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professor-walnut · 2 years

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Spoopy Fic for Spoopy Night

Hello it is still probably halloween in the US so TECHNICALLY I’m not late somewhere. Please have this silly goofy wholesome Pokemon Go halloween spookfest story of Professor Willow and his three assistants spending the night in a house that may or may not be a little haunted, that I potentially spent the entire day hyperfixiating on and writing; forgetting to eat or rest in the process.

TW: Mentions of gore, death, rude language, mild body horror (It’s a goofy fun time just with some spooks splattered in) Read below the cut or on Ao3 HERE

“Damn it’s really comin’ down tonight,” Spark jokes loudly over the harsh sound of rain crashing against the metal van roof, nearly falling off his little office chair as the vehicle tips to the side dangerously, his back hitting Blanche’s chair and nearly knocking them over, “heh- and windy too I guess.”

“Please keep to your own space,” Blanche mutters in irritation as they right themself without glancing up from their book, pushing his wheely chair away with their foot.

“AUUGH! How are we supposed to get any work done like this!” Candela snaps from where she’s thrown against the desk she’s standing by, fruitlessly trying to type data onto a tablet. “Prof can you at least try to drive straight!”

“Sorry Candela, the weather is really taking a bad turn; I can hardly see the road,” Professor Willow calls from the drivers seat up front, letting out a worried grunt as the van hits the curb, “I thought we’d make it to the conference tonight but I think it’s getting a little unsafe, I’m looking for somewhere to pull over.”

“Doubt we’re gonna find anywhere out here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere,” Candela calls back, earning her a stern ‘Language’ warning from the man.

“She’s right, we haven’t even passed a gas station for the past several hours, and parking at the side of the road to wait out the storm in a stretch of forest like this doesn’t seem safe, if we have an emergency on our hands out here we would be in trouble hours away from help without any phone signal. It is within our best interest to reach our destination as soon as possible,” Blanche adds, still refusing to look up from their book even as they nearly topple from their chair at a bump in the road. “…The constant poor road conditions however are making me carsick, I wouldn’t be adverse to a break”.

“Yeah I’m really missing the stops, could do with a bathroom soon,” Spark says tiredly, finally giving up on the paperwork he’s trying to do, “If its not safe to drive though I’d rather we didn’t die in a fiery crash in the middle of nowhere. How long d’you think the storm will last?”

“Unless one of you wants to take over driving, you don’t get a say in this,” Willow says exhaustedly, slowing down just a little, “I think I see lights up ahead, fingers crossed it’s a gas station or something.”

“Out here? More likely to be a murder cabin in the woods…” Candela huffs, leaning on the counter to peer out the window. It’s nothing but trees and mist at first, the darkness of the evening and the vicious rain making their surroundings look like the opening to a horror movie. A flash of lightning illuminates a rocky cliff in the distance, the feint silhouette of a building stood high upon it with a single window illuminated in a feint yellow glow. “…Or some haunted manor bullshit….”

“Language, Candela. Final warning,” Willow grunts, the man clearly getting towards the end of his tether after so many hours on the road. “It looks like a house and it seems occupied, hopefully whomever by will be kind enough to give us some shelter until this storm gives out.”

“You can’t be serious?” She argues, shuffling to the side as Spark nudges up beside her to try to get a glance, “This is how people get murdered in movies.”

“Real life isn’t a movie, Candela,” Blanche says flatly, making the woman give them the middle finger. Not that they notice with their nose still pressed in their book.

Lightning flashes again and Spark’s lips form a brief ‘o’ shape as he spots the house too. “Oh yeah, that’s giving huge ‘a killer vampire lives here’ vibes.”

“Right??!” She sighs, “We are totally getting like…demon possessed or something.”

“Hey, I’ll take spooky ghosts for a while so long as they have a bathroom. This van is gonna become a lot scarier than that house could ever be if I don’t get to one soon,” Spark teases, nudging her a little with his elbow as she pulls a face, “Thought you liked spooky movies anyway?”

“Yeah, because I love pointing out how stupid the characters are for getting themselves into these dumb situations,” Candela complaints, nearly jumping alongside Spark as Blanche silently appears between them having abandoned their book.

“We are very off-route,” they say, squinting out at the trees, “that is a large manor house, is it signposted on the map?”

“I don’t think we’re still within the bounds of the map,” Spark comments, snorting when they tilt their head a little at him.

“The roads aren’t well sign posted this side of the country, I probably took a wrong turn somewhere, we have uh…been lost for a little while” the professor admits, almost a little sheepishly, “Maybe whoever lives here can give us some directions once we’re ready to get going again.”

Blanche breathes a sigh through their nose that Candela recognises as a sound of irritation from them. They’ve never been good at handling plans gone awry. “I suppose at least we have plenty of fuel.”

As if comically on cue, the van starts to splutter, all three of them bumping into one another as it suddenly halts and slides a few feet in the wet mud of the country road – lights in the portable lab flickering out and the engine whirring to a quiet stop. Once Candela gets her bearings she shoves Blanche’s arm in the dark.

“Oh, you just HAD to say that didn’t you?”

“How is this my fault?” They argue as they fumble a little trying not to fall over.

“I should have been watching the gauge, I was so busy trying to navigate through the fog and rain-“ The professor mutters mostly to himself, knocking his head back against the headrest exasperatedly before letting out a sigh and pushing open his door. “Alright the three of you, guess we’re walking. Let’s hope the residents of this house have some spare gas on them.”

“It’s raining…” Blanche complains flatly as Candela pulls open the back doors with a grunt, standing in the doorway for a few moments wearily before she hops out into the muddy road.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I don’t want to get my book wet,” they huff back at her, tucking the hardback novel into their jacket protectively before shifting towards the doors, wrinkling their nose in distaste at the weather. Spark jumps out after Candela, flicking a little water at them teasingly, which makes them glare.

“C’mon your highness, if we sprint we’ll be there in like five minutes,” he snorts, offering them a hand for support as they hop down too, the three of them instantly getting drenched in the pouring rain.

The professor and the trio jog as best they can up the slippery mud road through the fog, Willow almost taking a faceplant when his boots slide around halfway, thankfully Candela catching his arm before he can eat dirt. When they finally reach the stony steps of the gothic mansion they stop to catch their breaths beneath the shelter of the awnings. Spark can visibly see Candela shivering with the cold and shuffles closer to lend his body warmth despite being equally as soaked through, as the Professor knocks the grand metal door knocker loudly.

They wait, silence only broken by the loud sounds of the rain and worryingly close thunder, for what feels like an eternity before he knocks again fruitlessly.

“I didn’t see the light still on when we approached, perhaps they retired for the night?” Blanche offers, starting to shiver violently as well. Candela would comment on the usually refined leader looking comically like a drowned rat if she wasn’t sure she looked equally as bad.

“Hey!! Hellooooo! Please wake up in there! We broke down and need help!” Spark calls to the house, cupping his hands around his mouth for emphasis. “Man…”

“Here let me knock,” Candela huffs impatiently, gently pushing past the bedraggled professor and pushing her wet hair from her eyes before banging her fist directly on the grand wooden door.

Which, to everyone’s surprise, promptly creaks open with the force, nearly sending the woman toppling forwards, caught by the professor grabbing the back of her coat.

“Oh…guess they didn’t lock it,” he mutters, peering inside curiously before taking the lead past his three bewildered assistants and stepping in, brows furrowing at the musty smell and dingy surroundings. “…Hello? Anyone here? We don’t mean to intrude but we’re stuck in the storm and really need some shelter?” he calls into the darkness, being met with no response.

“It looks abandoned,” Blanche comments as they follow him in cautiously, wrinkling their nose in distaste at the entryway; floors caked in dust and old furniture covered in white sheets. “Are you certain you saw a light?”

“Guess we could have imagined it…” He mutters back as the other two push inside, Spark jogging anxiously on the spot while Candela strides ahead to peer up a grand set of stairs.

“Man what a dump, if someone does live here they’re definitely not paying for a cleaner,” Spark snorts, “is there even power?”

“We’ll see soon enough,” Candela grunts as she runs her hand across a peeling wallpapered wall in the dark until she finds a light switch. When she clicks it on it takes a few moments, but sure enough a huge chandelier above them slowly lights up with a warm yellow glow and she grins proudly. “Must have an old generator still working at least.”

“We probably shouldn’t enter any further until we deduct whether or not this home has inhabitants, if someone does live here we are intruding on their private property…” Blanche announces, trying to cut the professor off from wandering aimlessly into one of the dim rooms to explore. “People this far out in the country have been known protect their land with guns rather than Pokémon, we should be cautious not to alert anyone should they be hostile to our plea.”

There’s silence for a moment as the professor frowns thoughtfully, clearly trying to think of a point of argument. However before he can continue the conversation, Spark makes an urgent whining sound from where he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I gotta go, I really gotta go,” he complains, glancing around before jogging past Candela and heading up the stairs despite Blanche’s protests, “-sorry! I’ve gotta find a bathroom it’s urgent, I’m sure the house owners will understand.”

“Spark, we should really stay together-“ the professor calls after him fruitlessly, letting out a defeated sigh as the younger man disappears from view, his quick footsteps creaking around on the floor above them. “…I suppose we just take things as they come, if we run into someone then we’ll explain our situation and hope for the best. For now we should worry about our current crisis, we’ll all catch hypothermia wandering around in wet clothes like this, and we should see if we can find some fuel for the van. Blanche why don’t you go and see if you can find a fireplace or something to generate us some heat, and Candela can you go hunting around upstairs to see if there’s any spare clothing in any of the rooms. I’ll explore around down here and see if I can find anything of use, if anyone comes into contact with someone then call out and we’ll come running.”

“Have you never watched a horror movie? Splitting up is always the worst thing you can possibly do in situations like this,” Candela argues, sounding offended at even the very concept. She glances towards Blanche for support on the matter, and for a moment they look hesitant as if they want to agree, but instead they glance towards the professor before turning around to do as instructed.

Little suck-up, she thinks.

“If you don’t want to go off on your own then you can come with me searching the downstairs, I won’t make you go wandering if you’re nervous,” Willow says gently, taking his wet glasses off to rub them dry with the cuff of his -also wet- sleeve and offering her a kind smile, “once Spark gets back maybe the three of us can go hunting around upstairs together. It is a little creepy in here.”

Candela wrinkles her nose in disgust and narrows her eyes, crossing her arms stubbornly as she steps back. “I am NOT nervous!” she declares, offence obvious in her voice, “Like I would be scared of some tacky old haunted house! I’m just trying to be the voice of reason, we’re in some mysterious house in the dead of night with no cell phone reception in the middle of a storm, like is no one else seeing how like….textbook murder story this is? I’m trying to stop you three getting slashed by some psycho.”

“Candela, it’s 9pm, it isn’t the dead of night, and it’s just an old house, it’s nothing to be afraid of,” he reassures calmly, holding up his hands defensively at the fiery woman as she huffs and puffs, “there’s no shame in being a little anxious, but I’m sure everything will be just fine, the three of you are my responsibility and I won’t let anything happen to you on my watch.”

Candela throws her hands in the air dramatically with an annoyed grunt, “I am NOT scared! Look, fine, whatever, get slashed for all I care, I’m going,” she snaps, turning sharply and stomping up the first few creaky steps before hesitantly pausing before taking the rest of them significantly lighter- not wanting to crack the moulding old wood and go tumbling through or anything.

“Just call out if you need anything, I’ll be just down here,” the man calls after her softly, making her roll her eyes.

Yeah right.

The landing area at the top of the stairs spans both left and right down a long thin hallway each filled with old doors, some open some closed. There’s a stray old chair on its side in the middle of the path and several broken boards of wood in the flooring that make her debate the structural soundness of this place. No way anyone lives here, if there is someone in the house beyond them then it’s either a squatter or a criminal hiding out or something – which doesn’t really put her mind at ease. Still, there’s no signs of obvious life around that she can see so far. Maybe they just…hallucinated that one light being on. Or maybe it was a fire type in the window taking shelter from the storm – it’s not uncommon for slugma and magby to take shelter in buildings to get out of the rain; farmhouses where she grew up had endless trouble with hay fires in the stormy season. She could only hope they wouldn’t have to deal with a fire in a dusty old place like this, but at least they had Blanche around with an obscene amount of water types on hand.

To the left, the end of the hallway turns up to another set of stairs, and to the right it curves around a corner along what she assumes is more hallway. She opts for the right, slowly avoiding cracked floorboards as she navigates the dimly lit hallway. Pushing open the first door she finds to only be met with an empty room; small with a single window, no furniture inside except a moulding rug on the floor. The next room looks like a storage room, old empty suitcases and boxes stacked wall to wall, floor to ceiling, filled with books turning black with damp and old yellowing newspapers and all manner of other things Candela deems just trash.

The third room she pushes into looks like a bedroom, there’s still an old bed in the corner fit with yellowing sheets that don’t seem to have been touched in years, a few pieces of outdated furniture against the walls. Wandering inside she approaches an old dresser, wrestling the top drawer open despite its rusted hinges and smirking in success when she finds clothes and linins still inside – a little discoloured but seemingly dry and free from mould, as far as she can tell in the low lighting.

She picks up what looks like an old nightgown, it’s not her preferred style but right now she’d take anything if it meant getting out of her drenched coat and warming up a bit. If she has to look like a Victorian maiden for one night then so be it.

As Candela is rummaging through the musty smelling clothes picking out whatever seems like it might fit her companions, she’s suddenly taken off guard by something hard slamming into her back, claws digging into her skin- she lets out a panicked gasp, barely restraining a scream as she swings around fast-

“Squeaks no!” Spark’s voice grunts as he rushes into the room, prying the chunky Pikachu off her back “-Sorry, I let him out because the bathroom light was broke and he knows flash but he’s a little zazzed out from the thunder storm.”

“Ow fuck, trim his claws Spark!” Candela snaps breathlessly, trying to regain her composure quickly as she shoves the armful of clothes on top of the dresser to free up a hand to rub her back. “Geez…”

“Pii…” The Pokémon squeak, clearly not in the slightest apologetic as he wriggles in Spark’s grip and lets off little sparks from his cheeks irritably as he tries to free himself.

“Say sorry bud, you spooked Candela,” Spark warns, sighing when the Pokémon in his hands presents a petulant “pikapi” and zaps him a little. “You’re such a little butt when it’s storming.”

“He didn’t spook me he just caught me off guard,” Candela grunts at him, narrowing her eyes warningly before grabbing one of the off-coloured nightgowns and throwing it at him, “and scratched the shit out of my back.”

“You were totally spooked,” he teases, shifting the tantruming pikachu under one arm to wrestle the nightgown out of his face and hold it up with a look of distain. “It’s fine though, this place is giving me the major willies. I walked into a room with a straight-up giant taxidermy ursaring in the doorway and nearly pissed myself like five minutes ago, I am already so over this spookfest already and we only just got here.”

“Who even says willies anymore? You’re so weird,” She grunts, gathering the other gowns into her arms, at least cracking a smirk at the face he pulls, “What? You too proud to wear a dress?”

“I just think a sleeveless number suits my body type better, and look how long this thing is? What am I, a prude? How am I going to show off the results of leg day?” Spark teases, matching her grin with one of his own, “’Least the ghosts might think we’re one of ‘em if we’re dressed the part.”

“Beats being soaked,” she says, nudging him with her elbow, “shove off into a different room so I can change, don’t need you ogling my ass.”

“I would never!” Spark announces, faux defence in his voice as he and Squeaks jog out to find another room to change in, “I seriously can’t wait to see the prof in one of these…”

“Right?” Candela snorts, clicking the door shut behind him and changing, listening in amusement to the muffled sounds of him fumbling around trying to get his soaked skin tight pants off in the room next door through the thin, mildew coated walls. “You need help in there?”

A muffled crash and a quiet curse. “I’m all good!”

He stumbles out into the hallway as she opens the door, throwing his arms out proudly in his new attire. “Am I serving looks or what?”

“You’re definitely serving…something,” she laughs, noting how the Pikachu is once again running around their feet like a caffeinated toddler as she gestures with her chin towards the stairs before falling into pace next to the man. “Are all electric types off their nut like this when it’s storming?”

“Nah, I mean some do for sure. Electabuzz tend to lose their shit the second there’s thunder, it’s like dosing ‘em up with coffee. Some pikachu love it, some don’t care much, Squeaks has always been sensitive to it. Yamper though, I’ve met some that like it and some that are super freaked out by it, my Boltund hides under the couch and cries until I carry him around like a baby,” Spark laughs, “Might be because Zapdos tried to eat him once, though.”

“Interesting choice of attire,” Blanche’s flat voice cuts off Candela from replying as the two reach the bottom of the staircase and the Mystic leader appears from one of the doorways, trying to wring the water from their long ponytail with one hand while holding a few wooden logs under the other.

“Sorry, it’s not like there was a retail store up there,” Candela huffs, “I’ll have you know I slay in any outfit. D’you get a fire burning?”

“I found a fireplace and firewood, a little old but it seems dry enough, though I was unable to find matches. I was hoping you could lend the ability of one of your fire types,” Blanche says calmly, eying the both of them up and down with barely concealed amusement as if they aren’t the one still dripping everywhere. “I have also discovered the source of the light in the window you likely saw.”

“Oh?” Spark perks up curiously, the two of them following as Blanche leads them back into the room they just appeared from.

It’s a dim library like room with a few lounge chairs and an old couch covered in mildew, bookshelves lining the walls leading up to a grand fireplace. It’s slightly lighter at one end of the room due to the immediately obvious little cluster of nervous litwick hiding beneath a coffee table. The more Candela looks around, the more she spots stray ones hiding between books on the shelves and peeking out from under the couches.

“I tried to convince them to aid me in lighting the fire but they seem anxious of people. It is best we give them some space,” Blanche explains, “They do not seem hostile but all Pokémon can be unpredictable when frightened.”

“They’re so cute,” Candela coos, blatantly ignoring Blanche’s words as she approaches a smaller than average litwick on a shelf and crouches down to eye level, the tiny candle nervously flickering its flame at her in a weak display of threat. “Guess there are some ghosts in this place.”

“I’m totally okay with a creepy mansion only haunted by sleepy little ghost-types like this,” Spark laughs, smiling and waving at one who watches him curiously. “Think we can catch a few before we leave?”

“Candela. Fire type.” Blanche asserts impatiently, gesturing at the fireplace as they drop the dusty wooden logs into it before hugging themself to retain some body heat. “I wouldn’t risk it, there could be a protective chandelure around somewhere.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice,” Candela grunts as she parts herself from the cute little candle to toss out one of her pokeballs. Her neat little flareon lands gracefully on the wooden floors, immediately glancing around curiously at its surroundings and blinking a few times at a litwick close by as if asking a silent question. Candela offers her a reassuring little smile, “Mind helping us with the fireplace, Cayenne?”

With an enthusiastic “Flare!” the little pokemon turns and spits a powerful ember into the dry wood of the fireplace, lighting it instantly and bathing the room in a warmer glow.

“Go become a creepy Victorian ghost like us before you freeze to death,” Candela teases as she tosses one of the nightgowns in her arm to Blanche. They linger close to the fireplace trying to warm some feeling back into their hands for a few minutes before reluctantly stepping away with the bundle of fabric. “Any sign of the prof?”

“I haven’t seen him since he left to explore,” they murmur as they leave the room.

“What’s the bet he’s somehow gotten lost and stumbled on like some secret crypt where he’s uncovered some deadly monster that’s been sealed for several centuries,” Spark laughs as he throws himself dramatically onto the couch, sending a cloud of dust into the air that makes him start coughing.

“Don’t even joke, he totally would,” Candela snorts back as she comes over to fan the dusty air around him, patting his back as he wheezes for air through coughs, “geez why would you jump on that, you’re probably inhaling like six billion years’ worth of spores.”

“House can’t be that old if it has electricity, someone must have lived here until at least like- man when was electricity invented? Like the 40s?” He coughs, rubbing dust out of his watery eyes. “Eww don’t say that…”

“Like the 1700s, dumbass. Electric lights have been around since like the late 1800s,” Candela grunts, “You need some water or something?”

Spark looks about to respond when the both of them are interrupted by a loud, terrified yelp accompanied by quick footsteps. The professor bursts in through a door, looking almost white and making them both jump, Spark leaping to his feet and Candela rushing to the man’s side, Cayenne at her feet, fiery scruff raised in alarm.

“What happened?” She asks as she grabs the older man’s shoulder, giving him a slight shake as she glances around warily. “Are you okay?”

Eyes wide, Willow fumbles for a few moments as if processing who he’s run into before putting a hand onto her shoulder as well with a heavy breath. “-I think I just- there was a ghost!“

“I’m not a ghost,” a particularly irritated voice sounds as a figure follows him through the door he just came through, almost making Candela jump too – then making her wheeze out a breathy laugh.

Blanche narrows their eyes at her in irritation before shooting Spark a glare as he starts snort laughing too. In the white gown with their long white hair free from its usual ponytail to allow it to dry, it’s not hard to see how the professor could mistake them for something scary – they remind Candela a little of a ghostly white version of the creepy woman from the ring.

As the professor gets a proper look at them he holds a hand to his heart as he lets out a deep sigh, the colour quickly returning to his face as he releases a sheepish chuckle. “Ah…sorry, Blanche.”

When they don’t respond, giving him an irritated scowl instead, Willow awkwardly turns to put a bag in his hands down on the armchair closest to him, pulling out a few odds and ends from within to show off to the trio as if nothing had just happened. “Not much here, seems over the years people and Pokémon have picked it clean, but I found a few un-damaged cans of soup in one of the kitchen cupboards – not sure if they’re still palatable but it’s something. There’s running water still, and I found a little pack of bandages and a few bottles of alcohol should anyone sustain an injury. No gas, however.”

