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lovestrucked-again · 4 years

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Delirium IV

Summary: After being kidnapped and claimed by the notorious mafia leader, he offers you a 7 day period where you’ll be given the option after of staying or leaving. Until then, you’re stuck, whether you like it or not.

Pairing: Mafia leader X female reader Word count: 3k

Genre & Warning: HEAVY SMUT, fingering, Explicit content, mafia gang, possessive, toxic, yandere like personality, public scenes, humiliation, multiple orgasms, rough, orgasm denial, begging, orgasm control, use of safe systems, praise, teasing, use of sex objects, dildo, vagina balls and straps, BDSM: handcuffs, blindfolds, chains, nipple clamps, dildo sucking. pain kink?

Please don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable. A very obvious statement but this series is purely fictional, it is unacceptable in real life and should not be taken lightly.

A/N: This is one of the heaviest and dirtiest and chains and clamps are involved and you know what, it is a breathy mess. Be warned. Prev | Next

Day 2

The return trip home goes much faster, your skill of walking without needing to stop every so often increasing, learning how to avoid the sharp metal raking into your thighs. Even so, by the time you finally catch sight of the apartment building you had left from, the sun was settling low in the sky.

Taeyong walks with his hand still tightly intertwined with yours; making small talk with you about favourite movies, songs, anything really. There’s no way you can verbally respond though, your efforts and focus being on keeping your walls clenched around the silver balls still inserted deep into your vagina. You make it into the safety of the elevator when you finally let out a deep sigh, leaning against the walls in silence as Taeyong stands beside you, the smug expression still on his face. “You did well baby.”

You turn to look at him, sending him a vicious glare that clearly says shut up. “Thanks, but I would’ve been better if I didn't have this,” you point to your legs, quickly pulling your skirt up for him to see the outline of the straps buckled around your thighs, “stabbing at me every time I walk.”

“But wasn't it worth it?” he asks, taking your hand in his, “you came so hard around my fingers.”

The elevator lifts smoothly to the top floor, announcing its arrival with a short musical chime. He steps out, dragging you along with him. The key yielding to his door unlocks and as you step into the suite, he grabs you by your shoulders, throwing you roughly against the wall.

His mouth, hungry and eager, finds yours. His tongue pushes its way past your lips, demanding. His hand closes over your breast through the thin material of your shirt and you shudder, moan, and cling tighter to his body. He takes your wrists firmly in his hands, pinning them around over your head as his tongue forces itself deeper. You quiver against his hold, shuddering as you feel wetness trickling down your thigh.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you can feel your face was flush with need, your hips which were previously grinding against his being a major contributor – despite the pain of the sharp teeth digging into you. Taeyong smiles, pleased.

“You’re always so eager for me,” he purrs, stroking your cheek. “Turn around baby, face the wall.”

You hesitate and he tilts his head, waiting for you to follow through. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, almost afraid it’s probably audible to the whole world by the way it thumps. You turn slowly, shifting your weight carefully to face the wall. You wait, listening to the shuffling sound of fabric; your arms scrunching the material of your short skirt.

“What are you doing?” You ask, the nerves eating at your stomach.

Something slides across your eyes, obscuring your vision and your hands fly to your face, feeling the velvety smooth blindfold over your head.

“Don’t touch.” He warns, slapping your hands away softly.

Taeyong turns you around again, and you feel his breath against your skin before his lips find yours. The kiss begins softly, gently and builds very slowly. The tension spreads through you as he presses harder into you, your tongue meeting his as you fight him for dominance. You feel the heat of his hands at your sides, the firmness of his body against yours; and the giddy rush passes over you as you contract around the balls still inserted in you, nearly coming undone against the wall.

His fingers slip under your shirt towards your back, easily unclipping your bra and sliding them to the floor. You moan again, louder this time and your fingers twine through his hair. Before long, your shirt has been removed and his fingers are at your thigh. You feel him crawl towards your skirt, which is tugged down almost immediately after.

You pause in the midst of your kiss, waiting for his careful teasing touch to appear on your skin. But there’s no movement.

“What’s wrong?” He hums, moving his lips back from yours.

“N-nothing.” You choke out.

His fingers suddenly lock in front of the strap you’re wearing and the cool air touches your throbbing hardened clit as his hand slides between your legs, undoing the buckles. When his finger lightly grazes over your clit you clench around the objects, holding onto the weight with all your might. He chuckles to himself as he watches your mouth form into a hard line, your teeth gritting against each other. He presses harsher on your clit and you cry out sharply, thrusting your hips hard against his hand as the balls fall out with a plop.

The warm heavy weight tumbles out of you with a wet squishing sound; your juices pouring out along with it. Taeyong’s waiting hand manages to catch the silver balls, soaking his fingers as the musical chimes roll in his palm.

“You’re absolutely drenched princess.” He brings the balls to his lip and pulls down the blindfold; only slightly – just enough for you to stare in shock as he gently slips one through and into his mouth. His eyes are boring into yours as he sucks wildly on the ball and you watch as it rolls from side to side in his cheek. When he’s done with it, the ball slips out of his mouth with a plop, his drool now covering the shiny item. “So sweet.”

The balls drop to the floor with a loud clang and you jump, surprised by the resonating sounds it goes as it hits the hard surface. Taeyong pulls the blind up so your vision disappears again.

His fingers find your sensitive spot, stroking against your clit, coaxing the longing within you and he laughs as you whimper. The sudden metal closing around your wrists makes you jump, squeaking in surprise. You look at him in panic, squirming as he keeps his arm on your shoulder to keep you still. “What are you going to do to me?” You ask, voice small. "We’re going to have some fun." He kneels on the floor, and hard metal closes around your ankles, just above your shoes. When he moves again, the heavy clanking sound of chains fills your ears.

“What’s that for?” you gulp, the buzz within you coming to life as you listen to the series of movements.

“You’ll see.”

Something tugs on your wrists, and you gasp when you’re abruptly pulled away from the wall.

He leads you by the cuffs around your wrist, the chains dragging behind your ankles as you move with the heavy weight resisting your steps. You walk with an exaggerated caution, blind, legs wide apart and footsteps very slow. With each step you can feel your heart pounding more wildly.

Taeyong’s hand goes to your back steading you as you step forward onto something soft. “Over here, step up a little.”

You can hear the chains clink and your feet are guided into a stance. When you stumble and nearly fall, Taeyong reaches out to steady you, his hands finding your waist swiftly. By the time you recover, he’s secured the chains around your ankles, fixed to a point on each side of you.

“Taeyong I h-havent done this before.” You stutter out, your legs spread wide apart as you stand naked except for your shoes.

The clanking around your wrists stops, “Do you want me to take these off?”

You hesitate for a moment. While you were wildly excited for something different from your previous sex encounters with other partners, you were still nervous about exploring something new. As well as that, you realised that it had only been a few days since you met him yet you had learnt so many things about your body; how you could react to his touches. “I don't know,” You confess.

“It’s up to you baby,” he whispers, rubbing soothing circles onto your arm.

“I want to try,” you mumble, “but i-im a little scared.”

“Why don't we make a system; you know how traffic lights work right?” he chuckles.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Say the colour when you need to.” You nod, feeling a little more relieved with the idea. He takes your hands and slides the cuff up, planting a soft kiss on your wrist before he chains them, lifting your arms over your head. You let out a whimper as the chains tighten, your body being stretched taut. You were being chained upright, standing spread-eagle, arms bound far overhead so you’re almost forced to stand on your tippy toes.

Your breathing becomes ragged as you wait for what comes next. With every breath, your breasts bob and sway. You jump when Taeyong’s hands suddenly come from behind, caressing your body, roaming over the curves of your breasts.

“Your nipples are so hard princess; you must like this.” He whispers into your ear.

The hair on your neck stands as you fumble out for a reply, “I-”

“It’s okay, I know what you like.”

You squeeze your eyes shut despite the darkness already as you feel something bite down hard on your nipples. Tight clamps grip around you and you jerk your body against the chains instantly, screaming.

You feel the painful tugging, realising that Taeyong had to be attaching a chain or cord to the clamps. The sound of the chain rattling comes first before the clamps tighten and pull your nipples, dragging your breasts up towards the ceiling as you yelp and rise to your tippy toes in an attempt to ease the pain.

“I know you wanted it hard.” He murmurs, pausing for a moment, bringing his lips to your earlobe, swiping it with his tongue as he pulls on the chain dragging at your nipples.

Something large and thick shoves itself deep into your sex and you shriek at the sudden intrusion as it goes further and further into you, until it bottoms out within you. You can hardly breathe, your mouth gasping for air as you fight against the sensations roaming throughout your body. You attempt to move your hips but the dildo remains within you, forcing your hips still. You struggle against the chains, unable to raise yourself or move.

With each breath, the tiny rocking in your body makes your breasts bob and sway in small motions, forcing the clamps to close harsher on your nipples. The dildo impaling you forces you to stand on your tippy toes and you’re afraid to lower yourself any lower – fearing you’d send it too deep into yourself.

You shake at the manacles digging into your wrist before Taeyong finally removes the blindfold; your vision coming back in a blurry haze. Your eyes fly straight to the intruding object, noticing it’s connected to a platform directly below your entrance and you blink a couple of times, making sure it’s real and not your mind playing with you.

The next thing that comes into sight is Taeyong standing directly in front of your chained up body. The sunlight from behind him shining straight through the window and glowing on to your skin. His features are soft and his dark brown eyes stare back at you, a grin plastered on his face.

“Is that better?” He asks. You want to nod and reply but your attention is drawn to the view behind him.

“I-Is that a clear window?” You stutter out, noticing the perfect vision you had of the city streets in the floor to ceiling picture window. The illumination of the sun was fading, turning into a dusty hue, but the city street spread out below was still crowded with people.

“Why?”

“What if somebody looks up?”

“Then they’ll be blessed with the sight of a beautiful woman chained in the window fucking herself,” he states, turning around to look below.

You hang there for a few minutes, fighting not to move, controlling your deep breaths as you panic. The people on the streets seem so far and you can’t make out any facial features from the distance when they turn; you can only hope the distance was far enough to be unnoticed. Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up.

The muscles in your legs begin to quiver from the strain of trying to keep yourself up on your tiptoes and you panic, feeling your walls widen as the dildo slides deeper into you.

“Relax baby, it’s okay.” Taeyong coos, watching as it circles into you slowly.

You cry out in pain as you feel yourself give out, using the little remaining strength you have left to lower yourself as gently as you can, settling onto the dildo. The cord attached to the clamps of your nipples tightens as your body falls – dragging your breasts upwards. Your full weight lands onto the dildo quickly and you jump back quickly with an unbearable bruising pain, lifting yourself onto your tiptoes after gaining a moment of breath.

Not long after, your strength dies again, much quicker than before. Your muscles fail and you lower yourself again onto the length. You let out a few heavy breaths, rocking your hips to move yourself from pressing into the same place again before the pain becomes too much and you rise onto your tiptoes again, crying.

Taeyong watches in awe, his own hand flying down his pants as he strokes himself in front of you. The sounds in the empty apartment only come from you; your moans and quiet sobs, the rattling of the chains and combine with the slurping sounds of your pussy as the dildo exits.

The third time your legs give out, you find that you’ve lost your strength to rise any more. You shift and move, rocking your hips back and forth afraid to stay still and let the pain sink in. The agonising pain changes as the dildo slowly dissipates and your pussy begins to crave more than just the plastic rubber.

“That’s it,” his voice whispers, “Fuck it well.”

White cream trickles down your leg, dripping onto the floor beneath you. Your desperate cries of pain eventually soften and the pain turns to pleasure.

“That’s it princess, keep going. Give it to yourself.”

Your motions grow frantic as you move; your hands bonded above your head, body stretched tight, nipples screaming in pain and a familiar tension building inside of you. But the dildo stretches too far deep into you and you scream louder than before, tears slipping out of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

“Taeyong I can’t, red stop,” you cry out urgently. You feel his hands against your waist before you’re able to see him. He holds your weight up, lowering the rod holding the dildo and you relax. Your walls finally left empty and gnawing as you breathe heavily for air.

“You okay?”

“Yeah – I just need a second.” You whisper, your head rolling forward as you hang still.

Taeyong watches as you weaken in his hold, his own heart panging with ache as he hears your gasping. “That’s enough for today.” He murmurs.

You jerk your head back up, “NO!” you cry out; ignoring the nipple clamps tightening around you from the sudden movement. “I can keep going.” You mumble, desperate for the orgasm that was so close to being released.

Taeyong doesn't ask again, dropping your body as you fall flat footed against the platform and your nipples are pulled even worse than before. He ignores your screams as he readjusts the rod and places the dildo back at your entrance.

Having already prepared yourself for the intrusion, you go much more contently onto the dildo, jerking your thighs violently, grinding yourself harshly onto the thing side of you, hurting yourself, as you moan. You avoid his gaze, turning to stare at the heedless flow of people beneath the window instead.

Then without warning, it becomes too much. A wave of pleasure, ferocious in its intensity roars over you, taking you completely by surprise. You come hard, fast, thrashing against the chains as you scream in ecstasy. You contract around the dildo, each contraction lasting in an explosion of pleasurable pain as your orgasm continues on and on.

When it finally dies, you hang limply from the chains, twitching and moaning. Taeyong removes the rod supporting the dildo, letting it slide out with a plop from your abused and aching pussy, smearing your juices along his hand. He reaches around you and unclamps your nipples.

Fire blooms as the sudden rush of blood comes back and you whimper at the new pain. He releases the metal rod from the base and picks up the hard rubber dildo alone. He brings the head towards your lips and without conscious thought, your mouth opens as he shoves it deep against the back of your throat.

Aftershocks from your orgasm ripple through your body with each thrust into your mouth. The dripping cum covered dildo automatically placed far away into your mind as you moan around it. He presses harder and it slides without resistance down your throat, until its base reaches your lip.

Your mind returns slowly to your body. Then in a rush, you were suddenly aware of your physical self, of the steady ache between your legs, the burning pain in your nipples, the thick rubber penis in your throat. It’s not until you finally need to breathe that you start screaming around the gagged intrusion, struggling against your bonds. Taeyong pulls it from your mouth as you cough, gasping for air.

Working quickly, Taeyong unfastens the chains from the bindings around your ankles, and then the same for the manacles around your wrists. Your body sags into his arms, unable to muster the strength of standing.

“You did so well baby.” He coos, supporting your weight and helping you to off the platform. As you blink heavily in his arms, you look back out the window, noticing a crowd of heads closely clustered and facing your direction. You can already see their disgusted faces as they murmur amongst themselves, the sea of hostile faces some curious, some downright hungry, all looking at you.

Your face glows red as you bury your face deeper into Taeyong’s chest, the people’s fingers pointing straight at you.

#nct smut #nct #nct mafia #nct taeyong #taeyong smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct au #smut #kpop smut #taeyong #nct127 #lee taeyong #nct yandere #taeyong imagine #kpop mafia

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undergrounddweller89 · 4 years

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NOTE : THIS IS A SPIES IN DISGUISE AU, WALTER IS THE CRIMINAL MASTER MIND AND KILLIAN IS THE SCIENTIST

THIS DEFINITELY CONTAINS SEXY TIMES

Not well written though probably and I tend to rarely go through my work to look for mistakes.

Despite Killian being kidnapped and handcuffed EVERY THING IS CONSENSUAL... Tristan is crazy obsessed with Beckett so he's very happy.

Now you've had your warning you read this instead of scrolling past that's on you, lemon is a tag used for stuff like this but if you feel like there are other tags I need to use please do tell me!)

The bag was stuffy, head phones covered his ears, they'd knocked off his glasses in their struggle to capture him, he could barely see without them.

Now his hands were cuffed behind his back, a hand on each upper arm, honestly Tristan was terrified, the car ride seemed a life time, though realistically it was only ten to fifteen minutes long.

He'd pleaded saying he was a no body just a scientist the agency threw in the corner and that no one ever took him seriously.

He was hunched, trying to tuck his head into his shoulders, so this was how he was going to die.

He felt every bump of the car and turn, trying to map out where he was going but he didn't recognise this route, usually he rode every where on his bicycle, deep blue with a silver bell and a basket on the front to pick up dinner on his way home...

Home where he could research the Criminal Master mind Walter Beckett ...to a near unhealthy obsession...alright it was unhealthy when you imagined him pushing you back against the table parting your thighs, fucking you and making you look at him by holding your head with his clawed hand....

Fuck was he going to die thinking about Walter, a man who didn't even known he existed...well he had no one, nothing living to care about...he might as well think of someone who made him happy even if only in his fantasies before he died right.

He was pulled from the car where he tried kicking at his handlers, Tristan didn't get very far though as one of them punch his gut winding him, he was wheezing as he was taken out of the vehicle.

"You know he's gonna kill you for that right."

The first handler smacked the second on the back of the head

"Only if this limp dick tells him, he's too much of pussy to squeal."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, but Im not covering your ass."

He was dragged through the facility, Tristan refused to make it easy to carry him and went limp.

Both handlers groaned, fuck, great a difficult one, well the first wasn't going to risk hurting him into compliance and the second knew he was on thin ice, if that punch had bruised him their boss was literally going to kill him.

Other workers watched as they went by, another two carried Tristans legs who now tried to struggle again, what the hell was going on!

He was sat in a chair with ease, after all their boss was right there, the workers didn't dare handle him as if he were anything less than a handle with care package with fragile taped all over him.

"Well are you going to take that off him, it's a little hard for dramatic entrances when he can't even see me."

"Yes sir, right away."

The bag was pulled off swiftly with the headphones clattering to the floor.

Tristan squinted, everyone looked like blurs, he could see faces only as different coloured splodges, his hair sticking up in different angles, shoulders aching now, he still sat up right, heart racing

"Where are his glasses?"

Tristan turned to where he heard the man speak, it was cold, commanded respect...familiar but no it couldn't be...

"Sebastian, where are his glasses?"

"I ah, James you see knocked them off in the struggle and-"

A metal arm, supporting four claw digits at it's end clasped his face

"What did I tell you about people with glasses, remove them, keep them what Sebastian."

He had brought the man to his knees holding so tightly Sebastian could feel his skull on the verge of cracking, he let out a cry as he managed to finish the sentence

"Safe!"

"Oh good you can listen to orders, now James..."

He'd let go of Sebastian and beckoned over his other crew member, Tristan knew this voice but it couldn't be him, he must still be disorientated.

"James, what have I told you about harming what belongs to me."

He said softly, curling his his claws around James's tie, Sebastian stepped back, well he had warned his coworker and with a snap and flick of his wrist the tie had been pulled so hard and tight the man's neck had been snapped.

"He had trouble following orders, first few times is understandable, you're settling into this new life but after five years it should not be that hard."

Tristan wished he'd had his glasses because if this was Walter Beckett he would have just witnessed one of Becketts trade mark moves and yes maybe would have gushed like a fan boy.

He was going to pretend it was him until he could see at the least and imagine he was kidnapped by Thee Walter Beckett.

He listened to him calling in clean up crew and for someone to bring up the glasses, his shape coming in closer and closer, it had to be him, the silver blurred limb was on his left, the hair colour.

"Awww poor baby..."

The younger man cooed.

Tristan tried very hard not to lean into his touch when his hair was stroke back and felt the Claws against his scalp

"Don't worry now, my useless men have been dealt with, come on now look up at me."

He didn't exactly give Tristan a choice as he place a claw under his chin

"See, now Mr Mcford I know I have my fans, the ones who do their fanart, their fictions whatever you will, I keep an eye on anyone who searches my name out of curiosity..."

He tapped his nose

"You Mcford like clock work will watch videos that have only the briefest flash of me, pour over articles, fictions..."

He smirked tracing one long metal claw along his jaw

"Reader x Walter Beckett, but you got tired of them, skinny little me always being pinned, submissive, no, no you wrote your own, named yourself Killian, nice name by the way, where I owned you, laid you back and made sure you knew who you belonged to."

Tristan was red, he was so fucking red and wanted the bag back on his head

"But Im not here to embarrass you, you're actually a good writer and it was the first one I ever enjoyed myself to."

Tristan wanted to implode, die right there, hearing Beckett had fucking masturbated to his little story, he let out a whine then hung his head, trying to hide how much that effected him.

The crew came up and pulled the body from the room and handed Walter the item he'd requested

"Face me now, unless you prefer being half blind."

Beckett held his face with his human hand, finger tip tracing a cheek bone, my they were sharp weren't they, what a pretty scientist.

Placing the glasses on, small lights flickered then settled.

"They read your eyes and the lenses adjust to the prescription you need."

Walter explained now casually sitting on Mcford's lap, an arm around the back of his neck.

"I'll cut to the chase, as I said we check everyone who even so much as types my name out of curiosity and when I found out you were working for the agency that has reaaaally caused a lot of problems in my life I researched you."

Tristan was staring, no way did Walter not feel the protruding problem down below, you would literally have to be either dead or have no feeling in your body to not notice that, he was still, he listened to him, was he having a wet dream, it had to be a dream right?

"Besides my uh Internet history...what...what did you find out."

"Oh you know, that you're an under appreciated scientist who came up with designs so dangerous they had to lock them away...and I may have slightly stolen them, now while I could personally and am the only qualified person here to build such delicious technology...."

He slipped his hand under Tristans lab coat, slowly rubbing his palm against his chest and smirking at the shakey breath and the way Tristan adjusted his hips, oh he could certainly feel that reaction

"I have an evil empire to run...I need you Tristan, I want you..."

He leaned in closer, lips nearly at his.

Mcford whined, fuck he was close Walter hadn't even done anything but the raised brow and smirk on Becketts face told him he could feel him twitch and gasped as the hand that'd been on his chest traveled down a finger tip teasing the head of his cock through his pants.

"How do you feel about working for me Tristan, build your machines and what ever else comes to mind, I need someone as competent as myself..."

Walter kneaded him slowly, to the point the slow pace was painful, his mouth was open and another ragged breath left him, this had to be a wet dream a really, vivid wet dream, please don't let his alarm go off...he pressed against his neck, forehead on his shoulder as Walter stroked the back of his neck with metal Claws, cool against his flesh.

Even if he was awake, of course his answer was yes....

"We could even build something together, I'm sure you'd just love to see me work..."

Beckett leered.

Walter was so warm, he was here, touching him, fucking touching him, dragging it out and making him nearly beg and he loved it.

"Yes..."

Tristan panted, lifting his hips trying to get more friction, he still had his handcuffs on he couldn't reach out and touch the man he wanted, his wrists struggling instinctively to part.

"Look at me and say it, Tristan."

That purr went through Mcford's entire being, lifting his head whimpering, biting his lip, he loved the tease, feeling so close to the edge and having Walter deny him...he begged to some god out there that Walter would finish it at least, it was so intense, he knew his clothes were stained with precum, Beckett seemed to enjoy reminding him he knew it was there by playfully tapping a finger over the tip of his cock where the damp patch was.

"Yes...I'll work for you....I have mmmphn wanted to since I ahh first saw you... Oh my god..."

Walter smiled, watching him, listening to him, oh how blue his eyes looked when his cheeks were this flushed, absolutely gorgeous.

"Oh Tristan there is no god, only me and my loving hands."

