wasn’t somewhere you’d been in a long time. Wasn’t even something you’d had in a long time.  

Under the shadow of midnight you would carry out your plot to leave. Ticket to a train, minding the gap between the train and the platform anywhere far from here, anywhere you haven’t been. Your ears grew desensitised to the sound of moving traffic below the cliff, eyes focused on the stars above you. Each time a new one appeared, you’d dart your attention to that spot. Chan did the same—it would unknowingly be his last night with you, a goodbye in which only you knew the sense of finality it held. You felt bad to leave a promise unfulfilled; this way it would be partially fulfilled. You almost scoffed at your own mindset. All your life you’d detested everyone for leaving you behind, and yet you were about to leave someone behind. Chan was a good person—you hoped he didn’t feel the same way about you. Chan wasn’t someone who deserved to be let down, yet here you were. 

“I still have no fucking clue what I’m doing. There’s nothing here for me.” 

“You have me!” The exclamation settled in the night air before his voice piped up again, meeker and crumbled, “you’ll always have me.” 

You wished it didn’t feel that way.  

“What’s got you down in the dumps?” 

“They left.” 

The younger male scoffed as he scrubbed at porcelain dishes, “don’t they always,” it was intended to lighten the mood but nothing shifted in the atmosphere. He softened slightly and sighed, “their actions say a lot more about them than they say about you, man. Remember that.”  

Chan had never known Minho to be wrong. He was wise, intelligent, albeit a little odd, but there was a fond uniqueness in such oddities. Yet the male couldn’t have been more wrong about you. Your actions did say a lot about you, but not in the way Minho had implied and Chan had believed. There was no maliciousness or gain from your actions, you were just lost. Out of your depth, some place foreign on the outskirts of a city. There were always hints of it but none that Chan ever considered deeply. To him, it was a point of questioning who you were, not how you were. He realised now that he should’ve done the latter. 

He realised that when you were found floating dead in the salty ocean. That was the way Chan found out you were back in town. 

They hadn’t a clue how you died—suicide, murder, accident, anything was possible in this world and yet most people remained mind-numbingly ignorant. Chan didn’t want to be like one of those people, but there was nothing more he could do. He knew you wouldn’t have left a note behind if it was all intentional, you had no one to write to—other than Chan, but he wasn’t sure if you saw it that way. 

That night, eight o’clock and four hours after they found you, Chan had trudged up that godforsaken hill towering over that oblivious city. Every single one of them carried on as if nothing ever happened—you were no one to them, nothing. His knees had made contact with the dewy grass and his eyes had glossed over hopelessly as he stared down towards the city. He always hated the way that stupid cement wall blocked some of the view, the sight of people fleeing to the city in order for bigger opportunities or more expensive alcohol. Tonight, he felt more thankful for it. It had served great purpose to you, clearly, acting as a backdrop to your sticky-taped note. 

Dear Chan, no one else should read this. I, Y/N, am an incredibly selfish person. There’s no one left for me because I drove them all away, something I only accepted very recently, and the one person who was genuinely interested in me was left behind at the local train station with flickering lights. I know I didn’t keep my promise, but I beg you to promise me one thing: I lost to myself, so please don’t mourn a day. Fate is inevitable, and I believe in my heart that this was my destiny. All this time I was jumping from place to place, trying to find answers to questions about who I am and why I am. I did this to find myself and yet I’ve only become more lost. I understand it now, though. My life was just not meant to be, and whichever place I found the most peace in should be the place I lay to rest. I’ll see you on the other side, Chan. I promise I’ll be waiting, but only if you want me to. Keep your head up, Chan, there are angels above you — Y/N. 

In all honesty, Chan was angry to begin with. You wanted to be remembered for something, so you could feel like you had at least one person left by your side before you floated to a higher place. You would be remembered by more people than you could’ve ever imagined—were they murdered, was it a suicide, was it an accident? People talked about your death, they secured that bridge. You changed things for the better, just as you’d hoped, and yet you didn’t stick around to see it. Chan wasn’t sure he could forgive you for that. 

He still wanted you to wait. 

The wind whipped wickedly at your body as it teased the edge. The water splashed below you as it teasingly invited you in, invited you to be at peace. You were stood on the same bridge you visited with Chan, only this time things were different. Alone, crying, hidden by the moonlight. There were stars and a moon, but it seemed as if all colour had been drained from the world—apocalyptic if it were any other time of the day. You glanced back down at the water. You were further down the bridge than last time, and the tide had evidently brought more depth to the water in the time you’d been gone. Certainly you wouldn’t hit the ground if you fell, there were no rocks in this section for you to crack against either. A deep sigh escaped your chapped lips as you eyed the moon. Chan unknowingly mirrored your actions from the hill overlooking the city. You’d made up your mind, you chose peace and freedom over confusions and loss. Your eyelids delicately closed as you stepped away from the railing. At first you could feel yourself falling, but then you didn’t feel anything. The wind had stopped and the echo of the ocean faded out as you escaped. 