“I found some dry clothes, and it seems like there’s still beds and stuff here if we need to stay the night,” Candela adds, scratching the side of her neck thoughtfully before tossing the prof the last nightgown, “I still think this whole situation gives huge ‘we’re gonna get murdered like in a horror film’ vibes, but if our only other option is freezing to death in a van with no power, guess dying in a haunted house is at least a more interesting way to go.”

“I’m kinda into it actually. Hot soup, warm fire, chilling with friends in a cool haunted house this close to Halloween, it’s kinda fun,” Spark teases as he sits down again, at least more gently this time to avoid spreading more dust. “Not how I thought I’d be spending my Friday night, but I’ll take it.”

Blanche, disinterested in the conversation, has wandered over to one of the bookshelves to carefully remove a leatherbound book, eyeing it in their hands appraisingly as if curious about the reading material available here, “Once the storm gives out, if we are unable to find any petroleum to power the vehicle, we may have to travel to the nearest town by foot to seek roadside assistance due to the lack of phone signal in the area. This time I shall lead the way, given it has been proven to me that certain members of our party cannot correctly read a map,” they announce, side eying the professor with a frown – which makes the man laugh nervously, “for now I suppose we should be grateful that we came across appropriate shelter in our time of need, and should make the most of what fate has provided us.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Willow laughs gently, tossing a can of soup to Spark and then one to Candela. “Why don’t the three of you see if any of this is edible so we can rustle up some dinner while I go and get changed and join the costume party.”

Within half an hour the four of them are sat around the fireplace with mugs full of warm soup, Candela and Blanche huddled together on the carpet while Willow sits across from Spark on the old sofa. Although the soup – leak and potato, she thinks – is a little bland and gritty, it’s not unappetising and doesn’t smell expired, and Candela enjoys the feeling of the warm crockery mug beneath her palms. It feels surprisingly cosy, the sounds of rain hitting the windows outside and deep thunder rolling overhead, the quiet crackling of the fire and the soft sounds of her friends sipping and occasionally murmuring to each other.

Cayenne is curled up in fireplace, she’s pretending to sleep but Candela can tell she always has one eye cracked open to keep an look out for dangers, and Squeaks is still bouncing around on one of the armchairs, a little bundle of energy - a couple of young litwick seem curious of him and have climbed onto the arms of the chair, seemingly enjoying being jolted around by his bouncing.

It’s not the clean, well catered hotel at the Pokémon convention centre she was expecting to spend the night at, but she has to admit, it’s not so bad here.

“I admit, I was a little disappointed we wouldn’t get to attend one of your famous Halloween parties this year due to the timing of the convention,” the professor says to Spark with a soft chuckle as he swirls the thick soup in his mug around as if it’s a fine whisky, “At least we’re getting some Halloween spooks after all this year. Perhaps we should pass the time with some scary stories? Blanche, you’re good at those.”

“Since when does dweeb central know scary stories?” Candela asks teasingly, bumping Blanche with her shoulder and almost making them spill their soup.

“I’ll have you know I used to be very enraptured by gothic fiction during my adolescence,” they remark back huffily, putting their half empty mug on the floor to free up their hands – then watching cautiously as a couple of small litwick approach curiously to sniff it. “In fact as an act of rebellion against my father’s dislike for the Halloween season, I used to sneak out to the local graveyard to read works of gothic horror fiction by candlelight in the dead of night. I am very well versed in the horror genre.”

Spark lets out a snort of amusement, leaning forward in interest. “I can’t imagine you as a little goth teen,” he notes before suddenly looking kinda thoughtful and waving his hand, “…actually I totally can. You like, never smile and use tons of long words. Dye your hair black and you’d slay the emo goth vibe.”

“Oh my god now you say that I can totally see that,” Candela giggles, making Blanche give her an exasperated frown, “Blanchey Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way”

“I wasn’t into gothic fashion, I just enjoyed the literacy genre, it was a guilty pleasure,” Blanche shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear grumpily.

“They regaled a great tale about someone haunted by a phantump last year while we were working late the night before Halloween, kept me up for days,” Willow laughs cheerfully, the compliment making the Mystic leader blush. “Why not share a few other spooks and scares? This is certainly the place for it after all.”

“Yeah c’mon, give us the best you got. I’m warning you though, we don’t spook as easy as the professor,” Spark encourages eagerly, pulling his legs up onto the couch to get comfortable.

“While I’m sure some Edgar Allen Poe would do nothing but put you to sleep, I suppose the current surroundings do bring to mind a true tale I remember from childhood which some may describe as eerie,” Blanche begins thoughtfully, placing their hands in their lap politely as they shift around to face Spark in the dim firelight. Candela shifts too, turning around on the carpet so that she’s facing them, a smug grin painted on her face.

“What? Did you see a spooky ghost in that graveyard you were hanging around in?” She teases gently, making Blanche roll their eyes.

“Thankfully, it is not a story in which I was a part of. Do you remember the Graveler house?” They say slowly, looking somewhat pleased when the mention of the place makes both Candela and Spark’s faces fall a little.

Growing up in Trichroma town, every kid in the area knew about the Graveler house. It was an abandoned old state-house behind the hospital with bordered up windows and old tattered police tape wrapped around it’s grand steel fences. Rumour had it that it had been home to the rich old man who had founded the hospital in the 1830s, no-one went inside for all the stories that it was cursed or haunted. It had been a popular spot for teenagers to visit on Halloween nights to scare each other for a while, until several missing-persons reports had started to come about – people going in and never coming back out, the police never finding them. After that, even the bravest teenagers avoided the place.

“What do YOU know about the Graveler house?” Spark asks curiously, glancing at the professor as if he could give some answers, only to look back to Blanche when the older man looks just as confused.

“As a child I had taken a particular interest in some of the more violent parts of history, and at one point I had a special fondness for collecting books and journals on Victorian serial killers,” Blanche admits, looking a little sheepish when the professor looks somewhat disturbed, “…It was just a phase. At age twelve I remember being fascinated with H.J. Graveler, the initial owner of Graveler house. He had been a philanthropist in the eyes of the townsfolk, though he had hidden a dark secret. In constructing the hospital so close to his estate, he had designed a tunnel between his home and the morgue, in which he would pay doctors to deliver corpses to him. For what reason, it was never discovered, and the bodies he stole were never reported recovered. To this day no one knows what he did with them all, and there were supposable hundreds in total, he reportedly confessed before his execution that he ‘needed to feed it’, never clarifying what ‘it’ was; and people speculated he was feeding the bodies to a Pokémon, though again, no evidence was ever found to support this. I was fascinated by the mystery of it all, though books could only take me so far. My curiosity was insatiable and for weeks it distracted me from my schoolwork just thinking about it. Eventually I could take it no longer and turned to the only source I could think of for more information on the mysteries, I went to pay a visit to Mr Albert Calgary.”

When Sparks eyes widen a little, Willow frowns in confusion. “Who’s Mr Calgary?”

Candela snorts and turns her head to glance at him, “Crazy guy who lived on the outskirts of town, real nutcase, had one eye and claimed he could see dead people and stuff, everyone used to say he was normal as a kid, but one night he went into the Graveler house and vanished, only to return years later completely off his rocker.”

“I was terrified of him growing up. My mom used to say if I didn’t behave she’d sell me to him and he’d make me into soup,” Spark laughs awkwardly, scratching his head a little, “seems kinda mean now, poor old guy was probably just dealing with some mental stuff yanno?”

Blanche watches them quietly as they silence themselves for them to continue, the eerie glow of curious litwick and the flickering fireplace illuminating their white hair and gown in a ghostly ethereal glow.

“He was a nice man, jittery and nervous but kind. It’s impossible to know how mentally sound his story was, considering his unstable general mental health, but the tale he regaled to me that night I visited him stuck with me for years,” they explain slowly, eyes serious and voice cold. “It had all started the night he went to visit the house; he had been fourteen, fifteen the following November, and him and two other adolescent boys, Raphael Carver and Michael Stevens had made Halloween plans to break into the abandoned house to explore. It had seemed like fun and games for the three boys, nothing more. They had entered at ten, roaming the hallways and hiding in broken old closets to try to scare one another. It was only come midnight when Albert discovered a patch of uneven floorboards beneath the carpet and the boys pulled them back to find the old hidden stairway to the hospital tunnel beneath the house that things took a dark turn.”

Slowly, Blanche lifts back up their mug of soup and takes a sip, allowing their words to settle before they continue, closing their eyes calmly almost as if meditating while they speak. “The three boys had gathered flashlights and climbed down into the unlit abyss, noting it’s musty vile smell and unnatural darkness they had each felt a tinge of fear, however each had neglected to mention it in fear of inciting mockery from the others. The long concrete tunnel seemed to stretch for miles, further than their flashlights could light, and when they each reached the bottom of those stairs they found the floor to be oddly wet. Albert recalls the words in his mind; “Go back. Go back now,” voicing that they did not sound like his own – despite this he chalked it down to simple nerves playing tricks on his subconscious. The three boys decided amongst themselves to explore the tunnel in its length, to see where it may lead, so they began, Albert leading the way as they entered the dark abyss before them. He recalled it feeling like walking into a black hole, the darkness so intense it almost seemed to swallow the beams of their flashlights, engulfing them the further they ventured.”

Thunder rumbles outside loudly and the chandelier on the ceiling flickers dangerously for a moment, making Willow jump slightly. Candela sniggers at him.

“Minutes passed, then hours, the boys seemed to walk until their feet ached in their shoes and there was no sign of end in sight, yet no-one suggested turning back. As Albert described it; ‘It felt like something was there in the darkness. Following us. At first I thought it just in my mind, there were no footsteps, no breathing or sounds of life, just a feeling as if something lurked behind every step we took. However, none of us dared to speak, none of us dared to look around. We all felt it, the feeling of danger, the immense dread creeping up our spines. If we stopped, if we so much as looked, we would come into contact with…something, and it scared us, so we continued in silence, praying we would find an exit’. The stench in the tunnel grew strong and sour, like the rotting sludge in the bottom of a compost bin, it turned their stomachs, and the more the ground squelched uncomfortably underfoot, the more he wondered what exactly was causing the moisture in these sealed catacombs.” Blanche continues, “Eventually the three boys walked for so long that their flashlights ran out of power, flickering out one. by. one. until they were left walking in pitch darkness. No sounds but their footsteps, the sensory ability of sight being void causing them to hallucinate faces and figures in the darkness. He said they were hearing voices echoing from the walls – voices that sounded much like nurses and doctors, speaking in hushed tones, sometimes they’d see figures rushing past with hospital beds – like lucid glowing dreams. Eventually Albert and his friends thought they were saved when a quiet breeze began to blow against their faces from ahead – ‘an exit’, he’d thought. The three held hands as they continued forward, cautious about separating in the pitch black void that had become their prison for many hours now. Frightened and weary they stumbled blindly towards the source, his friends reaching out until their hands found the edges of a creaky door, cold air seeming to ooze through its cracks. They knocked – no, slammed their fists and palms against the wood, calling out for whomever may be beyond the other side listening; praying someone would hear their plight and set them free. For a moment, Albert thought they may be alone, but then beyond the door he heard a click – like a switch being turned on, and suddenly the tunnel erupted into light so bright it blinded him after being in the darkness for so long. He shut his eyes tight, crying out in pain, reaching out for his friends but finding no-one at his sides. After a few moments he fearfully forced open one eye, suffering the bright light to try to see what had become of his companions – however what he was met with instead haunted him enough that viewing it for but a second caused him to reach up with his icy cold fingers and dig the tainted eyeball from its socket with his bare hands, screaming as he felt the tendrils twist and snap, warm blood running down his face. So afraid of the sight before him that he feared it would be imprinted into that eye forever.”

“This got real gory real fast,” Candela says quietly, briefly glancing at the professor who’s turned an ashen pallor. “Maybe a little less brutal with the details for those of us with weaker stomachs, hm?”

“Sorry,” Blanche says gently as they turn to the professor, holding up a hand in a polite gesture of apology.

“What….did he see that made him tear his eye out?” Spark asks quietly, and they note that Squeaks has stopped his frantic zoomies to crawl into the man’s lap as if sensing his trainer’s desire for comfort suddenly.

“There is little way to re-tell of the imagery he imparted upon me that day without delving into gore filled language that would sour the strongest stomach. He spoke of human remains lining every wall and floor, stretched out with their skins knitted together, like a long tunnel of flesh, unable to tell where one person began and another started. On the wall opposite his eyes locked with two familiar faces, fresh in comparison to the shrivelled and dried up others – his friends, Raphael and Michael, their bodies unmistakable yet flayed open and joined together on the wall. Something large and dark was crouched there, too many legs like a spider, slowly joining them together with needle and thread using it’s too-long arms.” They explain slowly, locking eyes with Willow the entire time almost apologetically as the man looks a little green around the edges, “Albert felt a hand once again re-take his own, and he knew in that moment that the hands he had been holding in the darkness all this time did not belong to his friends – in fear, he tore away and began to run, refusing to open his other eye should he see more of the horrors around him.”

They finish their soup, placing the mug carefully back on the floor and brushing invisible flecks of dust from their lap calmly as if this was nothing more than an interesting story from the morning paper, “Albert claimed he never stopped running, blind and afraid and alone until one day he stumbled through a door into a hospital morgue, terrifying the staff. Years had passed since he had vanished, yet he claimed he had never stopped to eat or drink or sleep. When police explored the remains of the tunnels they found no sign of anything Albert had described, and no sign of his missing friends either. He was chalked up to being insane, driven mad by fear – some even theorised he slaughtered his two friends and hid their bodies somewhere in that tunnel. However, the man remained insistent until the day of his death that his story was true, convinced that he entered some strange pocket dimension within the tunnel where a person or creature darker than anything we could ever imagine was hunting him.”

Thunder crackles once more, rattling the old walls of the house, and Blanche turns to Candela with…eerily empty eyes. “Some say if you walk through that tunnel today, sometimes – just for a moment, you’ll catch the drifting smell of rotting flesh, or hear the cries of the lost echoing through the concrete walls. As if something lingers in the darkness just beyond sight, something sinister we may never understand.”

As if on some creepy cue, the chandelier above flickers out, plunging the room into shadow – furniture and faces only lit by the eerie glow of the fire. Spark yelps and Candela can’t hold back a snort.

“It’s just a story, Spark.”

“A possibly TRUE story!” he snips back a little defensively, letting out a nervous chuckle to lighten the mood. “You gotta admit the timing of that was creepy as hell…”

“Power cut, the lightning must have caught the surge protector and blown a fuse,” Blanche offers casually, eyes turning to the ashen white professor. “Are you okay?”

“….Just fine,” Willow says a little too quickly, offering them a tight smile as his eyes dart around the dim space. “…Perhaps you wouldn’t mind searching out the basement to….switch the fuse box? See if you can get these lights back working again?” He chuckles anxiously.

“Me?” Blanche asks, sounding almost a little taken back and glancing quickly between Spark and Candela. “…Candela has fire types and Spark has electric types, I do not possess any Pokémon capable of generating light. It would make far more sense for one of them to go instead.”

Despite their calm demeanour, Candela notes easily that the Mystic leader usually jumps on the chance to do anything the professor asks like the little teacher’s pet they are, and it makes her smile grow wider. “Aww, Blanche. Are you scared to go by yourself?”

They glance towards her sharply to argue, though hesitate for a moment too long – which only fuels Candelas delight. “I am not scared, I would simply prefer not to be fumbling around in the darkness unnecessarily.”

“Why don’t all three of you go? Blanche is right, you’ll need Pokémon in order to see what you’re doing down there, and we don’t know how safe the structures in this building are – it will be safer if you go as a group, if anyone gets hurt then one of you can stay with them and the other can come back and get me for help,” Willow instructs gently, which earns him a distressed look from Spark.

“I have to go too?!”

“It’s just a creepy dark basement in a creepy dark house on a creepy dark night, “Candela teases as she stands up, offering a hand to Blanche as she grins at Spark, “…Not unlike that story I guess. Maybe the three of us will find walls covered in human flesh down there?”

“Man, don’t even,” Spark whines as he stands up too, shuffling over to the other two reluctantly, “If I see so much as a glimpse of anything flesh-y in this place I am out of here so fast. You won’t even see me go, I will just be GONE. Bu-bye, you are on your own. Absolutely no way.”

“Wimp,” Candela snorts, “You gonna be okay on your own for a hot minute, prof?”

Willow glances around anxiously, seemingly taking comfort in a few small litwick that have curled up close to his side for a nap. “…I think so, I’m fine – perhaps a little rattled by that…colourful… story, that’s all.”

“Shout out if you need anything and we’ll come right back,” She reassures him gently before waving Cayenne out of the fireplace, the little flareon padding over to her heel obediently. Squeaks on the other hand looks as unwilling as his trainer – Spark scoops the Pikachu up like he’s a sack of flour and tucks him into the breast of his nightgown protectively.

Even with two Pokémon providing light, it takes the trio a good ten minutes to find the doorway leading to the basement stairs, discretely tucked away beneath the grand staircase back in the dark lobby. Blanche is the one to wrestle it open, the old hinges rusted and sticking. The rickety wooden staircase seems to stretch down into a dark abyss that even flareons warm glow doesn’t reach from the top, it’s almost looking like a surreal pathway into nothingness.

The three stand in the doorway staring for a solid while, almost enraptured by the eerie staircase as wind whistles through the windows around them and harsh rain clatters against the rooftops. There’s a quiet creak from the darkness below – likely old plumbing or rotting wooden beams crumbling under their own weight, but Candela feels Spark jolt a little next to her from the sound and she rolls her eyes – though makes no move of her own to continue forwards.

“Well?” She asks Blanche – who turns to give her a confused look.

“Well what?”

“Get going. We haven’t got all day.”

They screw their nose up a little. “Why do I have to go first?”

“Cayenne will be right on your heels, don’t be a baby. The prof DID ask you first, and besides, you’re the youngest.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!” They ask, irritation clear in their voice as they squint at her a little before shuffling forward. They take a step into the doorway, foot hovering above the first step for a few moments before they hesitantly pull it back, as if unable to pass some invisible barrier. “…You’re the oldest, you should go first.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, Mystic?” Candela teases, grinning widely as they turn a little pink and shoot her a glare. It’s so fucking easy to get under their skin.

“I am not a child, Candela. Of course I’m not afraid of the dark,” they say sharply, turning back towards the gaping doorway when Spark also starts muffling a laugh. Tilting their chin up a little stubbornly they take a step forward and start down the creaky staircase slowly.

Candela is about to follow when Spark puts his hand on the door in front of her, a barely restrained look of mischievous glee in his eyes, and she covers her mouth with a little grin as she watches him slam the door shut behind them. Both of them listening as Blanche’s slow footsteps scramble back up the steps immediately and they pound on the door with their hands in a panic.

He tugs open the door with a giggle as they stumble back out, wide-eyed and looking slightly ruffled and breathless, then turning quite red when the two of them start laughing at their break in composure.

“That was not funny,” they grit out in distaste.

“It was pretty funny, “Spark wheezes, shoulders quivering as he tries to regain some composure, “You’re totally scared of the dark, that is so rich after you nearly scared the pants off me and the professor with that dumb story.”

“I am NOT afraid of the dark,” they insist frustratedly, shoving his arm away inelegantly when he tries to pull them into a reassuring one-armed hug. “You are both such children.”

“C’mon enough messing around,” Candela chuckles, shaking her head as she gathers up her long night skirt in her arms so she won’t trip and starts down the stairs confidently as if she’s merely heading to do laundry, Cayenne hopping down each step after her. “Let’s get these lights back on before the prof gets spooked by a shadow or something back there.”

Spark follows tentatively, Squeaks still held firmly against his chest, and the man doesn’t miss how Blanche silently grabs the back of his nightgown as they follow too.

“We’re looking for a breaker box, it’s likely located on one of the walls at eye level – it should be a large metal box containing rows of switches,” Blanche says slowly as the three of them reach the bottom of the staircase, squinting around in the dark at all they can see with only the light of Squeaks and Cayenne.

It’s a much larger room than expected, their small bubble of light doesn’t reach all the way to a wall on three sides, instead illuminating high stacks of mouldering cardboard boxes and unidentifiable pieces of oddly shaped furniture covered in old sheets. There’s a few rolled up carpets, some old cabinets, many rows of shelves stocking all sorts of unidentifiable things, what looks to be a grand piano covered in dust and cobwebs – whoever used to live here must have been a hoarder.

“Man what a dump, this is gonna take forever,” Spark mutters as he wanders a little to the right, squinting to try to figure out just how big this space is. He passes a dirty old mirror, pausing to watch his reflection curiously, “-damn this place is creepy.”

“We should split up, I’ll head left, you head right, Blanche you go straight ahead, we’ll cover the space quicker, which means we can get out of this dump quicker,” Candela says casually.

“You were totally against splitting up earlier! What happened to ‘horror movie characters doing dumb things’?!” Spark argues, swinging back around at the idea.

“I do not have a light. Going off by myself would be inefficient,” Blanche adds with a dismissive grunt, staying fairly close to the man.

“You have a phone right?” Candela says playfully.

“We have no signal here.”

“…Blanche your phone has a flashlight on it.”

Spark’s anxiety seems to fade as he lets out a snort at the Mystic leader’s face as they send Candela an embarrassed glare before reluctantly taking out their phone. “…So it does…I failed to think of that.”

“Sure you did,” Candela says cheerfully, delighting in their sheepish frown before turning to Spark. “It’s just one room, and so far there’s been no sign of anything weird around, just pull up your big boy pants and go, Instinct, it’ll take like five minutes with us all looking.”

“Aw man c’mon, I don’t wanna wander around in the dark after that freaky flesh tunnel story,” Spark complains, though reluctantly stays put as Candela starts walking off anyway.

“Don’t call it the ‘flesh tunnel story’, it sounds dirty,” Blanche tells him flatly before shining their weak phone flashlight down a narrow path between stacks of boxes, hesitantly starting towards the far side of the room.