He returned, unbuckling Tristans belt and reaching in, blushing a little himself as he watched Tristans eyes nearly roll up, his head falling forward.

Tristan watched as Walter finished him off how desperately he wanted to hold onto him, press fingers into his back, he couldn't remember the last time he came this fucking hard or if he'd ever...he was speechless...breathless and fuck he'd made a mess of them both.

He was putty in Walters hands, feeling a claw lift his head again, moaning softly still, his body was tingling all over

"Welcome to the team Killian."

Beckett said sweetly before leaning in and kissing him.

#lemon #Spies in disguise #Walter x Killian #Au

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periminkle · 4 years

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Orphic | 04

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.6k

rating: PG-15

warnings: swearing, descriptions of blood and cleaning wounds, mentions of cannibalism (o.o)

author’s note: mMMm setting deadlines is effective but exhausting, so the pacing of this might be a bit weird? also im def not late bc it’s still sunday in some timezones so ;))

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I stared intently at the grungy nick in the otherwise spotless wall, mind racing a mile a minute.

The better half of the last hour had been spent pacing back and forth, gaze unmoving from the unconscious man in fear of missing the twitch of a finger or the flutter of an eyelash. His complete stillness persuaded me to check on his pulse frequently, glad to feel the faint, yet steady, beat beneath layers of smooth skin.

When I received a second call from my cranky saviour to inform me that he was nearly here, I forcefully sat myself down and practiced that infamous square breathing that every zen yogi swore by. By the persistent bouncing of my knee, it was evident that the yogis had failed me.

Rain was pounding down in thick sheets onto the pavement outside and at this point I was convinced the world had it out for me, using every trick in the book to further complicate this surely doomed rescue mission. Nonetheless, I optimistically hoped that the incoming storm would soon subside.

My unfortunate lips dealt with the brunt of my merciless canines, rendering the skin raw by the time a distinctive series of raps against the sturdy door caught my attention. It was the very same pattern in which I’d regularly knock on the door to the cleaning storage, craving the company of someone other than the three musketeers I’d gotten to know better than my own blood.

Although I ordinarily would be enthusiastically welcomed and greeted with nothing less than a wide, heart-shaped grin, the circumstances now were undoubtedly exceptional. Thus, the crinkle between his brows and the disgruntled glare fixed on my sheepish smile were to be expected.

Needless to say, Hoseok was not impressed.

“What the hell?” the typically friendly janitor barked out, huffing out his frustration at having his slumber disturbed. “You do know that it’s almost two in the morning right? How did you even get in here? Why couldn’t this wait for tomorrow?”

His hair stuck up in a multitude of different directions, evidently having rolled out of bed, slipped on a jacket and came to my rescue. The wrinkled, blue horse character on his pajama set eased some of my nerves at the familiarity of its nose, in the shape of Hoseok’s smile that was, understandably, nowhere to be found with the current circumstances.

I gripped the distressed male by his lithe shoulders, imploring him to slow down. “I’m not coming in tomorrow. Listen, this is gonna sound absurd but—”

His eyes drifted past my smaller form and I firmly shook at his torso to prevent him from spotting the other man. “Hey! Eyes down here.” A hint of curiosity bled through his agitated exterior when he focused on my stern exterior once more. “You can’t freak out, okay?”

Hoseok shrugged his approval, murmuring, “Yeah, I get it, directly disobeying the head researchers is pretty satisfying and all, but did you really have to drag me into this? Especially when you know I start early on Saturdays?”

At the reminder of his strict schedule, I withered marginally as I originally hadn’t intended to involve him at all. A shameful appreciation began to eat away at my conscience, grateful for his presence in spite of my outrageous request. I wouldn’t know what to do if Hoseok hadn’t come through and in my eyes, he remained an angel who was too good to be true.

“I’m sorry, I promise this is really important.” I brought my arms back to my sides, glancing down at my feet in order to organize my swirling thoughts. “I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

What I didn’t notice while lost in my reverie was Hoseok’s rebellious stare, wandering over the injured man’s form. “What the fuck?” He gently shoved me aside, stumbling deeper into the laboratory. When he was planted by the stranger’s table, he repeated, “What the actual fuck?”

My head tipped back in exasperation, disappointed that not even my last minute backup strategy was going according to plan. “Hobi, please.”

I could practically envision the gears whirring in his head, a natural reaction considering the mutant in front of him. When he finally craned his neck back to me, he mumbled with wide eyes, “Say sike right now.”

“Stop talking for two seconds.” I groaned, marching up to position myself between the janitor and the table in an attempt to calm him down. Immediately upon noticing his trembling digits, I reached out to clasp them within my own quivering hands. “Listen, this experiment they’re conducting? From what I know, it’s all some screwed up excuse to inject animalistic characteristics of their choosing into humans. And their track records point to a lot of predator species.”

“Predators? Wha—why would they even want to create a predator-human hybrid?” Hoseok took a tiny step back and out of the fear that he would flee, I fiercely clamped down onto our conjoined limbs.

“I don’t know yet,” I faltered. “But, honestly, I couldn’t care less because of how unethical they are in their approach to this project.” At his puzzled expression I somberly gestured to the unmoving lump in the corner, willing myself to postpone any tears for a safer location.

Hoseok must have connected the dots at the midnight black shade of fur peeking out underneath the fabric matching the colour of the hybrid’s ears and tail, as his stare hardened and his breathing began to even out from the rapid pace it was at before. “I’ll need more details later on, but let’s get him out of here first.”

At his command, I retracted from Hoseok's hold, scoping out the rather barren area for something other than the masses of files and papers strewn about. “You think we can carry him together?”

Simply comparing the difference in size between the stranger and Hoseok, there was no doubt the copious, hulking mass of muscle outweighed my friend’s slimmer figure. Our combined strength would have to somehow prove formidable against his bulky body.

Hoseok’s grimace spoke volumes about his faith in that idea, although there wasn’t much of a choice considering the alarming time crunch and our limited accessibility to other parts of the laboratory. Due to my blind confidence in the ostensibly foolproof scheme I constructed, the only cameras shifted were directly located in the path from the front entrance to the changing room to the upstairs lab.

Oh, how I was regretting that naivety now.

Using an abandoned stretch of fabric that had been stuffed into one of the drawers I rummaged through earlier, I covered his immobile body with the thin cover to provide some decency and act as a layer of defence against the torrents outside.

While Hoseok stood directly behind his head, leaning forward to loop his arms underneath the hybrid’s triceps and around his chest, I grabbed each of his ankles, cradling them to my abdomen. Even with our best efforts to avoid any of his wounds, there was no way to avert the countless scratches and bruises that littered every inch of visible skin. We counted on the sanguine belief that he wasn’t conscious enough to feel any of it, reluctant to use any tranquilizers when we weren't aware of how much juice they’d already injected him with.

“On the count of three?” Hoseok asked.

With a nod, I tightened my hold and widened my stance. “One, two,” after taking a generous inhale, I heaved, “three!”

The two of us managed to maneuver the stranger down the length of the dingy hall before we were forced to gently place him onto the ground, desperate to grant our aching muscles the break they demanded. Currently, construction was being done on the elevator, which meant that the flight of stairs was the next obstacle to be tackled.

I lost the brief, but fierce, battle of rock-paper-scissors and endured the frightening prospect of marching down the stairs backwards—in the dark. All because Hoseok was unwilling to sacrifice the slightest bit of his comfort for the both of us to step sideways.

It was safe to say the stairs themselves took ten minutes to clear.

On the first floor, we were able to cross over to the main entrance in a breeze thanks to the spacious nature of the lobby. After scurrying to Hoseok’s car and laying the hybrid in the back seat, I returned to the lab to dutifully lock up the front door and jogged back to the vehicle.

Hoseok sent me a befuddled brow lift from the front seat when instead of the passenger’s side, I hesitantly stood a stride away from the driver’s door. “He’s fine, hurry up already so we can get out of here.” He motioned to the space beside him with the flick of his chin, his bed head dancing along with the movement. “It wouldn’t look too great if anyone caught us right now, especially with the man-cat knocked out cold in the back. Plus, the lab just radiates spooky vibes at night, look at my goosebumps!”

“Okay, okay, give me a second,” I grunted, opening the door to the back seat as I bowed inside to avoid a painful meeting with the roof of the vehicle. While gripping the back of the stranger’s skull with one hand and his upper back with the other, I lifted his torso and slipped inside. Tenderly, I placed his head on my lap.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok stared at me through the mirror, evidently unnerved by my proximity to the man. “He could literally wake up at any minute and there goes your throat!”

“Or he could get juggled around from your shitty driving and open his injuries again,” I countered, “which I think is a lot more likely, no?”

He scoffed, taking full offence to my jest. “Never mind. I hope he throws you out the damn window for calling my driving anything less than spectacular.”

The rush of excess blood coursing through my veins as a result of my overactive heart pounded in my head, nearly loud enough to block out the boisterous revving of the engine echoing throughout the empty lot. Tires squeaked against the pavement, jolting the hunk of metal into action as we sped away.

“Where were you thinking of leaving him?” he asked, taking a breath before mumbling, ��that is, if you thought about this at all.”

“Hobi!” My jaw dropped dramatically at his not so subtle jab, shaking my head as I commented, “You’ve been hanging around Yoongi too much lately. I mean, all this sass couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

He slowed down behind the only other car in sight, flicking on his signal to turn. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not, I was just commenting on your drastic change in behaviour,” I rebutted, crossing my arms across my chest at his determination to aggravate me tonight. “For your information, I actually planned this out for weeks; who do you think got the key card to the upstairs lab, the keys to the building itself, moved all the cameras—

Despite the leather seat between us, I knew he was sporting a sly smirk, for his conceit was bleeding through his supercilious tone. “And who begged me for help halfway through this ingenious plan?”

My jaw clenched shut, astounded at his cheeky retorts. At first, I was unsure of how the relationship between the jovial custodian and the chilly facade that Yoongi donned among strangers would progress, but judging by the sheer number of occasions in which I’d walked into a room with the two chatting away—gummy smiles all around, it seemed to be advancing better than expected.

“Whatever, you came anyway.” I sank back into my seat, careful not to disturb the comatose man peacefully resting on my thighs. Hopefully he was narcotized enough to remain oblivious to the various disturbances around him and would only rouse when the sun made an appearance.

Hoseok blithely sneered, pressing harder on the pedal as he spun the steering wheel to the right. “Yeah, well it’s kind of hard not to when you claim that Hyunho’s going to sue your ass for thousands of dollars.”

“And was I wrong?” I recalled our earlier conversation, where I hadn’t yet mustered up the courage, much less the patience, to confess to the details of my crimes. In a panicked state, I simply presented the consequences which would follow Hoseok’s absence—Hyunho’s wrath.

“No, now you’re just gonna get your ass handed to you by Namjoon and Yoongi,” he countered. “But I guess you’ll save some money while you’re at it.”

Merely the thought of their reactions to my late night escapade made me want to shrivel up in a ball. “Who said I’m going to tell them?”

“You’re not telling them?” The car slowed as he gradually came to a graceful stop behind a red light, turning his torso to face me with the help of his hand on the central console. “You know better than to release the man-cat, he’ll just get caught again.”

Rolling my eyes like a petulant child being scolded, I muttered, “I’m not releasing him.”

“But you can’t deal with him on your own either!” he snapped, the lack of sleep shortening his tolerance. After a pause to regain his senses, Hoseok rapidly shook his head and twisted back to focus on the empty roads ahead.

"Listen," I gritted out between my teeth, my own temper flaring. “I think you’re forgetting that I was well aware of the fact that I would be housing some kind of animal for a while, just didn’t know he would be this big.”

“Or this dangerous? This costly?” His firm grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white as his emotions boiled over. "You’re not prepared to deal with him, I'll just take him back to my place."

A puff of air escaped my throat at his ridiculous solution, stating, "You live with your sister. There's no way she won't find out."

"Like you're any better off," he quipped, staring me down through the rearview mirror. "You live alone. If he were to do anything to you, we’d be none the wiser about it."

"Well, we can't risk anyone discovering his existence. There's no other way.” By watching the stranger’s chest rise and fall with each elongated breath, I was able to simultaneously avoid Hoseok’s prying eyes and collect my own thoughts.

While impatiently waiting for his arrival back at the lab, my mind had trudged through copious possibilities, overwhelmed with the pressure to choose the right one. Eventually, I came to the disconcerting conclusion that, be that as it may, the most secure option remained to bring him back to my place.

I reassured, "Don’t worry, I cleared out my bedroom so that there’s nothing in there that could potentially be used as a weapon. We'll secure him down, lock the door, and I'll camp out in the living room."

"Y/N, we don't have any clue what this guy is capable of,” Hoseok stressed, worry colouring his voice as he sharply gesticulated with his free hand. “Hell, look at him! He has cat ears, Y/N, and do not get me started on his tail.”

I stole a glance at the accused appendage in bewilderment, unsure of why that aspect was at the forefront of Hoseok’s concerns regarding the mutant boy. “What’s wrong with his tail?”

“My point is,” he accentuates, “we have no idea what we’re dealing with here. What if he has some kind of monstrous super strength and his diet consists of human flesh? He could probably rip right through any restraints and bam! That'll be the end of you."

I held my tongue at ridiculing his absurd speculations when some sort of man-cat hybrid was currently strewn across the back seat of Hoseok’s run-down Corolla; a dim display exposing the current, ungodly hour of the early morning.

“Do you have any better ideas?" Although my question was met with radio silence, we steadily continued on the potholed path headed away from my house. I spoke up again, "Where are you taking us?"

"We're going to Namjoon's place, and we're gonna think of a better alternative all together."

"Hoseok," I seethed, fists clenching next to my thigh. "He'll make us take him back. We're already too far in to go back now."

The car jerked violently due to the bumpy road and being suddenly reminded of the wounded boy, I shot out to grab at his thin waist in order to nail him to the seat. Despite my best efforts, crimson liquid soaked through the thin blanket and I cursed under my breath.

"I can't leave you there alone with him!"

"Please, we'll be careful." A beat passed as I greedily inhaled the fresh air flowing in through my open window, gathering ideas to negotiate. "I'll stay awake the whole time and I'll text you every hour."

Regardless of my pleas, the car kept at its incessant pace to Namjoon's apartment. Sweat began to accumulate at my temples at the unsure fate of what censure awaited me. To distract my nerves, I gripped the fabric that covered the man’s body, tugging it over his shoulders to rest just below his chin while pressing a bunch into his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Past the low hum of the vehicle, a gentle utterance met my ears. I lifted my head to inquire whether the sound was merely a figment of my fatigued imagination when Hoseok repeated, "Every half hour."

My eyes widened, darting to examine his stoic expression from the rearview mirror. "Yes! Yes, yes of course. I can even do every ten minutes if that’s what you want." I shrugged my shoulders, pointing out, "I'll be up all night anyway."

"No, I'm good. Unlike some of us, I don't deserve to be punished for my crimes and would like to salvage the little sleep I can get," he declared as he performed a U-turn at a wide intersection.

My grin expanded exponentially at the change in direction. "Suit yourself."

I allowed my thoughts to clear, tracing a clear droplet on the window as it raced to engulf another, merging into one, larger globule that ran down the smooth expanse until it was out of sight. Unknowingly, I mindlessly carded my fingers through the stranger’s dampened strands; more so for my own comfort than for anyone else.

Before I knew it, we’d arrived at my quaint cottage and with the addition of another individual residing under its roof, the place seemed tinier than ever. Hoseok and I shuttled him over to my bedroom as gracefully as we possibly could, aiming to avoid whacking into any obstacles along the way.

Other than his lengthy legs knocking into two door frames, we were clear.

The second his back met the rigid mattress, we collectively released a weighty exhalation from the excessive exertion that strained both our physical and mental states. Although the chances of the stranger waking up now were low, seeing as he was out like a light throughout the whole journey, I hurried to collect the sturdy ropes that I purchased in advance.

“Ooh, you’re into some kinky shit, huh Y/N?” Hoseok quipped, taking the material from my hands.

My eyes rolled back at his stupid antics, glaring at the pleased crinkles forming next to his drooping eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. Now help me tie him up, so I can kick you out of my house.”

“And what’re you gonna do to him when I leave?”

Snatching the rope that he stole from me, I shoved Hoseok to the side by pressing against his firm bicep—which definitely carried more than his fair share of the hybrid on the way here—and grumbled, “Guess If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

Hoseok burst into a short fit of contagious laughter, invoking a couple quiet giggles that I was unsuccessful in fighting down. As he raised the stranger’s arms to the bed frame, I looped the braided, nylon material snug around each of his wrists. Along the way I checked to ensure that the restraints weren’t too tight before moving onto his ankles to repeat the process. Luckily enough, his height stretched the entire length of my minuscule bed with his feet dangling off the ledge.

“Tell me you brought more tranquilizers in case?” Hoseok asked immediately upon securing the last knot. Throughout a tedious explanation on how foolishly lax I was behaving with the hybrid, he went back to inspect my handiwork, tugging the ends of the cords closer together into a grip that nearly cut off the hybrid’s blood flow.

Over his nagging, I sneaked a victorious grin as I displayed the syringes I’d nabbed from the lab. He spent a few more minutes fiddling with various safety measures consisting of the pepper spray he stealthily retrieved from my purse, the bedroom door’s lock and an air horn that he remarkably pulled out of his coat’s pocket. Although it was questionable if the blaring sound would awaken even my closest neighbours due to the sheer distance between our houses, I didn’t dare attempt after imagining old Sangmin marching over here on his rickety cane to bark my ears off.

Refusing to bother expending effort on pondering over the rationale behind Hoseok’s little magic trick, I blithely shooed him out before any more ridiculous objects could be plucked out of his jacket.

The last straw was his finger approaching the sensitive button on said air horn. Unwilling to face the consequences of his brash actions, I slammed the front door closed behind Hoseok, the space suddenly void of his rowdy antics. I wearily blinked the drowsiness out of my eyes, the stillness and tranquility of the early hours slowed my heart rate from the fast paced, action packed night.

My sock-clad feed padded their way back to the bedroom, snatching my phone out of my black hoodie to fiddle around with an app that I discovered upon moving out. In order to relay my continued existence to my family, I scheduled texts to be sent every week, which would prove useful at this time as well. Knowing my own forgetful nature, one update to Hoseok would slip my mind, and either four, furious men would burst through every available entrance or I would have the whole police force upon my front steps in minutes.

To prevent such a disastrous event from taking place, I tampered around with the settings and added the fretting male to the list.

I halted in my tracks when faced with the mundane sight of the four walls where I spent most of my sleeping hours, not a hair out of place other than the addition of the injured hybrid on my dirtied bed. The crimson stains jolted me into action, retrieving my brand new first-aid kit and finding it hilariously ironic that the dressings were going to be used on the very same criminal that broke in to steal such supplies.

In order to fight off any cold that could have possibly slithered its way past the weak barrier draped over his body, I peeled the flimsy, sodden cover off and replaced it with a puffy comforter. Traversing through the storm that continued to rage outside definitely put a strain on his already weakened state, and his pale countenance wasn't very reassuring.

I slid the blanket down to access the sullied wound at his rib cage and grabbed a couple pads of gauze to firmly press onto the area. Thankfully, some blood had already begun to coagulate around the edges, so I didn’t have to wait too long for the trickling stream to cease. With a clean towel, I wiped the surrounding skin to get a better look at what I was dealing with, grimacing at the bruises forming galaxies across the jagged edges of ripped skin.

He was in worse shape than either Hoseok or I could have predicted. At this realization, the fleeting worry that he might succumb to the severity of his wounds grew, festering a nasty doubt in my mind.

Deciding whether to clean the laceration commenced another strife within the whirlwind of emotions inside my head, but I poured a few drops of antiseptic onto a cotton ball anyway, fearful of infection. As I tried my best to carefully dab the soaked material across his wounds, I peered up at his face to search for signs of consciousness.

My eyes involuntarily softened at the small cuts littered across his neck, travelling past his jaw and over the slopes of his hollowed cheeks to his forehead, which was partially hidden under his dark locks. When the cotton was thoroughly besmirched with a blend of bright crimson and a muddy brown, I drenched another and advanced up to other regions after the more serious lesions were taken care of.

A closer look at his sinewy torso allowed me to examine the scars scattered all around, mostly clustered around his upper arms. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether their appearances were linked to the cruel methods of the laboratory. How had he gotten within their clutches in the first place? For how long was he suffering under the justification of being an experiment?

What were they trying to accomplish with him?

My mind raced with all the different possibilities of what could have brought the hybrid into this situation in the first place, and before I knew it, I was pushing back the disheveled strands on his forehead to clean the last of his cuts. There were definitely more on his dorsal side, but I wasn’t willing to undo his restraints and flip his hefty weight over on my own. I would either wait until he woke up or ask Hoseok to stop by again after his shift.

In my current position, I was close enough to feel his warm breath fanning across my skin, observe the tiny brown mole under his lip and how utterly breathtaking this man was underneath the cuts that marred his skin. He was undoubtedly attractive at first glance, although I wasn’t able to appreciate his masculine features while under the stress of saving him.

Once every laceration in my reach had been disinfected to the best of my limited abilities, I swiftly bandaged his side again and stuck Spider-man themed band aids onto the smaller cuts in memory of the Hello Kitty ones that decorated his body earlier. I settled back on the chair, admiring my handiwork and fighting back the looming threat of dormancy that approached with every elongated blink. My head leaned back as I crossed my arms, thinking that a little snooze never hurt anyone.

I was blind to the cocoa orbs drinking in the darkness.

The bright light streaming in through the numerous cracks between my blinds prodded my eyelids apart, pupils struggling to adjust past the groggy haze of an unexpected slumber. Rather than revelling in the bountiful energy supplied by a restorative nap, an obnoxious cramp in my neck made its presence known alongside the bleak, obstinate tingle of dormancy that lingered within every tightened tendon, pulsating throughout my entire body.

Although the pain gradually ebbed away after I rolled my head around in wide semicircles, I knew from experience that the ache of sleeping in an uncomfortable position would linger.

Gold streaks were painted on the hardwood floor as a result of the sun’s harsh rays, a stark contrast to the dusk of a few hours ago. As I began to fuzzily recollect the memories from yesterday, I spotted the growing number of discrepancies between the room I’d seen before I closed my eyes and now, from the open door to the ruffled sheets, devoid of any sign of life.

Fortunately, I seemed to be in the same position, seated on the tough chair that I snoozed off in a few hours ago. However, I found it odd that it was particularly difficult to do much else than squirm around, and that was when I realized the problem lied in the nylon material tied around my wrists and ankles, binding me to the furniture.

A cold dread washed over me, much like a freezing bucket of ice being poured over my head. The hybrid escaped.

Well, at least he didn’t exact his fallacious revenge on my sleeping form.

“Awake?”

I squeaked at the whiplash that followed the movement of my head twisting a second too quickly, intent on identifying the furtive speaker. My eyes widened exponentially at locating the muscular hybrid, black ears twitching at my cry and tail swishing in curiosity. Being clad in only boxers, I shifted my gaze away out of instinct, a fiery blush overtaking my features despite having ogled the man’s ripped physique before.

It felt completely different when he was unconscious and my only intent was to treat his multitudinous wounds though.