I can’t find any answers. I don’t like being tormented. 

[advernia]

fic: pepper pot sinks and aromatic stoves (1/2)

— they’re down to their last potatoes when she asks what dishes he planned to serve for breakfast. - the jack of spades & alice the second; the black army.

1: part 2 can be read here (•‿•) this was written pre-luka's route release, so no spoilers here!

The first time Alice the Second steps into the Black Army’s kitchen, Seth and Fenrir were with her as guides: she’s only beginning to take in glimpses of the area when all of a sudden the two men beside her begin to bicker about something, and before the kitchen turned into the official Seth vs. Fenrir round 278 arena, she herself takes the initiative to redirect the squabbling pair’s attention by mentioning that the wide field outside the kitchen - the training grounds - sure looked interesting.

Fenrir falls for it in a heartbeat - with sparkling eyes and beaming grin, he quickly takes hold of her hand and off to the exit they go. Seth follows hot on their heels, demanding that Fenrir let go of her hand because no self-respecting gentleman just takes a lady’s hand into his without her consent.

Fenrir waves him off, but he does let go of her hand and apologize. She laughs at that.

Luka watches them go and for a moment, she looks behind her - their eyes meet for a second, lively blues chancing upon quiet golds.

                                    She steps into the kitchen for the second time that same day, when all of the Black Army’s headquarters has gone dark and quiet - it’s a shadow of its earlier state when her welcoming party had been going on: left or right, upstairs or downstairs, inside or outside; it seemed like every inch of the headquarters was enveloped in warm lights, merry company, and boisterous laughter. 

Luka’s sudden presence behind her almost makes her scream, but instead her voice comes out as a strangled yelp and in a few hurried steps she backs herself up into the nearest corner. Not quite sure on what to do or say, he reaches inside his pocket, pulls out a magic crystal, and in a flash the kitchen is engulfed in light.

It takes her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the brightness, to blink and realize that it was just him, and no one else.

Profuse apologies aside, he learns that she had wandered her way to the kitchen hoping to get herself a glass of milk; while she learns that he was going through his usual patrol duty route when he noticed her going to the kitchen. They just stand there for a moment, the silence of the night creeping in, before Luka motions her to sit down on one of the chairs.

She flusters a bit, but she does pull herself away from her corner and gingerly seats herself with her head hung low. He on the other hand walks over to the stove and opens one of the cabinets below it, crouching down and pulling out a saucepan then setting it on one of the stove burners. A bottle is procured from the refrigerator, another magic crystal is pulled out and in a few minutes, a cup of milk enters her vision and presents itself steaming before her.

She looks up, but he’s already going towards the sink to wash the saucepan - a solemn thank you escapes her lips before she takes the cup into her hands, the heat of the smooth surface creeping into her palms and chasing away the cold that bit her fingers.

He’s done washing the saucepan when he hears her murmur delicious: he sneaks a glance at her; her with the unkempt blonde hair, her with the ashen face, her with the puffy and red-tinged eyes, her with the faint rasp in her voice.

She’s still sitting there with the cup cradled close in her hands, eyes closed and a gentle smile touching her lips.

                                        It’s her third time to step into the kitchen the next day with her lengthy hair up in a ponytail and the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows. She greets him a good morning and he does the same, but his next reply doesn’t come as fast when she suddenly approaches him, bows her head down, and asks if she could assist him in breakfast preparations.

The beautifully half-peeled potato in his hand is promptly ignored.

There’s a stroke of luck since behind her and standing by the doorway is Sirius; who probably saw the whole thing unfold because he merely gives Luka a thumbs-up and a kind smile before going on his way - it’s not exactly the help he was hoping for coming from the Queen of Spades, but if their second in command was okay with it, then he might as well accept the offer.

As soon as the words of approval escape Luka’s lips, she raises her head and a smile blooms across her face, across those blue eyes.

After her enthusiastic thank you and his mumbled sure, he takes out another knife from one of the drawers, hands it over to her and together they get to peeling the rest of the potatoes he had washed earlier: they stand side by side and work at a steady pace, the soft scratching sounds of their knives scraping potato skins filling in the silence in between them.

They’re down to their last potatoes when she asks what dishes he planned to serve for breakfast.

He shrugs as he lists off a couple of dishes: banana and walnut oatmeal with the option of honey, marmalade or sweet cream on the side for the light eaters; asparagus and mushroom soup, a warm salad of red cabbage, black pudding, hazelnuts, and apples with a cider vinegar and honey dressing; grilled trout with white butter sauce, and maybe lemon meringue eclairs as dessert.