“You’re right, pretty sure I watched a weird porno called that once…” he mutters back, cracking a tiny smile at the disgusted sound they respond with as they disappear into the dark. “…Will you guys at least marco polo with me so I know you’re still there?”

“Fine, just don’t be annoying about it,” Candela calls from the darkness, voice bouncing off walls and boxes and making it hard to figure out where she even is in the space.

“Just you and me then,” Spark whispers to Squeaks, the Pikachu pulling his head down below the collar of Sparks shirt petulantly. “…Or just me, I guess.” He turns to the right and starts walking.

The basement, as it turns out, seems to span the width of the entire house. Candela finds herself walking for what feels like an absurdly long time, weaving in and out of rows of shelves full of unidentified things and stacks of boxes haphazardly blocking her path at every turn. Never seeming to come across a wall. It almost feels reminiscent to Blanche’s eternal tunnel story and leaves a sour taste in her mouth despite knowing full well this is a perfectly normal place only made eerie by the darkness.

Cayenne pads along by her feet, every so often stopping to curiously sniff a box or hop up to walk on a low shelf. The faint glow of her scruff and tail doesn’t provide much light, but it’s enough to navigate the immediate surroundings and stop Candela falling over stray items littered everywhere. Occasionally she’ll hear a faint “Marco!” from Spark, somewhere from afar in the vast room, and she’ll call back “Polo!” loudly to reassure him – rolling her eyes despite the fact his voice is also putting her at ease too.

The whole room smells musty, like old rotting papers and moth-eaten clothing; it sort of reminds her of her great grandmothers attic as a kid.

Pushing past what seems to be an old dress mannequin, she walks face first into a spindly cobweb and stumbles back a little with a splutter, thrashing her arms to get it out of her hair. “Eww- shit- how many spinark do you think live down here?” She asks the flareon breathlessly, screwing up her nose a little when the Pokémon looks up at her almost in amusement.

“Cram it, I’m not scared of them or anything, they’re just super gross. Too many legs – and they run at you out of nowhere,” she huffs, almost feeling a little embarrassed when Cayenne steps in front of her to keep walking diligently, “who even invented those things?”

When the two of them finally come to a brick wall she feels herself let out a sigh, slowly reaching out to put a hand against it in the darkness so she can feel around for any sign of a fuse box.

The moment her fingers brush the brick she pulls away sharply.

It’s warm.

Candela stares, holding the hand close to her chest in bewilderment, eyes darting to Cayenne who is watching her in confusion. Slowly she reaches out again, palm hovering an inch or so away from the brick for several moments. It looks normal- it’s just her mind playing tricks on her.

She presses her hand forward, the moment it comes into contact with the wall she feels it squelch wetly, something warm and pulsating under it like skin. This time she stumbles backwards with a breathy gasp, tripping on an old suitcase and falling on her behind sharply. Cayenne bristles a little, unsure what’s happening but reacting to her trainer’s distress.

Candela’s eyes are wide as she holds her hand out at arm’s length as if whatever she’d just touched was poison. “What the actual FUCK,” she whispers, glancing around the little bubble of Cayenne’s light as if looking for some sort of answer to all the questions buzzing through her horrified mind.

“….Marco?”

When a few seconds pass and she hears nothing back, her stomach turns cold.

Blanche watches the way the artificial phone light illuminates the thin winding paths between stacks of furniture and odd mazes of shelving, unnerved by the way it occasionally catches a grimy broken mirror or an odd jar of unidentifiable preserves on a shelf. They try to ignore the way their heart pounds a little faster with the sounds of their footsteps clacking against the cold cement floor, echoing throughout the dusty chamber.

They’re not nervous, they tell themself resolutely, almost embarrassed that they even need to say it. They’re twenty five, a fully grown adult, not a child – this is merely a dark room, with nothing existing within it except inanimate objects and mould. To be afraid would be illogical, and they are not an illogical person.

A quiet rustling behind them makes them tense up, swinging around sharply to shine the phones flashlight across the path. It remains void of life, no signs of movement – they’re imagining things. Their mind playing tricks on them, unsettled by the eerie surroundings. There’s nothing of danger down here… except potential unstable structures…and unspecified fungal spores….and there could always be rabid Pokémon, or even people hiding in the darkness. The thoughts are more unsettling than comforting and they unconsciously shudder a little before slowly turning back around to continue on the path, squeezing through a tight gap between two wall-to-ceiling shelving units.

Their phone light flickers, dims, and suddenly winks out.

Heart lurching as they’re suddenly plunged into a black abyss of darkness, Blanche hits the side of their phone with their palm, frantically tapping the screen. “No, no, come on come on- you useless piece of….” They curse, biting their lower lip as they press every button to no avail, unable to even see the dark screen in their hand a foot away from their face. It wasn’t even low on batteries!

The sense of uneasiness turns to a quiet panic as they lower their hand, fumbling for their pokeballs to release a companion- only to realise they left them in their regular clothes and this ridiculous nightgown doesn’t even have pockets. They close their eyes, not that it makes a difference, trying to take a steadying breath.

They shouldn’t move, the paths through the storage are winding and unsteady, they’ve had to step over and weave under boxes and furniture multiple times, trying to continue blindly would only result in injury.

“My phone has died, I am stuck,” they call out hesitantly, refusing to betray their nerves in their voice and keeping a steady tone despite their hands quivering slightly around the phone.

No response comes and they frown a little. “…Spark?” they call out, “Candela?”

Nothing.

“This isn’t funny, Spark!”

They open their eyes again as if hoping something would change, that their vision would adjust or somehow a light would flicker on above them, but all their met with is a thick darkness clouding their senses. It’s suffocating and claustrophobic, and makes the sweat on their neck turn cold.

Without meaning to they take a small step back, spine knocking against a shelf, they subconsciously stumble forwards a little, hands reaching out and hitting what feels like a wall, something falls over and knocks into their side. Their breath comes in shallow beats and instinctively they lower themself to crouch on the ground, making themself as small as possible. The darkness is so quiet that they can hear their own heartbeat in their ears. It feels as if the walls around them are closing in, there’s no room to move without hitting something, soon the ceiling will crush them, the air will be sucked out of their lungs.

Something topples from a shelf above, falling onto their head and coating them in something dusty, they instinctively move their hands up to frantically try to brush it off but only one arm moves, the other feeling suddenly trapped as if held in place by powerful hands.

They lash out to try to grab the invalid arm, only succeeding in knocking more things around them, something heavy falling down close to their leg.

“Help-let me out-” they mutter, the words barely audible above shuddered breaths. Heart beating all too fast they hold their hand over their head to make themself small.

It’s the panic making their mind generate terrifying things in the darkness, they know it is.

But for a moment they’re sure they can see two eyes in the darkness with an eerie yellow glow watching them, accompanied by a slowly growing toothy grin.

A small cough wracks Sparks lungs as he trails his hand along a cold brick wall, fingers searching for metal as he carefully tries to weave around and step over things in his path. The dust in here is driving him crazy, he hasn’t needed an inhaler since he was like five but if they have to stay in this house much longer he’s definitely going to have some issues.

“Pika” Squeaks says from inside the bust of his nightgown, the pokémon’s chubby face sticking out of his collar, cheeks giving off a soft glow in the dark.

“Yeah I’m fine bud, dust is just irritating my lungs, this place really needs a spring clean, huh?” He teases gently, coughing once more into his hand before ruffling the pikachu’s soft fur. “Think you can get any more light?”

“Pii,” Squeaks replies, screwing up his chubby little face as his cheeks glow a little brighter. Spark kisses the top of his head with a grin.

A soft sound drifts by his ears, reminiscent of a distant sounding ‘marco’, and he turns his head in the general direction he remembers Candela heading in curiously. It was so quiet, almost faded like a surreal echo in a dream, he almost certainly imagined it, Squeaks doesn’t even react. Still, something in Sparks gut sits uneasily and he pauses for a second, hand still on the wall.

“Marco?” He calls out, waiting patiently for a reply. Then again, a little louder “Marco??”

Nothing comes and he frowns, glancing down at Squeaks who mimics the anxious look. It’s probably Candela messing with him.

“…She’s probably just being a jerk, c’mon, quicker we find that switch, quicker we can get our butts out of this creepy place,” he says probably as much to himself as to the little pikachu, once again starting to move forwards.

His hand continues to follow the wall – until it suddenly meets cold air in its absence, nearly making him stumble. Spark’s mind tries to process what just happened, squinting in the darkness at where the wall just….ends. It makes no sense, they’re in a room, the wall can’t just end, it has to join up to…something.

Squeaks makes a small confused sound, sniffing the air and wriggling out of his nightgown to hop down to the ground curiously, sniffing around at his feet.

“Is it like a divide? Maybe the basement is bigger than we thought,” he mutters quietly, reaching out forwards to continue without the wall, Squeaks only managing to light the few feet around them. “That would suck.”

“Pika pii” The small Pokémon agrees.

The two of them fumble forward, the path seemingly becoming a little wider. After a few moments his eye starts to catch Squeaks light reflecting from what looks like broken shards of glass, and he gestures to the pikachu to watch his little feet.

The reflections of them both in the glass are…eerie. Misshapen, obscured – in the darkness it looks oddly nightmarish. The more he watches, the more the distorted reflections seem to move and shift in a way he finds nauseating.

Are they…even walking straight anymore? Spark pauses, suddenly feeling a little light headed. Which way he came from suddenly feels like a mystery, everything looks the same wherever he turns. How is a basement even this big?

Out of the corner of his eye he sees something move in the darkness, just out of sight, almost like the fold of clothes on a moving body catching the feint light.

“Candy, c’mon this isn’t funny,” he laughs, eyes darting around the darkness. The feeling of Squeaks little paws holding nervously onto his leg is oddly reassuring at least. “Can we quit the jokes now, I’m not feeling so hot…”

He can’t see a person, but the feeling of something moving around sits heavy in his gut, as if something or someone is circling him like prey. Squeaks must sense it too, the little pikachu’s cheeks start to flicker with anxious sparks and he growls threateningly.

“Show yourself!” Spark insists a little more firmly, spurred on by his partners nerves.

Still, nothing happens. His eyes keep being drawn back to the shards of mirror-like glass littering the floor around them, some as long as his arm and others small as pennies. His face seems eerily reflected in every one. It looks like it’s smiling back at him.

He isn’t smiling.

Spark’s hands fidget nervously at his sides and he takes a slow breath, “…Squeaks, use thunderbolt.”

The Pikachu eagerly zaps a powerful jolt of electricity into the darkness, lighting up the space for a second and hitting a box. He swears he sees something move in that split second and it turns his heart ice cold.

“Again”

“Pika” Squeaks shoots another. The light flickers for a second, illuminating figures – they’re everywhere.

“Again, again, again!” He demands, voice raspy with panic as the pikachu’s back presses against his shin with a shiver. It continues to fire off electric volts.

And he continues to see them. Dozens of them. Figures. Figures that look just like him, standing behind shelves and between furniture. Watching. Smiling.

“AGAIN. AGAIN. AIM AT THEM,” he rasps out, voice quaking as he takes a stumbling step back.

The thunderbolts blast off wildly in un-aimed directions, by almost a miracle one hits one of the figures and it moves, barely reacting to the shot but stepping closer, something about its face so horrifically unnerving – as if it’s smile is a little too wide, it’s eyes a little too sunken to look human.

Breath getting caught in his throat, he turns and runs. Stumbling on boxes and crashing into corners of furniture, not caring as he smacks into things and knocks over shelves and hears things smash. The only reassurance he has is the sound of Squeaks frantic panting as the little pokémon runs besides him in terror.

His foot hits something unmoving and he nearly screams as he’s sent toppling over, hand grabbing something warm on its way to the ground.

Something which yelps back – thankfully, a yelp he recognises.

“BLANCHE-“

A breathy gasp and a cold hand finds the fabric of his gown and grabs it so tight their nails pinch his skin.

“Spark?”

“It’s me, is it you?” He breathes out an almost manic little laugh of relief, blindly patting his hand around to feel for them until Squeaks scrambles into his lap and illuminates the space.

They’re both on the floor, Blanche’s eyes are blown wide and they’re white as a sheet but it’s definitely them.

“….My light went out, I-“ they fumble quickly, squinting a little at the light after being in pitch darkness for a while, eyes struggling to adjust to being able to see again. “No one would answer my calls for assistance…”

As his heartrate slows a little, Spark pauses before he can spit out his panicked experience.

He…surely he didn’t just see half a dozen creepy doppelgangers in the dark. That wouldn’t make sense. A wave of shame comes over him at the panic; he was just freaking out and imagining things. Squeaks was just reacting to his fear, that’s why his buddy couldn’t hit the targets – it was only him seeing things. This spookfest got the better of him.

“Sorry I…I never heard anyone call out-“ he laughs awkwardly, realising he’s partially landed on top of the Mystic leader and sheepishly climbing off of them, offering them a hand as he stands up. When they take it he notices that they’re trembling. “Although I tried to call out Marco and no one responded either, I thought Candela was messing with me but…I dunno, maybe the sound travels weird in here or something?” He reasons weakly. “Are you okay?”

“F-ine, completely fine,” they answer a little too quickly, swaying a little as they stand and pulling their hand away from his quickly in embarrassment, fighting to regain their composure for a brief moment. “Are you okay? I heard you scream before you…landed on me?”

“Heh, I uh- just got caught off guard….that’s all. Tripped and…cried out in surprise,” he lies, biting his inner lip as he fights the urge to glance anxiously behind him, quickly changing the subject, “I had no luck finding the breaker box on my end.”

“I never even reached the back wall. This is a large basement, it seems,” Blanche says slowly, their shoulder brushing him by how close their standing.

He reaches out to take their elbow, and they don’t push him away. The two just catching their breaths quietly together for a few moments.

They both jolt sharply and knock heads when a red glow suddenly rounds the corner before them – then both breathe a sigh of quiet relief in unison is Cayenne scampers towards them, Candela in her wake.

“You two jerks are messing with me! Why didn’t you reply when I called?” The woman snaps as she storms over, throwing her hands in the air almost threateningly.

“We didn’t hear you call out- we both called out and you didn’t hear us either!” Spark argues, shuffling a little behind Blanche as the woman comes at them like an angry rhyhorn, fully prepared to use his friend as a human shield.

Candela looks fully about to go off on him when she suddenly seems to take in the ashen pallor and tense expressions of her two companions, rage fizzling into something akin to concern. “Shit you guys look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

“I am assuming you did not find the breaker box either?” Blanche asks, changing the subject immediately.

“That’s because it’s by the door” – The voice doesn’t come from any of them, and it’s sudden proximity scares the ever-loving shit out of all three leaders as they yelp. Candela instinctively lashing out as they all swing around and catching the professor right in the gut, winding him so hard he doubles over.

“…Oww.”

“Oh my god, Professor-“ She gasps, flailing with her hands for a moment before using them to steady him, hearing Blanche and Spark struggling to catch their breath behind her. “-Sorry”

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you…” he wheezes out a weak chuckle, forcing himself to stand up partially straight and putting a hand over his wounded gut. “You have a good punch on you.”

“Wh-at? We- you were waiting upstairs-“ Blanche fumbles out, obviously struggling to process what happened but inching forward to check the man is okay.

“You three were gone for half an hour and I began to worry, I came down to check on you and found the breaker next to the door. The lights are back up again upstairs now. None of you had resurfaced though and I heard yelling. Is everyone okay?” The man asks gently, glancing between the three of them in curious concern, clearly noticing their ruffled demeanours.

“We…must have missed it. I never saw it by the door….” Candela grunts, peering past the prof where she can now see the feint glow from upstairs the way they came in. Sure enough, there is a metal box right at the bottom of the stairs next to the door – she feels a little silly. “….We’re fine, must have….just gotten a little lost.”

“Yeah- we just- it was dark and stuff- tripped up and got all uh- mixed up,” Spark laughs sheepishly, “We’re good.”

“The look on all your faces I was worried you’d seen a real ghost down here or something,” Willow laughs, gesturing gently with his chin before leading them all back towards the door. “It’s getting late, we should probably retire for some rest. Clear our heads.”

“…There are no such thing as ghosts beyond ghost-type pokémon,” Blanche asserts quietly, sounding confident despite glancing over their shoulder every few moments until they all reach the top of the stairs.

The nice thing about a house this big is the sheer volume of rooms available – even if they are a little musty and outdated. In a hotel they’d likely all have been sharing, two to a bed, but here there’s plenty enough space for everyone to take their own room.

Candela sits on top of the off-white covers of the double bed in her room, listening to the sounds of wind and rain raging outside as she watches the chandelier on the ceiling sway slightly, casting jagged shadows of the furniture dancing across the plainly painted, mildew-y walls.

She wonders if she were to touch them, if she’d feel a heartbeat.

The thought sends a shiver up her spine.

It was her mind playing tricks on her in the dark, it must have been. But it had just felt so…real.

Something about the atmosphere of that basement had felt so jarringly wrong that it still sat in her belly like a rock. Thunder groans outside and she closes her eyes to let out a long, slow breath. She should really get some sleep, but the strange itch of danger still tickles her bones and makes her restless.

Candela is not a child, she can sleep one night in a creepy house, she’s not going to lose rest the night before the most important convention of the year because of some cheap spooks. Forcing herself to stand she stretches a little before pulling back the covers-

She shrieks when she’s met with a spinark the size of her flareon just sat there – so close to where she had just been sitting. The sound makes it skitter frantically, leaping off the bed and crawling across the floor speedily.

Quick footsteps slap the wooden floors of the hallway for a moment before her door slams open, almost making her jump again, Spark bursting in with wide eyes and a walking stick in his hand held up like a bat. “What?!”

“Geez, fuck, Spark don’t do that!” She hisses, feeling her ears turn a little red as she waves him off dismissively and catches her breath.

“You’re the one who screamed!” He hisses back, slowly lowering the stick.

“I didn’t scream! It was a…a yelp at best!” She huffs, screwing her face up a little petulantly, “…dumb spinark caught me off guard okay. Hate the things, especially those massive ones.”

The man props his dusty makeshift weapon on the floor and leans on it lazily, eyes flicking to the large spinark which is now hallway up a wall, crawling eerily. He cracks Candela a tired little smirk, “Don’t tell me that you, Candela, leader of team Valor, are afraid of spiders?”

“I’m not afraid of them, dumbass – it just jumped out at me,” she grunts, storming over and smacking his arm to try to shift the smug look on his face, “I just find them…gross. Way too many hairy little weird legs, and why do they always sprint at you full speed? Ugh-“

“…You want me to catch it for you and put it outside?” He asks teasingly, chuckling when she glares at him bitterly but doesn’t turn down the idea. “This place has all of us on edge I think.”

She watches a little sulkily as the man grabs a dirty old vase from on top of her dresser and sizes it up before heading towards the creepy little Pokémon, hesitating for a moment to aim before clunking it down on top of it, catching the critter inside and tilting it uptight so it can’t skitter free.

“I tried to hide a spinark in Blanche’s desk last year on April fools as a prank, but they just ended up identifying it as like – some rare variant species based on its colourations and then kept it as a pet so they could breed it for genetic mutation colourants or something weird. I should’a done it to you instead, at least I know for next time,” Spark laughs as he peers into the top of the vase at the creature inside, smiling at it gently to try to put it at ease, “Don’t worry little bud, you’re safe with me.”

“You ever put one of those in my desk and I’ll end you, Instinct. Mark my words, that is not something you want to do,” she threatens coldly, stiffening a little at the thought. “…How did we never notice the goth thing? They have such weirdo goth vibes sometimes. Who keeps a spinark as a pet?”

“You’re such a weenie, they’re just little guys,” Spark snorts. “I’ve had one on my team before, they’re cute.”

She’s about to retort when the door suddenly cracks against its hinges as if someone slams it, making them both jump so hard that Spark drops the vase and it shatters – the poor terrified spinark darting under the bed for refuge.

“The fuck was that?” He wheezes breathlessly, letting out a nervous little laugh when Candelas mouth moves wordlessly with a lack of answers as they both stare at the door – now unmoving.

“…Maybe the wind?” She offers, neither of them quite believing it.

“…I don’t know if I can get that guy back out from under your bed…maybe you should just come stay in my room instead?” Spark mutters, a teasing lilt to his voice out shadowed by his obvious nerves. This is more for him than her.

“…Sure, you better not snore though or I’m smothering you with a pillow again,” she says slowly, struggling to tear her eyes away from the door.

The two of them edge towards the door slowly, stepping through one by one as if it could slam on them at any moment, then Candela follows Spark a few doors down to his chosen room.

He doesn’t open the door, just stands in front of it turning progressively more pale by the second.

“…Is….that a handprint?”

She follows his gaze down below the doorhandle, where on the dark polished wood, an eerie hand-shaped stain is smeared on the door as if someone was dragged by unwillingly. She can’t tell what it is – but in the dim light it sure does resemble…blood.

“It’s….that’s…probably just your handprint, idiot,” she laughs quietly, trailing off when he doesn’t laugh too, just tucking his hands nervously under his armpits to conserve heat and glancing around anxiously. “You probably got all dirty down in that gross basement and left a mark when shutting the door.”

“Heh….yeah, you’re right,” he chuckles back, still making no move to open the door.

After a moments silence, Candela bites her inner lip, the cold air blowing through the hallway making the tiny hairs on her body stand on end. “…Maybe we should check the prof is doing alright? He was pretty spooked earlier.”

“Yeah,” Spark agrees a little too quickly, turning away from the door to glance down the other end of the hall. “Yeah he was pretty freaked out by that story, poor guy is probably struggling to sleep. Maybe we can keep him company for a bit or something.”

“You know what the guy is like with spooky stuff,” Candela affirms, falling into quick pace next to the man as they head towards the professors room. “Better make sure he rests well, big day tomorrow.”

Spark is the one to knock on the professors door, and the both of them seem to release tension in their shoulders as they hear the sounds of feet hitting the floor as the resident within stands out of bed, bones cracking as he stretches. Moments later the half asleep man opens the door, looking almost comically ruffled but smiling kindly as he looks between them.