He slowly blinked, clearly finding my astonishment puzzling with the bewilderment laced in his orbs. Waving a large palm in front of my face to get my attention on him, he calmly said, “No hurt.”

The tight rope that currently hindered my motion was definitely the same one that had been previously occupied with restraining the hybrid to the bed. Yet the very same male stood in front of me, free as a bird. “H-how did you get out?”

Instead of answering verbally, he extended his defined arms out to the side, imitating the position he was tied up in, then robustly swinging both limbs towards one another. So he broke through those thick, durable ropes with sheer strength and willpower. Comforting.

The tranquilizers laid scattered across the floor, much too far to even consider reaching them.

“Where’s your blanket?” I questioned, suppressing the tremor in my voice as I found it outrageous that my throat was still intact at this point. There was no guarantee that he wasn’t harbouring any motives to rid the world of my presence, but the fact that he wasn’t actively making any moves to rip my heart out was a good sign.

The mop of dark chestnut swayed along in the same direction that he tilted his head over to; a habit revealing an emotion that I couldn’t place on the stranger. “Warm. No like.”

His broken English revived a flurry of trepidation. I recalled the night of the break-in, the terror and hysteria that I’d buried away under the incorrect pretense that a burglar never hits the same house twice.

I didn’t know if that sentiment applied to kidnapping the criminal and using your place as his hideout, as well.

As I noisily gulped, I felt his stare dart to my esophagus and in a wild panic, my wide eyes met the doe-like curve of his own. The hybrid edged closer to my trembling form before treading past me, out of sight. I closed my eyes in preparation.

This is it. Goodbye world, it was pretty shit while it lasted.

I heard the rustling of fabric behind me and silently applauded the man for thinking of a quick and easy suffocation to reduce the amount of clean up afterwards.

His bare feet slapped against the floor, trekking over to my front again. When a couple seconds passed and none of my airways were blocked nor was there any piercing pain to be felt, I cautiously cracked an eye open to see the stranger standing there, the puffy blanket from before wrapped around his broad shoulders.

“Good now?” he inquired with a bunny-like smile.

My jaw dropped slightly as I nodded, attempting to formulate a sentence but coming up empty. The stark contrast between the brawn enveloping his body and his innocent features threw me in for a loop. This must have been part of his grand scheme to ruthlessly murder me—lulling me into a false sense of security before executing me on the spot.

Outwardly, the hybrid appeared to possess more human features than his animal counterpart, leading me to wonder which instincts ruled over the other. Was he more level-headed and rational or was he unable to suppress his bestial instincts? Did he get sudden, violent mood swings or go on occasional, bloodthirsty rampages?

The lack of knowledge I had regarding the man, who had somehow gained the upper hand through his brute strength, was worrying. A tinge of regret for not skimming through a few files on said hybrid before Hoseok’s arrival made me softly curse under my breath.

As I shifted in place, I was reminded of my own predicament. “So, uh, any chance you’ll let me go?”

With his broad grin still on full display, he made his refusal clear by shaking his head back and forth. It was worth a try. “Not fair. I tied, now you tied.”

His childish logic caught me off guard and a bark of laughter shook my stiff shoulders, marginally relaxing at the prospect that he might postpone the bloodshed for a later time. The mystery laid in how he could distinguish my harmless intentions from the head researchers’ diabolical ones. Maybe it was the lab coat?

I made a mental note to never wear my own lab coat in front of him.

A grumble snapped me out of my reverie. I observed the stranger’s startled features as he glanced down at his abdomen, then, unabashedly, back up to my face. Recalling his screams of horror back at the lab, the barbaric treatment he received there was indisputable and based on his raging stomach, I guessed that it had been a while since he’d eaten anything of substance.

Of all times, Hoseok’s ridiculous words of the hybrid’s diet consisting of human grade meat played back through my brain and jitters erupted over my limbs, wanting to please the man before he was picking his teeth with my freshly cleaned bones.

“Hungry?” I prodded, pushing other priorities to the side in favour of feeding the rumbling beast.

His dark orbs immediately lit up with pure, unadulterated glee. The hybrid gracefully tied the ends of the fabric around his neck like a cape and rounded closer to me with mirth written across every crease on his countenance.

Unsure if his giddiness was attributed to the assumption that I was offering up the meat lining my organs, I squirmed in protest, attempting to cause a ruckus in order to spur his excitement towards another source of protein in the fridge.

Not having much choice in the matter with my limited range of motion, I watched in worry as he scurried out of sight again. “Hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here and—”

Despite being prepared for his unpredictable nature, a yelp flew past my lips when I was effortlessly lifted into the air, chair and all. His forearms caged my thighs as he gripped the bottom of the seat, hot pants of air blowing onto the back of my neck from his position.

His elation was practically tangible as he flew past the open doorway and sped off through the foyer. He must have ventured deeper into the house while I was blissfully unaware, since his strides towards the kitchen were filled with nothing but confidence in every step.

Hastily, I spat out, “I’m not that delicious, trust me! My budget’s been pretty strict this month, so I’ve just been eating junk, and I don’t imagine that’ll taste very go—”

The force holding me upright loosened when we reached the fridge, permitting my feet to find the floor. “Dee-lee-shiz?” He tried to imitate, turning to point straight at me.

“No! No, no, not delicious.” I corrected, violently shaking my head.

His outstretched arm retracted to his side, staring like a hawk at my chin tipping towards the metal cooling box behind him, and I repeated, “Delicious.”

As he flung the door to the refrigerator open, nearly ripping it right off its hinges, he yelled, “Dee-lee-shiz!”

Utter fascination at the chilled temperature and the rather meager array of food etched onto his features, sending relief through my veins. I encouraged him to ravage the tenuous stock of food while simultaneously rejoicing at successfully having deterred him from eating me alive.

Packs of eggs, blueberries, condiments, and essentially anything within his reach was hauled out, forming a growing heap on the countertop. When a zucchini found its way into his grasp, he took one puzzled look before chomping down on one end. I wasn’t too sure how raw zucchini would taste when eaten as though it were a cucumber, but he seemed pleased enough to take another bite that resounded throughout the space with a loud crunch.

I reclined back into the stiff chair, content on observing the ravenous hybrid empty my fridge and taking an occasional nibble on snacks that piqued his interest. Although, his grab at the bundle of raw chicken was when I decided to voice my concerns. “Ah, that has to be cooked!” At another tilt of his head, I explained, “You could get sick if you don’t cook it.”

By his furrowed brows, I deduced the concept flew over his head, but he threw the package onto my lap anyway and peered down expectantly. “Cook.”

“You tied me up, remember? I need some mobility to cook.” I tugged at my subdued arms to demonstrate my current inaptitude.

He hummed in thought, enveloping his lower lip between his lengthy canines as he weighed the pros and cons of being able to consume the meat by setting me loose. Finally, after clearly expressing how torn he was between his hunger and his teasing, it seemed that he’d come to a conclusion when he latched onto my left forearm.

Just as I was about to jib that I was no longer on the menu, a searing pain ripped across my wrist. I hissed through my teeth with my fists clenched as I teared my tender arm out of his grip, protectively cradling the limb to my chest.

He flinched away from the sound, taking a step away from my defensive form. At the sight of my disgruntled frown, he withered into himself, chin to his chest while I examined my sore wrist, whimpering at the edges of the flaming red, torn skin. I was a second away from viciously reprimanding him for the bruise that was more than likely to form by tomorrow, but one look into his guilty, fearful eyes made me pause.

With his strength, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he possessed the ability to do much worse, which didn’t seem to be his intent from all the fretting—ears tucked into the crown of his head and tail hanging low. As he seemed to be repenting without a chiding needed on my end, I redirected to a softer approach. “It’s fine, just be more gentle next time, okay?”

“Mm,” he complied weakly, his prior enthusiasm having substantially deflated. Before I could dismiss the topic and entice him with more food, he knelt down to my ankles, gripping the rope with both hands this time as he effortlessly tore the material apart, careful not to graze my legs in the process.

A shiver crawled down my spine at the display of power, mentally noting that there was probably enough strength in his fingers to flick my stunned form across the room; yet the man proved his duality by proceeding to grab one loose end of his makeshift cape and gently tie it around my unscathed wrist. “No run.”

Surprisingly enough, I hadn’t made it a break for it as soon as I was liberated. Although I sustained minimal injuries, he expressed his remorse and made no moves to consume my flesh, which was another good sign. As more time passed, he was revealing to be more and more of a passionate bunny stuck in a wrestler’s body.

After all, I hadn’t gone through all the trouble of kidnapping him just to sprint at the slightest sign of trouble. I confirmed, “No run.”

Some of his original ardour reappeared at my acknowledgement, along with a faint giggle that evoked a tiny smile on my own face. I figured that with his minimal experience revolving around homemade dishes, simply slapping on some salt and pepper to flavour the meat with a side of boiled vegetables would suffice. Thus, I took the package from my lap and got to work.

Cooking with another, rather useless, individual essentially attached at the hip was difficult, to say the least. In the beginning, the man fired question after question, curious about every ingredient and spice going into the dish, but after realizing that he lacked the correct vocabulary to obtain the information he sought, he became a silent observer.

Basically, he followed me around like a lapdog while munching on another zucchini to occupy his restless hands.

After pulling him around left and right, occasionally giving a soft tug on the blanket when he would unintentionally zone out, I finally threw all the components into a single pan, deciding to serve a simple stir-fry. With only the expanse of the puffy fabric between us, I was constantly elbowing the hybrid while mixing the ingredients together, which I considered a redeeming form of payback for his carelessness with my arm.

While the mouth-watering scent of lunch wafted around, he extended the wrist connected to mine, sidestepping over to the island to fish for a bag of baby carrots before coming to stand next to me by the stove. Spotting my stare, he flashed another blinding grin and I couldn’t help but imagine long, bunny ears extending off the top of his head, his slender tail replaced with a fluffier ball of fur at the back. That seemed to better suit his ardent personality.

The chicken gradually changed colour as the exterior of the vegetables softened, and I brought the meal along with the chair by the fridge over to my tiny two-person table, prompting him to take a seat in front of the steaming plate. I expected him to ravenously dig in and devour every crumb, yet he refused to move a muscle, staring out the glass doors to the backyard and into the forest instead.

“I hurt.” He stumbled over his words, somberly bringing his gaze to my cocked brow. “No mean to hurt.”

Thinking back to the scuffle that seemed eons away at this point, I flashed a reassuring smile his way, explaining, “I get it, you were injured. Um, I was kind of mad at first because you broke my door and everything,” I offhandedly gestured towards the broken contraption, “but I forgive you.”

“No.” He clenched his jaw, analyzing the surface of the table as if the words he was searching for were etched on the surface. “Now. Sorry now, too.” To drive his point home, he delicately grabbed the arm not wrapped in the blanket, streaks of red decorating my wrist like a tight bracelet.

I hummed my understanding. “Ah, I told you it’s fine already,” I reassured, patting his hand.

Content at my acceptance of his makeshift apology, he began to dig into the chicken. His nose twitched at the unfamiliar taste, but he made no complaints. Anything was better than nothing, in the end.

I let him enjoy his food for a bit before asking, “Did you have a name? Something like J3?”

His eyes went back to scanning the outdoors, the sound of his chomping coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted a sad lump on the porch.

“Bud?” he inquired, the light glimmering in his irises.

The nickname stumped me, as I had difficulty imagining Hyunho or Minzy affectionately calling their experiment ‘bud’. “What are you talking about? Is that your name?”

His finger poked out to the cylindrical pile of tuna outside, then back to himself, “Bud.”

Befuddled now more than ever, I tried to laugh it off and nodded my head towards the plate again, silently advising him to continue eating.

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem too keen on evading the topic, whimpering in frustration at either my lack of understanding or his incapability of properly communicating due to the language barrier. His unending appetite was going to be put on hold for this. As he stood up, the chair behind him screeched, and he clutched on to the blanket, pulling me towards the back door.

Refusing to allow history to repeat itself, I rushed ahead to slide the hairband off and pushed the door open, allowing him to slip through. I figured that when the man drifted off to sleep tonight, I could replace the rapidly decaying tuna in hopes that my kitty would visit again.

While I was lost in thought, he undid the knot connecting the two of us and sprinted into the forest.

His back disappeared within the thickets fencing the towering maple trees and I froze in place, my jaw going slack in an ugly mixture of bafflement and betrayal, believing that he had simply taken advantage of my hospitality then ran off. Although, all attempts at making sense of the hybrid’s actions were cut short when familiar noises of horrifying, crackling sounds met my ears, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

When the underbrush twitched, leaves fluttering from the movement of an animal hidden within their cover, a sinking feeling entered my chest. And that was the moment I met the vibrant, emerald eyes that had dug their own space within my heart.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook hybrid au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine #this chap gave me an aneurysm and a half

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

Note

Okay now I HAVE to know how crosshair proposes to his fem s/o. Your dancing fic with him was just too good and sweet, I need more sweetness. 😍🥺

Hiya! i’m glad you liked it! hope you enjoy this one :) Part one

You were new to the Bad Batch when you gave the rock to Crosshair, first mission, some stupid blown to high heavens planet. Was it a secret that Cross found you stunning? Yes, but that didn't stop him staring at you from underneath his bucket. Tech mentioned crafting you a helmet of your own for safety and if he goes through with that idea Crosshair might poison him.

“Cross!” You pop up in his field of vision like a Porg out of nowhere. You’re downwind and so you keep trying to brush hair out of your face but it’s not working.

“What?” He asks, taken back by how close you are. You grasp the smallest part of his wrist softly and bring it close to you. Pressing something small into his palm, and kissing his knuckles with a small smile.

“There, now you have one as well. I didn't think you’d like it but Tech, Wrecker and Hunter have one, so, well i mean you don’t have to keep it, i just wanted you guys to have something of your own and so like you guys know i care…” You explained looking behind you as the rest of the batch got further and further away, you scamper off to join them. Crosshair opens his palm. It's a pebble. You’ve given him a pebble. Small, glinting in the sunlight, and very sparkly. He’s not sure why you gave him a rock that seems to be blinding with how shiny it is, but either way, he puts it into the pocket closest to him.

It’s the same rock that's causing him so much grief. Crosshair has cut himself twice now trying to tie the damn thing to the circle of metal (a blaster spare part) with thin metal wire. And when he finally gets it into place, he hopes it shiny enough to pass as an engagement gemstone. Hiding the ring away as the doors to his (and your) barrack and you slide into the bed next to him, hair still wet from the refresher.

It was a messy mission. Messy, smelly and hot. Trudging through disgusting swamps covered in who-knows-what. You’re all a slightly brown-green colour from the algae, and you’re currently in a standoff with a small band of clankers.

“You owe me for that one Ram’ser.” You say to your boyfriend as you pull him out of the sludge, the steaming clanker that fell on him pushed to the side. Crosshair smirks and pulls you close to him with a disgusting squishing sound as he covers you in more weeds, dirt and even more algae.

“Eh, I'll just marry you and call it even.” He teases and you laugh at the ridiculous of it all, completely oblivious to the ring in his pocket.

“Bold of you to assume I'd even say yes. And don’t you need a ring for that?” You ask looking up at him.

“Bold of you to assume you deserve a ring.” He retorts, a very un-Crosshair smile on his face. He’s got it so bad for you, he’s convinced you’re made of Spice because Cross is that addicted to loving you. You feign a gasp and lightly hit him.

“You best watch yourself Ram’ser, or that HoloVid of you sleep talking may find its way into Techs hands.” You warn him with a pointed finger before setting off in the water again. Looking back at him with a smile and a head tilt. Crosshair following you with his fingers tapping against the secret in his pocket.

“Hey, cyare.” He calls from the edge of the landing platform on Coruscant. It's the nicest view he could find. Crosshair was hoping for stars but the planet is so muggy all you can see is the various lights from buildings and speeders. He can hear the nervousness in his voice.

“What's wrong?” you ask, joining him on the edge, a gentle hand cupping his elbow in concern.

“I got a question for ya.” Holy kriff, he’s trembling. Crosshair can barely believe it himself but he’s actually shaking from nerves.

“Are you okay?” You press a hand to his forehead, feeling it warmer than usual.

“Im fine.” He tells you to bring your hand down. “Just wanted to ask you something.” His ears hear your giggle and he gulps, and he’s so tense he feels like he can’t get the words out.

“Then ask me,” you say shaking your head at him.

“Do you like the view?” He chokes out, he had a whole suave speech planned that would’ve made the flow into you looking out at the sky much more natural but he’s forgotten what he was meant to say.

“Yeah, it’s nice, you know I like it here…” Crosshair had known you’d go off on a tangent about looking at the sky and all the people below you, and how you wonder about their lives and what yours and his would be like if not for the war. So very slowly, as to not disturb you he sinks down on one knee.

“Are you sure you’re okay Crosshair, you’re being uncharacteristically silent.” You mention, and when he doesn't respond you look over to him. Mouth dropping open just a tad as you cover it with your hands. A small smile begins to form on his face.

“You said I needed a ring.” He says, “you probably don't remember giving this to me but when you did you told me it was so that I knew you cared, and I am hoping you’ll let me give it back to you so i can prove how much i care about you.” You slide down to both of your knees in front of him tears spilling every which way over your face. “I love you more than anything cyare. I really do, and if you’ll let me, I'll give you this and every inch of my soul.” He stops for a moment and chuckles a tad.

“So whaddya say? Wanna marry this asshole?” You let out a gasp, trying to breathe through the tears and say something. It comes out as a blubbering mess so you settle for nodding and throwing yourself into his familiar arms as the speeders whizz by underneath you. Crosshair pulls you in for many kisses on your face, lips and neck as you whisper how much you love him. Only letting go so he can slip the ring onto your finger.

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maandags · 5 years

Text

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

-- -- --

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

#keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #keith voltron #keith voltron x reader #keith vld #keith vld x reader #vld keith #vld keith x reader #voltron keith #voltron keith x reader #voltron keith kogane #vld keith kogane #voltron keith kogane x reader #vld keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #keith fic #keith fanfic #keith voltron fic #keith voltron fanfic

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al-fraid0 · 5 years

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Eyeless Jack Headcanons

Still trying to figure out how I exactly want to do these. After each headcanon im gonna put a drabble of explanation. Warning this is gonna be long af.

When Jack was human his name was “Jack Novak”

In the origin story (which I think most people see as ‘cannon’) the cult that yoinks Jack’s eyes praised Chernobog which is a Slavic god. The reason I live the idea of his second name being “Novak” is because when most of Europe got Christianised, Chernobog and Belebog got pushed to the wayside, and people who reverted to Christianity would sometimes change their second name to Novak.

I like to think one of Jacks ancestors did this, I just think its rather symbolic? The whole Christianity wiped out original Slavic beliefs and the cult gets wiped out by a guy who’s second name is related to casting aside Chernobog.

Jack Novak's parents are Slavic immigrants

I just really like the idea that was chosen by the cult for a reason, that reason being that he most likely had roots to the original followers of Chernobog. He knew a little about Chernobog and Belebog from his Grandma but most of what's known has been lost to time so he didn’t know much.

I also just really like the idea of him being bilingual and being able to speak Ukrainian or Polish for some reason.

Eyeless Jack isn’t Chernobog or Jack Novak

Eyeless Jack is an amalgamation of them.

I imagine the cult tried to summon something Chernobog related that would take over Jack completely but they messed up the ritual somehow so It kinda fused with jack consciousness instead. The cultist being killed afterwards was a mixture of Jacks anger of betrayal and Chernobogs(?) viciousness.

At first, they were almost two people trying to fight for control over one body but over time they’ve kinda just melted away to Eyeless Jack who is both of them and neither of them at the same time.

He does however sometimes ’hear’ Jack and Chernobog shouting and arguing. This leads him to have breakdowns sometimes.

Eyeless Jack has a really good memory

Before the cult incident (and a little while after it) his memory is fuzzy and feels like he is experiencing someone else's memories, almost he's remembering a tv show instead of an experience.

However, now he has a memory that's borderline eidetic, it’s helped significantly with stalking prey as he will remember their routines and knows how to safely perform medical procedures. The issues come with unsterilised impromptu operation rooms and lack of proper equipment.

The black stuff that comes out of his eyes helps him operate

The stuff has the consistency of golden syrup, it will get stuck to literally everything.

When it makes contact with a humans skin it will act as an anaesthetic as well as a pain killer. It will also blind you if you get that shit anywhere near your eyes.

When he chooses a victim he’ll wait for them to fall asleep then wipe some of his eye goop on their skin, so the anaesthetic kicks in then wipes more on where he's gonna operate as to numb where he’s gonna operate.

He can see *technically*

His eyes are fucked, he has complete peripheral vision loss and only light perception in the centre of his vision however due to his ‘demonic’ influences he can basically feel everything in a certain area when he focuses.

Our eyes are catching the light which has different wavelengths, these wavelengths can be absorbed with what's not absorbed is reflected than absorbed by our eyes then processed by our brain. When focusing in an area he can feel the vibrations of heat (or lack there off), echoing sound and these wavelengths. Kinda like an extreme Daredevil.

He cant see colour but he can sorta feel it? This also helps with him operations due to his *vision* is absolute and can see things that others can’t.

Eyeless Jack is a lone wolf

I imagine that the pastas that hang around Slender were made by him in some way (Sally, Jeff, Toby, Masky, Hoodie, Skully(?), etc) but Eyeless Jack was created through a ritual that’s related to Chernobog, not Slendy.

I like to think that there is a realm that Slenders ilk resides and Eyeless Jack basically just camps out on the edges of that realm where it overlaps with ours slightly. He does sometimes bump into other pastas but he usually avoids them if he can. After Jacks, last friend/crush tried to Kill Them, he is very anti-social.

The place that he lives in is an old hunting shack that was abandoned so its a tad rotten, the woods are affected by the realm so there is almost always a thin layer of fog minimum and It’s very labyrinth-like and you can get lost in this limbo part very easily and die from exposure. The local find and rescue authority is aware of the fuckery of the woods.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #Creepypasta blog #Eyeless Jack #Eyeless Jack headcanon #eyelessjack #Chernobog #im tired so im gonna just post this and correct it when i wake up in the morn #no beta we die like men #JTK fuckers do not engage unless your willing to admit eyeless jack is the true king #i stan an eyeless king #i think hes been my fave since like #2014?#On that note #Jeff the killer #will be next for headcannons #If i have any mistakes dont be afraid to tell me

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miriamkperceptionblog · 4 years

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Week 7

Independent study

Come to your Senses: Investigate your own senses. Focus on the sense of smell, taste, hearing and touch (not vision).

Currently, as Im writing this I am sitting in my cold, and damp Wellington flat. I am sitting on my couch in my lounge. I am going to investigate my senses from where I am sitting. ( I always sit here while I do my design work). I have never thought of my surrounding in any other way than “just my flat” and never thought much about my surroundings in a deep sensory way. Im excited.

Smell -

I can smell my flatmates cooking their vegan hello fresh nachos. Along with the dusty curtains to my left, and a hint of the flowery perfume I put on this morning, which has now gone stale.

Taste -

I can’t describe the taste in my mouth… its just my spit.. I haven’t eaten anything in over an hour now and Its hard to describe this taste because I am so used to it.