Her mouth hangs slightly agape as she stares at him.

                        Out of the five dishes he mentioned there were three that required lengthy preparation and even longer cooking times, and she’s awed that he had already done the prep work for each dish and then some beforehand - the potatoes were just given to him that morning, and since they were done peeling them he could start cooking - he’s putting on an apron when she looks at him, or rather, at the oven just right behind him.

The words spill out of her mouth before she's even aware of it.

Is it alright if I make the eclairs myself?

                        She’s a confectioner in the Land of Reason, Sirius tells Luka later when they’re doing the dishes: the former does the washing, soaping, and the scrubbing, while the latter rinses, dries, and puts the utensils away accordingly. The Queen of Spades continues to talk as the dishes grew lesser in number, saying that while the little lady may feel safe now, she may not feel comfortable in her situation just yet - the Jack of Spades tilts his head to the side, pondering on that statement.

He recalls the times he was checking on her from afar earlier, observing how she made the eclairs to his recipe: she had no questions from start to finish, to making the choux pastries up to mixing the meringue frosting, no trouble in dividing and balancing the ingredients in an equal proportion all throughout the six batches of eclairs she baked and filled, and certainly had no trouble in lining up the finished eclairs tastefully in plates - she even suggests garnishing them with mint leaves, with the thought of a cool and refreshing touch complimenting the tart meringue inside the soft dough.

Her pace was a bit slow at first, but after baking her second batch of choux pastries a fluidity seemed to creep into her feet then shortly to her lithe hands, a practiced ease gradually revealing itself as she cycled from moving to the oven then back to the counters just a few steps away - from that point onward, he concluded that her earlier pace was due to her unfamiliarity with the kitchen’s layout: her work began to flow smoothly once she had everything in place in one work area, once she had asked him how to use the oven with the aid of a magic crystal.

Her movements aside, he did notice that as she baked, her overall mood seemed pleasant - she carried on with a smile on her face, a spring in her step, and humming a gentle tune that reached his ears.

Was that what the Queen of Spades meant?

So you let me accept her offer because you thought that it would help her keep her mind off things? By doing something she usually did back at the Land of Reason? Luka asks when he hands over the last plate - the surface is flawless, traces of the well-acclaimed eclairs gone.

It’s the least we can do for her until the full moon arrives, Sirius replies with a nod.

                                        2: black pudding is a type of blood sausage that originated from the UK & ireland, commonly eaten in english breakfast. but does it exist in cradle??? i have no idea (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) 3: on another note, if it isn’t obvious that i adore canon-stated confectioner!mc then kindly allow me to remind u people every chance i can get ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) tho i am sorely disappointed that she fails to make chocolate in ray’s valentine route... does that mean she's a sugar confectioner rather than a chocolatier??? whatever the case, i still like to think she's both bc sweets are life ( ᐛ )و

[vexation-virgil]

yo you want angst? Imagine Roman with his angst from the past videos and accidentally takes it out on Virgil who was genuinely trying to help, as he was persuaded by Patton (to distract him because he wanted Virgil to stop asking him if he was okay) ???

Oh, look, it took me like two days BUT I DID IT. I hope it’s kind of okay?? I don’t know. I like it.

Warnings: Angst, negative thinking, Deceit mentionNo summary because I’m tired and I can’t think of one. Same with title woo! Happy Sunday! I need to go to bed!

Thanks for the prompt, darling~~

“Just go talk to him,” Virgil mimicked, recalling Patton’s word as he walked towards Roman’s room. He caved too easily at Patton’s puppy eyes and too sweet smile as he pushed him towards Roman’s room not so subtly. “He needs some attention, someone to talk to, someone to remind him he’s doing great, blah, blah, blah.”

They were all well aware that Roman was in a low place, the guy wasn’t exactly subtle, even when he tried to act like he was. You’d think the literal source of creativity and acting and all of that would be better at pretending. Though, Virgil wouldn’t say he was exactly mad that he wasn’t doing all that good at it. If he was, Virgil wasn’t exactly sure how long it was would’ve taken them to figure out something was wrong.

He wasn’t sure why it had suddenly become his job to talk to him. Patton was better about talks with all of them when and he always knew just what to say to them. But, apparently, it had to be Anxiety. He was going to do his best not to shrink away from Roman and focus and help. He was going to help.