“Everything alright?”

“We just thought you might be still a little shaken from earlier,” Candela blurts out, tilting her chin up a little as she meets eyes with the older man, “We came to see if you wanted some company… you know, to make sure you’re not like… too creeped out to sleep.”

Willow raises a brow at her and then at Spark, “…Well I feel fairly comfortable actually. In fact, Blanche already kindly offered their company too,” he chuckles gently, pushing open the door a little to let the two in. Candela meets eyes with Blanche who has made a little bed for themself on the floor from blankets, and they pretend not to notice her and turn to the book in their hands, ears turning pink. They’re definitely not here because the professor is scared, she thinks smugly. “The more the merrier though I suppose. Though we are a little limited for space.”

“I call the bed,” Spark says immediately, almost throwing himself onto the unruffled side of the double bed the professor wasn’t sleeping on, faceplanting into the pillow dramatically.

Candela watches him, shaking her head fondly before glancing over the Professor’s expression. He knows she’s spooked and she hates it. She could walk away now, head to any other room in this place and prove herself as the only brave one in the group.

Floorboards creak ominously from somewhere in the house and her pride fizzles out, she quickly shuffles past the older man, keeping her head down stubbornly as she grabs a bundle of spare bedsheets from the dresser and tosses them on the ground messily next to Blanche’s neatly made little makeshift bed.

Willow chuckles tiredly, closing the door and heading back to the bed to sit beside Spark. “Perhaps we should keep the lights on tonight?”

“Not necessary,” Candela huffs as she straightens out a thick quilt like a bedroll and rolls up another to use as a pillow, her jostling around clearly irritating Blanche as they try to return to their book. “We’re not little kids, prof.”

“I know you’re not,” he reassures carefully, tucking himself back in next to the sprawling form of Spark taking up ¾ of the bed. “Alright then, feel free to wake me if you need anything,” he says as he reaches for the light switch at his nightstand, turning off the single lamp lighting the room, plunging the four into darkness.

Moonlight seeps through the window, distorted rays making almost pretty patterns across the sheets and floor where it refracts through the raindrops. Candela lays down, and stares at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Blanche rustling to tuck their book under their pillow, and Spark climbing reluctantly under the blankets.

Then quiet. Soft breathing, heavy rain, rumbling thunder, eerie creaking from somewhere above, odd sounds like footsteps from somewhere below. She stares at the ceiling, in the dark the filthy old tiles seem to twist and morph into faces, with piercing eyes and screaming lips.

Fleshy, pulsing walls. Like the skins of a hundred victims stitched together.

She nearly jolts upright when Spark breaks the silence.

“…Hey so like….that story earlier. It wasn’t really true, right?” He asks earnestly.

She hears Blanche shift uncomfortably onto their side and pause. “…I mean…my recollection of the retelling is true. However, the original story is unlikely to be. The poor man was no longer in his senses,” they say slowly, “As a child it definitely shook me for a long time, but as an adult it is easy to look back and see his story for what it was. The sadly warped ramblings of a traumatised, sick man.”

“It was just a story, Sparky. People don’t just cross into creepy pocket dimensions with gross skin tunnels and weird spider people, dude was probably tripping balls at the time and got kidnapped or something, twisted the whole thing in his head to be some creepfest,” Candela says gently.

“Yeah…yeah I figured, heh,” Spark mutters humourlessly.

“It’s an interesting concept though. After all, paranormal events do happen to people from time to time, those who go missing and claim to have been abducted by aliens or have visited hell. It does make you wonder as a scientist whether it’s possible. Whether strange things really do occur,” Blanche says thoughtfully, “Perhaps our world is one of many, or the frequency we exist in is parallel to countless others on slightly different wavelengths, and when people see ghosts or hear voices they’re tapping into that, or something is trying to come through from somewhere else. Perhaps when people vanish without a trace, it is simply like….a tear, a hole they’ve stumbled through, and entered another frequency entirely.”

“Sounds like something out of a bad Sci-Fi to me,” Candela grunts, trying to cover the nervous undertones in her voice, “Fascinating concept I’m sure but if you’ve got nothing to back it up then it’s just dumb.”

“Scientists are allowed to theorise the unknown, it’s not like I’m writing a report about it or anything, it’s just interesting to come up with creative solutions to the worlds mysteries sometimes,” Blanche huffs back.

“When I turned out the lights, that was my polite way of saying I am going to sleep now,” Willow mutters exhaustedly. “Perhaps we can wrap up the conversation?”

“Sorry,” Blanche and Candela mutter together.

Silence follows for a while afterwards.

Until; “…So like, do any of you believe in ghosts?” Spark mutters thoughtfully. “Like ghost-ghosts, people ghosts, not ghost-types.”

The professor sighs heavily and rolls over, pulling a pillow over his head.

“Not in the traditional sense,” Blanche murmurs in the dark, “however, I won’t deny anything without evidence. The concept of the conscious of the dead continuing on, or resonating memories replaying themselves as if stained into our timeline is an incredibly interesting concept, if an unlikely one.”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Candela grunts, turning over to press her face into the makeshift pillow so she’ll stop making shapes of the ceiling tiles. “Anyone who claims they’ve seen ghosts has just had a ghost pokémon messing with their heads.”

“Yeah that checks, my uncle had a gengar in his vent system for a few months once. Thought he was seeing his dead wife for ages but turns out it was just the gengar messing with him,” Spark mumbles, “he did a lot of therapy after that.”

“Some people rumour that ghost type pokemon are derived from the spirits of humans. That gastly are malicious spirits that couldn’t move on, that Phantump are children who died in the forests still looking for their lost parents, and Yamask being lost souls carrying around their past human face in hopes of being reunited with their body again,” Blanche says flatly, “There’s no proof in it, but no proof against it either. Ghost-types are as much a mystery to us as legendary pokémon. That is to say, on a biological level they do not make sense.”

“Go to sleep,” Willow says, voice muffled in his pillow.

Spark murmurs an apologetic sound.

The silence this time goes on for so long that Candela thinks they’ve all gone to sleep. Blanche’s breathing evens out next to her, and the professor eventually starts to snore gently. She lies awake, though feels almost soothed by the sounds.

The door slams open loudly, cracking against the wall with a bang that makes them all jump up. Spark lets out a pitchy yelp and Candela feels Blanche reach over to instinctively grab her wrist.

There’s nothing in the doorway. The door swings a little before stopping slightly ajar.

Professor Willow sits up wearily in bed and clicks on the light, rubbing his palm against his eye. “It’s just a breeze, the windows are falling apart in this decrepit place and the winds outside are harsh.”

“…I knew that,” Spark says voice cracking slightly, then letting out a sheepish little laugh.

The man sighs through his nose, shaking his head exasperatedly as he pushes himself up from the bed once again, grabbing a wooden chair from the corner and clicking the door closed, propping the chair in front of it this time. He turns back to the three of them with a reassuring smile. “All sorted”.

“It was just loud- shocked me awake,” Candela grunts at him, gently shaking her wrist to remind Blanche that they’re clinging to her. When the other leader seems to snap out of their minor daze and notice they quickly let go, turning a little pink.

Willow scratches the sharp bristles of his four o’clock shadow as he slowly makes his way back to the bed, pausing before he sits down and letting out another tired sigh. “…The poor windows make it very cold in here. There’s plenty of room in this bed if you don’t mind squashing together a bit.”

He almost expects at least a little push back, however both Blanche and Candela nearly scramble off of the floor, climbing under the blankets next to Spark. He shakes his head fondly as he climbs in next to them once they’re all settled.

“Wouldn’t want any of you to freeze,” Candela mutters, “’Sides, the floor was a pain for my back. Don’t need a crick in my neck tomorrow.”

“Get some sleep,” the man says softly as he reaches up once again to click off the lights, feeling someone tense a little as his finger hovers over the switch and instead opting to just leave it. He lays back and closes his eyes.

The bed is warmer with four, at least.

Candela doesn’t remember sleep coming for her, however one minute she’s hearing rain and the next her eyes are groggily opening and she hears birds chirping instead.

As she sits up sluggishly, she remembers the other occupants of the bed. Spark is still sprawled next to her, drooling a tiny bit into the crook of his arm, and he grunts whinily when she shifts the blankets. Blanche and the professor however seem to already be awake, the Mystic leader still sat beside her neatly, quietly neatening up their hair the best they can with only their hands, while the professor has left the warmth of the bed and is staring out the window with his hands on his hips.

“Sounds like the weather has cleared up…” She mutters, voice still groggy from sleep as her eyes drift around the room.

It looks almost totally different in the daylight. Apart from the peeling wallpaper and mildew moulding curtains, it’s not that much different to an outdated cheap hotel really. She almost feels silly to think she’d found it creepy in a different light.

“Clear skies and clear sailing, hopefully,” Willow chuckles, picking up his lab coat from where he’d hung it by the old dresser appraisingly, “Clothes seem to have dried off too. Thank goodness for that, I wasn’t looking forward to walking for miles in a night gown.”

“I’d nearly forgotten about the walk,” Candela groans, flopping back into her warm pillow. “Stupid van.”

“I can send my frosmoth to fly above the trees and navigate us to the nearest town, there we should be able to pick up some fuel and go back for the mobile lab,” Blanche says slowly, giving up on their futile task and instead defeatedly plaiting their hair into a braid. “Honestly I am just glad for the chance to leave this house, the mouldering smell is giving me a headache.”

An hour or so later, the four have packed up and changed back into their – mostly dry – usual attire. Heading down the crumbling stone front steps to follow the muddy path back towards the van, Candela can’t help but glance back over her shoulder at the grand manor house.

For a moment she swears a figure stands in the window, yellow eyes watching her.

She blinks and it’s gone. A trick of the mind.

The professor stops a few yards short of the mobile lab, lips curled into a frown, and one by one the three leaders pause behind him as they each see what he is seeing.

A gas canister sits neatly on the hood of the vehicle, full to the brim.

“…Perhaps…a helpful Pokémon heard our plight?” The professor says slowly. Though no one quite believes it, even him.

They refuel and head off once again, leaving behind the gothic house on the cliff and the eerie aura within it. It would become a funny story someday, a tale to tell at parties or to share inside jokes about.

But as they drive away, Candela fights the urge to look behind her. Unable to shake the feeling that something silent was following. Watching them.

Warning against their return.

#Pokemon #Pokemon Go #PoGo #Professor Willow #pokemon spark #Pokemon Blanche #Pokemon Candela #Team Instinct #Team Mystic #Team Valor #Halloween #Fanfiction #It's mostly silly and fluffy with just a little sprinkle of spookies and nasties #This is very unedited I am sorry #Consider leaving a little comment for me as a treat to make my week nice?#I shall give you a gentle kiss on the mouth as a thank you

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cvntydazai · 3 months

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bad arguments

how these bsd characters are after a bad argument

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader, chuuya nakahara x fem!reader, ryunosuke akutagawa x fem! reader

word count; 916

content warning; unedited, angst, fluff, arguing, miscommunication

a/n; just something random i wrote while taking a break from my dazai fic!

DAZAI OSAMU:

arguing with dazai was exhausting, this man would rather die a painful death than admit he was in the wrong about anything, it was usually why your fights got more out of hand than they ever needed to be. you hated how he tried to deflect from a situation instead of just owning up to his mistakes.

one particularly heated argument had you so riled up you had to leave your apartment, no longer wanting to look your lover in the eye until he was ready to apologize. he didn’t even spare you a glance as you left, a smug expression on his face.

you make your return to your apartment many hours later, it was now nighttime and much too late to be out, especially alone. the first thing your eye catches when you walk through the door is dazai’s fluffy head of hair resting on the couch. you huff, putting your coat up before walking over to the couch.

“are you ready to apol-“ you stop mid-sentence when you realize dazai’s asleep.

he looked uncomfortable, heavy eyebags and his head resting at an awkward angle on the arm rest. you couldn’t help it, a soft coo leaves your lips and it wakes him instantly. those honey eyes were everything but smug this time around.

“my flower, you’re back.” he mumbles, large hands reaching up to caress your face.

“i am..” you say, he smiles.

you continue to stare into his gaze for just a little longer, the silence draping over the two of you like a warm blanket. he knows that what you’re truly waiting for is his apology, he was more than happy to give it to you.

“i’m sorry, for everything. forgive me?” he says at last in his usual supple tone.

of course you forgave him, you always would.

CHUUYA NAKAHARA:

fights with chuuya usually didn’t last long, you two actually pride yourself on your communication when it comes to your relationship. he would never try to hurt you intentionally, you’re the most important person to him and he makes sure you never forget it.

but this one fight had you both out of control. you don’t remember who started it but no one was willing to end it, anything that came out of either of your mouths was only more fuel for the fire. if you were being honest with yourself, it terrified you. it wasn’t chuuya and his capabilities that had you so scared, you knew he would never bring any harm your way, it was the reality that this fight could be the ending to your relationship.

you didn’t want it to end like this, it couldn’t end like this. he was all you had and you would never forgive yourself if this was how it ends. so caught up in your own frightened mind, you didn’t even notice that chuuya quieted down and was staring into your eyes.

“ey, why are you crying?” he didn’t mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did, he was just so taken aback.

when you didn’t reply he really started to worry, his mind no longer focused on whatever you two were bickering about.

“come on doll, please don’t cry. i’m sorry.” his voice only made more salty tears spill from your eyes, in your opinion you didn’t deserve such tenderness.

he wrapped his arms around your frame, his hand on the back of your head and his face buried in your hair. he let you sob your heart out, even if it made his own heart ache. when you finally calmed down you were ready to speak.

“am i still the most important person in the world to you?” he smiled.

“of course you are.”

RYONUSUKE AKUTAGAWA:

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t good at communicating, a part of you had accepted that wholeheartedly. he made his efforts because of how deeply he cared for you and you felt that was enough most of the time. your arguments were mostly about his carelessness when it came to his own personal safety, his nonchalant attitude to your concerns irritated you down to your core.

“if you’re going to act stupid and put yourself in avoidable danger then i’m leaving, i can’t take this.” you misspoke, his eyes widened.

what you truly meant was that you were leaving for a moment to calm down, not leaving him entirely. you could only stare in shock at what nonsense you just spewed from your mouth, guilt weighed down your body, preventing you from taking even one step towards him. it took seeing the fear in his eyes to finally break you free from your mind.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean it like that i swear.” you tried to mend, now wanting nothing more than to put this whole argument behind you.

he let you pull him into a hug, you held his waist tightly to you. when you felt his hand holding the back of your head you breathed a sigh of relief.

“i know you didn’t mean it that way, but it scared me.” you nodded, understanding.

you mumbled a few more apologies and once you both had calmed down you were able to talk about some of your frustrations. it was mostly you talking and him listening, but it felt good knowing he was listening with such care. he promised to be more careful for you, and you promised to watch your wording when you’re upset.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #akutagawa ryunosuke #akutagawa x reader #ryunosuke akutagawa x reader #bsd x reader angst #bsd angst #bungo stray dogs angst #bungo stray dogs fluff

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angelfic · 7 months

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— I MISS YOU, I’M SORRY.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: you haven’t seen theo since he supposedly left you to join the other side. now that he’s back and has revealed his true intentions to you, you’re finding it hard to be forgiving.

warnings: swearing, kissing, tiniest bit of angst, very unedited. not much else other than a whole load of waffle… my bad

author’s note: this is a sort of fix-it fic… kinda. yes I am very much stealing the essence (you could say) from marauders fics because I prefer writing those and yes it’s basically this drabble recycled and yes grimmauld place is still the order headquarters well into the war just don’t question my timeline and you’ll be fine ok ty enjoy xoxo

12 Grimmauld place feels unsettling at the best of times, what with the portrait of Walburga Black hurling insults at you every time her curtain slips open and the row of shrunken house-elf heads mounted on the wall. The Order of the Phoenix holding hushed up meetings in the dining room while you and your friends are forced to stay upstairs isn’t anything new or surprising, but the last few days feel different.

Instead of Mrs Weasley telling members of the Order to whisper when you, her kids and Harry and Hermione are in the room, she flaps about ordering them to stop talking altogether. At first you think you’re imagining it when her eyes flick over to you every time, until you bring it up to Ginny and Hermione.

“You’re not imagining it,” Hermione mutters as she shuts the door of the bedroom and casts a quick Muffliato charm before settling cross legged on the bed opposite you and Ginny. “I overheard Mrs Weasley and Tonks in the kitchen this morning, talking about how the Order is arranging transport for some Death Eater spies to come back here.”

You gasp, pretending to be scandalised. “You mean you were evesdropping. That’s not very prefect-y of you.” Ginny snorts at Hermione’s indignant glare and you can’t help cracking a smile at the way her cheeks have slightly reddened. “Sorry, sorry, you know I’m kidding. But what’s that got to do with her looking at me like I’ve gone through a personal tragedy?”

“Your ex-boyfriend did leave you to go join the Death Eaters,” Ginny points out. Hermione gapes at her, but Ginny merely throws her hands up in exasperation. “Well, he did! No point beating around the bush!”

A lump rises in your throat at the mention of Theodore. Truth be told, you’ve tried not to think about what happened since the last time you spoke about him. ‘Spoke’ being a strong word since it was mostly crying and sniffling and blowing your nose into tissue after tissue in Ginny’s room at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley had made your favourite dinner that night and brought you up a hot chocolate to make you feel better. And it really had- so much so that you refused to speak about him since.

You’re more angry than you are sad now, which makes you nod at Ginny’s words. “You’re right. He’s an arsehole, there’s no point in tip-toeing around it for my sake.” Hermione frowns a little, worry clear as day on her face, but you don’t stop talking. “Besides, we’re on opposite sides and this is a war happening. Not some silly, childish break-up. He chose to be a Death Eater and if we have to fight him, so be it.”

Hermione and Ginny stay quiet for a few seconds and watch you breathe heavily. Thankfully, before either of them can speak, Harry and Ron come bursting into the room.

“They’ve only gone and brought Death Eaters into the bloody building!” Ron shakes his head.

Harry snorts at Ron’s dramatics. “Ex-Death Eaters. Apparently. Still a bit dodgy, in fairness.”

“I thought they were spies,” you say, unable to help your curiosity as you stand up. Ginny and Hermione follow you out of the room as you all peak over the bannister to try and get a glimpse of the action downstairs. Annoyingly, there only seem to be a couple of dishevelled looking Order members milling around.

“Maybe Mrs Weasley and Tonks got it mixed up, or maybe they aren’t privy to what’s going on…” Hermione frowns, deep in thought. “I don’t think anyone but Dumbledore knows what’s actually going on.”

Harry makes an irritated sound. “What’s new?”

“Oh, by the way, Mum sent us up to get you lot for dinner,” Ron says absentmindedly as he tries to get a good look over your shoulder at whatever is happening in the hall downstairs. “Mind you, that was before all the Death Eater business so she’ll probably send us right back up.”

The five of you quickly shuffle downstairs to get to the dining room and while your stomach is growling loud enough to forget any thoughts of Order business, Ron and Harry linger in the hall a little in an attempt to get some answers. You don’t doubt Harry will get some, being the Chosen One and all.

You nudge and elbow your way into the dining room where you’re happily surprised to see a messy-haired Tonks yawning over a bowl of soup. She smiles sleepily when she spots the three of you.

“Hi, girls,” she mumbles through a yawn. “Merlin, I’m exhausted. I keep falling asleep in my soup. Good thing it’s mushroom.” She points to her newly platinum blonde hair that matches the contents of her bowl.

“Why’re you so tired?” Hermione asks as she ladles some soup into bowls for you, Ginny and herself. Her voice is quiet as not to attract attention from Mrs Weasley with her questioning. “Is it to do with tonight’s, uh, Order business?”

“Yep.”

Tonks looks as though she’s about to drift off and Ginny seems to jump at the opportunity to gather information.

“So, what are their names?” She gets straight to the point, glaring at you when you choke on your soup a little, not expecting her to be so blunt.

You and Hermione stop eating and wait with bated breath for Tonks to refuse to answer. She merely yawns again, before talking. “You’ll meet them soon enough.”

“Meet them?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Aren’t they… uh, you know… dangerous?”

“Dumbledore doesn’t seem to think so,” Tonks says, shrugging. You grow a little frustrated at this, since Dumbledore isn’t exactly known for having straightforward plans. While you know his intentions are good, someone he thinks is safe could very well be the opposite. While you ponder this, Tonks’ next words quickly turn your irritation into shock. “The others were understandably quite wary, what with one of them being You-Know-Who’s son and everything, but…”

You feel a ringing in your ear and every word coming from Tonks may as well be directed to her mushroom soup because you aren’t listening anymore. You-Know-Who’s son. You haven’t seen Mattheo since term ended, and even then it was only from a distance. You hadn’t spoken to him since Theo revealed his Dark Mark to you and you’d since avoided his entire friend group like the plague. If Mattheo is in the building, you can only hope and pray that Theodore isn’t with him.

Vaguely aware of someone shaking you by the shoulder, you snap out of your thoughts. “Who else is with Mattheo?” you ask Tonks, your voice sounding rough to your own ears. She blinks through her sleepiness, slightly startled awake by your unwavering eye contact. “Voldemort’s son. Who’s with him? What do they look like?”

You’re so focused on getting an answer from Tonks, and Hermione and Ginny are clearly on the same page as you now since they’re both silent and waiting for a response, that none of you notice Mrs Weasley entering the dining room.

“Tonks, is he blonde or-?”

“Enough!” Mrs Weasley interrupts you hastily, making everyone jump. She sounds panicked, but the look she throws Tonks is stern, like a warning to keep silent. When she turns back to you however, her eyes soften and her voice is gentle, albeit with a hint of annoyance. “I asked Dumbledore not to bring them here while everyone was awake. I didn’t want you all upset again, dear. Look, you can have your dinner upstairs, I’ll bring it up to you!”