Sound-

I can hear my flatmates food sizzle and the crunch of their coin chip packet, along with the occasional banging of the spatular on the edge of the pan. I can hear the fridge open and close and the sticking together of the magnets. I can hear the eco of our wooden floor under their feet as-well as feeling the vibrations each step makes.

The details of a touch/haptic/tactile experience-

Im currently holding my laptop on my lap. The metal was cold and hard at the beginning of my sit but is now warm and comfortable. I can feel the fan from my laptop spinning and vibrating my laptop against my thighs. My fingers on my keyboard feel a-little greasy and warn now. My track pad has a small blog of hardened glue on it and I can feel it every time I move my mouse. It feels sharp and hard.

2. Undertake some online research to learn about terms like proprioception, body awareness, haptic, equilibrioception, mechanoreception, balance, vibration.

Proprioception/ noun.

Perception or awareness of the position and movement of the body.

Proprioception refers to the body's ability to perceive its own position in space. Such as: Knowing whether feet are on soft grass or hard concrete, without looking (even while wearing shoes). Activities which strengthen you proprioception-crawling, push-ups, or squats. The sense though which we perceive the position and movement of our body, including our sense of equilibrium and balance, senses that depend on the notion of force.

Body awareness.

Body awareness is the internal understanding of where the body is in space. Body awareness is highly influenced by proprioceptive processing, the sensory information one receives from the movement and force of muscles and joint groups.

A person's understanding of his or her own body parts and their capability of movement.

Haptic.

Haptic perception is the process of recognizing objects through touch. It involves a combination of somatosensory perception of patterns on the skin surface (e.g., edges, curvature, and texture) and proprioception of hand position and conformation. Haptics is the science and technology of transmitting and understanding information through touch. “haptic” means anything relating to the sense of touch. (It's derived from the Greek word for touch.) Haptic can be used in design! Such as being used to engage people's sense of touch to enhance the experience of interacting with onscreen interfaces. For example, when an Apple Pay transaction is confirmed, the system plays haptics in addition to providing visual and auditory feedback.

Equilibrioception/sense of balance.

Is one of the physiological senses. It allows humans and animals to walk etc. without falling. Some animals are better in this than humans, for example allowing a cat (as a quadruped using its inner ear and tail) to walk on a thin fence.

This is the same as when you pedal your bike. The speed of the tires on your bike allows it to balance.

mechanoreception.

A mechanoreceptor, also called mechanoceptor, is a sensory cell that responds to mechanical pressure or distortion. There are four main types of mechanoreceptors in glabrous, or hairless, mammalian skin: lamellar corpuscles (Pacinian corpuscles), tactile corpuscles (Meissner's corpuscles), Merkel nerve endings, and bulbous corpuscles.

Balance/noun.

a state of equilibrium or equipoise; equal distribution of weight, amount, etc. something used to produce equilibrium; counterpoise. mental steadiness or emotional stability; habit of calm behavior, judgment, etc. a state of bodily equilibrium: He lost his balance and fell down the stairs.

Vibration/noun.

Vibratory sensation is the sense of vibration, and may refer to: Vibration as a modality of cutaneous receptors (on the skin), referred to as pallesthesia. Hearing, which is sensation of air vibrations.

Select 1x and design an exercise and then do it. The subject can be either yourself or someone you know - record observations, your/their experience, what did you notice.

Proprioception- brainstorm.

Investigation 1 Proprioception

Sensory information you are receiving from your muscles, tendons, and ligaments.

Using your muscles scenes to control your muscles to keep you upright. For examples-walking on sand. Your muscles are adapting to an environment where you aren’t walking on a firm service and your muscles send information to your brain to tell you the position of your ankles and your knees.

(Blind people rely on proprioception sense quite a lot.)

Everyday activity-turning the lights of in my room ( so I can’t see) relying on my Proprioception to find my door handle…or to walk to my bathroom. I will be replying on the information my brain is getting about where my arm is and where i’m walking. Proprioception is what will be giving me this information.

Recorded observations, your/their experience, what did I notice.

I asked my flatmate Ava to try find my doorknob while in the dark and blindfolded. She found this task easy as she knew which location/height my door handle was at but I observed the way she walked and put her arm up infant of her. This was interesting as she walked much slower and was unsure of herself. I noticed she was moving her feet in a way that she was almost using them to make sure she didn’t have anything in front of her such as a step. Her arms went up infant of her straight away as she was using them as a guide as-well. She demonstrated proprioception during this activity.

Resource task.

Browse through the online resources below, select 1 and be prepared to share your findings in a group discussion for next week.

Source - “Marres Maastricht - Education.” Marres, https://marres.org/en/education/. Accessed 15 Sept. 2020.

“In The Invisible Collection art-lovers describe their favorite works of art. Originally created by Mediamatic Amsterdam, the project aimed to help the visually impaired to imagine works of art based on audio descriptions by art experts. In 2019, Marres developed a new version of The Invisible Collection, in which we started to collect stories about art (broadly defined) by non-art experts.”

I think this is an amazing project-this is based around the sense of hearing/sound. Art is meant to be enjoyed by all and when you can’t see it or feel it, It must make it extremely difficult for the visually impaired to enjoy art. Using this method is extremely beneficial and can create a sense of the artwork in the minds of visually impaired. By being able to hear how people describe the art people may be able to envision their on interpretation of the artwork. I would defiantly recommend this source to anyone exploring sound as their sense as it gives an insight into how much people you can’t see rely on this sense.

Key Module Resources.

Source- Smith, Mark M. “The explosion of sensory history.”(2010): in the psychologist 23(10):860-863.

Creative Practices

Locate creative producers ( at least 1 in your discipline area) working with the senses or sense modalities.

“Why Graphic Design Should Engage More Than Just the Sense of Sight.” Eye on Design, 17 Apr. 2018, https://eyeondesign.aiga.org/why-graphic-design-should-engage-more-than-just-the-sense-of-sight/.

Kate McLean’s Sensory Maps

Kate McLean’s maps are visually stunning, peppered with colourful dots and morphing concentric lines. They could almost be galaxies. In actuality, they are Smell Maps, plotting data from various cities that visualises the distinctive smells from different neighbourhoods. Kate McLean generates this data by conducting “smell walks” throughout the cities she maps, asking participants to record odours and their location, intensity, description, and associations. Smells like “canal,” “leafy fresh rain,” and “laundry” are each given a colour and are indicated by dots on the maps. The distorted concentric rings depict the smell’s intensity and range as they're carried by wind, diluted by range, and mixed with neighbouring smells. By plotting her experiential data, Kate makes smell visual and geographical, and makes a case for what information designer Giorgia Lupi calls “soft data.” “Using humans as sensors is a method that aggregates personal insight”.

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kpopchangedme · 6 years

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You agreed to meet Jinyoung for a coffee date, what could go wrong? Surely you are not going to run into Im Jaebum on the way there… Right?

Starboy-Masterlist || M A S T E R L I ST

Protagonists: Baseball player Im Jaebum / You / Dr. Park Jinyoung

Word Count: 2.2k

Genre: SFW | University | Baseball | Romance | *Socially offensive language* – Mini-Series

Lysandre’s note: Repost because I wanted this chapter on my main ;)

Staring at your reflexion, you barely have time to avoid the pair of rolled up socks Makayla throws at your head. She boos, sitting on the small bed of your dorm bedroom with her arms crossed, clearly disapproving your choice of outfit.

“At least show some cleavage. Let the poor shaman have hope!” Laughing, you pull your black sweater over your head to change into something more appealing under her expert gaze. “I thought you hated dating by the way…”

“He’s still a doctor, not a shaman! And I do hate dates... And I totally told him that...” Although, you didn’t exactly mention to Jinyoung about your last messy breakup. You choose a cute embroidered raspberry blouse, slipping it on and showing it off. “He said that if we met by ‘coincidence’ in a coffee shop it wouldn’t be what he’d call a date –” Makayla frowns, skeptical. “– but fate.”

“Ugh. Are you kidding me?” You laugh at her cringe, deciding her lack of comment meant she approved of the blouse. “Did he actually say it aloud or texted you that corny crap, what century are we–”

“Aloud.”

“Well, fuck me.” She finds her phone in the sheets of your unmade bed to tap at the screen, angrily. “And I can’t even get a text back!”

“Sungjin would text you back...” You pull your tongue at her, siding with your classmate for his desperate crush on that hopeless girl. “He’s a decent guy, it’d changed you from those football players.”

“Joke’s on you, my last victim is a golfer! I don’t know y/n… I kinda live for the thrill of being left on read.” At that, you can only shake your head in disbelief.

She might like to tease your dating phobic ways, but she’s as bad as you when it comes to commitment. While you usually avoid guys altogether, Makayla always seems to only get involved with the ones she knows will never be interested.

“You should wear that with your pale jeans, your ass looks fantastic in those!”

“Ooh, great idea, thanks!”

“Also, please put on lingerie!”

“Tst – This is a coffee non-date! I won’t jump him or any–”

“Hot guys can sense that shit.” You hesitate, pouting as Makayla wiggles her brow suggestively. “What if he drops his coffee on you and gets scared when he sees that horrible skin-coloured monstrosity through your soaked clothes?” Makayla rolls to the side to grab a lace bralette on your headboard and throws it at you. “Wear that, he’ll love it! That one screams ‘Please doctor, pour hot liquid on me!’.”

You study the pink floral lace between your fingers, feeling heat rush to your face as you remember the last time you wore it. You can still recall the feel of Jaebum’s hands; his fingers sliding the straps off your shoulders, his lips sucking your nipples through the thin lace...

“Yeah – Um, I think I’ll just go with the ‘monstrosity’ for today, it’s the only one that doesn’t show through the fabric.”

What’s with you, thinking of that stupid pitcher like that? You’re about to go on a date with a handsome med Resident. Somewhere on the floor, your phone dings from under a pile of rejected outfits. You hurry to fish it to look at the text, anxious.

Park Jinyoung: I’m going to be getting coffee at a very random coffee shop (the one on the corner of Wall & College) in about 15 minutes… [18:44PM]

You smile dumbly reading it just as another one comes in.

Park Jinyoung: (Not that I would ever expect to see you there... This isn’t a date or anything!) [18:44PM]

“Oh my god. You’re smiling at your damn phone y/n! Just leave already, before I kill myself!”

___

10 minutes later and you’re standing in front of the coffee shop, too nervous to move. It’s been a while since you dated – not that this could be considered a real date – almost two years. You run a hand on your blouse, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. Unfortunately, it’s when you finally decide to enter the coffee that he, exits it.

And Jaebum isn’t alone, he’s with another one of his teammates, one you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. When he sees you, there’s a flicker of dread in his eyes, but in a second, he’s back to his usual composure. Which is horribly unfortunate, because now he’s walking straight at you and you have virtually nowhere to hide.

“Hey y/n”, he smiles sheepishly, disregarding the fact that you were evidently trying to walk by without greeting him.

“Hey.”

“Hi”, the player you don’t know nudges his friend with his elbow. He’s a bit shorter and very very handsome. Although, beautiful would probably be a more appropriate choice of word. “I’m Mark,” his smile is so white and wide it almost blinds you. “And you are... Y/n...”

“Yes… That’s me…” You deadpan reddening, and Jaebum wiggles from one foot to the other. Now you’re unhealthily curious about what is said of you in their locker room, you bite your lips.

“Y/n”, Mark repeats as if you needed to be reminded. Does the baseball team have a secret black book with conquests names, or what? Clearly, that guy is in the known somehow. Tilting his head towards Jaebum, he adds: “The Creative Writing girl...” Mark giggles, the sound surprisingly irritating and you stare at him, shocked.

Creative Writing; a class you took to force yourself out of your comfort zone after your break up forever ago. You didn’t socialize, so it’d be surprising that guy remembered you at all – if you truly were in his class.

Mark turns to the pitcher, poking him with his elbow again. “I wasn’t aware you guys knew each oth–”

“I really wanted to tell you, about that night at the club,” Jaebum ignores him, keeping his baffling coolness despite the obvious teasing. “I’m so sorry, I was horrible. I’m a jerk and I wanted to apologize ever since, but I don’t have any way of contacting you or–”

“It’s okay Jaebum, it’s in the past – I don’t care – So don’t feel bad about it, these things happen. We were both drunk.” You clench your teeth, forcing a polite smile. If he truly felt like apologizing, he knew you worked at the clinic, he knew where to find you. It took you three weeks to digest his outburst, but you’ll stick by your not caring resolution. Even if in the end it truly makes you a bitch.

“The club…” Mark looks confused, gaze darting between you two until something seems to connect in his mind. “Oh, the club! Y/n!”

“Right, we’re fine then”, Jaebum’s sly smile falls and he brings his left hand up to scratch his neck, uncomfortable. Despite yourself, you note that he still seems able to move his arm and bend his elbow easily – not that you’d care. “Thank you... For forgiving me, it’s a relief.”

“It’s nothing!” You take a step in the direction of the coffee shop, but Jaebum moves aside at the same time, blocking your way. “I a-actually need to go.”

“Yeah, sorry”, he avoids your gaze, inadvertently moving at the same time as you again.

“Our campus is so small”, his friend Mark makes the same high pitch giggle sound again, causing you to turn to stare. “The girl from Creative Class is… Y/n.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, surprised he seems so entertained by all this. “I took that class forever ago and I–”

“One year”, he grins, overly confident, “with Mr. Yachnin, you sat next to us for the whole trimester.”

“You were in that class too?” You frown at Jaebum with skepticism. You’re pretty sure you’d remember if a guy looking like him sat next to you.

“I… guess so...” He shrugs, exchanging a look with his friend. “Anyway, sorry again, have a great day!” Finally stepping away from your path with success, Jaebum pushes Mark forward, forcing him to walk.

“Bye, y/n the Creative Writing girl. I hope to see you around a lot more!” The other player laughs again, obeying his teammate reluctantly. “Come see us play Saturday!”

AH! As if.

You wave back at him, frowning. It’s so weird to think you shared a class with them without knowing. Of all the classes related to sports you took over the course of your studies, you had a random art class together. Surely that’s why Jaebum said he thought you were in the Art Dep the first time you met. It makes a lot more sense now, but he’d have to have recognized you. Again, he was right that night when he said you knew nothing about him. You don’t even know what he’s studying, you just assumed it had to do with sports since most athletes are in Physical Ed.

You’re almost pushing the door of the coffee shop when you decide to do something completely useless. Jaebum and Mark have stopped walking and are now absorbed in a heated discussion, several meters away.

“HEY, I almost forgot!”, they both twitch when you yell, although you only keep your eyes on the tallest one. “Im Jaebum!” He opens his mouth perplexed, and you laugh, entertained by his confusion.

“I do know your last name, Starboy!”

Without waiting any longer, you push the door of the coffee shop, leaving the two confused baseball players behind. Jinyoung instantly stands up and waves when you walk in, looking so handsome you stop in your tracks. Your wide smile, a remnant of your amusement freezes a bit, turning to an awkward grin. You can do this. This is just a coffee break and Jinyoung seems like an amazing guy.

You can totally nail this non-date.

“Hi y/n,” The young doctor tilts his head to the side, smirking as you walk up to him, “fancy running into you here.”

“Hi,” you giggle, sounding like the stupidest girl in the whole world, but he doesn’t seem to mind, gazing at you warmly. This time, you don’t feel as intimidated as he takes you in. Your makeup and hair are on point, clothes evidently carefully selected for this very moment. You are okay, you are in control of your variables, or so you repeat to yourself mentally like a mantra.

“Wow, you’re gorgeous.” Jinyoung sighs, slightly dazed, as though influenced by your thoughts.

“T-Thanks,” His eyes crinkle as he flashes his perfect teeth, watching you get shy, “you too.”

His compliment sounded sincere whilst yours is half-mumbled, unable to do him any justice. He’s even more handsome than the first time you met him. Today he ditched the dress shirt in favour of a casual white tee, dangerously tight on his chest, and pale jeans. He also came without his glasses and, although he still looked godlike with them, it seems to make his eyes pop-out even more. You struggle to hold eye contact, too flustered, hopefully, you won’t be awkward for the whole date. You want to feel less anxious, be more comfortable, but don’t know how. It’s been too long. Jinyoung doesn’t even seem to notice how out of it you are when he puts his hand in the middle of your shoulder blades. He barely touches you to guide you to the lineup in front of the register, but it still makes you mentally freak out.

“Since we’re both here at the same time, only by pure chance. I think we should grab a cup of coffee together, y/n. Surely it’s a sign.”

“Oh, a sign?” You laugh stiffly at his joke, nervousness perceivable. “Right, what were the odds of us meeting here, today, at 7pm? It’s not like we planned this.”

“Well, I like to make my own odds.” Jinyoung nods, eyes anchoring themselves in yours with all the confidence in the world. At the moment, you can tell he’s not the type to ever have been hurt or rejected by a girl. How could one say no to such a guy anyway? “My father always says we should never play the waiting game and should strike while the bat is hot.”

“The iron?” You snort, reassured a bit by his easygoing playfulness. It’s true that Jinyoung was nothing but smooth and funny on your first encounter. You have no valid reason to feel so stressed when he’s obviously trying to make light conversation. “Your father sure sounds like a wise man.”

“Not at all.” Jinyoung chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “I probably shouldn’t listen to what he says, he’s both awful at relationships and idioms.”

“I see.” His palm is warming your back, and you lean closer to his shoulder, unthinkingly.

“Either way, date or not,” Jinyoung talks softly this time, for only you to hear in the crowded coffee shop, “I’m glad you said yes, happy that you’re here with me now.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, but the doctor just smiles, turning to the lineup in front of you as if it was the most natural thing to say. Unbeknown to him, you stare at his profile in awe, finally allowing yourself to be happy you came too and starting to relax.

Starboy-Masterlist || M A S T E R L I ST

#beommienet #Park Jinyoung #GOT7 #Im Jaebum #Fanfic #JB GOT7 #JJ Project #GOT7 Scenarios #Im Jaebum Scenarios #Park Jinyoung Scenarios #Park Jinyoung Fanfic #Im Jaebum Fanfic #Imagines GOT7 #Starboy #kpopchangedme #Poumtipouta look at that repost #The ban is lifted it's time to PARTY

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moristarcake · 6 years

Text

Biff Tannen x Reader: Chapter One

(Please read the author’s note)

(A/N: Two changes: this will take place in college, not high school like it was in the movie, and there’s no terrible r*pe plot line with Marty’s mom anymore. Obviously this could be taken as a meme or seriously, I don’t mind either way you see it, but c’mon, Biff Tannen deserves redemption. His actor’s too sweet and handsome.)

Finishing class work early always has its perks of free time and earlier sleep, but it didn’t come without a cost, either. (Y/N)’s eyelid’s droop in boredom as they walk along the sun baked sidewalk of Hill Valley. A small, uninteresting town with nothing to do but glance at passing shops and daydream of buying trinkets with money you don’t have.

Not even being in college makes things more interesting around here. The old building where students gather is about as fun as a funeral. Professors are strict, students are too tired to party, and there are no dorms to stay in. Most of the community college’s students still live with their parents or in a dinky little apartment somewhere close to campus.

(Y/N) had the latter, and their job to keep the stupid apartment was even more grueling than school. Still, they had the day off of work so they were free to do as they wished after classes were over.

They still had to walk everywhere, though. A job at a gas station didn’t exactly pay enough to get through a month’s rent, let alone a car.

A sigh escapes them as they shift the weight of their backpack, soreness developing in the centre of their spine. It was a long walk home, and the sun was beating down mercilessly onto their skin and sticky clothes. Instead of continuing forward, they made a sharp turn down a cul-de-sac with a small bakery squatting next to larger buildings, and trudged into ‘McFly’s Pies’, the bell atop the door notifying an elderly man behind the counter.

“Well if it isn’t Little Brown,” he chuckles, sliding from around the counter, “summer heat got you beat?”

They glance up at him unamused, “what’s with that lingo, Marty? It’s twenty-twenty one.”

“Since when is rhyming words together ‘lingo’?”

“Since an old man said it to look cool,” they gave him a smile and plopped into a seat.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, smacking them with a dishrag, “you and me both know your grandpa was the coolest old man to ever live.” He slips behind the counter and grabs a glass, filling it with cool water.

(Y/N) shrugs, “never met him Mart, only heard stories from you and Jen.” They take the glass gladly, gulping it down faster than they should have. Marty shakes his head and pulls out the seat across from them.

“Hey, slow down kid. And they aren’t stories, (Y/N). I may be old but I know what happened to me, Doc, and that DeLorean.” (Y/N) gives him a disapproving look over their glass, but remains silent. This has been an argument ever since (Y/N) was little, even their mother would take Marty’s side. ‘Emmet Brown was her father after all, she would know!’ was what Marty would always rebuke with. They’ve learned to ignore it, though there was always that curiosity of why they’d keep it up for so long, if it was a lie.

“Look,” his sudden speech caught (Y/N) off guard, “you got school work to do?” They shook their head, a wave of boredom hitting them again as they remembered there was nothing to do for today. Marty leaned forward in his seat, a trademark sly smirk wrinkling his already wrinkled face, “I got the key to Doc’s old shed. He kept all of his inventions in there. Mind reading machine, dream controller, even the DeLorean. It’s all in there.”

(Y/N) leans forward as well, intrigued, “what? Why are you telling me this now, after all those years of bickering?”

“I’d lost the damn thing,” he said, holding up a copper key he dug out of his pocket, “but turns out after ten years I found it under the pie racks today. Must be fate, huh?”

(Y/N) throws themself back dramatically in their chair and groans, “don’t tell me you believe in fate now, Mart. What’s next, true love?”

He chuckles and throws the key to them, “Jennifer’s all the proof I need, (Y/N). Even after seeing future old, gross, wrinkly me when she was a teen, she still loved me. And now that I am that old, gross, wrinkly man-”

“You’re only fifty two.”

“-she still loves me.” (Y/N) rolls their eyes so hard they’re sure they ruptured a vessel, but they can’t argue. Though they don’t entirely believe Marty and Jen’s fanciful story, they do know the couple had been together since high school. And that takes a lot.

“Well she ain’t wrinkle free either,” (Y/N) remarks, a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of their mouth as Marty widens his eyes in mock amazement.

“Sick burn Little Brown, now bounce. You already know where the shed is.” He shoo’s them as he hauls himself from the chair. (Y/N) wrinkles their nose at the obvious use of old slang, and grabs their bag.

“See ya.” He gives them a final wave before they disappear out the door, the bell chiming soon after.

It doesn’t take long for the sun to become an annoyance again as (Y/N) makes the final stretch out of the cul-de-sac, past their old house, and in front of a looming, beaten warehouse. Well, garage. Supposedly Doc Brown moved from Germany with his mother and father, who were rich, and bought a mansion here. It got destroyed, and the garage of it was where he lived until (Y/N)’s mother was born. Their mother told them he made a living making inventions for his clients because he spent the whole family fortune on trying to make the DeLorean.

“Crazy old geezer,” they say to themself as their eyes scan the chipped plaster, “I see where I get it from.”

The copper key in their palm reverberates with uncertainty. The fact that Marty found the key after ten years of it being lost seems unbelievably fishy to them. They’d known him since they could walk after all. That smirk meant something. But what was he hiding?