Steeling himself, Virgil knocked on the door to Prince’s room - his realm, as he would often correct him - before he pushed the door in. It was immediately a little jarring. The usually overly bright room was covered in long, dark shadows. The trees that lined the way to the dramatic castle Roman had set up seemed to be rotting, drooping and losing leaves right before Virgil’s eyes. The castle itself… Didn’t look like Roman’s castle. The crest hanging on both sides of the large gate had darkened, near pitch black and lined with silver, rather than it’s classic red and gold. And the bricks seemed to be falling apart, the castle crumbling in front of him as he approached it.

Virgil made his way into the castle, the large door creaking as he entered. His footsteps echoed as he made his way through the long hallways to find the throne room that he knew Roman would be hiding in. And, just as suspected, Roman was lounging dramatically on his throne - also surprisingly in dark ruin - and he had a hand tossed over his face. The crown that typically adorned his head had fallen to the ground and cracked in half. Virgil wasn’t sure how long it had been there, but he was almost positive there would be dust on it if he went and swiped it.

“Virgil,” Roman greeted, causing the mentioned side to jump at the suddenness of it. The creative side swung his legs over the edge of the throne so that he was completely facing Virgil. “What are you doing here? I would’ve done the place up if I knew someone was coming to visit me.”

Virgil’s brow shot up at that. More pretending. He would’ve returned the realm back to its former glory at a moment’s notice, and kept it up until he left instead of talking about what was bugging him. “Right,” Virgil grumbled, climbing the stairs to approach the throne. “You doing okay?”

“Absolutely grand!” With enough attention, there was an edge of fakeness to the words. “This is just… Something I’m testing out for the fun of it. Do you like it?”

“Not really, actually. I don’t come to your room to get more of my room.” Roman scoffed at him, assuming the other was being playful before his eyes landed on Virgil’s serious face. “Seriously, Princey, this isn’t like you. You have to be honest with me. Are you doing alright?”

Roman flinched at the nickname and forced himself to stand from his throne, calmly walking down the stairs and away from the anxious side, much to the latter’s disgruntlement. “I told you I was doing fine. I really am just trying something new. It won’t last long,” he told him as he finally turned to face him from the bottom of the stairs.

Virgil shook his head a bit. “Not a good actor, Roman, which is really surprising. Just. Come on. Tell me what’s going on. You’ve been acting weird since the video with Deceit. Your videos with Logic have ended up really depressing for you, despite Thomas trying to reassure you. You’ve got me and Patton freaking out, Logan doesn’t know how to handle us and just keeps handing us jars of jam to try and comfort us. You gotta talk to us, man,” he told him, grabbing the cracked crown. If he focused on it, he might be able to meld it back together. Roman’s thing was to fix and create, Virgil’s was to break and destroy.

From the bottom of the steps, Roman let out a harsh laugh. “No, no, I told you it was fine,” he insisted flatly, tugging on the sash over his chest.

He was lying through his teeth, straight through them. Virgil had watched the video with Thomas, looking for imperfections in it before they’d uploaded it, had seen Roman’s little cutaway with his own eyes. “I’m over it. I’m over the lying man. I just want you to be honest. Tell me what’s going on,” Virgil pushed, trying to hand the broken pieces of the crown to him.

For a long moment, it seemed as if Roman was going to take them from his hand and sit and talk to him. His eyes were flicking between Virgil’s face and the crown as if he was thinking it through. The moment passed though as Roman’s eyes darkened. 

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” he said, voice coming out layered like Virgil’s did when his anxiety levels were climbing. It made him flinch, stumbling back a step and nearly tripping over the stairs as he went. The crown clattered on the ground between them. “There is nothing wrong with me. I am dealing with this on my own.” Roman stepped closer to him, looming and surprisingly powerful for how weak he had seemed. There was a flash of hands and suddenly Virgil was tripping back into the stairs. “Get out of here, Anxiety -” the old name came out like venom “- if there is one person who cannot help me, it’s you. Get out. Get out! GET OUT!”

Virgil scrambled to his feet, mumbling out apologies as he quickly made his way out of the throne room. It wasn’t until he was running past the trees - turning to ashes the further he got - that he realized he was crying.

EDIT:@pendragonqueen09 bc you were Offended™️ the last time i wrote something and didn’t tag you here you go

[sophia1644]