You’re grateful for her concern, but it’s a little hard to feel anything other than the pit in your stomach since she’s just confirmed what you were dreading.

Ginny speaks up first, angry on your behalf. “Mum, she deserves to know if that awful git is in the same house as her! I say she ought to go and deck him in the face.”

“Ginny!” Hermione looks at her in exasperation as Mrs Weasley gasps, horrified. “That sort of attitude isn’t going to help anyone.”

“You’re right,” you mumble, getting up from your seat.

Hermione lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“I should go and deck him in the face.”

Hermione’s sputtering falls to deaf ears as you abruptly leave your seat to go out into the hall, the scraping of chairs behind you indicating that everyone is following closely.

Realistically, you have no plans to actually hit Theodore. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever successfully landed a punch before in your life. This doesn’t stop you charging into the hallway and elbowing your way through the huddle of Order members to get to the door they seem to be crowded around.

Kingsley Shacklebolt is the last of them to stumble out of your way, clearly too surprised by your sudden presence to continue guarding the door. You raise a shaky hand to the doorknob and hesitate for a second, suddenly nervous. Kingsley takes this moment to snap out of his surprise and redirects his attentions to what you’re about to do next.

“My dear, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to-”

“Kingsley, do you have any idea why I’m standing here?” you say curtly, cutting him off.

He throws a quick glance at Mrs Weasley, almost as if it’s by reflex. Clearly she’s told more people than Dumbledore to keep word of Theodore far from you. “I, uhm, I may have heard a thing or two…”

“Right, so are you going to stop me entering this room, then?” you ask boldly. Your voice catches slightly on the end of your sentence and Kingsley falters a little.

“Well, really I should-“ he begins, eyes darting to your own slightly teary ones. He sighs. “No, I’m not. Just try not to hex the boy.”

He steps out of your way and you finally barge into room, the door swinging open as you stay lingering near the entrance. The room is just as dingy as the rest of the house, lit up by some candles dotted around the room

You first see Professor McGonagall getting up abruptly from her chair where she was previously sat next to a standing Dumbledore. He merely peers at you over his half moon spectacles and raises his eyebrows.

You suddenly feel a little silly, and rude for barging in like that. “Sorry, Professor Dumbledore, I-“

You stop talking when see movement on the other side of the room from the corner of your eye. Just as Tonks had said, Mattheo Riddle, son of Lord Voldemort is standing right there, flanked by Lorenzo Berkshire… and Theodore. Your mouth goes dry.

As soon as you catch his eye, he smiles broadly at you. You don’t return the gesture, taking his appearance in instead. He’s thinner than the last time you saw him. No visible injuries, but he’s definitely seen better days. His dirty blonde hair is overgrown and unruly as it falls into his eyes which, despite brightening up at your presence, are tired.

You keep your expression as impassive as you can, slightly angry with yourself at the twinge of concern you feel. It was all well and good interrupting whatever meeting was happening in here before you came in, but now that you’re here… you have no idea what to do or say.

Theo’s smile falters when you continue to stand there with clenched fists and a stony face and you’re tempted to just run out of the room when Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Well,” your Headmaster says pleasantly, as though you were all engaged in polite conversation rather than a strained silence. “This reunion was certainly a little earlier than anticipated, but I suppose that can’t be helped. I think we ought to give Mr Nott and Miss Y/L/N a moment alone.”

“Uh, can’t we stay in here too?” Lorenzo asks with a nervous chuckle, eyes darting to the watchful crowd standing right outside the door. You can’t blame him for wary, being an ex-Death Eater in a house full of Order members.

Mattheo nods, throwing an arm around Theodore’s shoulder, ignoring the glare he receives. “Yeah. These two won’t mind a bit of company. Right?” he asks you cheerfully. You blink at him.

“Relax, Berkshire,” Professor McGonagall says, rolling her eyes at the way Lorenzo has inched further into the room. She snaps her fingers to get them moving out the door. “Nobody is going to hex you, you silly boy.”

“Can’t say the same for Theo,” Mattheo mutters as he walks past you and follows everyone out, shutting the door.

You don’t really have any choice but to look at Theo now. He tries a smile again, despite the fact you’re not returning it and he takes a step towards you.

You immediately step back.

Theo flinches ever so slightly, his eyes unable to hide that he’s hurt.

Good, you think viciously.

Sighing, he looks at you imploringly like he wants to say something, but can’t find the words. “You’re angry with me,” he settles on muttering, his voice quiet in the dark room.

You let out a derisive laugh. “Angry? You worked that out, huh? Death-Eater’s didn’t completely addle your brain then, did they?”

“Darling, please let me explain,” Theo pleads, taking another few steps towards you.

Rather than stepping back, you whip out your wand and point it right at him. He doesn’t back away, merely raising his hands in surrender and arching an eyebrow as if to ask you if you’re serious. This angers you further.

“Do not call me darling,” you hiss, raising your wand further. Theo doesn’t react, as though he knows you’d never actually use magic to hurt him. Your hand trembles with the weight of the realisation that no, you wouldn’t hurt him. That you’ve actually been more worried that becoming a Death Eater would get him hurt than him betraying you. He left you with nothing but a cold goodbye and you still can’t help caring.

Feeling stupid, and a little bit pathetic, you drop your hand to your side and allow him to continue standing before you as he lowers his hands. You grit your teeth and cross your arms. “Explain.”

Theo lets out a relieved breath. “I never wanted to leave you,” he says, and you immediately roll your eyes. “I- no, look at me. I didn’t.”

“That doesn’t explain the fact that you did,” you deadpan, turning away to leave. Theo quickly reaches out to grasp both of your arms and gently turns you towards him.

You stiffen at the first physical contact you’ve had with him in months, your body betraying you and erupting goosebumps all over your arms in spite of your anger.

“I lied about it to protect you,” he whispers, peering at you through the strands of hair that are stubbornly falling into his eyes from weeks of neglect. Theo looks slightly pained and you recognise his expression to mean that he’s desperately trying to phrase his next words correctly. His eyes flick over to your right arm. No. To his left wrist, where you know his Dark Mark to be. “You can ask Dumbledore if you don’t believe me… Me and the others only ever took the Mark so we’d be able to spy on The D- on him.”

The relief hits you like a freight train and lightens your heavy chest all in one go. You hadn’t just felt betrayed by your boyfriend leaving you all those months ago. You had felt dread at the possibility of him joining a Pureblood supremacist’s cult. Dread at the idea that the views he’d shared with you were all lies and that he was a completely difference person to the one you loved.

Despite the relief, the sting of the breakup still lingers with you.

“That meant you had to be a prick when you left me?” you ask, voice shaking against your will. His eyes soften.

“Yes,” he says weakly. “How else could I have left you without worrying that… that he could use you against me if he found me out? I never wanted to take the Mark and it killed me when I saw the look on your face.”

Your scowl, trying your best to distract Theodore from the fact that your vision has gone blurry from the tears welling up in your eyes. By the look on his face, you doubt you’re doing a very good job. “Do you really think I would have cared about a fucking tattoo, if you had just told me the truth?”

“No, I know,” Theo sighs, absentmindedly drawing closer to you. “I’ll explain anything you want, but the work we did was too close to The Dark Lord to risk telling anyone about at the time. Dumbledore made me, Mattheo and Enzo swear not to say anything. It was safer that way.”

“Did you make an Unbreakable Vow?” you whisper, stiller than ever.

Theo furrows his brows. “No, but-”

You pull away from him abruptly and back away to the door, ignoring the way his hands reach out in an attempt to hold your arms again. “Then I hope the information you got for Dumbledore was worth it.”

You don’t look back at him, nor do you check to see if anyone is in the hallway as you run upstairs and into your room, slamming the door shut as you lean against it, breathing heavily. You stay there for a while, reeling from your anger and irritation at the fact you still have to stay in this bloody house while Theodore’s in it.

The next few days are confusing to say the least. Theo doesn’t seem to have any plans to avoid you, but he respects your space.

Sort of.

He isn’t badgering you every second of the day, but somehow whichever room you’re in, he finds himself in as well. Whenever you try and reach for something, even if it’s not on a particularly high shelf, or particularly far away, Theo beats you to it, ever the gentleman.

It’s starting to unnerve you a little.

One particular afternoon, you walk into the kitchen hoping to make a cup of tea in peace. At the table sits Theo, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. When he spots you, he sits up straighter and you dawdle stupidly at the entrance.

Before you can snap out of it and remember what you came in here for, Theo gets up and walks over to the mugs. “Tea?” he asks politely, and, you think, a little hopefully.

“Will you make it and let me drink it alone?” you ask bluntly.

“I’ll make it and sit with you in silence,” he offers, undeterred despite your coldness.

Narrowing your eyes, you glance at the clock and sigh. It’s too early in the morning to put off having your tea, so you allow it. “Fine. Milk and-”

“Two sugars,” he cuts you off with an annoyingly smug smile. “I remember.”

You poke your cheek with your tongue, but stay silent as he turns his attentions to the kettle. Theo’s face quickly falls when he realises he has no idea how to use it. Your impassive expression almost cracks and you have to bite back a laugh as he examines the thing. Walking over to the counter, you drag the kettle so that it’s closer to you. And so you don’t have to be as close to Theo, but that’s besides the point.

“It’s already filled with water, you just need to flip the switch so it starts boiling,” you explain, pointing to the little part. Theo places his cigarette in between his lips as he furrows his brows, clearly skeptical of the muggle contraption. You suppose you can’t blame him since you, Hermione and Harry have had to explain the kettle to countless members of the Order since it was introduced to the house a few months ago.

You still don’t know where the plug socket is and considering the fact that Grimmauld Place has never inhabited muggles, you aren’t going to bother asking.

When Theo flicks the switch and sees the light turn red, a satisfied smile graces his lips where the cigarette still hangs. You look away from his mouth very quickly and go to sit down. Unable to leave without making things awkward, you decide the only thing to do is watch Theo make two cups of tea. He doesn’t need instruction since he knows exactly how you like it, but something catches in your throat when he uses a green mug. Your favourite colour.

The only sound in the kitchen is the clink of the spoon swirling in the cups and Theo soon brings both cups over with an incredibly concentrated frown to make sure there’s no spillages as he sets one down on the table. The other he hands to you himself and you have to clench your jaw when you grab it, your own hands brushing against his, which he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to move away.

“Thanks,” you mutter, trying to use the burning heat of the mug against your skin to distract from the fact that you have tingles.

“S’alright,” he replies, a barely restrained grin on his face. You narrow your eyes at him over the rim of the mug as you sip your tea.

Damn, you think to yourself. Why is it always so good when he makes it?

The two of you settle into a surprisingly comfortable silence as you drink your tea and he smokes. The puffs are very carefully directed away from you, but you can’t help wrinkling your nose out of habit. Back when you were still together, you were always firm about him cutting down and now you have to restrain yourself from reaching over and plucking the cigarette out of his lips to throw it away like you used to do with ease. He never objected.

Theo notices your looks all the same, and it’s almost like he’s reading your thoughts. He raises a brow, almost daring you to remove the cigarette yourself. “You want me to stop?”

“I don’t care,” you say in an attempt to sound nonchalant. Shrugging, you try your hardest not to react to his obvious bait, but it’s like a bloody reflex. “It’s your lungs on the line, not mine. If you want to lose five years off your life, then by all means, go ahead. I really couldn’t care-”

“As you wish,” he interrupts you, grinning like an idiot again. The next thing you know, he’s putting out the cigarette, and sipping his tea instead. He doesn’t even like tea.

“I didn’t say you had to stop,” you grumble, slightly pleased nonetheless.

He merely hums, taking a gulp of his tea. You accidentally let out a snort of laughter when he grimaces at the taste. Theo’s lips quirk up in amusement when you laugh, unrestrained and it’s only when you catch him staring at you that you quickly stop.

The smug expression on his face quickly returns as though he knows you’re finding it hard to be fully angry at him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you snap, drawing your knees up on your chair towards your chin. “You look stupid. And your hair is too long.”

Theo huffs out a surprised laugh. “My hair is too long?” he asks incredulously, reaching up to tug a piece down so it reaches the bottom of his nose. “Hm, you’re right. You cut it pretty good that one time. Would you do it again for me?”

“Mrs Weasley is better at it,” you say, chin jutting out stubbornly. “I’m sure she’d be delighted if you just ask.”

“The way she looks at me, I’d be lucky to get away with my head still attached to my body,” he drawls, wholly unimpressed by your suggestion. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I’m not done being angry with you yet,” you reply simply, draining the contents of your mug. “Trust me when I say you don’t want me anywhere near your head with a pair of scissors either.”

Theo nods slowly, a smile gracing his lips— strange, since you just threatened physical violence. “So, what I’m hearing is that you’re not going to be angry with me forever.”

“I- Well, I didn’t mean-” you stutter pointlessly, cutting yourself off with a sigh. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early for this, leave me alone.”

“That was the first cigarette I’ve had since before I left,” Theo says quietly, searching your face for a reaction, almost nervously.

You aren’t quite sure how to respond to this random piece of information and you find yourself floundering. “Uhm. Okay, good. That’s… Yeah, that’s great for you and your lungs, well done. Saves money too. They were actually, uh, saying on the news the other day that the average amount people spend on-”

“Darling, as much as I appreciate it, that’s not what I’m getting at,” he interrupts, the ghost of a smirk at his lips. You scowl at him for letting you go on for so long and motion for him to get to the bloody point. “Every time I brought a cigarette to my lips, I remembered you weren’t going to be there to nag me about it. It just feels pointless now.”

You stare at him. “Nice to know that my nagging was what you remembered me by.”

“That’s not-” Theo cuts himself off with a laugh that sounds halfway to a groan. “Merlin, you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can get a word out, Harry walks in which you find odd considering it’s so early in the morning and him and Ron are usually only out of bed when Mrs Weasley yells them down for breakfast.

“Morning,” he says through a yawn. The greeting is directed at you, but he sends an expectant look at Theo right after. “Time to leave, Nott.

“Leave for where?” you ask before you can help yourself. You realise with a start that Harry and Theo are dressed and ready while you’re still in your pyjamas. “Where do you have to go?”

“Horcrux hunting,” Harry says flippantly, as though he’s just announced he’s going fishing. Hermione had filled you in on the information Theo and the others had ascertained from their time with Voldemort, but you didn’t even consider them or Harry would actually be going with the Order to find them. “Nott and the others know more than we do, so they’re coming with.”

You level a look at Theo, who seems to be pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. “Thanks for sharing that tiny tidbit of information, by the way,” you mutter sourly.

He winces, getting up slowly from his chair. “It, uh, didn’t seem that important. It’s only a quick little task anyway. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m not stupid,” you scoff, standing up so you can attempt to look a little more dignified as you confront Theo. Harry, on the other hand, looks as though he regrets his decision to enter the kitchen in the first place. Despite this, you hadn’t missed the way he furrowed his brows when Theo spoke. “Even if Harry wasn’t looking at you like you were speaking gibberish, I would know that you’re lying. It’s a Horcrux you’re leaving to get. Not the weekly food shop.”

Harry snickers at this, though quickly turns it into a cough when Theo sends him a withering glare. Sighing, you decide to ignore him for the moment and turn to Harry instead

“Be safe,” you say, gentler than before. “And don’t be a hero, just try and get out of there safely.”

“Pfft,” Harry waves you off, a sarcastic tone entering his voice. “When have you known me to do that?”

You roll your eyes, cracking a smile as he walks away, supposedly to find the rest of the group.

“Don’t I get a ‘be safe’ as well?” Theo tries for a casual, joking voice. A hint of irritation seeps through it though. You shift on your feet a little awkwardly, slightly flustered at his obvious jealousy.

“Uhm, okay. Bye,” you say stiffly, fiddling with the loose string of your cardigan sleeve so you have something to do with your hands other than ball them up at your sides. Theo seems to be satisfied with the curt response, or more likely your lack of insults, and he nods, turning away to leave. As you watch him walk away, a familiar sense of anxiety bubbles up in your stomach and you blurt out the only thing you can think of. “Don’t die!”

He slowly turns around, very clearly holding back a grin. You think you might thump the boy. “Will you forgive me if I come back alive?”

“Well,” you huff, crossing your arms. As petty as it may be, you’ve always found it hard to loosen a grudge. You settle for a shrug instead. “Come back alive first and then I’ll see.”

Theo takes two steps forward and closes the short distance that was previously allowing you to keep a cool- well, cool-ish, head. He keeps both arms behind his back, however, as he dips his head down slightly.

“My sweet, stubborn girl,” Theo says in a low voice. His proximity flounders you for a moment and you don’t even protest that no, you’re not his anything. The way your breathing turns shallow would be contradicting that greatly though. “I’ll try my best. And if I don’t come back alive, I promise you can yell at my ghost.”

You scowl, and this time you actually do thump him on the arm. “You’re not funny, you idiot. Now, go. I can already hear Mattheo irritating the patience out of Harry.”

Theo gives you a little two-fingered salute and a wink before he walks away again, leaving you alone with a funny feeling in settling in your stomach.

You aren’t the only one who sits anxiously in the living room waiting for the group to return with the infamous Horcrux. Ron has eaten his way through three bowls of cereal and rapidly makes a start on his fourth while Hermione tries to distract herself with reading a book that she hasn’t noticed is upside down.

After another hour goes by, Ginny, who was previously pacing up and down the stairs, sighs and turns Hermione’s book the right way up which startles her, causing her to give up altogether.

You sit cross-legged and completely still, other than switching your legs every time one of them goes numb. Eventually, you get so sick of watching Mrs Weasley mop over the same spot on the floor for the fifth time that you jump up from your seat, causing her to start and knock over the bucket of dirty mop water all over the floor.

“Oh, dear,” she mutters, waving her wand and siphoning all the water up in a second.

“Sorry, Mrs Weasley,” you say, wincing. “I’m just a little stressed since it’s been ages already-”

You get cut off by Hermione gasping at the sound of the front door opening along with voices. She grips your arm tightly. “They’re back!”

Barely registering the pain of her nails digging into the skin of your arm, you waste no time in running into the hall with the others to greet everyone at the door. You can’t help the relieved smile on your face when you do a quick head count and find everyone present.

As you get closer, you see how exhausted they look. Not to mention the fact they’re dripping water all over the rug. Harry stands at the front of the group looking like he might collapse if he stands any longer and Hermione and Ron pick up on this as they rush over to help him inside.

As they stumble him across the hall, you stop craning your neck as Theo comes into view. The relief you previously felt leaves you faster than your body knows how to deal with and you have to force yourself to breathe when you take in the state of him.

At first glance he doesn’t look particularly worse than the rest. They all have a vaguely haunted look in their eyes along with a sickly pallor like they haven’t seen the sun in days.

But the way Mattheo and Lorenzo are holding him up brings attention to the fact that all of his weight is being put on one leg. The other, to your horror, has a deep, bloody gash trailing down his thigh and onto his calf. The sight of blood steadily dripping onto the floor below has you frozen, almost mesmerised in a terrible way, and it’s not until Dumbledore speaks that you snap out of it and to attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, if you could please fetch Madam Pomfrey for me,” Dumbledore asks, his voice a lot calmer than you feel. You nod, turning away quickly before Theo can see the panic which is probably clear as day on your face.

It takes a scary second to find Madam Pomfrey, but as soon as you do, she gets down to business preparing her supplies in the living room which is as far as Theo seems to be able to make it.

He lays on the sofa, breathing shallowly as Madam Pomfrey crouches down beside him to begin assessing the wound. Peering at it closely, she looks up at Dumbledore sharply. “Inferi?”

“I’m afraid so,” he replies solemnly and you let out a choked sort of whimper.

“Merlin,” Ron whispers, looking like he might be sick. Whether that’s because Madam Pomfrey is cleaning Theo’s leg, or because of the mention of Inferi, you aren’t sure. “What the hell were you guys doing?”

“All will be explained, Mr Weasley,” Dumbledore reassures him, looking over his spectacles. “However, I must insist that for now we allow dear Madam Pomfrey to tend to Mr Nott’s injuries.”

“Will you be able to heal him?” Mattheo asks, swallowing hard. The concern in his voice for his best friend has your heart clenching and you look to Madam Pomfrey just as earnestly for an answer.

“Yes, I dare say I can,” Madam Pomfrey says grimly, but she pulls out a couple little bottle of potions from her bag with a frown. “That doesn’t mean it won’t be extremely painful, unfortunately.”

“Can’t imagine what pain feels like,” Theo mumbles, shifting his position on the sofa slightly and wincing. His face goes whiter than before and he shuts his eyes tightly from the pain, but he still manages to talk, however hard it may be. “Not like I’ve just had Inferi mistaking my leg for their lunch.”

“No talking and no moving,” Madam Pomfrey instructs Theo, sending him a stern glare.

“Sorry-”

“Shhh!” you hiss, giving him a glare of your own. Theo’s eyes flutter open slightly and his lips quirk up when he sees you leaning over him as close as you can get without Madam Pomfrey shooing you away.

His smile quickly drops when Madam Pomfrey pours some purple liquid into the open wound, causing it to hiss and smoke. The groan that leaves Theo has you holding your breath and you fight the urge to shut your eyes and turn away.

“Merlin, I can’t watch,” Lorenzo gags, his skin turning even sicklier than before. Turning away, he holds onto Mattheo’s shoulder to steady himself, the latter looking more interested than anything as he peers at Theo’s sizzling cut. Lorenzo shakes his head and holds a hand over his mouth every time he can hear Madam Pomfrey pouring more of the potion. “Oh, God, that’s disgusting.”

“Mr Berkshire, if you are unable to watch, then don’t,” Madam Pomfrey snaps, screwing the bottle shut and grabbing another one. She waves her hand in an impatient shooing motion. “In fact, everyone out. Now! This isn’t a Quidditch match, for heaven’s sake!”

Dumbledore starts filing everyone out and you consider staying for a minute but Madam Pomfrey’s raised eyebrows have you hurtling out of the room with everyone else. Theo starts to say something, but a drop of something else makes him grit his teeth and the green smoke produced by the potion follows you out the door.