They slowly bring the key to the lock, pausing a few moments before finally shoving it in and twisting the gears. If there was any moment to find out, it was now.

The door creaks open followed by a barrage of dust and cold air. They bring their hand up to their mouth and cough, using the other to wave the particles away. Even though it was mostly dark, the thin curtains on the windows allowed sunlight to stream through. Silent clocks decorated the walls in large amounts, and strange looking machines stood with an eerie stillness about them. Furniture and cooking appliances looked untouched, a thick layer of dust coating the counters and a solitary TV in the corner.

And in the middle of it all, was a sleek, ivory car.

Feeling strange would be an understatement. Though (Y/N) had never met their grandfather, their mother and Marty’s eyes would light up whenever they spoke of him, and a warm fondness would unmistakably be present in their words. It felt as if (Y/N) didn’t have the right to be in here. They’d never known him, why were they allowed to glimpse his former life? It felt wrong, but they press forward into the frigid darkness.

(Y/N)’s hands graze the walls for a light switch, but upon finding and trying one there was no luck. They sigh and reach in their back pocket, pulling out their phone and turning on the flashlight. The rather rough looking sports car caught their eye almost immediately and they made their way through the clutter towards it. Dents and scrapes littered the bumper and doors as well as the windows.

“Damn, girl,” (Y/N) ran their hand across the damage, “you’ve been through hell. Maybe I’ll get dad to fix you up.” It wasn’t until they wandered to the back that they noticed the thrusters jutting from an intricate tangle of wires and added machinery, “oh, well, maybe not.”

They nearly leap from their skin as the door of the DeLorean hisses open, causing them to whip around and aim the flashlight inside the older vehicle. Slowly, they crept up to the opening, peeking inside and unsurprisingly seeing, well, nothing. “You better not be haunting me, gramps,” they grumble, feeling irritation crawl up their back.

There’s a pause before (Y/N) rolls their eyes and climb in, letting curiosity get the better of them. They switch off the light and pocket their phone, throwing their backpack to the passenger seat as well. Their fingers come to trace the various buttons and switches with wonder, questioning for a moment if what their mother and Marty said is really true.

Bright red, green, and yellow lights obscure their vision as their finger hits a switch.

Their hands immediately shoot up to cover their eyes as a dormant pair of goggles drop onto their lap. Blinded, they scream and rear their foot forward on the pedal. The ancient car lurches backward, tearing through various machines and furniture before breaking out of the garage. They grip the arms of the seat and move to slam the break, but it’s all too late. There’s a piercing array of colours before a zap of white light swallows (Y/N) along with the DeLorean, and they vanish.

For @mintgreenmenace and @im-a-butch-bitch-u-cant-kill-me in particular. They supported me in the making, real MVPs :’)

#back to the future #biff tannen #fanfic #scifi #whyamiwritingthis #whydidmybraindecideitwasokaytomakemeloveanasshole

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fixaidea · 6 years

Text

Paris, 1840

It was in the early days of the year 1840 when Monsieur Nicolas Barré, a young, moderately successful novelist fell in with Augustin Perrault and his group of friends. Perrault, done with University, was pursuing a career in journalism and met M. Barré for work related reasons. The working relationship quickly turned into friendship (a quick and easy thing with the young journalist), and soon enough, over a shared glass of wine, Perrault invited him to meet up with the rest of his closest friends.

‘I must say’ Nicolas huffed, clinking his glass against Perrault’s ‘Whatever you told your friends about me, they better lower their expectations. Sure I’m a delight, a true treat to have around’ he winked ‘But political I am not. Not nearly as much as you are.’

Perrault waved his hand in airy dismissal.

‘Never fear. You are no monarchist, and that is all they need. Clavier is more hands-on when it comes to politics but the rest like to hold such issues at arm’s length. No one will begrudge you for not keeping a pet guillotine in your backyard.’

Nicolas chuckled and refilled their glasses.

‘So you’re telling me buying a closetful of red caps to impress them was a waste? Ah well. Now, we are men of the pen, you and I, even if we employ our words quite differently. How about the rest? All writers?’

‘Alain Clavier certainly is, he’s a playwright. Well, in theory at least. In reality he’s a true Renaissance man, doing all things Theatre. Manager, designer, stand-in actor, all of it. René Giraud is an engineer, or rather, currently an assistant to one, Yves Belarbre is a painter. A portraitist, but he has some novel ideas about painting dreams, you’ll see.’

After a couple of more glasses Perrault announced that he still had some obligations to attend to. Just as they were about to part, he turned to Nicolas.

‘I must warn you about one of my friends though, Giraud. He has some peculiar habits, but the one that most concerns you is that he’s rather picky about who gets to touch him. He’s going to allow a handshake, but do not attempt anything more. If he takes a shine to you, he will come to you in his own time.’

Nicolas smiled and nodded, although he did not understand why he needed such a warning – certainly he was affectionate, but nowhere near as much as Perrault, pawning at random strangers was usually not the first thing on his mind. Surely keeping his hands off of one would not be much of a hardship. His nonchalance regarding the matter lasted exactly until the moment of meeting the man in question. René Giraud was on the shorter end of average height, thin and tired looking and, at least in Nicolas’ humble opinion, utterly adorable. He had fluffy, white-blond hair and big, pensive blue eyes.

They did not get to talk too much that first day – as Nicolas later learned this was not simply because Perrault and his friend Alain Clavier dominated every single conversation they took part in, but also because of Giraud’s own quiet nature. Still, all through the evening Nicolas kept sneaking glances at the man and, to his immense satisfaction, found himself being watched in turn. Just before the company disbanded for the night, Giraud sidled up to him. He cocked his head to the side and spoke, eyes fixed on the floor:

‘What do you call a medical-minded dog?’

Caught off guard, Nicolas scratched his beard.

‘I have no idea. What indeed?’

‘Un physi-chien*’

Nicolas blinked. For a moment he was not sure if he truly heard what he did, but René was watching him expectantly out of the corner of his eye. Nicolas’ big body began to shake and soon he was howling with laughter. Giraud, proud of his work, bounced on his heels and smiled, blushing with joy. Nicolas raised his hand to clap him on the back, but caught himself in time and hastily showed his fist into his pocket.

He wiped off his tears. That was it. He needed to win his René-touching privileges as soon as possible.

***

It was the end of May, but the weather resembled the worst of August and Nicolas was painfully stuck. Again. His serialised novel was running out of pre-written chapters at an alarming rate, he needed to catch up with it and soon. He could practically feel his editor breathing down his neck. He was sating at a blank page. In fact, he had been doing just that for the last half an hour, but the words stubbornly refused to manifest. With a deep sigh of defeat he donned his lightest coat and hat. If inspiration would not come on its own, the best he could do was to try and seek it out. After a brief consideration he headed to the Louvre.

He regretted his decision to leave the flat the moment he stepped out of his building. The streets were scorching hot, vibrating above the cobblestones. Dust filled the air and the sun was so blinding, that without the straw hat to protect his eyes, Nicolas doubted he would be able to see a thing. Still, he steeled himself and faced the inferno of the city.

He was richly rewarded for his effort – the inside of the museum was shady and blessedly cool. Few people took the effort or had the time to drag themselves here at his hour, so it was also mostly deserted. He sighed again, this time in relief, and was about to zone out and let himself get lost in the centuries of art surrounding him, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar mop of blond hair. René Giraud was sitting on a bench, an open notebook in his hands, though when Nicolas stepped closer he noticed he was staring at his feet rather than at the pages. He started when Nicolas greeted him.

‘Ah, hello there, Monsieur Barré! I mean. Nicolas.’

Nicolas smiled and plopped down beside him. He was pleased René was finally gave up on the formal ‘you’ with him, even if he still called him by his surname sometimes.

‘You must be quite the patron of arts to cross the city on such a wretched day just to look at pictures! Or are you, like me, in need of inspiration for something?’

‘Neither, I’m afraid’ René answered. He kept his gaze on his notebook. When they first met Nicolas wondered if he did this because he did not like him or was especially flustered in his presence, but had since come to learn that this was simply something he did with everyone. Avert his eyes or, remembering that you ought to look people in the eye, fix his unblinking gaze upon you.

‘I am here exactly because the day is wretched’ René went on ‘My quarters are unbearable and so are the streets. Everything seems to be so much more intense in this horrible weather. The people are loud and irritable and they stink. I stink, the horses stink, I can barely see, everything is bleached white by the sun, even the sky. It’s either white or that unsettling shade of lilac.’

‘Lilac? I never noticed that.’

‘It is though. A pale lilac. I find it deeply disturbing. Here though…’ he looked up ‘Here it’s cool and quiet and the smells are subdued. I like this place.’

‘Still, it must be boring to just sit here. Walk with me?’

Nicolas thought of offering his hand as they got up, but René was on his feet before him. They wandered the halls in silence for a while. Nicolas knew his friend was not exactly loquacious, but he wondered if this silence was stretching too far. Testing the waters, next time he spotted a particularly interesting painting he stopped before it and quietly started to explain what he knew about it. With others, he tried to guess what the artist might have meant, making up stories on the spot, one wilder and more colourful than the rest. René mostly kept quiet, but seemed to be enjoying himself none the less. Every now and then he inserted his own small remarks or chuckled lightly at Nicolas’ jokes. Encouraged by this, Nicolas was gaining momentum, spinning one astounding, ridiculous tale after the other, compensating for the low voice he kept with sweeping gestures and exaggerated expressions. Soon René was pressing his hand against his mouth, his whole body shaking with the laughter he desperately fought to hold in.

And then he froze.

His smile faltered and slowly disappeared as something behind Nicolas caught his eyes. Nicolas turned, following his gaze.

They were standing in front of a large painting. The canvas was populated by a crowd of figures, faces and bodies contorted by the pain of grief. In the centre, a male figure, a warrior, cradling the body of his fallen companion, face twisted into a mask of anguish.

‘Achilles and Patroclus.’ René whispered.

Nicolas nodded. He waited for his friend to turn away and move on, but he seemed to be hypnotised by the painting. They stood there in silence for a long while, before René finally spoke again.

‘I envy him, in a way.’

‘Who? I cannot for the life of me think of a single enviable character in that story.’

‘Patroclus. How much Achilles loved him, unashamed. He was no dirty little secret.’

It took the both of them a moment to fully realise what he just said. René, scrambling to save face, blushing so fiercely it was visible even in the dim light of the museum, and rushed to continue:

‘I-I mean it’s a touching story no matter how you look at it, I mean, anyone would be grateful for such loyalty from a friend…’

Nicolas took a deep breath and, momentarily forgetting himself, laid a hand on René’s arm. The little engineer froze. Nicolas quickly released him.

‘I understand.’

René peered up at him from under his curls.

‘Do you? Truly?’

Blood was rushing into Nicolas’ face and he suddenly felt very light and somehow detached from his body, as if he was watching the conversation from afar. Still, his friend laid his soul bare before him, if only on accident, he had to know he was not alone.

‘I do. I understand what you meant.’

René kept his big eyes fixed on him for a moment then slowly, so slowly, reached out and laid his hand on his arm. Nicolas’ heart leapt to his throat – carefully he raised his own had and covered René’s with it. They held the connection for a second before René stepped back. He cleared his throat.

‘I must be going now, I have some plans I need to double check. Thank you for this afternoon.’

‘My pleasure’ said Nicolas, eyes fixed on his toes ‘See you back at our café?’

‘Yes. Yes, certainly.’

***

Nicolas wondered if things will change between them and indeed, there was a small but noticable shift in their interactions. Nothing dramatic – unlike Augustin, Nicolas still was not allowed to just walk up to René and cuddle him. Though of course he never tried. Still, at least René would now touch him every now and then. Nothing too personal or overly familiar, rather he simply did not go out of his way anymore to avoid contact. Nicolas tried a little bit of flirting but as the engineer did not respond – or even seemed to notice his attempts – he soon ceased.

It was now July, and Nicolas was in the middle of revising his latest chapter (or more precisely re-arranging the bookshelves while thinking very hard about how he should be revising said chapter) when the knock came. He left the bookshelf somewhat begrudgingly – he was hard at work, creating, how dare people hinder his genius! – and went to answer it, grumbling all the way. He schooled his features into what he hoped was a polite but slightly haughty expression and he opened the door.

The corridor was empty.

Nicolas rolled his eyes – was the half a minute it took him to get to the door truly too long a wait for his visitor? He was about to retreat when he noticed a sheet of paper at his feet. A message then? A prank? A strongly worded appeal from his editor? It turned out to be neither. It was a poem. It was not written in pen, but in letters carefully cut out from a newspaper and glued to a sheet.

TO THE LOVE I DARE NOT NAME

FROM THE SHADOWS I SING YOUR PRAISES SCRAMBLING IN VAIN FOR THE RIGHT PHRASES YOU ARE ROUND AND WARM LIKE THE SUN IN JUNE THE COPPER OF YOUR HAIR IS THE CAUSE OF MY DESPAIRE

HAVE MERCY ON ME, O MUSE

He read it – and read it again. And again. It seemed to be a sincere if terrible love poem. Nicolas tugged at his beard. Was this dedicated to him? The mention of the subject’s bodily proportions and hair colour suggested so, but he was still uncertain. Humming lightly, he folded up the paper and got back to work. He resolved to show the strange little letter to his friends and thought nothing of it for the rest of the day.

When he did in fact pull the sheet out on their next get-together, the reaction of the group was, in the mildest possible terms, explosive. Alain ripped the letter out of his hand and studied it for several minutes, muttering to himself all the way through, before he was forced to relinquish it to a nagging Augustin, and then to Yves. René, reserved as ever, did not attempt to grab for the page, but followed the proceedings with eager eyes.

‘Well then’ Nicolas said ‘What do you gentlemen make of it?’

‘Why, my dear fellow’ said Augustin, leaning back in his seat ‘It is quite obvious. You have a secret admirer!’

Nicolas propped his chin on his hand and laughed.

‘Well, there’s no debating I’m a right catch, any lady would agree I’m sure, but don’t you think it more likely that this would be a nervous amateur trying to show his work off? Maybe try and get a foot in the door of publishing through me?’

Yves waved a hand with a little huff of dismissal.

‘Quite unlikely. If this were a poet interested in getting his name known, surely he would have included just that: his name! No my dear, this is quite obviously a love-stricken if unusually daring and forward lady!’

‘A true little firebrand!’ Alain exclaimed.

René remained quiet. Nicolas searched his face with a slight flicker of hope for any sign that he might be the one behind it, but then dismissed the idea. He could not picture him resigning himself to such bold a move.

‘All right then’ he said, folding up the sheet ‘I suppose my best bet now is to wait and see.’

And see he did. The very next day, about the same time, the knock sounded again. Nicolas, hard at work on his novel (he was cleaning his windows), took some time to answer, so the mysterious visitor was long gone by the time he got to the door. In her – his? wake he left an elegant box of high-end pralines. Nicolas inspected the gift for a message, but found none.

Well then. This certainly seemed to underline the ‘secret admirer’ theory, opposed to the ‘hopeful amateur poet’. Smiling to himself, Nicolas plopped a piece into his mouth and retreated. Excitement was starting to bubble up in his belly – who could this be? Sure, he had his secret hopes for a certain engineer, but with all his loveable qualities, René just did not look like the type for grand romantic gestures. Who else then? Nicolas made a list of all the ladies and gentlemen he knew, but found it entirely unhelpful. He had half a mind to drop everything and go seek out Augustin, even though they were not meant to meet up that day, but decided against it. The group regularly met on Tuesday and Friday nights, sometimes on weekends, and it was only Wednesday. Let’s not rush anything, let’s wait and see what happens next!

Thursday brought him a nice set of steel-tipped pens, complete with ink, all tied up with a bow. Now Nicolas was all but crawling out of his skin with excitement and resolved to catch the person responsible in the act.

On Friday he was fully expecting the knock, but he made a fatal mistake. The weather turned damp and cold, so Nicolas decided to make himself a cup of tea as he waited. The problem was only that his visitor was a full hour early compared to the previous days, so he had a kettle full of boiling water in his hands when the knock came, and by the time he managed to carefully put it down without spilling any of it on himself, his mysterious suitor was gone again. In their wake they left a bouquet.

Nicolas snatched it up and inspected it excitedly. It was a nicely arranged collection of reds, blues and yellows. On a whim, Nicolas quickly averted his eyes. He was keen to find out what message might be coded in there in the flirty language of flowers, but he wanted to decipher it in the presence of his friends. He placed the bouquet in a vase and resolved not to look at it for the rest of the day.

It was an excruciating exercise in temperance and patience and he came close to failing several times, sneaking glances at it every now and then, but miraculously he persisted. Still, it felt like the longest day of his life. He tried to proceed with his writing, but his thought kept floating back to the mysterious gifts and the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway.

When the clock finally struck five he practically flew out the door and did not stop until he reached their café, the Poule Rouge. René was already there, nursing a cup of coffee at his usual seat. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Nicolas flung himself down beside him. He looked up – only be greeted by a mass of flowers shown in his face.

‘From your admirer?’ he asked around the clump of vegetation.

‘I’m assuming yes!’ said Nicolas, leaning in close ‘What do you think?’

René regarded him solemnly for a long moment, then looked down.

‘I think it’s pretty. It has happy colours. I think whoever gave it to you wanted you to be happy.’

Nicolas could feel his lips stretch into a grin. He was about to answer but Alain’s booming voice cut him off. The man entered with Yves on one arm, Augustin on the other. Nicolas held up the bouquet like a trophy.

‘Well, well, well’ said Alain as he slid into the seat across Nicolas and pressed a cup of wine into his hands ‘What have we here?’

The three newcomers – all experts in courtship and all the delicacies it involved – pulled the bouquet into the middle of the table and began to pour over it. Nicolas watched in excitement, but his enthusiasm began to falter as their faces fell. After a couple of minutes they sat back and exchanged some deeply confused glances.

Yves scratched the back of his head.

‘Well this… All right, let’s see. The good news is the cornflower, which means wealth and fortune, the yellow rose, which stands for joy and friendship and the blue iris for faith and hope. But we also have marigold for jealousy and yellow carnation for disappointment and rejection. Also red poppies which mean consolation. So. There’s that.’

Alain propped his chin on his hand.

‘It might not mean anything at all.’

‘No no no, let’s not give up on this so quickly’ said Augustin ‘The lady went out of her way to play this intricate game, surely there must be some sort of message in there. So what do we have? Wealth, friendship or joy, consolation, hope or faith but also jealousy and either disappointment or rejection. This to me speaks of someone who was for some reason disappointed in you, but who values your friendship more than her pride and has hope in repairing your relations. It’s simple!’

‘I don’t think that’s it, not at all’ Yves objected ‘Look at this closely! The poppies and the yellow carnations out-weight the rest – to me, that says the sender has been disappointed to the degree she wants to now part ways. She includes the rose, the iris and the cornflower as a reminder to why she started this game to begin with, but does not wish to continue.’

A heavy lump settled into Nicolas’ throat. Still, he tried to hide his disappointment, so he arranged his features into a smile and laughed.

‘Well, I suppose we shall see about that. We’ll find out if she truly wishes to quit before long – tomorrow at the latest. If the gifts cease I can assume the lady truly meant it and lost interest.’

Soon the topic was changed as Augustin brought up a play he was interested in seeing and the rest of the evening was spent with amicable chatter, though René excused himself early. He had not spoken a single word all evening and after a quick round of goodbyes he hurried away without explanation. As he retreated Nicolas could have sworn he had seen him rubbing at his face.

Nicolas for his part was crestfallen. The presence and chatter of his friends took away the edge of the blow but he was sad to see this interesting affaire come to an end. Not to mention he had no idea what he did wrong to put off his secret admirer this much. With one last sigh he downed his wine. Ah, well. It was nice while it lasted.

The next day he all but managed to put his disappointment out of his mind, though a shard of it was still lodged in his heart like a persistent thorn. He tried to concentrate on his work, failed, tried again, failed, gave up and went for a walk. He went all the way to the Jardin de Luxembourg in hopes of clearing his mind. He was in great need of that – he wrote himself into a corner and had no idea how to rescue his own heroine. Sadly the fragrant air of the park failed to deliver any flashes of inspiration, so with a heavy heart he returned to his flat.

He was almost through the door when a flash of red caught his eye.

A red rose was lying on his threshold. Nicolas carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hand. There was a note attached to it, composed in the same manner the very first poem was, of letters and words cut out from a newspaper.

I HAD NO IDEA FLOWERS MEANT THINGS. THIS IS WHAT I MEANT.

Nicolas stood there, rooted to the threshold for a long time, grinning.

Now he was almost certain of his mysterious admirer’s identity, but still, he was curious about the reactions of his friends. When he entered the tavern the company gathered that night he held aloft the flower like a banner of victory.

‘Confess, gentlemen’ he said ‘Which one of you tattled?’

The rest looked back at him with wide, all-too innocent eyes.

‘What makes you accuse us so?’ Alain asked in the high-pitched, affronted voice of a man who had carried the gossip over half of Paris already. Nicolas showed him the rose and the letter attached.

‘That doesn’t prove anything’ Yves muttered, though he too was reluctant to meet his eyes ‘Your lady may have learned of her mistake independent of our conversation yesterday.’

‘But in such short a notice? Gentlemen, if not someone you passed the news on to, I’m forced to believe it might be one of you!’

Yves and Alain protested loudly, Augustin did not comment, merely shook his head with an amused grin. René, Nicolas noted with some cautious hope, was beet red and refused to move his gaze from his drink.

***

The next week went by without further communication from his suitor. Nicolas was beginning to fear he might have scared him (…or maybe her) away. He was close to despair when finally, on a rather wet, gloomy Saturday the tell-tale knock sounded again. Nicolas raced to catch him, but as usual, his visitor was quicker. He left a letter behind, this time written in ink but in all capital letters so Nicolas still could not recognise the handwriting.

DEAREST,

MEET ME AT THE PÈRE-LACHAISE, AT THÉODORE GÉRICAULT’S TOMB, ONE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON.

This time he did not wait for the agree-upon get-together, he flagged down a coach and raced all the way to Augustin’s lodgings. Luckily he found the man at home and, upon being let in, quickly pushed the letter into his hands.

‘Look at this!’

Contrary to his exuberant enthusiasm so far, Augustin frowned and scratched his head.

‘This could be very good or very bad news. All through this little adventure I had a feeling that all this is way too daring, shameless even, for a lady.’

Nicolas did not wish to draw unneeded attention to the fact that he was quite all right with the mysterious suitor being a man, so he merely hummed his agreement.

‘Still’ he said ‘What’s the worst that might happen?’

Augustin raised an eyebrow.

‘You could be ridiculed at best, robbed or even killed at worst. You will be in the middle of a graveyard. Secluded, with plenty of places for the members of a gang to hide.’

This gave Nicolas a pause.

‘None the less’ he finally said ‘I want to know who is behind this.’

‘At least permit me to go with you!’

Now it was Nicolas’ turn to frown and tug at his bear.

‘A kind offer, but I must decline. Actually…‘ he took a deep breath ‘I have a good idea who this might be, and in case I’m right, I do not want to compromise this person.’