The One

Pairing: Liam x Reader Warnings: swearing, angst, jealousy, anger issues Liam Summary: Liam overhears Y/N talking to Theo during a lacrosse game, and gets jealous, almost turning on the field. Y/N follows him to the locker room to see what’s up and he ends up confessing something to her. Word Count: 1.9k A/N: My tumblr app on my phone has been rlly annoying tbh, and idk what’s going on like it just crashes randomly all the time. But, anyways hope you guys like this one bc I do. (I’m also writing another imagine rn too so look out for that.) . . I bite on my lower lip, standing on the tip of my toes to peer over the mass of umbrellas. Being short had its struggles in lots of parts of life, but at lacrosse games, it was definitely at the top of the list. I roll my eyes as the person in front of me raises their black umbrella higher, a sound of annoyance leaving my lips unintentionally. The guy whips his head around, his slanted eyes shooting death glares at me. “Am I bothering you young lady?” He growls, the question coming off as more of a warning. “Not at all,” I reply with fake sweetness, my smile not reaching my eyes and my lips twitching at how badly they wanted to frown. The man rolls his eyes, similar to how I did to him a few moments earlier, and grumbling incoherently. “Well that guy’s an asshole,” a voice I recognize mutters behind me. I turn towards the voice, my suspicions of it being Theo correct. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, his hood up to cover himself from the droplets of water slowly pouring down from the sky. I nod my head vigorously at him, rolling my eyes for the second time. “Can’t see,” I explain, motioning towards the group of people crowding the bleachers in front of us with umbrellas in hand. “You’re a shorty, that’s why,” he laughs, reaching out his hand and messing up the strands of hair I took an hour making look perfect. My eyes go wide at his action, my jaw dropping slightly. “You did not, Raeken,” I mumble through deep breaths. “What?” He asks, playing dumb, suddenly gaining interest in the two strings attached to his sweatshirt. I push him playfully, the action barely having any affect over the boy as he just chuckles at me. The people watching the lacrosse match all suck in their breaths simultaneously, our attention being drawn back to the field. “Ow, that was a bad hit,” a brunette girl in my chemistry class states to her freckled friend. I scan the field quickly, hoping that it wasn’t what I was imagining. Nope, the universe hates me. The jersey number 9 belongs to the player lying on the ground; Liam. My brows furrow, knowing that it wasn’t like him to get hit ever, and the few times that he did get hit, he didn’t take it very well. I watch as Scott rushes out onto the field, kneeling down to Liam’s face and saying some words I couldn’t make out. They were way too far away, so I take to other methods. “Can you hear them?” I ask to Theo, his eyes focusing in on them and his whole body tensing in concentration. “Scott’s trying to calm him down and… the cause- is, well um…” he pauses, looking down at his sneaker-clad feet and shifting his jaw left and right. “What?” I push, not understanding why he couldn’t give me the truth. “It’s me-” I look at him questioningly, still not understanding. “He went down because he was too focused on us talking.”

My brows knit together even deeper, lines creasing my forehead. I know Liam had a jealousy issue, but getting angry about me just talking to another guy was bonkers. What was the issue with a friendly conversation? “That’s crazy,” I say, then I see Scott’s eyes trail across the bleachers until landing on me, his hands motioning for me to get on the field. Scott’s lips move and I look to Theo again. “Liam needs you,” he translates. “Wha-” “Just go,” he commands, nodding his head towards the field, where Liam is starting to get up and head off the field, presumably to the locker room. “Okay,” I respond, getting the point, tugging my hood on tighter and saying a bunch of ‘excuse me’s to make my way through the metal stands. Once I walk into the school, I tug off my hood carefully, taking in a deep breath and slowly walking towards the boys’ locker room. Eventually, I reach the door, gently knocking on it and calling out Liam’s name, but there’s no answer. “Liam,” I call again, opening the door and pacing cautiously into the room. “I know you’re in he-” I stop mid-sentence, examining the punched in blue locker. I look around again, noticing blood stains along the tiled floor leading to where the showers were. I follow the trail of bright red, winding the corner and finding Liam sitting under the first shower, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing every millisecond from baby blue to a golden. “Liam,” I whisper, treading carefully because the worse thing I could do right now was to piss him off even more. His expression softens at my voice, his eyes darting to me, my jeans and converse surely drenched. I take off my rain jacket completely, tossing it to the side and sighing, sliding down against the wall to sit next to Liam. At this point, I wasn’t worrying about me getting more wet; I was worried about Liam.

“Li, come on, just talk to me,” I gently encourage, shivering at the cold water pouring down over me. “Liam, you can’t ignore me forever.” Without thinking, my hands wrap around his clenched fists, the tension in them diminishing at my touch. I lean my head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Every second of this position was slowly unraveling his anger, his head soon resting on top of mine. “Li,” I mumble again, through gritted teeth, the cold really affecting me now. Liam realizes this, his eyes widening and his previous rage fully gone and being replaced with concern. “Y/N,” he says, looking up at the water still splashing down on us, then dragging me out of it with himself. He pulls me by my wrist to his locker, the one right beside the one with the dent. He shuffles with his lock, getting the combo wrong a few times and frustration boiling up inside him again. “31-1-35.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, trying the combination and pulling the lock down, it clicking open. “What? How do you know th-” “You remember at the beginning of last year, when you asked me to get your History textbook in here, for whatever reason?” He nods his head slowly, after looking up at the ceiling to recall the memory. “But, that was like forever ago, like that happened before Scott bit me.” I stare at him blankly. “What, I have a good memory?”