The next hour or so is filled with Harry, Mattheo and Lorenzo being fussed over by Mrs Weasley, who insists on them going up to bed once they’ve cleaned up and changed into dry clothing. Unfortunately for the rest of you, this means you won’t be getting an update any time soon. Dumbledore is, as always these days, nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder if they found the Horcrux,” you say under your breath to Hermione as she anxiously taps her foot against the kitchen floor.

“They did,” she says grimly, glancing impatiently at the clock. She has her thinking face on, brows furrowed and gaze distant. “It was in a cave in the middle of nowhere. Harry quickly told me before Mrs Weasley sent them off. I wonder when they’ll wake up though… They didn’t look too happy, and I have a feeling it wasn’t all to do with Nott.”

You nod slowly, a weight lifting off your chest despite the last part. If, after all this, they hadn’t retrieved the Horcrux, you think you’d probably have gone to the bloody cave yourself.

“Theodore’s resting now, anyway,” Hermione adds, giving you a quick glance as though she’s waiting for a reaction. You keep your face as impassive as you can, attempting a casual nod. “Madam Pomfrey says he’s healing nicely and his leg will be fine. It’ll just be a bit sore for a few days. I’m sure he’s awake if you want to go see him.”

“I might,” you mumble, shrugging. You try to sound flippant, but the urge to clamber out of your seat probably shows because Hermione rolls her eyes at you.

“Oh, why don’t you just put him out of his misery?” she asks, her words coming out at the speed of light, like she’s been wanting to say it for a while. You blink at her in shock. Sighing, she leans over the table and her tone becomes gentle. “I know he lied to you, and you should be angry with him for that! But… well, it’s been a really awkward few days with him asking us where you are every second of the day. And, technically, he was never really a Death Eater, he was helping our side!”

Hermione takes a deep breath and exhales, slumping back in her seat as she waits for your reaction. You try not to laugh. “How long have you been holding that one in?”

“Since the second he turned up here,” she says, sagely. “Now, don’t change the subject! Go and see him. Go on, off you go!”

You stand up, swiftly dodging Hermione’s flapping hands to try and rush you out the door. “Okay, I’m going. It’s probably about time anyway,” you grumble, a fond smile creeping up on you nonetheless.

Looking satisfied, Hermione stops trying to usher you out and you make your way over to the living room again. The door is open and you sigh with relief when you notice the room is empty, bar Theo who’s in the same position as he was the last time you saw him. His eyes are shut and you wonder if he’s sleeping until you step on a creaky floorboard and he cracks one eye open.

“Hey,” you say quietly, tip-toeing into the room to perch on the coffee table adjacent to the sofa. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” Theo replies, moving to sit up as much as he can. You suspect he’d have the same answer even if he was asleep. He looks a lot more awake than he did before and you feel your chest squeeze tightly when you realise how glad you are. Theo seems to notice this and he reaches over to hold one of your hands, detaching it from the way you grasp them both together. “I promised you I’d come back alive, didn’t I?”

You snort, shaking your head at his ability to be so chipper. “Alive and dripping blood all over the carpet. You know if Kreacher finds out it was you, he’ll murder you in your sleep, right?”

“It doesn’t count if I die now,” Theo protests, frowning as if you’re talking about a serious possibility and not joking. “Deal was you’d forgive me if I came back alive after finding the Horcrux, remember?”

“Hm,” you hum, pretending to think deeply about it as he rubs circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. It causes you to momentarily lose your focus. “What I remember saying is that I would think about it.”

Theo shakes his head, a look of mock concern overtaking his features. “I think the stress of my injury has gotten to your memory… What I remember is you vowing to forgive me the moment I stepped foot in this place.”

“I think Madam Pomfrey’s painkillers are getting to you,” you say drily, moving to kneel on the floor next to him.

“She didn’t use any,” Theo grumbles, looking mournfully at the bandages on his leg. “She’s really sadistic, I’m telling you.”

You laugh, ducking your head so you aren’t flustered by the way Theo’s eyes focus on your smile with a grin of his own.

“You know what she told me would help with the pain?” Theo asks quietly, his enviously long eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones as he looks down at you, almost nervously.

“Let me guess,” you say, sitting up so the distance between your faces is much shorter now. “A kiss to make it all better?”

“Healer’s orders,” he says, shrugging. His breathing quickens when you don’t move away and he swallows hard, eyes dropping lower to your mouth when you bite your lip to stop from cracking a smile. “I’m not saying you have to, but if you’re okay with going directly against her orders, then-”

You cut him off by pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and he inhales sharply, unmoving for a split second before parting his lips and deepening the kiss. Theo’s hands move to your waist where he uses his remaining strength to hoist you up onto the sofa next him, one of your legs thrown over his waist as you half-straddle him.

You gasp into his mouth when he nips at your bottom lip and the sound he makes in the back of his throat has your cheeks warming up and you kiss him harder. The fact it’s been so long since you’ve even been near him has you both kissing for what feels like hours and you only pull away when you need to breathe and you’re worried you’re leaning on Theo’s leg.

Pulling away, you scan Theo’s face and pause for a second to take in his beautiful features. His eyes are blown wide like he can’t believe he’s here with you, kissing you. A warm feeling starting in your stomach spreads all the way down to the tips of your fingers as he looks at you.

“Any other very important requests from the Healer?” you ask breathlessly, feeling a shiver run down your spine where Theo lightly skims his fingers. A dangerous smile overtakes his face and his lips, pink and swollen from kissing you, curve up, causing you to narrow your eyes at him.

“I think she mentioned something about a sponge bath?”

You whack his arm and he yelps, grabbing your wrist to stop you assaulting him further. “Hey, I’m an injured patient!”

“Your leg is injured, not your arm.”

“It is now,” he says, pouting as he rubs dramatically at his bicep where you lightly thumped him. He grumbles when you roll your eyes and press another kiss to his lips to get him to stop pouting. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Hm,” you hum, settling your face in his chest and sighing at the warmth of his arms, feeling him smile against your forehead where he kisses you.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott smut #theodore nott

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hidden-poet · 2 months

Text

To have and to hold.

1/1 Disclaimer: I have not watched Billy the kid. This story is based on an internet search, and a can do mentality. No cannon events or characters.

Warnings: Dark!billy-the-kid, non-con, light stalking, technical kidnapping, spit, mature, 18+ only, porn-with-little-plot, non-fandom based writing, Reader POV, reader not described but can be picked up, definitely not historically actuate but you are reading about getting railed by billy-the-kid so you can fuck off if you have a problem with it. Dead dove, do not eat.

A/N: I am so sorry that this was late, and also rushed. The tent scene felt like I was pulling teeth out. I had no idea where I was going with it.

unedited.

You always knew Billy had a crush on you.

You would catch him staring at you from across the market. He would try to talk to you every chance he got. Always trying to find out more about you. He was awkward mostly, unfitting to his position of power. Despite his eager attempts to gain an audience with you, his eyes often floated around the room, and the conversation topics only always grazed the surface.

Nevertheless when you excused yourself from him, he always seemed disappointed but never stopped you.

You never minded the attention. You were flattered by it. Before him, none of the town's men paid you too much mind. Your family wasn’t rich, and your face was too plain to gain attention away from the wealthy girls.

It helped too that it was handsome. Dangerous. Big broad shoulders and striking eyes. He was good at his craft. Some say the best.

He was good enough to keep the vultures away from town. For a price. Him and his gang kept the town safe for a portion of everyone’s profits. It was a small profit compared to what he could have asked but added up quickly amongst the business that bloomed with his protection.

The regulators became the law after running out the corrupt and keeping out wild gangs that would come and pillage.

There were worse men to be left in charge. Overall his reputation was good but money was to be paid, or houses were to be burned down.

He had men to look after. They had to be fed and housed with a few extra dollars in their pockets to halt their boisterous nature.

From the few times he did use a heavy hand, it left a strong reminder to the community that Billy’s word was law.

Even with his sheriff- like position, he was still considered an outlaw. Wanted in multiple counties. Wanted in yours not too long ago. Before he and his crew became the new law. So you had to keep your distance as much as you could, and avoid situations where you could be seen alone with him. The town mostly thought of you as a poor target for Billy but a few whispers about you were already causing damage to your reputation.

Anyone connected to the regulators was treated differently. People wanted to distance themselves from the group that controlled the area. Anyone found being too friendly with the Regulators were ostracized. Your family couldn't afford to be outcast. The family business relied on steady connections and loyal customers.

So you don’t mind the flirtatious talk in private or burning stares so long as it never proceeds from that.

To help this, you avoided him where you could but some days it felt as if he knew your schedule better than you did.

You tried to switch it up by going to town a day earlier than you usually would, but fate had it that it was the same day as Billy’s collection.

People hush as Billy and two of his men come into the convenience store. Some leave while others push themselves to the back of the store. You try and hide your face behind a series of hanging baskets as you watch the group walk confidently in.

Billy greets the shopkeeper respectfully but the men he is with are arrogant and begin playing with the objects on display. You knew them as Jim Greathouse, and Tom O’Folliard. Both long-standing members of the Regulators.

“Good evening, Mr O’Conoly. How are you today?”

“Good, Billy. Thank you”. The shopkeeper places a pouch of money on top of the counter for the men to take.

Billy takes it first and places the small pouch in his pocket, thanking the man, and asking about his family.

You try to make your escape moving from behind the baskets towards the door. Your face heated with just the thought of talking to Billy in a room full of people. In passing or at a public event was unavoidable, your townspeople knew that, but talking so friendly in a shop. It would bring your family shame if it came across too familiar.

But you were too hasty in your exit, your feet too hard against the floor. The shuffling caught his attention. Worried that he might be offended with your behavior, you pretend to look at the pears on display as if contemplating.

The sound of his feet against the floorboards matched the beating of your heart.

You pretend to look busy as you inspect the pears but could feel his searing stare as he approached you.

“Miss y/n”’ he took off his hat as he spoke as a sign of respect.

You nodded your head towards him as a sign of respect back, “Mr Bonney”.

“Billy. You can call me Billy”.

You nod back with a tight smile, keeping your eyes focused on the produce in front of you. To encourage Billy by calling him by familiar terms may give him the wrong impression.

"You look awful pretty today"

"You say that every day, Mr Bonney".

“I mean it every day”. He stands close to you, leaning his frame over yours. With his height it could have been intimidating but you knew he meant no harm.

“Did you need help shopping today? I could carry your basket for you” His fingers reach out to your basket but you tug it back against you.

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I will not be buying anything today. I must get home. I suddenly don’t feel well”.

“Wait” He reaches out and gently captures your arm to stop you from turning. It was the first time he had ever touched you. It felt like you had been zapped with electricity.

You pull quickly out of his grasp and look around the shop. People were staring at the scene. One wrong step and it could be the end of your family's good name. You step further back from him, solidifying that he was the same person to them as he was to you.

Billy holds his hands flat out in surrender, telling you he had no further plans of touching you.

“I was just wondering if you planned to be at Maria's wedding?”.

Maria was a friend of yours, of course you would be at her wedding. You wondered why he was asking, he knew this too.

She was often with you when he approached. More than that her soon-to-be husband was friendly with Billy, and borrowed from the Regulators to finance a farm.

Because of that, would he now be invited to the wedding? Would you be stuck avoiding him the whole night?

“I do,” you respond. If you lied and he was invited it would be an uncomfortable evening, but has telling the truth now placed you in a difficult spot?

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance or two with me?”

A sudden loud clanking noise stole the spotlight from you. Jim had knocked a table of grain and spilled it over the floor along with the serving cup. Tom bellowed at his friend's mistake, kneeling over from laughter.

“I am sorry, sir” Billy said to the shopkeeper, “He will pay for that”.

Tom laughs louder, earning a shove from Jim.

“Clean it up” Billy demands with a click of his fingers. Jim snatched a nearby rag and kneeled upon the floor under Billy’s stare. You make a quick exist while he is distracted but he follows you across the floor.

The shopkeepers goes to help clean up the mess by bringing a broom but he is insulated by Jim as he nears. He throws the dirty rag at the man and questions why he didn’t bring a broom sooner.

Billy’s attention is once again caught. He looks at you as you pass through the door but Jim continues to hurl insults at the undeserving shopkeep. Billy turns direction away from you to deal with the situation.

“Hey. He’s paid his dues. Leave him alone” was the last thing you heard as you raced down the steps and to the path back home.

You bash your hand against your forehead as you take the dirt path back to your home. It felt good to release some of the tension you felt. You had kept your composure through your walk through the back of town but could feel it bubbling under the surface.

You should have left as soon as he entered the store. Now you were left in difficult position and only the feeling of dread around your friends wedding.

How would you be able to avoid him for the entire time? Your only hope is that he will avoid you while you are with your family.

You swing your empty basket. The trip to town and back was a 40 minute walk across a hard pebble road. You’d have to make it again tomorrow.

You wondered if you would see him again. Billy normally placed himself in town to correspond with your schedule.

Would he ask for a dance again or had you wounded his pride? What is the right answer?

Yes would leave the town talking for weeks. Might even affect your fathers business.

No might make you an enemy of the Regulators. Which is the last thing you wanted to be.

Perhaps if you took more chores, your sister would take your trip to town.

She was stubborn though. Would want more than her fair share to swap tasks. You begin your negotiations in your head.

Preparing for when you get home, when the sound of galloping horse upon the gravel approaches you. You move from the path to let the horseman pass, but it slows next to you.

You look up at the rider, just making out his face under the sun.

“Mr Bonney. What are you doing?”.

You eye the area to see no one else. A blessing and a curse.

He swings off his horse next to you.

“You said you felt ill. I thought it was best to see you home alright”.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr Bonney”.

“Please, I insist. Riding would be faster than walking”.

“How would that look, sir? Sharing a horse?”.

“You could sit, and I’ll walk him along,” he suggests. His hat covers his face in shadows. It made it hard to see how he was processing your words.

“No, thank you, sir. The walk would be good for me. You go on now”.

“I’ll walk alongside you”. He readies the reins of his horse between his hand for a walking pace.

“There’s really no need” you try.

“There’s also nothing stopping me” he returns.

It puts you back on one foot. He had never spoken to you like that before. Conversations about the weather, and upcoming community events were the only things really talked about. Sometimes he would ask after your family, and your health. But he found that broader, more unfamiliar topics worked best to elicit a conversation.

You once helped him pick out a ripe watermelon when he asked you but he had never refused to stop bothering you.

He walked beside you with his shoulder almost touching yours. You try to create distance by walking on the edge of the road. The rocks slip off the edge of the road under your feet. It makes for an uncomfortable walk, in which your ankle twists from the uneven ground.

“It looks like rain” he looks up to the sky and its dark forming clouds, “I sure hope it clears before the wedding”.

You tense as he brings up the wedding. It was surely a ploy to reintroduce his offer. In an attempt to discourage him, you only offer him a nod.

One wrong step and you tumble of balance towards the surrounding dirt.

“Careful” he hand latches on to your arm, pulling you back on the path. He moves himself and his horse over to the center of the road, pulling you along with his hold, “Don’t want you breaking an ankle before our dance”.

You paused to consider a broken ankle as your way of escaping the dance, but it would immobilise you and Billy was sure to sit by your side the entire night.

“I don’t dance, Mr Bonney. Two left feet I am afraid”.

“We’ll get along fine”

“I might not be well enough to attend anyway”.

“Oh” he looks ahead at the road, “That would be a shame”.

The horse kicks, impatient with her pace.

“Settle” he commanded with a pat to its nose.

“She’s used to going fast,” he tells you.

“Please, Mr Bonney. I would hate to upset your horse”. You gesture for him to go forward and leave you.

He laughs at you. A sweet, airy laugh.

“She'll be fine”.

You knew he meant you no harm. Even as you walk with him miles from anyone you felt no fear. So you walk in a comfortable silence next to him, your feet falling into step with his own.

“If you need a break, let me know,” he spoke.

You wondered why he said such a thing, forgetting your own lie. Quick in your recoup you bring your hand to your forehead

“I will be fine. Home is not too far off”.

He offers you a drink from his water flask which you decline. He had reached for it although from his saddle and you still him with a hand on his shoulder. It freezes him.

In return his eyes freeze you as he peers back over his shoulder.

You’re not sure why but an apology falls from your lips.

“No” he assures, “No-I”.

Neither of you were sure where to go.

He puts the flask back, turning to you with empty hands.

You didn't notice that you had stopped walking until his horse kicked impatiently.

“I have to get home” you state.

You pick up speed and return to the silence as you walk alongside him.

Out of nowhere and somewhat timidly he reaches a hand out and places it on your shoulder.

You jump back at the unexpected contact. Half expecting the hand to claw and punch you down to the ground. But it releases.

He squints his eyes at you, surprised at your reaction.

“You don’t think I would hurt you. Do you?”

You weren’t sure. He’s never been aggressive towards you. But stories of him being a dangerous man made their way around the community.

“No, Mr Bonney”.

With home so close it urges you to pick up the pace. He keeps it easily.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to walk you home? Because you thought I would hurt you? Y/N, I would never”.

His hand once again goes up to touch you but you knock it away.

“Mr Bonney, may I remind you that you are a stranger to me. That I am an unmarried woman, and you are an unmarried man. If some one were to mistake this situation, it could cause great damage to my reputation. My family's reputation, and livelihood".

He looked hurt that you had spoken to him like that. He stopped his fast pace beside you, and you took the opportunity to continue on without him.

“Well we ain't strangers” he says as he nestles up beside you again.

The walk turned silent again and it remained that way as you passed through the wide field to your home.

Your small family home comes into view, and thought perhaps you could shake him. But he doesn’t leave you as you open your gate.

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr Bonney”, You try.

“Anytime Miss Y/N. Maybe one day you could invite me around, and we could have tea”.

You slam the gate shut between you. By allowing him to walk you home, does he think that you were opening up to him?

“I am not sure my father would approve”.

Billy’s eyes fall to the ground. He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“I see”, he states, “Well, rest up and I’ll see you at the wedding”.

You hear the talking of your mother and sister as they bring the washing back up to the house. If they came too close, he would try to start a friendly conversation with them. The risk of your father seeing, and shooting is already high. You needn’t add to it.

“Goodbye, Mr Bonney”, you bid.

You leave him at the gate, scoping your mother and sister into your arms and back into the house.

—

The day of the wedding came. The whole house woke up in excitement but you felt more heavy than you should have.

You tried to strike a balance between dressing nice and dressing too nice that Billy would think you dressed up for him.

Luckily, Miara relied on you the whole day to complete last minute things. While the others were gathered in front of the church, you were in the field gathering flowers for her bouquet. After that you helped her dress and do her hair. It all kept you away from the guests right up to the wedding.

You dash inside the small church to find your seat before the bride was ready to come in.

You saw not only him but the entire group of the Regulators sitting at that back corner out of the way. They were all clean and dressed nicely to Billy’s request. Their hats were taken off their heads in respect, and not one of them spoke.

Billy’s body shifted as he saw you. It straightened, slightly turning towards you as you walked up the aisle to your family. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked. You couldn’t help looking back at him.

You took your seat next to your sister in time for the band to start the wedding march. Maria slowly walks down the aisle, you try to keep you focused on her during all of the service but his stare burns a hole in the back of your head.

All too soon the ceremony was over. Maria and her new husband stop to greet Billy as they pass. Maria’s husband gets a firm handshake as Billy says something to him and Maria is brought in for a kiss on the cheek.

They acted like old friends despite their true relationship as debtor and debtee.

Once the newlyweds make it to the door signaling for the rest to follow, you form a barrier of your family to keep you away from Billy as you pass him. The Regulators go to move out before the rest of the guests but Billy blocks the path by putting his hand on the front pew. Manners were important to Billy but less so to his group.

Billy and the Regulators walked behind the guests to the reception held in the field of the newlyweds' new farmstead. The couple had hired a live band, and borrowed tables and chairs. Candles and a large fire was lit as it darkened. People danced and laughed amongst the Regulators, but you found yourself trying to keep busy to avoid any conversation.

If you remained for too long in one spot, you could feel Billy closing in. Only the request from your friend on her big day made you pause. She needed help dishing up the punch as the speeches would begin soon.

All your efforts of the night were wasted as you distributed the drink into the many cups. You were a sitting duck, and you could see Billy closing in. You rush, half spilling the punch on the table. People distracted him as he made his way over. It gave you hope you could finish before he reached you.

“Whoa, slow down” Maria jeered.

“Sorry. Can you find someone else to do this? Mr Bonney is coming over and if I get trapped talking to him it will ruin my night”.

Maria slaps your arm hard causing you to spill a whole cup of punch.

“I won’t hear that talk about Billy. Not after what he did”.

Your friend goes back to pouring but she has now peaked your interest.

“What did he do?” you ask.

Maria places her cup down and leans closer to you as if it was a secret.

“Our wedding present was the farm. We own it. Debt free. He let us off”.

An expensive wedding present from a man who barely knows the couple. It was also a dangerous thing to do. How many people will now be expecting debt to be wiped free after every major life event.

Billy made his way over. You don’t turn from Maria but she ecstatically greets him.

“Can I lend a hand, Maria?”. He stands too close, your shoulder almost touching him.

Maria declined his offer of help but he picks up the empty cups and holds them out for you to fill.

You don’t speak to him as you work but he continues to swap the cups under you.

“Let's start passing these out” Maria spoke to you, picking up a tray and disappearing into the party. You follow suit, picking up your tray without a word, but Billy takes it from you, placing it back on the table.

“I was wondering if you were ready for the dance you promised me?”.

“There are many girls here, Mr Bonney, who are dying for a dance”. You hint at him. You look to your father who is watching you from his group of friends.

“That may be so”. He is resolved to his position. Although you knew it was unintentional his hand went to his gun holster light resting on the leather belt.