Augustin chuckled lightly and swatted his arm.

‘A true gentleman! Very well then, but promise to be careful!’

Nicolas smiled and pressed his hand.

‘I promise!’

***

The graveyard was all but deserted – Nicolas came across a couple of elderly ladies, the sort that is a permanent fixture of cemeteries all over the world, but none of them paid any attention to him. Though he did ask for directions at the gate it still took him a long time to find Géricault’s grave in the dense labyrinth of tombs. When he finally did he found the scene deserted. Not a single sound, except for the distant murmur of the city beyond the graveyard’s walls. His stomach fell. Was all this an elaborate prank? All this for nothing? And the culprit would not even stick around to witness his humiliation?

He dejectedly kicked a pebble and was about to leave when there – just there behind the edge of the massive block of the monument – he spotter the rim of a top hat. In two quick strides he rounded the tomb.

René Giraud was standing there hunched over, dressed in his best dress coat and shiniest shoes. When Nicolas came to stand in front of him he made an attempt to raise his head and look him in the eye but the task proved too much for him. The rose clenched in his hand was trembling. He wordlessly held it out.

Warm fondness bubbled up in Nicolas’ chest. He yearned to pull René into a hug and never let him go again, but he knew better than to grab him without his consent. He took the professed rose and opened his arms. René shuffled closer, fisted Nicolas’ vest and hid his face in his chest. Slowly, carefully Nicolas completed the embrace. He took off his friend’s hat, set it and the rose aside and gently ran his fingers through his hair. René was trembling from head to toe – Nicolas could only imagine how much courage it must have taken him to go through with this plan. This courage evidently carried him to this point and no further. He looked ready to collapse on the spot. Nicolas held him tighter and began to rock him slowly, continuing to pet his hair.

They stood there for a long while, locked together in an embrace, gently swaying from side to side. Nicolas nuzzled René’s hair. The heart fluttering against his chest started to calm down a bit. Eventually René snuggled against him and spoke up.

‘I’m sorry about the first bouquet.’

‘Don’t be. I think it was beautiful, artificially assigned meanings be damned.’

René giggled and pulled back just enough to be able to rub the back of his neck. Not daring to initiate any other contact just yet, Nicolas quickly nuzzled his nose. René took a deep, shaky breath, latched on to Nicolas’ lapels and pecked him on the lips. Before Nicolas could react he ducked his head again.

Still carefully, as to not scare him away, Nicolas slid a finger under his chin. René allowed this and obediently tilted his head up at Nicolas’ gentle push. Emboldened, Nicolas cupped his cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. After a small pause he tilted his head to the side and kissed him. René’s lips were velvety soft and a little wet – he was clumsily pushing back against Nicolas, evidently unsure of what he was supposed to do. Nicolas slid his hands down onto his shoulders and moved on to kiss a line along his smooth cheeks and jaw. They broke apart, stepped back a bit – and dissolved in a fit of nervous giggles. Nicolas tried to stop but the laughter only intensified, relieved and yet slightly hysterical. Face burning, stomach flipping, Nicolas wiped at his wet eyes and swept René back into a tight embrace. René flung himself into his arms without hesitation. Nicolas smacked one more big, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

‘Sweet René’ he murmured ‘My sweet René.’

*un chien = a dog

#writers on tumblr #mm romance #writeblr #lgbt fiction #historical fiction #fixa writes #rené giraud #nicolas barré

31 notes · View notes

good-enemy · 3 years

Note

HII! the don't blame me bridge was PERFECT, AMAZING!!

so for today, i wanna know your favourite gabrielle aplin lyrics!

keepin this short and sweet (for once xp)

-🤶🏾✨

GABBBBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

- I've been falling out of control, I think of you wherever i go, oh what did you do? What did you do to me?

- I'm not here to make you feel good, to dry up your tears and apologise for you, i feel so much better now you're not around

- I'm kind of feeling lost wherever I go, and I could be staring it right in the face and I wouldn't know

- it is the sanity of life that makes us mad

- it is the beauty of our flaws that will define us

- they say home is where your heart is set in stone, it's where you go when you're alone, it's where you go to rest your bones; it's not just where you lay your head, it's not just where you make your bed; as long as we're together, does it matter where we go home?

- fools rush in, and I've been the fool before

- heavy words are hard to take, under pressure precious things can break

- there used to be an empty space, a photograph without a face, but with your presence and your grace, everything falls into place

- youre a mountain I can't climb yet, and I'm a painting but you're blinded

- I've watched you break yourself in two and try to give me half

- and I'd run to the furthest place i need to, just to hear you laugh, because I need to find out how it feels to be broken in two halves

- the colours of these roads are matching the rainy skies, we're too blind to see what's really here in front of our eyes

- we only lie when asked if we're okay; we lock ourselves up, we only pray that we won't be the sterling silver that turns grey, we are the sparks that never fade

- when you start to speak your mind, I'll just turn around and roll my eyes

- I have a song in my heart, and just like life it has a middle, an end, a start, and who knows if I'm on the path or I'm walking in the dark?

- im ready to question that life is a blessing, give me a sign, am i following blind? Is there anyone listening?

- oh, love your flaws and live for your mistakes, beauty's on the surface wearing thin, come closer show the marks upon your skin, show me that you're human

- walk away from your pride, it's a demon in disguise

- oh today I'm just a drop of water, and I'm running down the mountainside, come tomorrow ill be in the ocean, I'll be rising with the morning tide

- when you walked into the room just then, it's like the sun came out

- I was alone, I was taken with the tide, but I knew that i was home, when I looked into your eyes and said I'm done, just let me go

- I'm drawing perfect circles round the life that we could share, and what is ours is ours to keep, I know the thing you want the most, you hide it over there, safe at the dark end of the street

- I wanna be the one to light up the dark in you

- when your chaos turns to silence, and your enemy's your friend, i will roll away the stone

- lost our luck, you put it down somewhere for safekeeping, so safe you don't remember, but it's okay, we'll make some more

- I feel better in the morning, when all my troubles lose their meaning

- you know you're supposed to lie when the truth is so unkind

- I'm not gonna love you, I don't know where to begin

- I'm followed by your ghost, I'm stepping on your shadow

- the troubles smaller when you're looking down

- we cant always grow from the seeds we sow, but still you watch them from your window

- standing underneath the sky with nothing of my own, I'm out here picking flowers but all my seeds are left unsown

- was it everything that you never said? I swear I had it right in my head

- I see my reflection, dazed and complacent, she follows me home at night

- the man sat next to me is texting somebody, I wonder what that feels like

- it's a little bit clearer now, I love you like the sun came out

- lately every day feels like a week, carrying a weight on both my shoulders, and i can't stand this air like I can't breathe, the only thing I've got is one week older

- you should see inside my head, it's like a dream, bending over backwards trying to find a meaning

- all my scars are golden

- I just wanna go wherever heaven takes me even through the flames

- I don't know how much more i can take, I'm broken into so many pieces, would be easy just to throw them away, but I don't wanna give up on feeling

- cause now that I'm shattered I'm all kinds of me, was knocked off the shelf but I'm also complete, I'm under the weather with no place to be, but maybe that's just what i need

- make it beautiful and golden with grace, but keep a little stain to remind me, that even when i mess up that mess is still me

- if you need me like you need to breathe then love me like you say you do

- just take a breath love, fill your lungs up, rest your head there's no sense in losing sleep, you can break down, let your worst out, lose your temper, but you're not losing me

- the things we do, when we dress up pain like heaven in a moment of truth

- like a bed that you can fall in when you're broken, I'm the air that's running through a window open

- give me all my time back, give me all my love back

- only wanna know me when you're lonely, only call me when there's no one else around

- dear happy, don't go, not there but I'm close, I just always thought I'd never win

- keep your head up in the clouds, live tomorrow now

- stop what you're doing take your eyes off the screen, you've always got a feeling but you don't know what it means, step across the line with an open mind and let go

- on the last day on the earth, all i wanna do is share a smile with you

- my love will testify and last through the ages

- history books will tell our love through the ages

- if I look deep inside the caverns of my heart, all I see is you smiling back at me

Also this whole song:

You are the avalanche, One world away, My make believing, While I'm wide awake

Just a trick of light, To bring me back around again, Those wild eyes, A psychedelic silhouette

I never meant to fall for you but I was buried underneath and all that I could see was white

My salvation, My, my, My salvation, My, my

You are the snowstorm, I'm purified, The darkest fairytale, In the dead of night

So let the band play out, as I'm making my way home again, glorious we transcend, into a psychedelic silhouette (& the chorus again and etc this post is already too long)

Also this whole song:

I got up late again today

And I'm scared of everything

I don't dare to dream

I got a dark imagination

These hours waste away

A debt I'll never pay

I'm talking to the walls

But the walls keep caving in

They amplify my thoughts

I really want a conversation

But I let it slip away

A debt I'll never pay

Worry, worry, oh

It's funny how it changes

When nothing really changes at all

Am I jaded?

Am I meant to feel this way?

I'm a loser, getting beat by my own game

But if I falter, well at least it was my mistake

Oh, at least it was my mistake

'Cause I choose to be this way

I'm a loser, and I self-deprecate

So when I falter, well at least it was my mistake

I saw my friend today

She tried to comfort me

But I turned her away

There's magic in this misery

So no matter what you say

I don't think I'll ever change

Worry, worry, oh

It's funny how it changes

When nothing really changes at all

Am I jaded?

Am I meant to feel this way?

I'm a loser, getting beat by my own game

But if I falter, well at least it was my mistake

Well, at least it was my mistake

'Cause I choose to be this way

I'm a loser, and I self-deprecate

So when I falter, well at least it was my mistake

And I don't really care about what anyone says

I don't give a damn about what anyone says

I don't want to think about anything

And I don't really care about what anyone says

I don't need opinions hanging over my head

I don't really care about anything

I don't really care

I don't really care at all

Am I jaded?

Am I meant to feel this way?

I'm a loser, getting beat by my own game

But if I falter, well at least it was my mistake

Well, at least it was my mistake

'Cause I choose to be this way

I'm a loser, and I self-deprecate

So when I falter, well at least it was my mistake

Well, at least it was my mistake

#this took....too long #secret santa (taylors version)#n13 secret santa #secret santa #gabrielle aplin #i love her!#feeling rn <3 #thank u for this secret santa im v happy now

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yoon-ing · 7 years

Text

Thin Line (m)

Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

It doesn’t take a big step to cross over a fine line.

Crimson red tints your cheeks, embarrassment your shade of blush for the night as you sit on the floor with a group of friends (and a so-call friend who has just outed your crush to the entire group), playing a game of Truth and Dare that has your skin on fire at the hand of Park Jimin who decides it’s his duty as your best friend to announce the name of your crush, who also happens to be your roommate and also happens to be sitting directly beside you.

“You’re supposed to say your crush,” you snare through your teeth at the boy who sits across from you, his eyes glazed with intoxication and arched with the stupid smile that’s on his face. It’s Jimin’s turn, choosing Truth after having to lick the underside of Taehyung’s foot sprinkled with hot sauce in the last round. ‘Who’s your crush?’ was blurted out as the first instinct of any Truth or Dare player, having all eyes on him, until his words are directing everyone’s attention to you.

“I don’t have one!” he says defensively. “So, I said yours!” is his pathetic attempt at an excuse and you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“That’s not how it works!” you respond with your jaw clenching, hands balling into fists.

“Oh, why so defensive, Y/N?” Jungkook teases, “I guess it’s true.”

“Shut up Jeon,” you shoot at him, glaring in his direction for a moment before returning your death stare to Jimin.

“Yoongi’s a cool guy! What’s so wrong about crushing on him!” Jimin is just making it worse at this point and all you wish is that your physical existence in time and space would evaporate into nothing more than particles in the atmosphere, sparing you from the embarrassment and teasing that pursues, your drunkards of friends having a little too much fun, and definitely too much to drink.

“Y/N and Yoongi sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g” is being chanted and you can’t believe your pinkened ears because you’ve defied all laws of physics and have literally just discovered time travel, being sent back to middle school where you’re surround by immature little pricks, making a big deal just because you like a boy.

“I’m going home,” you mumble, taking one last, long swig of tequila before pushing yourself off the floor and haphazardly making it to your feet, the alcohol hitting you hard once your feet are the only part of you planted on the floor after spending the better half of the night sat on your ass.

Yoongi is quick to stand, not a drop of alcohol in his system because of his car out front, and he steadies your swaying figure.

You try to pull away from him, waving him off as you (unsuccessfully) try to convince him you’ll be okay on your own, not needing this small interaction to be more ammunition for the group of idiots still sprawled out on the floor.

“I’m your ride home,” he says when you tell him to sit back down.

And the ‘Ohhh, Y/N and Yoongi are going home together’ is met with the finger as your only response before you turn on your heel and walk, or rather stumble, away.

The burning on your skin has definitely sobered you up enough to think somewhat clearly, although your body lags behind and physically you’re pretty disorientated, and the embarrassment is suffocating, especially now that you and Yoongi are alone.

He laughs it off when you profusely apologize for Jimin’s behaviour, insisting that he was too drunk to even know what was coming out of his mouth, and that his words hold no truth.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Yoongi says half way through the drive, probably unable to put up with the apologizes that spew from your mouth. A ruffle of your hair has your lips smacking shut, you feel like a child, especially after tonight’s events and you can feel your heart cracking into pieces as if the universe herself has taken a chisel to it, letting you know that you’re nothing more than a kid to Yoongi, someone he likes to tease and poke fun at, someone who won’t have his heart the way he does yours.

The patterned fleece blankets and poster cluttered walls tell you you’re in your room, tucked into your own bed, where you must have spent the night, but the throbbing headache that pounds your skull from the inside out doesn’t tell you how you got here. Your memory is in shatters with edges so sharp that the only thing you can feel is splitting pain in the place of your mind; you wish you can say last night is a blur, but it’s not even that, holding no place in your recollection of yesterday and it is as non-existent as your phone seems to be at the moment. Your arms flail beneath the sheets in search of the device and you’re like a butterfly fluttering about, trying to break out of your cocoon looking for freedom, except it’s your blanket that has you trapped and you’re not nearly as graceful as nature’s bursts of colour.

Hooking your chin over the edge of the mattress, sweet victory rings in your ears in the form of muffled buzzing, paired with the dim light of an LED screen coming from beneath the thin sweatshirt you must have discarded on the floor at some point during the night. Snatching up your phone, you’re met with a number of notifications, namely from Jimin and worry sweeps across your features as your thumb sweeps across the unlock button. There are over ten messages from him, some still coming in as you pull up your conversation with him, scrolling up to where you last responded and you hope that his words will give you some insight to last night’s events because you’re blind to what happened between dinner and right now.

Jimin Park that ass [12:47pm]

Y/N

hey

im so sorry

i didn’t mean to say anything last night

i was drunk and wasn’t thinking

when am i ever thinking??

god

i feel like such a jackass

i should’ve kept my mouth shut

it wasnt my secret to tell

im sorry, i hope i didn’t fuck everything up for you

please tell me what i can do to make it up to you

i’ll do anything i swear

Insight is the opposite of what you get because these texts just make you more confused. Why is Jimin apologizing? What did he do to be sorry for? You two have been friends for so long that there’s hardly anything you can do to offend each other, or so you think.

The next message rolls in and everything is clicking, your brain moving like clockwork as everything comes back into place and your memory is clearer than day on a sunny morning.

Jimin Park that ass [12:48pm]

if you want me to talk to Yoongi and tell him i was just kidding whne i said you have a crush on him ill do it, i’ll convince him its not true

It’s as if you hadn’t even drunk last night, your memory sharper than ever with the scene replaying in your mind, the reel rewinding and playing over and over again, taunting you in your embarrassment and dread.

Yoongi knows you like him. Yoongi knows you like him. Min fuckin’ Yoongi knows that you like him.

It’s the only thought that goes through your brain, unable to process anything else because oh my god Min Yoongi knows, he knows!

You decide you’ll deal with Jimin later, suppressing all violent urges to march over to his house and ring his neck like a rag, and instead you simply hold down the power button on your phone until the device shuts down. The phone is released from your hand, landing with a loud thud on the floor, unable to care at this point and you let your eyelids flutter shut, taking a deep breath in an attempt to rid yourself of the tension that is pinching every single one of your nerve endings. Breathe in, breathe out, you tell yourself, but your body tenses and the next thing you know, you’re burying your face in a pillow to muffle the scream that you’re belting out of your lungs; your arms and legs flail around like a fish out of water and you kick your blankets about in a fit of frustration and desperation. The screaming comes to an end and you’re sure the pillow didn’t do much to conceal the sound that reverberates throughout the apartment, but you don’t really care that anyone within the vicinity of the building probably heard you because it’s only Yoongi who you’re self-conscious around and after the whole secretly crushing on him, then not so secretly crushing on him, nothing else really matters.

Laying in bed aimlessly screaming into the void won’t do anything to help your case, so you decide to bite the bullet, face Yoongi once and for all because you’re going to have to eventually, you can’t live your life hiding from your roommate. And who knows, maybe he doesn’t even remember the conversation, or rather, Jimin spewing unfiltered words to no one in particular. Who are you kidding? Of course he remembers. He wasn’t drunk and he isn’t dumb. He knows the truth and there’s nothing you can do to change that.

Creeping out of your room like a burglar in your own home, you keep on your toes, listening for any signs of Yoongi, trying to locate him before making any rash decisions. Biting the bullet quickly turns into trying your best to stay out of sight as you peep down the hall to see his bedroom door is left half open, the way he has it when he’s not inside and you mentally cross off his room from the list in your head of places to avoid. Your eyes travel to the bathroom, but the light is off and there’s no running water to be heard; bathroom: clear. The tension rises as you move further down the hall, sneaking towards the common living space where he’s most likely to be if not in his room, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your own ears, the reality of all of this crashing down as you think of what you’ll possibly say to him when you see him. ‘Sorry’? Or maybe ‘Haha fooled you’. Or even better, you won’t say a word, the both of you pretending nothing happened as you slowly drift apart until the inevitable day comes when you no longer speak, and you are freed from the lease of the apartment and you can move to the other side of the world where you won’t need to worry anymore.

The creaking floorboard beneath your foot brings your attention back to the task at hand and you freeze in your spot, hoping you haven’t been caught. There’s no call of your name or wary ‘who’s there’, and now that you think about it, there’s no other sound other than your shallow breathes and you realize that it’s much too quiet for Yoongi to even be home. This gives you the courage to move faster as you poke your head into the living room, finding the TV off and the couch untouched; whipping your attention to the kitchen, the only sign of life even passing through the space is a coffee mug left on the counter. You visibly relax when the still room confirms Yoongi is no where to be found and your stiff muscles are loosening in relief; at least this will buy you some time to figure out what you can possibly do to remedy the situation.

Your steps are less calculated and your demeanor less apprehensive; you can finally walk through your home as if you own the place, because well, you do. The fridge is where you head to first, grabbing a glass of water to cure the dehydration you’re sure is plaguing your body from the amount of alcohol consumed the night before. Next on your To-Do list is shower, you just want to wash away the filth you feel from last night and you hope that the mess that clouds your mind will be able to rise with the steam, clearing your head so you can spend a moment in peace.

Your moment of peace doesn’t last long once you’ve wiped away the fog from the mirror and you’re returning to your room to throw on an oversized sweater. It’s when you’re already one step from the kitchen that you hear keys jingle at the door, the lock clicks and panic crawls your skin; you’re trapped like a deer frozen in headlights and maybe if you run you can make it back to your room before he steps inside, but your brain and body forget how to function and you’ve gone from a deer in highlights to a deer plucked right out of its habitat because acting natural is the last thing you’re doing right now.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow when he catches you scampering around like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing and a forced smile is all you can muster in return.

“Um, hi?” he says once he’s stepped into the apartment, throwing his keys aside and toeing his shoes off.

He has a plastic bag in his hand but you can hardly pay attention to that because you’re dumbstruck by his simple attire of black jeans and a plain white tee, the clothing adorning his body in a way that makes him look like he just walked out of a magazine and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on his collar bones that poke out from his loose shirt. Your gaze continues to trace his every feature, working your way up to take note of the cap you bought him last Christmas that has his dark hair pushed back, allowing his brows that are normally hidden behind bangs to nicely frame his face. It’s like you’re in a trance until the naturally pouted lips that have you completely captivated are moving to form words that you don’t quite catch and you shake yourself out of the daze to focus on what he has to say.

“You okay there?” Yoongi asks with the slightest hint of amusement hidden in the arch of his brow.

“I- uh, yeah,” you manage to say, still not completely back to your senses.

“Are you sure? Because you were staring,” he casually mentions as he strolls into the kitchen and places the bag down on the counter.

“No I wasn’t,” you say back too quickly and you mentally slap yourself.

“A little shy, aren’t we?” His tone makes him seem cocky and the lop-sided smile makes it even more so.

Your at a loss for words because although Yoongi’s smugness hardly ever comes as a surprise to you, it has never been aimed directly at you and your mind is in a frenzy as you try to comprehend what’s happening.

“It’s alright,” Yoongi begins when you leave him without a response, “it’s normal to get shy around your crush.” He finishes his sentence with a wink that leaves you gawking at him because never would you have expected Yoongi to be so bold in his actions, playing with your feelings so thoughtlessly.

“Since when were you a douche bag?” is the first sentence you’re able to form since Yoongi stepped through the door, and it’s a damn good one because what has gotten into Yoongi? You’d expect this behaviour from other members of the male species, but not from Yoongi; he’s a close friend, close enough to know which lines not to cross and which buttons not to push. But today something seems to be malfunctioning and you think you need to hire a repair man to fix your friend or maybe you can just get a new one all together.

“Aw, Y/N, I’m just teasing, there’s no need to get upset.”

His words only infuriate you further and you channel all of your anger into your clenched fists, clamping your lips shut to keep you from lashing back and you decide to be the bigger person as you turn on your heel and storm off towards your bedroom.

You don’t make it over the threshold in time to relax and Yoongi is just half a step behind you, calling out to you as you rush through the doorway.

Spinning around to face him, you can’t keep your cool any longer. “Leave me alone, I hate you!” you blurt out, childlike in your manner as you attempt to slam the door shut almost as if you’re a kid all over again and you’re throwing a fit over some silly mishap.

But Yoongi’s reflexes are fast and his hand shoots up in time to halt the door in its tracks, pushing it back open to be face to face with you.

“There’s a thin line between hate and love, darling,” he remarks with a voice as soft as velvet, the words rolling off his tongue so smoothly. You catch the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk before he leans in close, bringing his lips to your ear to say his next words. “And there’s a thin wall between our rooms.”

You can feel your face drain of all colour at the insinuation while simultaneously setting your skin on fire in utter embarrassment and it feels as if your flesh is wax melting off onto the floorboards, seeping into the cracks how you wish you could. The smugness is thick in his voice and it’s clear that he means exactly what you think; your little secret isn’t so secret anymore.

He pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze intimidating but captivating all at once and you can’t bring yourself to look away. “You really thought I didn’t know? Every little sound, every moan, every time you called out my name – I heard it all, Y/N. It was torture sitting there in my room listening to you touch yourself when it could’ve been me touching you instead.” He pauses, his eyes darkening at his next words. “Tell me, how many fingers did you have inside of you when you were imagining it was me?”