Liam smiles at me for a few blissful seconds, before realizing what he was originally doing, his jaw dropping and shuffling into his locker. He grabs a white towel from the top shelf, wrapping it around my shoulders. “There you go.” I smile appreciatively at him. Small things like this were the reasons why he was the one. The one who I wanted to fall in love with deeper and deeper everyday. The one who I wanted to wake up with every morning. The one I wanted to tell about every little accomplishment or issue I had, and didn’t have to worry about judgment. The one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And the one I was willing to risk it all for. But, of course, this wasn’t the cliche teenage movie, and the best friend never gets to be the love interest. I loved him and he didn’t love me back. I’d always been and always will just be the best friend, nothing more. He was the one, but I wasn’t his. My thoughts are suddenly clouded by what happened earlier, images of him lying on the turf flashing back into my mind. “So,” I begin. “What happened out there?” His facial expression changes from gentle bliss to discomfort in a matter of milliseconds. “Erm, well, I was focusing in on something other than the game, that I probably shouldn’t have.” “Um, what were you focusing on?” I query, curiosity blazing through me. He looks down at his soaked cleats, mumbling something under his breath really fast.

“You know, I’m not a werewolf, so I don’t have enhanced hearing like you do. So, I didn’t catch any of that.” His chest and shoulders raise as he heaves in a breath, then reiterates what he just said, but slower and louder. “I was listening to you and Theo.” “What?” I question, disbelief lacing my tone. I had to have heard that wrong. “You were, erm, flirting with him. And i know I really shouldn’t mind that because, I mean, you’re not mine or anything, but he’s a bad guy and you deserve better, likemaybesomeonelikemeifthatsokay.” My heart begins to pound in my chest, surely loud enough that even non-supernaturals could hear. That time, I must’ve heard wrong, because the words that just spilled out of his mouth had to be a figment of my imagination. I must’ve been in shock for a long time, because Liam looks back up, probably wanting me to say something, anything. “Li, I don’t know how to res-”

“No, it’s fine, Y/N. I get it you don’t like me like that, but whenever you say Li, goddamn, please can you stop that because every single time you say that I want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he interrupts me, and somehow during it, he gets closer, his hands gently holding onto mine. I look down at our intertwined fingers and Liam follows my gaze, his eyes going wide and trying to pull away, but I stop him. I hold onto him and his eyes look back up to me frantically. “But, I thought th-” “Li, do you want to kiss me?” I ask, the possibility of him saying what I want him to say causing my body to gravitate even closer to him, if that was even possible. “Yes,” he replies sheepishly, blushing a bit. “Then do it.” And he does just that. Without letting another second pass, he reaches out and grasps my chin, pulling my face towards his. The kiss is delicate, his lips tasting of sweat, but I couldn’t care less. “So you don’t like Theo?” Liam asks, unsure. “No, Li,” I answer, gouging his reaction to the nickname, which he previously declared made him want to kiss me. He groans, licking his lips. “Now, you’re just saying it to mess with me.” “Li, why didn’t you kiss me sooner?” “I didn’t know you liked me back.” “That’s what I thought, Li.” “Fuck, stop doing that.” “Li, Li, Li, Li,” I laugh, as his face morphs into playful anger, a smile plastered on his face. “You’re so gonna get it, Y/N,” he yells. I run away, still laughing, dropping the towel somewhere on the tiled floor behind me. Strong arms hug me from behind, Liam picking me up and swinging me around as I kick my legs up in the air like a child. After a while, he drops me back down. I turn around to face him and stand on the tip of my toes, grabbing the side of his face in my hand and planting my lips on his. Being short had its hurdles, but this one, I didn’t mind. I finally had the one and somehow, I was his.

[clefeah]

colu - ego

i havent written in like a year bc of personal reasons, so im probably out of practice, pls give feeback if u have the time! this is a colu oneshot bc i love rarepairs. enjoy!

Today had not gone as Lucy expected, well no, that’s not entirely true. She expected her team to eventually disregard the plan she so expertly devised and run in, guns blazing like they always do. She just sort of hoped they wouldn’t. Which, now, as she sits alone, outnumbered by some edgy dark mage douchebags dressed in all black, she realizes was kind of unrealistic. 

“It’s cool, Lucy, you got this!” She mumbles unconvincingly to herself. 