It was best not to make a scene so you give him a curt nod and head towards the crowd of people dancing. A dance at a wedding is hardly anything scandalous. He follows close and when he feels like you are far enough into the dance floor he takes your wrist into his hand and spins you towards him.

“Are you having a good time?’’ he asks as you move together to the festive music.

“Yes”. You wish you could have said more but your brain felt muddled with him so close. You could feel his strong shoulders as you rest your arm around his neck, and his strong fingers squeezed around yours.

“It didn’t rain” he comments.

“No” you agree.

“You look beautiful in that dress”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from my sister”.

A man calls out to Billy, taking the attention off you for the second that it took Billy to give an acknowledging nod.

You spin out from his arms in sync with the other girls. It reached the part of the song where partners were swapped but Billy held tight to your hand and spun you back into him, leaving the next man looking for his new dance partner.

Billy jerks his head in the direction of the girl who was supposed to take your place.

“Over there” he suggests.

The dance continues and you resume your position as Billy’s dance partner.

“That’s not how that dance goes” you scold.

“Not going to let you go that easy”.

He spins you out and back in again, “You told me you were two left feet. You seem to be doing alright to me”, he says as he holds you close.

You push yourself out of his hold and back into dancing formation. Cozy in the arms of the judge, jury and executor is not a good look.

“That may be because you are two right feet”.

He laughs causing you to giggle with him but you were acutely aware of your fathers protective stare.

“See we make the perfect pair” he boasts.

His remark silences you. Too many flirtatious exchanges could leave the wrong impression.

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks softly, “I ain’t spinning you too much, am I? Did you want to sit with me for a bit?”

“No” better to get the dancing out of the way for the night, “no, I feel fine”.

He doesn’t spin you again. Instead keeping you close in a gently swaying motion. You follow his lead around the floor. A few stared but most were too consumed with themselves to notice. Only your father paid true attention.

“Maria told me that you forgave the debt on the land” you said after a moment of nothing but dancing.

He nods back, a small smile on his lips as he looks out to the other dancers. He was pleased that you knew.

“I did. We want to see prosperity in this land. Farmers are important in that”.

Suddenly his jaw became hard, and his hold loosened.

“Wouldn’t that be right, Harold?”.

His change confused you. Instead of dancing with you, he had pushed your body behind his, gripping the fabric of your dress around your waist to keep you still, and had his gun pointed straight.

You move as much as you could to see Harold Fern, the baker in your community. He looked disheveled as he held out a shotgun. His hair was a mess, his clothes half done up and wrinkled His cheeks and nose burned red with intoxication.

“You son of a bitch” slurred Harold, “You took everything from me”.

“I don’t know what you mean, but you better get that gun out of my face before I put you down”.

You shrink yourself as small as you could against Billy back. His hold tightens as he feels you move.

Harold scoffs, “You ain’t that quick”.

“Yes, I am” he threatens.

Harold sways as he thinks about Billy’s statement giving Billy the time to try and talk so sense into the man.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harold. Don’t make me. Whatever you think I have done, I am sure we can fix it”.

“Your taxes put me out of business. My fathers business, my fathers’ fathers business. You and your gang come in demanding a share from the work you don’t do”.

‘I am sorry, Harold, Truely. But your business would have been gone long ago if it weren’t for us. You think the Casa gang would have left anything if they were successful in their attack? We stopped them. What do you think would have been left of this town if we didn’t?”.

With the man subdued, you move from where you pressed up against Billy’s back to move from the line of fire. But Billy’s hold on your dress would not loosen. You resumed your spot against his back, hoping that the bullet would not go straight through.

“If it’s a loan you need I can give it to you, but I can also send you to the grave after your father if your finger itches towards that trigger anymore”.

“Billy!” you hear a voice of one of the regulators. The surrounding people gasp as another gun is brought out.

“It’s alright. Harolds here just had too much to drink. Why don’t you take him back to his house and i’ll be by tomorrow to see if we can figure out a solution to his problem”.

Harold must have chosen to drop the gun because you heard the shoving and shouting from Billy’s man and not the ricochet of a gun.

The grip on your dress is released and Billy turns towards you placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”.

You shake him off, aware of the audience still staring at you. Billy follows your gaze around the crowd.

“It’s alright everyone. Let’s get the music going again’’

Billy raises his hand to your arm once more but you are pushed away before it lands. Your father had come to your rescue quickly pushing you through the crowd. You look back at Billy. He doesn’t move. Just stares until you are out of sight.

You don’t see Billy for the next week. His men did his collections. You only saw them around town, never him. You figure he was laying low after the wedding incident.

Your days became dull again without the excitement of Billy. Your chores became chores again without the added threat of Billy laying in wait.

Miss may be a strong word, but something felt off when he wasn’t around. You figure you had gotten so used to a state of anxiety that normalcy felt strange.

He would return, you ensured yourself, just enjoy it while it lasts.

On the tenth night of his absence from your life you think that maybe he had skipped town, and you would never see him again. The Regulators would need a new leader and you shudder thinking who it could be.

You sleep with the thought of him on your mind. Who would protect the town if not him? Who would fill your days with excitement and wonder? You scold yourself for the latter thought. He was an outlaw. A villain. Blood soaked his hands. He was a bad man. The leader of bad men. You sleep with hateful thoughts of the Regulators and their leader.

You wake with the sound of your dog scratching at your door. Begging to be let out. The night was cold. Even with a large blanket and the windows shut, you shivered.

You sigh as you get up, quickly looking for your robe. It would do little to keep the cold away but something was better than nothing.

It was odd for your dog to wake to pee. It only happened when he was a pup and that was long ago.

You follow him as he races down the steps, trying your best to be quiet so as not to wake your family. The dog is energetic, scratching at the main door.

You ‘sh’ him as you open it. You’re greeted by a wave of freezing air.

The dog ruined your plans of staying on the porch as he disappeared into the darkness forcing you to follow down.

The cold grass sinks into your feet, the moisture soaking your soles. You could barely see your dog in the dark with his black fur. Only the sound of him peeing told you he was still there.

You stretch as you wait, looking up at the night sky. Slowly rolling your head in a circle. In doing so, you could see a small flame in the distance. A candle still going just outside of your father's shed.

You go to blow it out before it catches anything on fire. Another odd occurrence. Your father rarely lit candles due to their cost. He was sure to blow it out before he finished. Still he is old like your dog. They are both slipping from their good habits and you would need to learn to be more gracious.

You bend down and with one quick blow, the flame is gone. Rising once more, you decide it is time to return to bed and go to call your dog over.

His name never gets off your lips. It’s sealed shut by a strong gloved hand pressed over your mouth, and the feeling of a cool barrel of a gun pressed into the side of your head.

“Sh, sh, sh, be quiet”.

Your gut dropped, you knew the smooth voice of Billy. With faith he wouldn’t hurt you, you try screaming into his hand. He shook you a bit but no harsh hand was used to silence you.

“I said quiet”.

You do. You once heard that he shot a man off his horse a mile away. Now with a gun pressed into your head you didn’t need too much persuading to do as he said.

“We’re going on a little trip, you and I” he whispers in your ear.

Where was your dog? You wondered. Why couldn’t he sense you were in danger and come save you. You were no match for Billy.

“Okay?” he asks. You nod in response.

“Okay, move”. He keeps his hand across your mouth, and his gun buried in your back, using it to move you forward.

It’s not too far before the sight of his horse is seen only thirty feet from your house. He releases you and halters his gun so he could cup his hands to help you onto the saddle.

You look back at your house, not too far in the distance. If you ran could you make it? If you screamed could your family hear it?

“Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting”.

Deciding you couldn’t make it, you slot your foot into his hands, and he hoists you up to the saddle. He got up more easily, and with a swing of his leg he saddles up behind you, bringing the reins and his hands down upon your lap.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s not far. Just some place I go to think”.

The horse is ridden at a leisurely pace. The cold air attacks you, and you find yourself curling into Billy’s warmth.

He doesn’t speak to you again but you could feel him trying his best to protect you from the cold wind. His body barricaded around you, trying to keep you warm. At one point when the wind blew especially hard, he planted his large warm hand over the side of your face and pressed the other side of your face into his chest.

With the amount of shock running through your body, you weren't sure if the ride was short like he promised. It felt like an entirety by his side.

When you arrived at the camp, the fire was already going, and a tent was set up.

He dismounts first and then reaches back up to help you down.

“Why have you brought me here?”. You accept his help down, his horse wouldn’t go without him.

“To talk. Some place where you can’t run away”.

His words should have carried more weight, but you knew they were said in a non-threatening manner.

There was a log near the fire that you used as a seat while Billy remained across from you.

“I’ve missed you these past few days. Been real lonely without you”. He kicks the dirt under his shoe and watches as it jumps from his force.

“We were never friends, Billy”.

Billy. The name seemed to have just fallen off your lips.

The sound of his name gave him courage to look up at you.

“You’re right. You’re right. We skipped that stage”.

His eyes go back down and he is silent once more.

“Y/N, your daddy’s never going to approve of me”.

“No” you agree, “No, he’s not”.

His eyes flick up back to yours, his stance hardens, his shoulders square and his eyes peer down at you.

“So. Where does that leave us?” he asks.

A large gust of wind blows through the camp, straight through you. Your body hunches from the cold

“Are you cold?” he asks in a state of shock that he could ignore the obvious. He doesn’t wait for your response, gone into his tent before the question fully parted from his lips.

He brings out a thick wool blanket, and wraps it around your shoulders before going back to his side of the fire.

He rubs his hand across the bottom of his face, his other hand positions on his hip. You wondered what he was thinking. Why he looked so worried when he was the one in the position of power?

“Billy?” you asked softly. His eyes flicked from the ground up to you. “Billy, take me home”.

“You know God told me that you were the woman for me’’.

“Did he?” you ask cautiously.

“Years ago. I saw you in town, I said ‘God, if she’s the one make her drop her bracelet’. And you did”.

He reaches into his vest pocket pulling out his pocket watch to show you the chain. He brought it over to you. In the light you could see that he had melted the gold of your bracelet to his small gold watch and fashioned it into his pocket watch that he carried daily. The ends of the bracelet were melded but the gold that was braided together looked identical to the bracelet you had lost.

It was your bracelet. One you lost nearly three years ago. The clasp was broken, you shouldn’t have been wearing it but it was one of your favorites.

“It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything” you said. A broken bracelet was hardly uncommon for a woman who had little money to fix it.

This seemed to anger him. His face scrunched up and his movement became rough and short.

“Coincidence? Was it a coincidence tonight? I had a burning desire to see you and you just so happen to be outside waiting for me”.

“I wasn’t waiting for you”.

“Well something brought you outside to me. You don’t call that fate?”.

“My dog”. Your eyes slowly weep as Billy the kid turns into Billy the outlaw.

To run a group of outlaws. To kill men, and control a town, you knew he had to have a dark streak. No matter how well he hid it, there must be something lurking underneath to be able to exert the violence needed.

His hand flys to his forehead, rubbing it as if you were causing him a headache.

“You ain't listening. Me and you. We’re connected. Meant to be”.

“Okay” you agree. Unsure on what else to do. “Billy, I am really cold and would like to go home now”.

“Here” he comes closer to you, bending down and helping you to your feet.

He picks up a lit lamp by the fire, and tries to lead you forward.

“It’s warmer in the tent”.

Your heart jumps. Alone in a tent is the last place you want to be.

Your arm jerks from his touch as you speak, “Take me home now”.

His hands grip your arms too tight.

“Home? What if I gave you a new home? One where we could be together”.

The cold air no longer bothered you. Billy was the law. Whatever he did would be met with no consequences.

“I’ve been thinking, if your daddy won’t approve no matter what. Maybe we shouldn’t ask him” he continued.

You struggle against Billy. How quickly after all this time that his touch became hurtful.

“I need my father's blessing,” you state.

“I was worried you would say that” he remarks.

The force on your arms changed from holding you still to pushing you forward.

“Billy get off” you shout.

“You won’t listen to reason” he retaliates.

The door of the tent wasn’t tied so you were easily pushed through the fabric. You fall onto the laid mattress with no strength to raise yourself while Billy does ties up the door to keep the cold air out.

“Billy” you cry.

He lays down next to you, wrapping his arm around your back and up your neck.

“Everything is fine. I’ll take care of you”.

“Billy, don’t do this,” you pleaded.

“If I can’t make you see my love, I can make you feel it”.

He rises to rid himself of his suspenders. You sit up on your legs in front of you, with no harsh hand pushing you back down.

You capture his head between your hands, only talking when there was no attempt to shake you off.

“Billy, think about what this will mean for me”.

His eyes feel cold as they graze upon you, “I am thinking about you. About us. He can’t deny the marriage if what is done is done”.

Feeling his head push forward under your hold, you go to make one last plea before his lips meet yours.

“Bil-”. His kiss is hard and possessive.

His body soon follows, and the weight of him presses you to the floor.

Shoving at his shoulders doesn’t do much to deter him. After a handful of hard kisses, he changes positions, straddling your waist so he could sit up and unbutton his shirt.

His movements are quick and rugged like having to get rid of the clothes was an annoying chore.

Despite his dangerous line of work, and the odds, his body is free from scars and bullet holes. His tone chest and strong shoulders flex as he moves to throw the shirt to the corner of the tent.

You’re memorized by his beauty until his hands reach for his belt. Your hands spring up to stop him, only this does he resist.

“It’s alright. It ain’t going to hurt” he places a hand on your chest to keep you down while he undid his holster’s belt buckle, “I told you I would never hurt you”.

With the leather belt free, he slides the gun in the holster up along the ground.

The button of his pants only takes a twist of his wrist and he is left in his underwear on top of you.

“Get off” you yell at him but he continues by dragging you up to where the pillows are laid.

He positions one of the pillows directly under your head for your comfort as you kick, your head rises and falls into it.

His hand loosening the front tie of your nightgown stills the fight you had.

“Billy, wait” you request.

“I have waited. Nearly three years”. The nightgown is pushed off from your shoulders, and pulled down the rest of your body.

The shake of your body is attributed to many things, the cold air that swarmed you, the shame and fear of it all, the fact that it was your first time being bare to a man. Billy took it to mean the cold and adjusted the blankets so they were pressed up against the sides of your body.

The hand on your chest left as you stopped moving and both hands were moved to unbutton your underpants.

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry’’.

He leans down to kiss you again as a distraction to get between your legs. He is there before you know it.

He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them. You wondered what he was doing before he brought them down to your sex.

You try to tell him to stop but your brain couldn’t muster it. Only a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him enter you.

Its uncomfortable at first and you squirm away from him

“Stay still. It’ll get better” he promises.

In an attempt to aid the friction, he leans his head down, spitting into cunt.

The extra moisture does help your arousal. Soon you are wet enough for his fingers to sink into you.

He takes them out, not wanting you to finish too early, and brings his fingers to his lips to suck off the moisture.

His hand comes down next to your head as lifts himself up to take off his underwear.

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask. There was no point in begging. You had reached the point of no return.

“Maybe. For a little bit, but it will feel good too. I promise”.

He lines himself up with you, and with a final kiss he plunges himself into you.

It feels as if he hits a wall inside of you. You were certain it was as far as he could go but his hips hammered into you determined to break through.

You were about to tell him that you had taken as much of him as you could take when he does break the wall. It was a searing pain as if he had cut you. You let out a tisk of pain, reaching up and clawing at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Billys’.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I know” he says, but the rhythm of his hips remains the same.

The pain subsided after a couple of thrusts that felt terribly uncomfortable and sore. It was replaced with the pleasure he promised you that built in your stomach, and tingles between your legs.

Still, this was not how it was supposed to go. Not in a tent in the middle of the night. Not outside of marriage and not without your father permission.

You throw your head up from a particularly hard thrust, and notice his gun still in the holster just beyond your fingertips. Your head was too scattered to form any thoughts. Otherwise, you never would have reached for it. Even if Billy had been a stranger from the saloon, you could never kill a man.

You had no intention of killing him. You had just wanted to touch it. The gun of Billy-the-kid.

“What? What do you want my gun for?” As he leans up to reach for it and you feel his cock push up into your stomach.

He brings it out of his holster with the barrel pointed at your head, but his finger is far from the trigger.

“Don’t you know a man’s gun is part of him? You should ask a man before you touch it”.

The gun pushes further and down to your lips. Billy’s eyes were dark. The awkward boy that used to court you was buried in the furthest part of him.

“Open your mouth” he commands.

With the taste of metal at your teeth, you do part your lips enough for the tip of the gun. A struggle could lead to an accidental misfire.

His thrusts in time with the movement of the gun. His eyes focus on your lips, the way they curl around his barrel.

The metallic taste overwhelmed your tongue and your nose. It felt as if you could still taste the smoke on it. You are slow in your movements so not to startle him as you pull your head back.

His stomach flutters and he loses his composure as you do.

“Fuck” he sputters, his eyes close and he picks up pace, “That was hot”.

You shake your head, pushing the hand that held the gun away from you.

He drops his wrist down from your face, and slides the gun back over to his holster in the corner.

“It’s gone. It’s alright, it’s gone”.

The hand is repurposed against the side of your face, and his rhythmic pace is returned.

“I wouldn’t hurt you” he tells you once more.

“You’re hurting me now” you groan.

His face scrunches up, and his thrusts come to rest.

“No,” he says, offended.

“No. That aint what I am doing”.

His hands on the back of your shoulders lift you up against his chest, as he hoists your bodies together into an upright position.

Your hands grip on top of his shoulders, and you rest your forehead against his collarbone from the pressure of him inside of you as you sit on his lap.

“Look at me” he orders, but your position suited you just fine.

You rock your head against his shoulder blade in response, which satisfied him.

“The only way I would hurt you now is by leaving you. No man but those desperate or widowed would have you after I am done. Your family would never recover their name. Now I’ve made it clear that we are to get married, so no hurting is being done”.

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that there was sure to be bruises littering the skin tomorrow.

“Ain’t no sin for a husband and wife to become one”.

“We are not married,” you remind him.

“What’s marriage but a commitment to God to have and to hold the other? I’ve made that commitment. You have too. I know you have. If it wasn’t for your daddy we’d be married a long time ago”.

“Billy” you groan. The lack of movement frustrated you. He had started an itch that now needed to be scratched.

To ease your discomfort, he brought his hand down between your bodies and began to gently swirl his finger around your pearl.

“I built you a house, you know. Told myself I couldn’t touch you until I drove the final nail in, and the day I do, you appear at the market a day earlier than you usually would. We’re connected. Every bad thing has led me here to you”.

Your nails dig into his flesh as the pressure builds in knots within your stomach.

A frustrated sound makes its way from your throat when he suddenly stops, moving his hands around the back of your neck and around your waist so he could lay you down and finish.

His pace is faster and harder. It cuts off his ability to talk any longer. Only groan and grunt.

As you tighten around him and pulse as you come, it invites him to join you.

As soon as he is off you, you turn to your side away from him. What would happen now? Would Billy leave you here? Would he kick you out into the forest? You worried that he spoke of marriage out of lust that had now been fulfilled.

He seemed content with your presence, as he reached out to gently scratch the back of your neck.

You can hear animals outside the tent as they scurry around. Billy regains his stamina beside you and the silence between you both stretches into the night.

You focus on the sounds of the frogs and crickets as they perform in perfect harmony. The sounds and sex lull you to a tired state, but Billy wasn’t through with the night.

With a small kiss to the back of your neck, he was pushing back on your shoulder to lay you flat again.

“No” you protest, too tired for much more than a simple plea, “Not again”.

It was late. Possibility early morning. Your body wanted nothing more than to shut down, now that the adrenaline has faded.

“Yes. again. We gotta make sure we put a baby in you”, he states, positioning his body once again over yours.

—--

You woke up alone in the tent. Two blankets were laid on top of you keeping off the cold, but the dull ache between your legs told you to get up and go back home. You found your clothes on the floor, noticing that Billy had taken all his.

The sight of Billy eating on a log relieves you as you exit the tent. You had no way of getting home without him.

He gets up from his seat as he sees you push back the fabric of the tent.

“Good morning” he greets, “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home. Now”, you demand.

He looked like a spoiled child getting told off by a parent. His head lowers, and he clasps his hands together in front of himself.

“Yeah. We should be getting back” he agrees.

His head rises again and he beckons your forward with his hand.

“You need to eat something before we do. I made porridge”.

You take his place on the log in front of the fire and his jacket. Without a word, he takes his warm jacket off himself and helps you put it on.

A bowl of warm porridge is placed in your hands, and then he leaves you be. Giving you space to process your emotions.

He packs up the tent and gear while you sit, unable to eat what was given to you.

Even in all the time it took him to pack away the tent and all the camping equipment, you had yet to take a single bite.

You watch as Billy kicks dirt into the fire, smothering your warmth.

The bowl is gently taken from your hands where Billy flicks the food away, and rinses it with his water bottle before packing it away.

You follow him to the horse and he helps you up on the saddle the same way as the night before.

The swing of your leg as you try to hook it over the saddle is executing.

You shout from the pain, feeling the mussels as they pull to extend your leg.

“Easy” he soothes, helping you back steady on your feet.

You shove him off. It was his fault. Your body was in pain and your life was over because of him.

He stubbles back from the sudden shove but he comes back without reproach.

“Here” he says.

He swings up to the saddle, leaning his body down to pull you up. You sit across the horse’s saddle, legs together to ease the pain.

Billy rides slowly for you. The day was sunny but a chill still hung in the air. You wondered how Billy went on without his jacket.

The ride took you through trees and along a stream of water. It was not far from your home but you had never been there.

With a twenty minute ride your home came into view. While distant you could see your family as they gathered on the porch.

The galloping of the hoofs stopped their discussion with a loud relief.

“She’s here!” your sister yelled back into the house, “She’s back”.

Your father runs outside to the porch watching with hard eyes as you and Billy ride.

Billy halts his horse a meter away and slides you down the saddle onto the ground. He is quick to get off behind you, holding your reluctant hand in his.