You’re at a loss for words, but what Yoongi has in mind doesn’t need any because instead of saying anymore, he’s leaning down low and tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that you’ve only ever had in your dreams. Everything stops and you feel like a cliché in a teenage movie; you’re frozen in time and space and the only thing that matters is here and now, you and Yoongi. It takes a moment for you to come back to your senses, realizing that this is actually happening, Yoongi is kissing you right now and you should probably kiss him back.

Snaking your arms around his neck for leverage, Yoongi groans into your mouth when you pull yourself closer to deepen the kiss and his hands automatically find their way around your waist to hold you flush against his body. Eagerness has your lips parting and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to let his tongue slip into your mouth, greedy to get a better taste of you and it’s messy and rushed but perfect in every way. Somehow his hat is on the floor and your fingers thread through his hair, his own fingers finding their way to the hem of your sweater to get under the material; his hands are cold against your flushed skin, heightening the sensation of each of his movements as he rubs and squeezes at your flesh, working his way to your ass. His firm hand massages your bottom and you’re breaking the kiss to moan out in pleasure, your hips buck forward and you begin to grind on the bulge forming in his pants.

The sounds are like music to his ears, not muffled behind closed doors and drywall, but loud and clear as you whimper at his every touch and Yoongi thinks he can get used to this. He’s quick to pepper kisses along your neck, biting and gnawing in all the right places, anything to hear you whimpering and with every moan all that goes through his mind is ‘mine, mine, mine’. He wonders what other noises he can get you make and he’s greedy to find out as soon as possible, hooking his fingers under your sweater to pull the fleece over your head.

Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra beneath the fabric and he stares at you almost in disbelief. “You’ll be the death of me,” Yoongi breathes out, his eyes raking over every curve of your body until a flash of darkness crosses over them and they glaze over in desire. It feels like an eternity with the way he’s looking at you, admiring you, before he’s attacking your lips, hungry for more and he takes a step forward, the two of you stumbling to the other side of the room. This kiss doesn’t last as long because you’re just as impatient as Yoongi and your roaming hands find their way to the hem of his shirt just as the back of your legs come in contact with the mattress and your knees buckle to fall back on the cushion. The eagerness has Yoongi practically ripping the shirt off of his own back before he climbs up on the bed, crawling on top of you as you pull yourself up the length of the bed. Lips lock and you’re chest to chest, skin to skin to finally feel Yoongi against you, touching you in ways you’ve only ever imagined.

Yearning for more, you’re no longer in control of your body when your hips begin to move against his, looking for any kind of relief from the aching desire deep within your core. The dry humping is short lived when Yoongi’s grip is pinning your hips to the mattress and his lips break away from yours to trail down your jaw, neck, and chest; licking and sucking every part of your exposed skin. The hand on your hip doesn’t hesitate to find its way to your panty clad cunt, and your mind almost goes blank when Yoongi’s thumb begins to massage your clit through the fabric. You’ve long ago soaked through the material and Yoongi can’t hide his satisfaction that has a hum leaving his lips once he’s face to face with the cotton that clings to your folds with your arousal.

“Yoongiiiiii,” you whine out in the way you’ve done so many nights before.

His eyes flash up at you and you can see the way he’s riled up, desire flaring in his irises. “Say it again,” he says almost as a demand with his voice lowering and you don’t hesitate to whimper out his name when he’s puts more pressure on your clit, rubbing harsh circles into the bundle of nerves.

‘Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi,’ escapes your lips in between heavy breaths and the sound alone has him worked up almost as much as you although you’ve yet to lay a finger on him. Yoongi’s patience wears thinner and thinner with each moan of his name until it’s non-existent and he rids you of your panties in seconds, finally getting a look at your bare body in all its glory.

A single finger slides up your slit, collecting the juices that are already leaking out and all you want to do is shy away when Yoongi puts the digit in his mouth to get a taste, but his grip on your thigh keeps your legs open and exposed for him. He sucks it clean as if your arousal is the most delicious thing he has ever had the pleasure to taste on his tongue and the sight sends shivers down your spine; a lick of his lips and a flash of a smirk are the last things you see before his face is buried between your legs and you feel as if every tension in your body is being released. You gasp out at the sudden sensation of Yoongi’s mouth on your folds and your eyes screw shut while your fingers get tangled in his hair. He runs his tongue up and down your slit, getting lost in the taste until he stops at your clit, licking and sucking in a way that has you mewling beneath him. His fingers find their way to your entrance and there’s no more time for teasing because he pushes two in without warning and the stretch feels so good you’re tugging at Yoongi’s hair, pulling him closer if that’s even possible, before grinding into his face. This has him growling against you and the vibration mixed with the quick thrusting of his fingers almost has you losing it.

With a cry of his name, you’re clenching around nothing when he pulls his fingers out from your walls; his jaw slackens and tongue flattens, and he lets you ride out your high on his face, drowning him in your cum that he’s eager to lick up.

Exhaustion washes over you almost as hard as your orgasm did and you release your hold on Yoongi, your body going limp as your bones and muscles feel as if they are melting into the mattress. You fight off the forces that anchor your body, that’s more Jell-O than human, to the bed just enough to lift your head and find Yoongi peeking up at you. His rounded eyes make him look cute despite the aftermath of your climax smeared across his face and he looks so innocent it’s almost deceiving. Yoongi keeps his curious gaze locked on yours as he leans down and licks one big swipe up your slit, mischievousness creeping its way onto his face as you wriggle around at the uncomfortable sensation of overstimulation.

“Yoongi, stoppppp,” you playfully whine, dragging out the syllables as he continues with kitten licks in between his lighthearted laughter. Your legs lock around his head in hopes of hampering his movement, but his fingertips poking at your sides in light tickles have you loosening your grip enough for him to move.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he says, his voice losing all playfulness and going back to gruff and husky with an undertone of lust.

Yoongi sits up on his knees, lifting your legs with him and your ankles lock behind his neck as he manages to maneuver out of his pants.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking, desperate for attention that you’ll very gladly give it. He takes his member in his hand and you swallow hard as he slowly pumps it, watching as the bead of pre-cum drips from the tip and his thumb rolls it over his head.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you have a taste later,” Yoongi says smugly, and you have to forcefully break your stare away from his dick to meet his eyes. You’re all but drooling and with the way he stares at you with a cocky smirk pulling at his lips, you know your every thought is written across your face.

Having enough of the chit chat, Yoongi leans in closer with you legs still in the air, practically folding you in half, and if you knew you’d be testing your flexibility today, you definitely would have stretched before hand. Your legs rest on his shoulders and he groans in approval when he sees your cunt glistening for him once more; it’s not surprising that you’re wet already with all the filthy thoughts of his cock going straight to your core.

Yoongi’s breath comes out heavy when finally there’s contact between his tense member and your slick folds and he can no longer restrain himself, positioning his head at your entrance and giving you a moment’s notice before he’s slamming into you. It’s as if the wind has been knocked out of you and you grasp at the sheets to ground yourself because if you thought the stretch of his fingers was otherworldly, this sends you traveling through space and time to another dimension. There’s no holding back the cries of pleasure that pour from your lips when he begins to thrust and you yell out his name in ways you only wished you could every time you were tucked away between closed doors, fingers buried within yourself, calling out to him in a soundless whimper. But there’s no holding back for you or Yoongi, moaning out his name relentlessly as he responds in the form of grunts each time his hips collide with your skin, pounding into you like he’s a starved man and you’re his saving grace.

Your second orgasm comes as a tsunami, as if the ocean floor is cracking open and unleashing the sheer force of the natural disaster in the form of unmeasurable bliss. The sun and moon play tug of war with every gravitational pull and waves of pleasure surge through your body with each roll of his hips, leaving you to float off into oblivion as Yoongi chases his own high that has long pushed him over the edge, hardly grasping at reality when his seed fills you and slick, lewd sounds mix in between heavy breathes and uncontrolled moans.

Exhaustion hits you hard once the adrenaline dies down and Yoongi is practically dead weight curled around your body in a way that conveys so much innocence that it’s almost unbelievable that this is the same man that a few moments earlier was balls deep within you. His head rests on your breasts and the warm air that leaves his lips with each breath tickles your skin; the arm that is strewn carelessly across your hips tightens around you and you peer down to find Yoongi staring up at you.

“How long?” he asks after a moment of silently gazing at each other.

Your question of ‘how long what?’ is heard unsaid and he’s replying instantly.

“How long since you started touching yourself to the thought of me?”

The words sound vulgar now that your body has drained of all arousal and you’re returning to the shy mess you were earlier.

“Mmm,” you ponder for a moment with your lips pressed together; there’s really nothing to lose at this point. “A few months probably? Maybe more?” you say unsurely, but you’re not unsure at all, you remember very vividly when this began and you could tell him an exact date if he asked. “It was that day I accidentally… walked in on you naked.”

Except you didn’t really walk in on him, you more of ripped the sheets off of his bare body after barging into the room.

8:36. Shit. You slept through your alarms (stress on the ‘s’ because you set approximately 6 different alarms to avoid this exact situation). You bolt up from your bed that’s still scattered with notes from your late-night study session and flail around the room in a panic trying to collect your books and yourself. 8:41. You’ve managed to get semi-clean clothes on your body and a toothbrush in your mouth. Your school bag is slung over your shoulder and you burst into Yoongi’s room without a second thought. It’s a 10 minute drive to campus, Yoongi will take 6 minutes to get out of bed and make sense of your uncoherent squabbling, 1 minute for the elevator to get you to the garage where his car is parked; leaving you with 2 minutes to spare before exam papers are slapped down on your desk and the ‘no talking or you get a zero’ rule is implemented.

Still running numbers through your head, you frantically call out to Yoongi who is sound asleep while reaching for the blanket that has him tucked in. Your hand balls around the fabric and you tear it away from his sleeping form in one swift movement. One second you’re trying to figure out if you’ll make it to school in time to write your exam and the next, you’re staring point-blank at Yoongi’s erect cock.

Morning wood is no where close to being a new concept to you, it’s an odd, but natural occurrence that you came to terms with at some point between middle school and high school when you woke up next to your best friend, accusing him of being a pervert. But here and now? It’s a completely different situation. Yoongi, not only your roommate but also your long-term crush, can get you hot and bothered by just coming home sweaty after a workout. You’ve been able to suppress all the dirty thoughts that creep into your mind late at night, but naked Yoongi in your imagination is nothing close to naked Yoongi in real life. As much as you wish you could stand there and admire him in all his glory, the sight leaves you flustered, blushing violently when Yoongi startles awake and you apologize profusely, not looking back as you run out of the room.

You take an Uber to school and barely manage to make it through your exam without the image of Yoongi popping up in your mind every other question. You take the long way home, getting off the bus a few stops early to aimlessly walk through the park, stopping to buy coffee from the cozy shop on the corner, only returning home once you’re sure Yoongi is not there. That night, when the naughty images seep into your thoughts, you don’t have the willpower to deny it any longer and Yoongi’s name slips from your lips when your fingers slip into your walls.

“So I could’ve been listening to you moan my name for months?” Yoongi questions, shock and disappointment crossing his features all at once. “And here I thought I stumbled across a gold mine a few weeks ago when I heard you through the walls.”

Neither of you say anymore and the room falls silent save for the shallow breaths that have your chests rising and falling in sync. Yoongi stays wrapped around you and you begin to feel sleep heavy on your eyelids until he’s speaking again.

“How long?” he questions once again and confusion crosses your features because didn’t you just answer that question? “How long have you had this crush?” he clarifies.

This question, you’re not so quick to answer, feeling embarrassed and shy that he’s even bringing it up. It somehow feels more intimate than the last question and you weren’t planning to confess to him like this (you weren’t planning to confess to him at all if you’re being honest). It seems silly that your skin still flushes under the weight of his gaze after everything that just happened, but you can’t help it and you avert your eyes trying to collect your thoughts.

“I don’t know,” you mumble after a moment, needing to give him some sort of answer even if it’s inadequate and you’re positive he can hear the way your heart races in your chest, fluttering away with nerves and timidity.

Yoongi is perceptive and your silence on the matter is a clear indicator that this crush has been going on longer than you care to admit, not to mention the way your heart pounds beneath where his head rests, sounding like there’s a marching band making its rounds in your rib cage.

“Don’t tell me that not only could I have been listening to you moan out my name for months, but I also could’ve been dating you for months?” The question is rhetorical with the revelation of your well-kept secret and instantly, implications of his words have you dizzy with a million thoughts whirling around in your mind.

Before you can get any words out to ask for clarification, frantically searching your brain that’s a muddled mess for a coherent sentence, there’s a loud knock at the front door and you instantly freeze, the sudden intrusion startling you. Yoongi is thinking on the same wavelength as you when he stills, as if the slightest movement will tip off whoever’s at the door that you two are indeed home. The knocking persists and despite the blush that seems to permanently paint your skin pink, there is nothing in this world that can bring you to leave Yoongi’s arms.

‘Y/N!’ you hear being called and you groan for what feels like an eternity before reaching for Yoongi’s wrist to remove his arm from your waist.

Yoongi only resists, tightening his hold on you, “can’t we just pretend we’re not home?”

‘Y/N, open the door!’ Your best friend’s voice travels through the walls in between the pounding of his fist on the wood and you sincerely wish it was that simple.

“This is Jimin we’re talking about, he’s not going to leave,” you inform Yoongi, knowing your friend all too well.

“It’s not like he’ll know that we’re here,” Yoongi counters, trying to find anyway to convince you to stay here wrapped up in your own little world where you and he are the only thing that matters.

‘I know you’re in there! Y/N, please!’

You look at Yoongi pointedly, “I’m only ever at home or at his place, there’s no getting out of this.” And although you’ve made your point, you’re reluctant to leave the arms that you’ve spent countless hours day dreaming about.

“Okay, how about you get rid of him, and I draw us a bath?” he proposes with a soft smile finding its way to his lips.

They way he says ‘us’ has your heart going through another frenzied fit of fluttering and Yoongi chuckles at your reaction that you don’t even bother to hide. You squeak out a small ‘okay’ and the smile he gives you in return is breathtaking, heartwarming in the way his pearly whites and pink gums show nothing but pure joy.

Yoongi shifts to press the softest of kisses to the skin between your breasts and untangles his limbs from yours, “see you soon, doll face.”

He’s already on his feet, strolling out the door before he can witness the way you squirm in the sheets and if he wasn’t on the other side of a piece of drywall, you’d be squealing into a pillow in delight, feeling like you’re dancing on the clouds with the world at your feet.

Jimin all but drops to his knees when you swing the door open, begging for forgiveness as he apologizes over and over for his big mouth that causes nothing but trouble. You have to laugh at that because his big mouth has done quite the opposite this time around and you tell him you’re not mad, trying to convince him that you truly mean it and you usher him back out the door as you let him know you have something to tell him later. With a quick hug, you’re closing the door, a small ‘thank you’ slipping from your lips, leaving him to stare at you in confusion for the split second before the door clicks shut and you’re turning around to run back to Yoongi.

The small space is filled with steam and Yoongi greets you from the tub, already submerged in the hot water with bubbles foaming around his body. A smile breaks across his face when you enter the room and he holds out a hand, waiting for you to join him as you rid yourself of the sweater you threw on to answer the door. You take his hand and step into the tub, settling between his legs as warmth envelopes your body in the form of limbs and water and everything good.

Bubbles tickle your toes and it feels as if you’re melting in delight; your back is to Yoongi’s chest, your head lolled back to rest on his shoulder and he nuzzles your neck, peppering your skin with featherlight kisses. It’s all so surreal and if someone had told you yesterday that you’d be taking part in such affectionate activities with Yoongi, you would’ve laughed in their face at the absurdity. But as dreamlike as it may seem, the arms wound tightly around your waist are too secure to be an illusion wrapped up in your subconscious and the lips on your neck, the nibbles on your ear are too gentle, too soft, too wonderous and unimaginable to be something conceived within the confinements of your own mind. You’re living out your every dream and with the way Yoongi silently hums in content as he holds you close, tracing your skin, he’s living out his too.

#yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #suga smut #suga scenarios #bts smut #bts scenarios #min yoongi #min suga #i didnt get a chance to edit this so sorry for any mistakes!!!#oh gosh i dont know how this ended up 6k #i just wanted to write about yoongs #20

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soaimagines · 7 years

Text

Coping

Gifs not mine, Credit to owners/creators.

Pairing: Juice x Reader

Request: Imagine having a panic attack in public and Juice comforts you.

Word Count: 1,155

Warnings: Panic attacks Could be triggering if you suffer from anxiety/panic attacks. You may not wanna read this if you are prone to either, or skip the first paragraph. Be safe, babies 💕

Authors Note: I’m aware that everybody experiences panic/anxiety attacks differently, so I tried to kinda summarise it. Hope you all enjoy.

Masterlist

Canned goods, olive oils, jars of pickles. You walked down the aisle desperately trying to slow down your breathing. Trying to hold off only ever made them worse, but you hated having panic attacks in public. The grocery store was a sensory overload. The squeaking off the loose wheel on the shopping cart. The bright lights shining down. The beeping off the till. Shit. The coloured packaging all jumping out at you. The laughter of children in the next aisle. The soothing music playing throughout the store that was anything but soothing. The footsteps on the polished tiles. Fuck. The old man whistling as he paced the aisles. The buzzing of the overhanging lights. The call over the loudspeaker for ‘Karen’ to return to the service desk. It was all too much. The moment you had walked in the entrance you had felt nauseas and you had gulped, determined to get your groceries and get out. You dug your fingernails into your palms as you walked up the aisle, hoping desperately that this feeling would pass. Count to ten. But the pounding in your chest quickened and your lungs felt like they were tightening, strangling you, starving you of air. You had to get out. You dropped the basket you were carrying with the few items you had managed to pick off the shelves and you headed for the door. A soccer mom was wrangling her four kids near the entrance and they ran out in front of you, only sending you into more of a panic. Your breathing quickened and you broke into a sweat, desperate to be outside in the fresh air and desperate for the room to stop spinning. Finally you made your way outside and you ran to the alley between the surrounding buildings and knelt on the ground. The world was spinning and you steadied yourself, your hands on the concrete path as your body trembled.

Just breathe.

Juice walked out of Clear Passages and tucked his hands into his pockets. He smiled to the elderly couple walking towards him. They didn't reciprocate when they saw the leather kutte on his shoulders and Juice ignored it. He was used to it by now. He headed towards his bike, glancing up and down the street while he walked. Then he saw her. Across the road, in the alleyway between the grocery store and the florist a girl was kneeling on the ground, her hands clutching at her chest. Juice frowned and jogged across the street, unaware of the oncoming traffic. The driver slammed on their brakes and honked the horn. He raised his hand in apology but kept moving, desperate to help the girl. “Hey are you okay?” He asked as he approached. She didn't look up. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her hands were shaking, a thin layer of sweat appearing on her pale forehead. Juice recognised the signs and he knelt in front of her. “Hey, you're gonna be okay. Open your eyes.” She obeyed. Her wide, panicked eyes found his and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You gotta breath. Inhale.” She took a deep breath and he counted to three. “Exhale. Good.” He counted to three again before telling her to inhale. Ever so slowly her breathing began to calm and Juice flashed a smile for the small victory. “Tell me five things you can see.” “What?” She asked, her breathing starting to quicken again. “Do it. Five things. Trust me.” “Um. You.” She glanced along the alleyway, out into the street. “A car.” “What colour is it?” “Red.” “Good, what else?” Juice pushed the loose hair out of her face and pointed out into the street. “The sky. A post box.” She took a deep breath. “Bench.” “Good girl. What can you hear?” “Traffic.” “Anything else?” She shook her head. “I don't know I cant-“ “Its okay, take a deep breath.” She did as she was told and Juice got her to name what she could smell. When she was done he noticed that the colour was returning to her face. It was a good sign. “Hows your heart beating?” “Little fast.” She stammered. “But better.” “Whats your name?” “(y/n).” “My names Juice. Look back at that road. How many cars can you see.” She focused, her eyes narrowing. He sat with her for a while, asking her questions and with every answer her breathing slowed and her heart rate lowered. “How are you feeling?” “Okay, I guess.” Juice stood and offered her his hand. She accepted and he helped her up. “Im sorry, I just wanted to get my groceries but it just became too much and.. Im sorry.“ “You don't need to apologise.” Juice smiled, sending a blush to her cheeks. “Im just glad I was here.” “Me too.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.” He nodded. “Did you have a grocery list?” She nodded and pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket. “Wait here.”

He grabbed the list from your fingers and turned, leaving you alone in the alley. You leant against the cool brick wall, enjoying the way it felt on your back and you looked to the sky, taking a deep breath. You weren't blind. You had seen the patch on his shoulders but no one had ever talked you down from one of your panic attacks before, let alone a biker you didn't even know. After a few more minutes Juice rounded the corner, his arms full of groceries. “You drive here?” “No, I walked. I don't live far.” “Then lets go.” He smiled widely to you. “You don't have to,Juice, really you've done enough. I didn't even give you money for those and-“ “Hey, I want to. Safety in numbers, right?” You smiled, a blush on your cheeks and nodded. “Right. You took a bag of groceries from his arms and led the way. Juice talked to you the whole way home and the you reached your house he helped you carry your groceries inside. “I should get back.” He said when he placed the last bag on the counter. You nodded. “Thank you for everything, Juice. Really, thank you.” He smiled and scanned the kitchen. He headed to the counter and grabbed a pen and pulled your grocery list from his pocket, and began scribbling down his phone number. When he was done he handed the paper to you. “Anytime you need anything. Anything at all, you call me.” You smiled widely. No words could thank him enough for what he had done but you made a mental reminder to do some baking and drop it off to him. Together you walked to the front door and after saying goodbye you watched him walking away from your house. You chewed the side of your lip as you watched him, hoping that you would get to see a lot more of Juice.

If you want to be added to the tag list for any, or all Sons please let me know.

Imma just add this just incase anyone was triggered, I worry about my loves.

#sons of anarchy juice #soa juice #juice soa #juice ortiz #juice ortiz imagine #imagine #sons of anarchy imagines #samcro fanfic #samcro imagine #samcro juice #juan carlos ortiz imagin #sons of anarchy juan carlos #Juan Carlos Ortiz #juice ortiz soa imagine

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thejokersenigma · 7 years

Text

Joker x Reader Deadly Voice Part 31

Hello guys,

Ok here is the next part - I apologise it’s very long (over 5,000 words) but I sort of knew where i wanted to stop it and I wrote a bit too much in between! haha

I also apologise for the quality of writing - I wrote it at about 1am last night so its not great but im sick of reading it over and over as i try to edit it so I’m just going to post and maybe one day I’ll come back and try and fix it!

At least its readable!

Hope you guys enjoy anyway! :)

Masterlist

Frost drove us through the streets of Gotham - familiar landmarks flying past us as we sped through the centre and out the other side, heading into the poorer area of the city where I had – wisely - never ventured. If anyone had felt – like most did – that the rest of Gotham was dangerous, then they had no idea about this place. This was place was never safe to be walking around on your own – night or day - especially if you didn’t carry some sort of firearm or knife or a least didn’t know how to one.