From the corner of her eye, she can see the golden glinting of her keys, safely stowed in the black pocket of a mages robe. After a mini pep talk she convinces herself to go for them. She takes a breath and prepares to tackle the large, robed figure. She lunges forward, but they dodge her, causing her to go flying headfirst into the wall. She rubs her head and glares as she hears one of the mages laugh at her.

“It’s alright, Lucy, Team Natsu has tackled enemies bigger than this and won no problem, you’ll be fine!” She continues to tell herself, with the same unsure tone.  

She hears the same laugh again, and turns in that direction, so she can tell the jerk off for mocking her. Surprisingly, there doesn’t seem to be anyone there, which causes goosebumps to rise on Lucy’s skin.

“Wait, wait, wait! This guild has supposedly has taken a vow of silence, and even went as far to use a spell to disable their voices. That’s why they’re called ‘Dead Silent’.” Lucy recalls frantically to exactly nobody. “So if it wasn’t one of them, then-“

Her pondering is cut short by the sound of something landing on the metal ground behind her with a bang. She squeaks in surprise and spins around to see a tall figure in a navy cloak. She draws back instinctively and prepares for a fight she feels almost certain she’ll lose.

“Hey.” The mysterious person says in a voice that seems somehow familiar to Lucy. 

“H-hey..?” Lucy replies in a daze, shocked by their nonchalant attitude.

“You sure like talking to yourself.” They mock.

“Who are you?!” Lucy demands, purposely ignoring the completely true statement.

A smirk plays on what she can see of the strangers lips, and they finally remove their hood. Lucy gasps at the identity of the taller person.

“Considering your current situation, I’d say I’m your knight in shining armor.” Cobra, or rather Erik,  laughs teasingly.

“You! Y-you’re..?” Lucy gasps, unable to gather words in her surprise. “Amazing? Handsome? The best?” He suggests jokingly. 

Lucy furrows her eyebrows, she knew she didn’t really like him, but she didn’t expect him be so obnoxious. 

“Heard that.” The dragon slayer comments, snapping Lucy from her albeit rude thoughts.

“Ah, Sorry…” She apologizes awkwardly, then shakes her head. “Wait, no I’m not. Why am I apologizing to you?”

“Maybe because I’m your savior?” He says self importantly.

“Who said I needed saving?!” Lucy yells, her face turning red from either embarrassment or anger.

“Your thoughts did.” He grunts, looking annoyed at her sudden screaming. “Who said you were allowed to read my thoughts?!” She screams in the same loud voice.

Erik says nothing to this, just simply gives her a confused look. It’s not like he could really control it, he just has really good hearing. Well, that’s an understatement, but he certainly did not care to hear the celestial mage’s thoughts of self pity.

“Wait.” Lucy says, lowering her voice to almost a whisper.

Erik raises his eyebrows and signals her to continue.

“They’ve been sitting there the entire time while we spoke. They haven’t tried to attack us once.” She tells him, her voice showing her unsettlement. 

Lucy was right and they both knew it, they’ve just been watching the odd pair banter with the same detached look on each of their faces. Now that Lucy thought about it, they weren’t even trying to attack her when she was alone, just dodging her when she attacked.

“Hey, you can read minds! Tell me what they’re planning to do with us!” Lucy commands Erik in a hushed tone, as if they were going to suddenly jump from their passive mode.

“Say please.” He says slyly.

“Hey, your ass is on the line here too, buddy!” She growls impatiently.

Erik’s face morphs from an arrogant smirk to an expression of unease and confusion. 

“What, are you just now realizing that?”

He shakes his head slowly as his lips curl into a frown. Lucy crosses her arms and tilts her head inquisitively. 

“Then what’s your problem?” 

“I can’t hear their thoughts.” He hisses in frustration, voice barely audible.

Lucy blinks a couple times.

“Come again?”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened,” he recalls his first encounter with Jellal. “but for such a large group of people, it’s ridiculous. Not to mention, I can’t sense any magic energy from them!” He explains in a troubled tone.  

“Paired with their suspicious behavior, that makes a double creepy.” Lucy whines, a chill running up her spine. 

Erik glances down at the shaking blonde mage and exhales.

“Don’t lose your head. I’ll handle this.” He assures her, awkwardly placing a hand on her shoulder before lunging at the group in front of him.

Lucy hears a familiar bang, then sees Erik lying in the same position she was just a few minutes ago. She thinks she would laugh if she weren’t so unnerved. 

“They dodged you too?”

Erik says nothing and immediately gets up, preparing to get serious. Lucy smirks subconsciously, he’s probably embarrassed. 

“Let’s see you dodge this, asshole!” He snarls, changing his stance. “Poison Dragon Roar!!!”

His poison breath successfully engulfs his target, and he flashes a cocky grin when the cloaked figure is nowhere to be seen amongst the poison. Lucy shudders, is he really powerful enough to dissolve a guy, clothes and all?! Her question is answered by the forming of a shadow in front of the slayer. When it takes shape, it looks eerily similar to the guy Erik just attacked.

“I was afraid of this.” Lucy sighed and bit her lip.

“Afraid of what?!” Erik snaps, obviously frustrated that he failed again.

“These are shadow wraiths. They can’t hurt us, but we can’t hurt them either. They can be created by high level shadow mages.” She explains irritably.

“If they can’t hurt us, then what’s there to be afraid of? Can’t we just leave?” 

Lucy’s turns red as her face falls. It really hadn’t occurred to her that she could have just left.

“I don’t see why not…” She answers awkwardly.

Erik is at the door before she can even finish, trying to open it.

“Locked.” He growls, looking about ready to explode.

“Ah,” Lucy’s face falls. “I think this might have been a distraction for them to lock us in here, like Illusion Magic.” She says hesitantly, not wanting to make him angrier.

Even though she doesn’t have super hearing like her angry counterpart, she swears that she could hear something snap inside of Erik.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He roars at Lucy.

“Hey, you can’t just blame me! You have the big ears, why didn’t you hear anyone locking the door?!” She retaliates, not about to be scolded by him.

Erik opens his mouth to reply, but promptly shuts it when he realizes that he has no comeback.

“But you knew what these things were, why didn’t you just leave?!” He adds. “I didn’t, until you attacked it! These ones were really well made, and have the benefit of the whole ‘edgy matching outfits’ thing going on!” 

“That’s an awful excuse, and even you think that! Now, because of you, I’m stuck here!” Erik complains loudly.

“I’m still failing to see how this is my fault!”

The pair continues to argue in front of their audience of soulless wraiths until Erik puts a finger to Lucy’s mouth and shushes her.

“Someone’s coming.” He tells her.

“Finger. Off. Now.” She says in a dangerously low voice.

He complies, then slowly moves towards the door.

“Who is it?” Lucy inquires quietly.

He shakes his head, indicating that he can’t quite tell. Suddenly, he bangs on the door, startling Lucy.

“Oi! In here!” He yells at the door, or rather to the people on the other side. The footsteps are then loud enough for Lucy, with her average hearing, to sense. Next, the doorknob starts to jiggle, and the door opens. Standing there is the rest of their respective teams.

“Why’re you banging on the door like that?” Sorano questions, hands on her hips. “We were trapped in here.” Erik replies.

“Really? By whom, exactly?” Jellal asks warily, looking around for enemies. Lucy and Erik turn to see that the wraiths have disappeared. 

“Ah, well, there were some shadow wraiths here, but that doesn’t matter. The door was locked.” Lucy tells the confused group.

“Locked?” Sorano laughs. “Sure, it was a bit jammed, but nothing impossible to open.”

At that moment, the rooms falls silent.

“So, you were too busy yelling at me to actually put a little effort into opening the door, huh?” Lucy says lowly, aura turning dark.

Erik purses his lips and clasps his hands. Well, this is embarrassing, because she’s completely right.

“My bad..?” He says sheepishly.

Lucy ignores him, and just turns around to get her keys, which were dropped when the wraiths disappeared. 

“Hey, I said it was my bad, okay? No need to use words like that!” He huffs, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t say anything!” Lucy glares.

“No, but you thought it!”

“God, you guys sound like you’re having a lover’s quarrel, it’s gross.” Sorano sneers, looking away.

“Shut up!” They both say in unison.

“Hey, you both agree that Sorano should shut up, that’s something!” Meredy giggles.

“Kid, I’m this close.” Sorano snaps, narrowing her eyes at Meredy, who is beaming as usual.

“Enough, let’s just get out of here.” Erik groans.

“Agreed.” Lucy says, almost mimicking his tone. 

A sly grin crosses Meredy’s face as she stifles a giggle.

“So, why are you guys even here?” Lucy asks the whole of Crime Sorciere, as they start towards the exit.

“The same reason as you, pretty much. Dead Silence is a dark guild that’s been causing a lot of trouble, so we dealt with it.” Erik replies.

“You mean we dealt with it, while you two got to know each other in the supply room.” Sawyer adds. 

They both glare, but don’t say anything, mostly because it’s true.

“I take it that this means the job is finished?” Lucy asks.

“Yup! We took down the master. He was tough, but obviously he couldn’t stand a change against all of us!” Meredy answers.

“That explains why the wraiths disappeared. The master must have been controlling them.” 

“You guys got trapped by a bunch of shadow wraiths? Aren’t they virtually harmless?” Gray mumbles.

The pair look at each other awkwardly, today was not good for either of their ego’s.