Having never been here I peered out of my window in curiosity and was quite amazed by the sights. Every building appeared to be in some state of disrepair, whether it was broken piping, smashed windows, broken doors or wall literally falling down. We passed bungalows, rows of terraced house and high rising flats, all riddled with graffiti and looked in serious need of TLC - judging by the stained walls and boarded windows. The people that lurked on the streets didn’t help the scenery much either. They seemed to favour forming groups outside the entrances of the more derelict buildings, most of them men that just seemed to scream dangerous - most smoking, some with guns cradled in their arms on alert, others with pistols tucked into their belts.

I shrunk back into my seat, glad I was in the relative safety of the car and had Frost sat across from me – though I wasn’t sure he could take on the whole neighbourhood. We remained in silence as we drove down the dirty, rundown streets until we eventually pulled up outside one of the bungalows.

Frost cut the engine and I felt a sudden wave of panic rush through me. What was I supposed to do? Was I expected to follow Frost or did I stay in the car? I hadn’t even thought about this but now it hit me and I had no idea what the protocol was here. Frost didn’t bother to look at me or attempt to explain himself as he opened the door and climbed out.

I swallowed thickly and tried to battled down my nerves as I reached for my door handle to get out of the car. Just then Frost reappeared in the driver’s doorway, “Stay in the car.” He ordered me and, without checking I had heard or acknowledged his command, he had straightened back up and slammed the door closed. I hastily spun back to my door and - just before he locked the car - I managed to hit the controls on the door and crack the passenger window open slightly.

I wasn’t going to miss everything just because I was too scared to get out of the damn car.

I watched as Frost strode up to the shabby looking front door and knocked on it smartly before crossing his arms over his chest. Clearly not everyone in this line of work got paid well, I judged, observing the state of the house before me. The lawn was overgrown, unkempt and lacking in any colour due to the absence of flowers or shrubbery, and the house was in serious need of a new coat of paint to replace the off-white colour that peeled in places, and to cover the lichen that appeared to be crawling up the lower foundations.

I began to wonder if anyone was home when no one came to the door after a few minutes, but Frost didn’t seem fazed and remained inn place – clearly well aware of the habits of whoever lived there.

“Marv.” I heard Frost call loudly at the door and knocked on it once more, before stepping back slightly – presumably hearing some sort of response back that I couldn’t. The door then seemed to move inwards as a tall man appeared in a dirty white t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. His shirt fit him snuggly - the material hugging his chest and showing how well built he was – and his arm muscles became clear and defined as he mimicked Frost’s folded arms.

“Jesus.” I heard ‘Marv’ breathe, “Frost?” He asked in disbelief at the suited man in front of him. I didn’t hear Frost say anything in return – clearly assuming that his presence was enough of a confirmation for the startled man. “I thought you’d bugger’d off somewhere?”

“I had.” Frost said simply, “Now I’m back.” Marv stood staring at Frost for a moment, clearly not sure if what he was seeing was true. He then looked past Frost in my direction and I caught his eyes.

“Who’s that?” He asked nodding in my direction.

“No one.” Muttered Frost firmly - in a way that seemed to say the man in the doorway better forget he’d ever seen me. I felt a bit hurt by this. No one? I scowled, was I not worth explaining? I mean – who the hell came up with this idea in the first place?!

I was so annoyed and too busy thinking about some choice words for Frost – had I had the courage to actually say them - that I missed some of their conversation.

“-eft him now.” I caught Marv telling Frost, now leaning against the doorframe of the neglected house, “’specially when we figur’d you’d jump’d ship.”

“Any idea where he might be now?” Asked Frost, “Or know one of the lads that might?”

From where I was sat I couldn’t see much but Marv seemed to be considering this for a few moments, and I thought I noticed him move his jaw slightly in thought as he seemed to stare at a piece of guttering that was hanging down from one of the walls. “You seen Jake?” he asked, turning his eyes back to Frost.

I thought I saw Frost tense slightly at this. Who was Jake?

“No one else you can think of?” I could just hear Frost mutter as I strained my ears to pick up his words.

“He’s the on’y one I can thin’ of tha’s defini’ly still with ‘im.”

Frost paused for a moment, seeming to consider his options. Eventually he nodded in resignation, “Ok mate, cheers. Take care.” He said turning around and heading back in my direction, though refusing to look at me. Marv watched him as he walked away – clearly wondering what Frost was up to - but he was probably use to being kept in the dark by his superiors and he didn’t bothering asking after Frost’s retreating figure, instead he stepped back into the house and closed the battered door behind him.

I had been too busy watching Marv that I jumped slightly when the clicking of the car unlocking broke the silence and Frost pulled open the driver’s door. I clutched my chest at the slight surprise, but soon calmed when I realised it was just Frost and turned to him as he slid into the chair next to me. “Who’s Jake?” I asked without hesitation.

“You know people say it’s rude to eavesdrop.” He muttered, placing the key in the ignition without looking at me.

“It’s also considered very rude to steal cars.” I pointed out, “I personally think we’re past ‘rudeness’.”

I noticed him roll his eyes slightly as he started the car up and pull away from the pavement.

“So who’s Jake?” I pushed with confidence, for some reason no longer fearing the man next to me. Around here he practically felt like a friend.

“Just another - what you would call - ‘Henchman’”. Frost told me vaguely.

“Right….” I nodded; resigning myself to the fact he wasn’t going to tell me anything more of his own free will.

We drove in silence as we both fell into our own thoughts and - though I watched the city fly past me through the tinted windows - I wasn’t paying much attention to where we were going. Instead I was too busy talking myself round in circles about whether what I was doing was for the right thing. Was it really a smart idea to seek out the psychopath that had been a large factor behind me running in the first place?

It was only as we headed once more out of the city centre and towards the opposite side of Gotham that I began to take notice of where we were.

I knew this area.

I knew it all too well and – judging by the twisted and convoluted route that he took the streets – Frost also knew what was around here. What he couldn’t avoid was the fact that I had grown up on these particular streets so knew the how area off-by-heart.

This meant I was all too aware that 3 streets to our left were the demolished foundations and rubble of my club.

I was grateful to Frost for trying to avoid the site, but I couldn’t stop the lump in my throat forming at the thought of everything that had been - now in a pile of dust and dirt. I tried to turn my mind back to more immediate things.

It was weird to think that a henchman of the Joker’s had lived so close to me, but then – I supposed – why shouldn’t he? They were all just normal men really after all – most weren’t the crazy psychopaths that they followed, just working men who happened to have a strong skill in the use of firearms and other weapons and needed the money.

Who knew how many criminals lived around me without me realising – hell, I may have even met them or played on their street when I was little!

For some reason these thoughts didn’t worry me. I guess I had survived this long and never had a problem, why should it bother me now? They were probably nice guys when they weren’t helping to rob and murder. Heck Frost seemed an alright guy.

Just then the man in question pulled over next to familiar block of flats.

No.

No. Jake. No. I thought in blind panic. No.

I turned to Frost with disbelief and hurt in my eyes, “You’re not serious?!” I demanded as I stared out the window at the building I knew all too well – this was definitely the same place.

“What?” He asked innocently.

“Who is Jake?” I spat. Frost ignored me as he rummaged for something in the back of the car, the engine still running. I wasn’t having this – I was fed up of all this need-to-know bullshit. I needed to know.

I grabbed his arm, “Frost!” I warned. He froze and looked down at my tiny hand on his large arms - as if surprised I had made the physical contact with him. I paused then, thinking about what I had just done and regretted it – I didn’t touch him. There was an unspoken rule between us that we didn’t touch – except for the two times I had broken down and lost control. But now I was in full control and still holding onto him - none too gently at that as I felt I fingers digging through the sleeve of his jacket.

To hell with it! I thought. It was too late now - I was already doing it. I kept my grip – taking all my courage not to chicken out and let go. “Answer me.” I demanded - though my voice was now a bit shaky with uncertainty.

“’Jake’ is Jake Riggens.” Confessed Frost reluctantly. I let go of his arm and fell back into my seat. I tried to get my head around this as I stared blankly at my lap before I brought my hand up to cover my face in humiliation. Oh God.

Jake Riggen.

The ‘Jake’ I had gone to when I had escaped the Joker shortly after blowing up the club.

“He worked for you the whole time?” I croaked out, turning my head back to Frost who remained sat in the car watching me cautiously– clearly not sure what I would do or how to proceed. He gave a very small nod to my question.

“I don’t believe it!” I yelled at no one in particular, “I trusted him! All this bloody time he was working for you?! He could have helped to set this all up!” I shouted blindly, mainly talking to myself now. Frost ignored my rambling at the dashboard and cut the engine, sliding out of the car.

I made to follow him but he had slammed the door and locked the car before I could even reach for the handle. “Frost!” I screamed through the window. “Let me out! Don’t! COME BACK!” I shouted through the passenger window, pounding on the glass and pointlessly pulling at the door handle whilst I watched him stride quickly up to the flats.

I watched him as he pressed the buzzer for Jake’s flat and waited for a response whilst I continued ot punch the car, yelling as loudly as I could to see if he could still hear me. If he could hear me he completely ignored me. I silently prayed Jake wouldn’t be in so he would have to come back and actually deal with my anger rather than running away like he had. Clearly God wasn’t on my side today at all because soon Frost was bending to talk into the speaker before he was then buzzed into the entrance way.

I gave one last futile shove on the car door before I gave up with a loud cry and sat slumped on in my chair, cradling my now raw and bruised fists as angry tears trickled down my cheek.

I shoved them away in annoyance. I couldn’t bloody believe it. You couldn’t trust anyone in this bloody city! Everyone seemed to be out to get someone else! Was there no nice, genuine people left in this entire city?!

How had I not seen this though? I thought angrily. He’d bloody told me that he use to work for Penguin! I guess at the time I just presumed he meant like his brother, Jack, who had worked on the sound system – not as a henchman!

When had he been poached from Penguin? Before or after we had been on that one date together? Was that why he had changed? No. It couldn’t be. The Joker didn’t know me at that time – there was no way. It would have just been a coincidence.

But wait. Was his brother even a sound system guy? Or was he secretly working for the Joker? Did he have anything to do with the Joker’s takeover?!

I couldn’t believe this. Who could I trust?!

Clearly no one. I thought bitterly.

I stared at the dashboard in front of me moodily whilst I waited for Frost to come back. I had shot my head up several times at movement but they had just been over residences entering or leaving the block.

They were taking a long time. Maybe Frost didn’t want to come back out to deal with me like this.

I guess it wasn’t really his fault.

I mean, he was part of it, but he just did what the Joker told him to do. He hadn’t wanted to tell me because he knew it would upset me. He had tried to find out from Marv if there was someone else we could have gone to instead. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him to tell me. This wasn’t his fault. This was Jake’s fault. And the Joker’s fault.

Oh I was going to give that clown a piece of my mind when I found him. I thought angrily, clenching my fists.

I wasn’t feeling worried about my encounter with the Joker right now.

Right now - with my fury over yet another of his manipulations – I felt that, had he been standing in front of me right now - I wouldn’t have held back from slapping that damn psycho again.

He had some serious explaining to do - what with him always managing to find a way to control my every move and somehow convincing me to come back to Gotham when I had finely got away from him! All because his sorry ass might be dead!

That thought sobered me a bit however.

As much as I really hated him at the moment - and wouldn’t mind invoking some serious damage on the deranged criminal - the thought that he might be dead still chilled me and made my throat close up.

I closed my eyes and leant back so my head was against the rest. This was all a mess and I was suddenly very tired . My emotions and thoughts were all confused and everything felt tangled up in my mind.

There were so many people I wanted to give a piece of my mind – Penguin, Jake, The Joker.

But not Frost.

I needed to apologise to him when he came back and not be so snappy. None of this was his fault and so far he’d actually been a huge help.

As long as it didn’t turn out he betrayed me after all.

Not that it would surprise me. Everyone else had so far.

I guess only time would tell and I would just have to run with the fact that he was the closest thing I had to a friend right now.

And because of the that I would help him with his Joker problem. I would continue to help find the clown – though I didn’t feel I was helping much as hindering at the moment.

And if he was still alive then I’d let him see that I was fine, then he could leave me alone.

That was it. No huge reconciliation, no manipulation.

Somehow I would get out of there.

I would harness my new anger at the Joker and turn it into the courage I needed to face him and walk away I thought smiling to myself with my new bravery.

Just then I noticed movement in the corner of my eye and I looked to the entrance to the block of the flats as the door was shoved open to reveal Frost. He seemed to be in quite a rush as he strode quickly to the car.

He didn’t look at me as he walked around the front of the car, unlocking it and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned about the intense look on his face and his rush to get into the car. He didn’t respond, still not looking at me and starting the engine instead.

“Frost!” I cried, grabbing his lower arm once again to get him to pay attention to me. “What’s going on?!” I demanded.

He didn’t hesitate at my touch this time, shrugging my hand off easily, “We need to go.” He told me before accelerating quickly away from the curb.

“What’s going?!” I asked starting to panic now - any bravery I had been feeling melting away with the worst case scenarios flying through my head, “Do you know where he is?” His briskness and the fact we seemed to be doing double the speed limit was only adding to my worry.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?!” I asked incredulously.

“I have the freshest source of information.” He informed me, as if that was supposed to provide me some sort of comfort.

“Ugh.” I groaned in exasperation, throwing myself back in the seat from where I had leant forward in my alarm. Still no straight answer.

Frost ignored my mood, concentrating instead on the road as he drove us back into the centre of Gotham for the third time that day. This time we headed past the docks, the old warehouses bordered up and some surrounded in scaffolding where new construction had started but fallen through. I wondered how many people had hideouts along here – were we heading to one of them? I desperately searched each with eyes looking for clues to where we were going that I knew didn’t exist.

Frost continued to drive, passing all of them and answering my question as we moved away from the abandoned buildings. Up ahead loomed something that made my blood run cold. We were heading for the South Bridge.

Frost didn’t look at me but I thought I noticed his grip tighten on the steering wheel as we crossed it. I too could feel myself tense as we pasted the spot I had jumped from. It was weird to be back – I had told myself I never would but yet here I was. About to confront one of the main reasons I had promised never to return to Gotham.

Once we had crossed the bridge I felt I could breathe freely again, though my heart never calmed, instead my gut was now clenched in nerves of where we were going and what was going to happen.

We drove into the outskirts of Gotham and I almost thought that Frost was attempting to leave the city altogether as we drove into the higher priced areas. Soon the houses and the spaces between them became larger - gardens sprouting up, each pristine and soon becoming the size of small fields. The streets here were cleaner - no graffiti or chewing gum speckled pavements in sight. I had never been here before and I had to wonder if we were truly still in Gotham. It looked like a whole other world.

Frost finally pulled up outside a mansion that almost seemed to sit on its own. It looked almost the same as the others except for the slightly darker colour of paint and a few architectural differences that I could only notice when looking closely.

“You’re kidding right?” I snorted, laughing in shock. “This is a hideout?!”

“No.” Corrected Frost, “This is his house.”

“What?!” I asked in disbelief, glancing quickly at Frost before I turned back to gawk at the house. I looked out over the lawn, its edges lined with neat hedges expect for the front where the grass was open to the road. The whole garden looked immaculate except for some odd tire marks that were gouged into the centre of the green on the right side of the house. I frowned at the imperfections in confusion. Why were they there?

“He rarely ever comes here.” Admitted Frost, bringing my attention back from the grass, “But he does own it.” He told me as he killed the engine and climbed out of the car once more. I gulped. This was it. I was going to go find him. No turning back.

I could feel my hands becoming shaky and my nerves twisting in my abdomen. I was desperately trying to find some of that kickass bravery I had in the car back outside the flats.

I can do this, I thought to myself sternly. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Frost was already at my side of the car and he grabbing the top of the door to hold it open for me. I shot him a small smile of thanks before I clambered out, my legs a bit unsteady.

It felt good to finally be out of the car but the thought of what I had to do now didn’t leave me. I stood awkwardly waiting as Frost shut the door behind me and locked the car.

I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do now. Did Frost have a key to the house? Was he sure the Joker was in there? I thought staring up at the towering house.

I followed Frost like a puppy to the large front door and it turned out Frost didn’t need keys as he simply turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly, but not before I noticed his hand travel into his pocket and pull out a pistol. He held it up as he edged into the house, pointing it ahead of him around the side of the door. I pressed slightly closer to him, not wanting to be left behind unarmed and unprotected.

We entered a large empty hallway, the floor made of smooth white marble, but that wasn’t what caught my eye and cause me to stifle a gasp.

Originally this house must have been decorated to match all the others around this area, but now it couldn’t have looked any different.

The walls were covered in black marker and red, purple and green paint. A few snatches of the original golden wallpaper could be seen here and there but most of the walls were covered in scribbles and drawings - all depicting variations on the same theme of ‘HAHA’s, grinning faces, jester hats, J’s, bats and playing cards. The wall were also littered with black specks that I soon realised were bullet holes. Some were arranged so they formed a smile, others were just random holes in the wall, no rhyme or reason to them.

There was a large staircase on the left hand side of the room which led up to the back wall before it turned back on itself to lead further upwards. The back wall on the ground floor - to the right of the stairs, and straight in front of me - was full of what I now recognised to be knives. They all stuck out at various angles and I could imagine the Joker walking through the front door and throwing one straight down the hall so they embedded on the opposite wall, their hilts pointing out.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the walls - the whole hallway spelt insanity and I feared what the rest of the house looked like. Frost stepped around the entrance room quietly and carefully - checking each room that led off - his pistol constantly aimed in front of him whilst I waited nervously by the doorway, afraid to move any further. This whole place unsettled me.

Eventually he moved back into the centre of the marble floor and lowered his pistol, noticeably relaxing. “He’s not down here, but neither is anyone else.” He informed me. I nodded mutely, too paralysed by my nerves to do much else.

He seemed to notice I was struggling and glanced around him before he gestured for me to follow as he led me into the first door on the right of the hallway. It opened up to what I believe was the drawing room at the front of the house, the large window overlooking the garden and road outside.

This room appeared untouched by the Joker, everything seeming to be of original design – no new artwork added to the walls or the ceiling, and the furniture neatly arranged. It was also all covered in a layer of dust. Frost turned around to face me. “Wait here. I’ll search the rest of the house for him.” He told me. I nodded silently again but didn’t like the idea of being left on my own in this huge house – especially when he seemed to think it required carrying a weapon around.

He must have noticed me glance down at his gun because he lifted it up, twisting it nonchalantly as if it wasn’t much, “Don’t worry about this – it’s just a precaution - just in case he’s a bit surprised to have a visitor.” He must have noticed this didn’t comfort me much because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, he never comes in this room - as you can tell.” He gestured around us, smirking slightly, at the faded chairs and dust that had flown in the air by us just walking in, now catching in the light that flowed through the tall window.

Again I nodded, but was still not particularly convinced. “Y/N, it’ll be fine. I’ll close the door. He’ll think it’s just me. Trust me, you’ll hear him coming – then you just need to hide.” He gestured to the hiding spots available around the room. I nodded a bit more confidently this time.

“Frost.” I croaked as he moved out the door, “Be careful.” I mumbled. He gave me a soldier’s nod, holding up his pistol before him, and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

When I heard the click of the door I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I turned to face the rest of the room. It was exactly as I thought any of the other mansions in the area would have looked like, the ornate wallpaper, plush carpet, accent rug by a small fire place and cushiony wing back armchairs arranged around it. I wondered why he never came in here – but then how many rooms could one man need if he lived here alone.

The only thing that might have told me someone may have once been in this room was a decanter full of an amber liquid on the coffee table between the two chairs. Even then, however, it seemed to be more for show – two glasses arranged perfectly next to the bottle – one for each chair.

I wandered over to admire the elaborately cut crystal tumblers which matched the decanter behind them. A drink might be just what I need, I thought – to calm the nerves – I picked the glasses up gently, tilting them to catch the light from the tall front window and noticed how each was lined with a thick layer of grime. How hygienic, I though sarcastically, putting the glass back down before eying up the alcohol once more.

To hell with it I thought, it wasn’t like anyone used it! I grabbed the neck of the decanter and popped the lid, taking a large swig. “Ah.” I coughed as the drink burned my throat, eventually hitting my stomach and warming me. That may have been a bit of larger drink then I meant to take but maybe it would help to release some of the anxiety worming its way in my abdomen.

I kept the carafe in my hand and observed the rest of the room, my eyes finally falling on the piano that stood under the window at the end of the room, nestled between the thick curtains.

I stepped my way over to it, my footsteps slow and cautious in case of creaking floorboards that might give away my position. It was made of dark wood that suited the rest of the room, and looked smooth and polished - almost brand new if it hadn’t been for a few nicks and dents I noticed throughout the main body.

I pulled out the small stool that lay tucked neatly under it, making sure I lifted it up instead of dragging - even though I was such the dense carpet would have muffled any noise it made. I perched lightly on the faded cushion that padded the top, still holding the alcohol - keeping one ear out for any noise from above me or out in the hall - and stared in awe at the beautiful instrument.

I absent-mindedly took another swig from my open decanter - this time cringing slightly less at the scalding on the back of my throat – and laid a tentative hand on the wooden fallboard, hesitating slightly before I pushed it open – revealing the keys beneath.

They were slightly discoloured from age and I ran my fingers over then, tracing their outlines as I wondered if it was tuned. I took yet another swig of the amber juice – this time not even reacting to the sting as I swallowed.

If I played quietly would anyone hear? I wondered, my head feeling a bit heavy now and I was slightly regretting having the drinks, but that didn’t stop me from bring it to my lips once more – I was starting to like the taste and it was just convenient sat in my hand.

The house was old – surely the walls were thick? And that meant the floorboards too right? I sat there considering it for a bit as I ran my hand up and down the piano. If I pressed really lightly surely it wouldn’t be that loud? My mind seemed to have forgotten how loud a piano could be and my ears seemed to be ringing slightly anyway.

YOLO I silently giggled to myself, lightly pressing down on one of the keys. The chime that rang out was beautiful to my drunken ears, slightly out of tune, but not terrible for something that was never used.

I hadn’t played in a long time and I couldn’t remember many songs off the top of my head, especially when my mind was becoming cloudier by the second thanks to my liquid friend. I did remember a few basics however, and I balanced the carafe on the top of the piano before I returned my attention back to the white teeth. I began to lightly press a few keys, soon finding my fingers flowing like the alcohol in my system and I had begun to play ‘Make You Feel My Love by Adele.

After running through the main chords a few times I began to sing quietly to myself,

“When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love…”

I took one hand away from the instrument, grabbing the decanter and taking another swig before concentrating on the music once more. I didn’t realise I began to push more firmly and confidently on the keys, no longer whispering the words to myself as I swayed slightly to the tune.

“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet

But I would never do you wrong

Ive known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong…”

I didn’t hear the muffled shout or the dull thump from upstairs - too engrossed in the song and the alcohol intoxication.

“I’d go hungry

I’d go black and blue

I’d go crawling down the avenue,

No there’s nothing I wouldn’t do,

To make you feel my love..”

I dragged out the last note in my inebriated state.

“My, my… What a deadly voice.” Drawled someone behind me.

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