You saw your father disappear into the house as you crossed the distance. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Billy had done. The shame must have been too overbearing for him.

The rest of your family were all still in their robes as they stood on the path waiting for you to come near. Your mother held out her arms but Billy stopped ten feet away under the shade of the large oak tree.

“Ma’am” he greets your mother, “I am sorry for the distress I have caused your family, but as you can see she was safe with me”.

The stickiness between your thighs became apparent as he spoke the words.

You tug your hand back but he keeps it in his tight hold.

The front door is kicked open and your father appears holding out his shotgun.

Billy is quick to act, pulling you back behind him but he doesn’t draw his gun.

“You get off my land” your father demands.

Billy nods, “I will. We just came to collect a couple of things”.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your father was not a very good shot. He was old and aim was crooked. Billy was a far better shot. He wouldn’t miss.

“Ain’t no we, boy. You get your filthy hands off my daughter, and you get out of town, or I'll kill you”.

Your mother growls her husband's name as she moves the rest of her children to the side. Only your father was under the illusion that he could take Billy on and live.

“Now I plan to do right by her” Billy states with authority, “I’ll marry her”.

“The hell you will” your father roared.

“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could live. See your daughters married with children. Die of old age like God intended”.

“Draw” your father commands. To kill an unarmed man was murder, but your father was worried about the courts and not the Regulators who were sure to come seeking vengeance.

You latch onto Billy's arm to stop him drawing his gun, or at least delay his aim so your father could have a chance.

“You won’t mind if I get your daughter out from under me, now?” Billy asks, “Your aim has been off since you first pointed the gun at me. You could hit her instead”.

With the agreeance of your father, Billy brings you back from behind him with a tight hold on your arm.

“Go to the tree” Billy nods in its direction but you could hear your father calling for you to come to him.

As soon as he releases you, the direction you go is not to the tree but to your family.

You arm is caught and shoved to the right,

‘I said the tree” Billy reiterates.

You follow his command this time, hugging yourself to the large oak tree.

Billy takes his gun but holds his hands outwards in a surrendered position.

“Just let me show you something” The crowd follows Billy’s eyes over to the work yard, “You see that paint tin over there?”

A small paint tin rested on the lank of wood that was going to become the new fence. If you weren’t looking for it you would hardly see it from the distance.

“What about it?” your father asks. The gun is unstable in his hands. It slightly bopped as he pointed it. He was scared, and you wished you could do something that would deescalate the situation.

“Just watch”. Billy turns to the tins direction and aims his gun with a steady hold.

The first bullet sprayed the white paint as it went flying in the air. The second bullet hit it before it landed, flinging it further away and higher from the force. The third bullet shot it down with a hole in the center.

“Now we can continue if you want, and I can take her away without a father, or we can be joined together by marriage. That means no taxes”.

Your father contemplates his options. He wanted to kill Billy, you could see that plain on his face, but could he?.

The answer was no. The gun was lowered and your mother let out a sigh of relief.

Billy beckons you back over, taking your arm back in his grip once you get close enough.

“Pack your things, and get changed” he commands, “If you think about holding up in there, I’ll bring Jesse back and we’ll burn the house down”.

You nod spitefully. His eyes looked over you once before turning back to the house.

“Go” he orders, letting you go.

Your family is quick to squabble around you as you trek into the house. There were too many words flown at you.Too many hands touching you as you moved.

Only your father stayed away, Slumping into a foyer chair with his gun still in his hand.

You were determined to do your tasks quickly and lead Billy away. The ache between your legs was ignored as you fling open your wardrobe and shove what you can into your travel case. It filled quickly, you only had two more dresses in your wardrobe but you left them favoring to take your make-up and hair accessories.

It hardly zips, and lands on the ground with a heavy thud.

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you, but the less time keeping Billy waiting the better. You grab one of the last dresses you owed out of your wardrobe, side stepping people as they went to hold you.

“Help me with my dress” you call on your sister.

“You aren’t honestly leaving with him?” your mother took a seat on your bed as if you had punched her.

Stepping into the green dress and waiting to be laced up, gave them the answer that they ignored.

“Billy is the law,” you remind them.

Your sister silently agreed by stepping forwarding and lacing you into your dress. You put Billy’s coat back on to show him you still had it, and take the time to hug and kiss them all. Billy was not the kind to keep you from your family but it would be the last time you would see them as their daughter and sister.

Your father was still sitting in the chair as you came down. He doesn't move as you bend down and kiss his forehead.

Billy was waiting outside, his gun resting on his thigh was holsted once more in his belt so he had hands to take your bag.

He straps it to his horse in no time, turning to wait for you.

You took one more look back at your family on the porch before you were ready.

You raise your arms up to Billy on the horse and he pulls you up to the saddle once more.

The ride to the Regulators camp was silent and quite a distance. Billy had taken his hat off as the sun went higher in the sky, and placed it upon your head.

It felt strange to wear Billy’s coat and hat. Less than 24 hours ago he was little more than a stranger. Now he was your self-proclaimed fiance. You could very well be carrying his child. It all happened so fast. Your head spun trying to piece together the facts.

The noise of the Regulators as Billy’s horse approached did not help your scrambled mind. They whooped and hollered.

You could hear Billy’s smile as he greeted them but his horse never slowed. Moving past the building where the men sat drinking, to the furthest field where a wooden house stood tall.

Across from the house was a horse corral where they trained the horses. In between your house and the first house of one of the Regulators was the stable where the horses were housed.

In addition to the tax, you assumed the men also traded horses to earn a wage.

It was a decent size of land and well kept. The house in front of you looked strong. It was two stories of wooden panels, and a large porch was wrapped around the entire estate. If you were to take Billy at his word, it must have taken him a long time to complete such a house.

He stops the horse in front of the house, swinging off first to tie the reins to the railings of the porch.

He assures you that he will take your things inside when he comes back out to tend to his horse, but he was eager for you to see your new home.

With help down, Billy leads you into the house. It was furnished. Nothing decorative but tables and chairs. The entertaining lounge had a large fireplace, and the kitchen had a large stove and a large window above the sink that pointed out to a field of flowers.

It grew a distaste in your mouth. He had designed this home with you in mind. He always knew this day was coming and expected you to swallow the news joyfully and quickly.

‘And this” he opens a door just beside the living room to show a smaller version. A dark red armchair and matching leg rest faced a small fireplace. An arched window that Billy had built in a reading nook and decorated with mismatched pillows, provided light into the room.

“This is your room for when you need your space. I won’t step foot into it”. He looks at you expecting you to be overjoyed but finds you glaring back at him.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

‘I have your cum dried between my legs, and you are asking me if I care about a room?” you bit.

He closes the door quickly and takes you by the arm to lead you up stairs,

“I’ll get you hot water for your bath”.

Billy boils the water over the stove as you sit in the chair and wait. A hip bath was placed against the wall in the kitchen. You go and expect it. Your family was too poor for one. A basin did the job fine. But you always wanted one.

He doesn’t let the water get too hot, only luke warm before joining you.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he questions as he gently places the water and rag cloths on the floor by your foot.

You don’t look at him as you talk. Your fingers reach for the laces of your dress but they touch his as he unlaces the dress for you.

“What does it matter? The sin has already been committed”.

Your dress falls to the floor around you. You’re quick to leave your undergarments alongside it so you could climb into the tub.

“You need to know I won’t ever do that again”. He squats next to you in the tub, bringing the warm rags up to your skin. You take one and focus on scrubbing the seaman off your thighs while he focuses on your shoulders and neck.

“I’ll take care of you. Respect you like a good husband should. I won-”.

“Your words mean nothing to me” you cut him off.

He shifts as you lean back into the tub.

‘I’ll prove it to you”, he resolves.

—-

The wedding was small with only your family and the Regulators in attendance. The priest married you quickly and you were placed on Billy’s saddle once more. No big party predeceased it. Your family went home, and the Regulators went back to their camp where bottles were opened.

You could hear the Regulators as they used your marriage as an excuse to play from the comfort of the house Billy built you.

He remained with you despite the protests from his gang.

He remained quiet as you figured out the swell of emotions inside you. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. A quiet relief lingered in the back only causing more distress.

When he bought you the dinner he had made for you an emotion finally stuck.

Acceptance.

William. H Bonney was your husband now.

He kept true to his words. Patiently waiting for your permission. You slept next to him every night, but besides a gentle kiss goodnight, he never touched you. His patience granted him two willfully-born sons.

He was a good husband and father.

You and your children were never left without.��

You watch him from the window as he shows the boys how to ride. They were too small for the lesson to be anything more than a pony ride but it gave you time to put dinner on the table without them under your feet.

He winks at you when he catches you staring. Unconsciously your hand goes to your belly.

‘A little girl would be nice’, you think.

#tom blyth #dead dove do not eat #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid #dark!billy the kid #coriolanus snow

322 notes · View notes

toruro · 1 year

Text

— ✧ exes and oh's

pairing. choi seungcheol x reader

description. when your ex-best friend breaks up with your other ex-best friend, you’re stuck between keeping this door (that you never wanted closed) shut tight, and making amends. naturally, choosing to let your heart open to the person who ripped it apart isn’t the easiest of decisions, but then again, life has a funny way of making you choose.

tags. smut (18+), UNEDITED (i wrote this mostly when i was half asleep, there will be missing words), angst, oral (f receiving), petnames, past toxic relationships/ friendships, referenced cheating, alcohol consumption (+ mentions of vomiting + poor decisions abt alcohol in general), rebuilding relationships, trust issues, joshua is extremely protective it's honestly a little annoying, a disgusting amount of internal monologue i am So sorry, theres a lot in this one so if i missed anything lmk

fic playlist.

w/c. 15.8k+

a/n. 1K SPECIAL SORRY IT'S A LITTLE LATE...anyways i really tried to make sure this wasn't super corny but i prob got carried away i can't even tell anymore. update. this is cringe as hell

Your day today is slow, like every other. You aren’t sure why you expect anything different—well maybe you do know. It’s the optimist in you, a small voice in your head says, as you drop down your bookbag next to Joshua’s chair, the two of you slipping into your seats. Optimism my ass, you shoot back at yourself.

“Can you cover my shift?” Joshua asks, turning to you on his chair. You two have just finished your econ lecture and are sitting in the library to catch up on notes.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you give him a wary look. “Joshua,” you whine, pulling out your notebook and pen down.

“C’mon you said you needed some extra cash, and I need the night off anyways. I’ll get you back with something,” he promises as you narrow your eyes.

“Now what do you have that makes you need the night off?”

“Well there’s this party—” he pauses when you huff.

“And what’s to say I wouldn’t like to go to this party?” you retort, slightly annoyed that he expects you to cover his shift over something like this.

Joshua signs, running a hand through his hair. “Well I can say that I don’t think you would be especially keen on going,” he tells you honestly, and then when you catch the look in his eyes you falter.

You think about probing further, but second guess yourself—you probably shouldn’t. It isn’t good for your heart. You are trying to work on putting yourself, your heart, first, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. “Why do you say that?” you ask, and Joshua gives you that look.

He knows where this is going, and he’s slightly disappointed in you for going against your personal goal of not bringing it up. Then again, he doesn’t control you, and while he can try to guide you down the path of reparations and healing, he can’t force you anywhere.

“Cheol’s birthday is tomorrow,” he tells you like you don’t know. Like you don’t still have it marked down in bright blue sharpie on your calendar. It’s only been six months since you’ve last talked to him, and you don’t feel the need to buy a whole new calendar for the sake of getting rid of his and Yejin’s name.

That, and you don’t think taking his name off would help you forget anyways. Ten years, you think to yourself, ten years shouldn’t be disposed of as easily as a calendar, although it seems Yejin and Cheol had no problem doing just that.

Joshua catches you zoning out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No it’s okay,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair. “It’s not like I didn’t know, I don’t know why I asked.” Joshua looks at you sadly.

“The party…it’s going to be a big one, since Soonyoung is throwing it. You can come if you really want, you probably won’t run into Seungcheol anyways,” Joshua offers.

You scrunch up your face, shaking your head. “And Yejin? Either way, I don’t want to even think about how it would look if I showed up to a party for his birthday.”

Joshua gives you a wear look. “You don’t know?”

“Huh? Know what?”

“Cheol and Yejin broke up a while ago.”

“Oh.” You blink once, then twice, staring down at your shoes before inhaling sharply.

“I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

You shrug, responding, “Whatever. Don’t apologize. I don’t have any business with either of them anyways.”

“Okay but—”

“Seriously Josh,” you mutter, turning to him so he can see the pleading look on your face. “Let’s talk about something else, yeah? I’ll cover your shift.” Joshua gives you a tentative look, opening his mouth before you stop him. “Seriously,” you repeat, “It’s fine.”

And the truth is, you are fine. Sure it hurts when you think about them too much, and even if they are broken up, it doesn’t really make you feel much better, but you are okay. Your days are often dull, yes, but you aren’t unhappy. You’re content, and being in your final year of university, you figure that being content is all you need.

Excitement and love are not quite at the forefront of your mind, and while it does cause a nasty knot to build up in your throat when you think about Cheol and Yejin and all the fun times you have spent with them, you quietly tell yourself that things just played out the way they were supposed to.

You tell yourself that if it didn’t work out, it wasn’t meant to work out. That your life had plans, and that those plans didn’t include them.

As you walk home, you scoff to yourself, thinking about how Cheol and Yejin were willing to give up ten years of friendship with you—with each other—for something that didn’t even last half a year.

Of course it’s painful, but at the end of the day, you’re okay with that.

“You’re pathetic,” Yejin spits out, and you feel yourself growing dizzy. Her animosity that’s more apparent than ever is all you can think about it, and it has your jaw going slack. “How could you—” her face contorts into something so full of hate that you brace yourself for her next words, “How could you do this to me?”

You still, blinking as you let the words sink in. You want to argue, to fight back, to defend yourself, but the words fall flat on your tongue. You want to scream, I didn’t do anything to you, want to tell her that your feelings aren’t there to hurt her, but you can’t. “Yejin—”

“It doesn’t even matter now,” she cuts you off, sucking in a sharp breath, her face that was momentarily scrunched up into anger is now relaxing, looking back at the door where music booms from the party.

“Are you just going to leave?” you manage to ask, steading your breaths as best as you can. Yejin looks at you and from the way she’s slightly taller than you, you nearly cower back in anticipation for her next words.

Yejin always did tend to have a bit of a mean streak, but only towards those she felt had wronged her—never to you. Always had a snarky comment to throw, but never in your direction. Always ready to be on the offense if she felt she needed to, and for the first time in your ten years of friendship, you know what it’s like to be on the receiving end.

Yejin never answers your question. “Cheol likes me,” she tells you as if it isn’t obvious. As if you haven’t mulled over that fact for the past month, the tell-tale lips of Joshua spilling you Seungcheol’s secrets many nights before. “He doesn’t like you.” Yejin pauses. “Because you’re boring.”

Your world stills. Everything was spinning in a hazy maze a moment ago but now it all has paused and her words are hitting you in slow motion. “What?” you try to ask but your voice comes out hardly above a whisper.

Yejin scoffs, and you know in this moment that that is the meanest thing she could have done. “You’re boring,” she repeats, “and that’s why—” she takes a deep breath, “—even if he didn’t like me, he wouldn’t like you, so I’m telling you now to give up.”

You gulp, and the words spill out of your mouth before you can stop. “I was never going to make a move on him,” you retort, finally finding the words stuck in your throat, and while you gain confidence for a moment, it withers away when you catch the amused look on Yejin’s face. “I can’t believe you would think I’d go for him if you liked him.”

“That’s your problem!” Yejin exclaims exasperatedly. “You were going to do nothing even if none of us found out,” she spits out, and you feel your knees growing wobbly again as Yejin continues. “You claim you love him but you’re just willing to give him up like that? That’s pathetic. You are pathetic.”

She turns on her heel, and you call out to her one last time. “Are you—”

“Get Joshua to drive you home,” is the last thing she ever says to you.

Taking Joshua’s shift is boring. Not that you expect anything different—getting you excited for work is not one of your optimism’s capabilities. Evenings at the coffee shop are busier than one would expect, but after considering the fact that it’s the only one open past seven p.m. on campus, the crowd begins to make sense.

You spend your time making drinks for the many students who are—much like yourself—simply trying to get through the night, but you would be lying if you say you don’t notice that the turn out is a little…smaller. After all, it is a Friday evening and Soonyoung’s parties are infamous on campus for being…well for being thrown by Soonyoung.

He’ll invite anyone and everyone, so you wouldn’t be surprised if your instagram feed will be filled with nothing but pictures from Cheol’s party tonight. Not that you care. You don’t want to go, you have no reason to.

Still, you wonder: would Yejin show up? If they did break up, like Joshua told you, what were the circumstances? Are they still friends? What happened? Why did they—

No.You shouldn’t do this to yourself, you can’t. Yejin isn’t your friend anymore, and neither is Cheol. What happened between them shouldn’t be your business—it isn’t. Leave it alone, you tell yourself, tapping your foot on the ground.

Yet, every time you look over the empty seats that fill the cafe, you’re reminded of just why not many people are here tonight. Seungcheol. Chewing on your bottom lip, you go against your better judgment and pull out your phone, immediately tapping on instagram.

Your stories are filled with a plethora of videos and pictures from the house that Cheol shares with Jeonghan and some other friends. It’s dark both inside and out, the only thing illuminating the house being led lights and pool lights in the backyard.Fondly, you remember last summer and Cheol’s birthday, which was spent at his house with you. Yejin, and some other friends in his pool from morning ‘til night. Fun times, you think, and you quietly wonder if Cheol will remember those memories today, or if he will leave them in his dust.

Tapping through the stories, you purse your lips together, inhale sharply, and begin to make yourself a drink. It’s too late in the evening for you to be thinking about this.

Seungcheol’s head is pounding. He can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears and then there’s the music that has its vibrations going straight to his heart as he stumbles over his own words.

Lights everywhere flashing different colors and he isn’t sure when one cup turns into two, which turns into three, which turns into fuck-knows-how-many until Jeonghan is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pushing him into an empty room, calling Joshua over.

Again, Seungcheol’s head is pounding. And he fucking loves it.

Joshua and Jeonghan, on the other hand, are frustrated. Cheol is trying to push through them, clawing for the door as his legs hit each other in a mangled mess until he’s falling onto them as they hold him back.

“You guys can’t fucking do this,” he whines, throwing his head back as he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“When you said you were going to go crazy tonight,” Joshua mutters, “I didn’t realize you meant literally. Are fucking insane?” he hisses.

Cheol gives him an angry look, seeming to sober up for a moment as he straightens his back. “It’s my birthday, giving me a fucking break.”

“If you keep acting like this it’s going to be your death day soon too,” Jeonghan warns, earning him a glare.

“Seriously, do you want alcohol poisoning or something?” Joshua agrees. “Don’t drink anything else for the night, I’m serious.”

“And if I do?” Seungcheol challenges.

“We’ll tell Soonyoung to call it all off. You know he’ll do it if we ask,” Jeonghan states simply.

Cheol scoffs, but doesn’t reply, exercising his last bit of common sense to understand what Jeonghan and Joshua say, they mean. He needs to tread lightly.

Not that he cares much. He hasn’t got much to lose—Cheol only suggested this party because he knew that if it was anything short of big, he’d be reminded of the missing holes in his life right now.

His plan was unsuccessful, clearly, because even with cups after cups of spike punch, he’s still mulling over the fact there’s over a hundred people in this house and not a single one of them is you. Cheol had asked Joshua to bring it up with you—asked him to lead you in the right direction. The right direction being him.

He wasn’t really sure what his expectations were when he suggested it, but now it’s clear that Cheol really was expecting you to show up. He didn’t prepare for any other outcome, especially not one like this, where he’s wasted before the clock even strikes twelve. He’s on the verge of passing out when Joshua leaves the room, only Jeonghan and Cheol in each other’s presence as the former makes sure his elder doesn’t collapse.

Seungcheol’s head is pounding and he thinks it feels fucking great.

Fuck, he really needs to throw up.

You’re back at the cafe two days later, once again spending your evening serving students. It’s a bit of a lighter day, so only you and Jeongyeon are working, catching up and making light conversation through the day.

“Tired?” you ask her, when you catch her leaning against the counter with a wince.

She nods, turning up to look at you. “Chemistry is killing me. I want to cry just thinking about my next exam,” whe groans, throwing her head back. “I think humans have evolved too much. There’s no reason we should have explore this much about like, fucking atoms. Why can’t we just be happy creatures—ignorance is bliss, after all.”

You laugh out loud, not bothering to look at the door when you hear the bell of its opening ringing. “Take a break, yeah? I’ll manage for the next half an hour, if you just wanna sit and chill for a bit,” you offer, Jeongyeon letting out a sigh of relief.

“Are you serious?” she exclaims before hugging you tightly. “I fucking love you,” she says, pulling away and hopping down the back counter and to the back room while you smile widely before turning around to face the new customer at the counter.

Your smile drops faster than you can blink.

Seungcheol’s smile, at one time, was among one of your favorite sights on the whole damn planet. Now, you can’t help but turn away, too scared to look him in the eye. Scared that if you look long enough, you’ll find something you aren’t ready to see.

Don’t falter, you tell yourself. You haven’t been healing for months for it to amount to nothing. “What can I get you?” you ask casually, looking down at the cashier tablet, pretending to look through the catalog.

You didn’t look at him long enough to see if his smile vanished just as quickly as yours, to see if he expected you, to know what he was thinking at all honestly. You aren’t ready for that, and it’s pathetic, you think to yourself.

“Uh,” is the first thing you hear Cheol say to you after six months. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting him to follow with, but it is most definitely not, “Don’t you know my usual?”

It takes all your self control to not snap your eyes up and say, of course I know your usual, I never forgot, how could I forget, it’s always an iced latte with—“No, sorry, I don’t,” you say flatly, still not looking at him.

Cheol is slightly surprised by your choice of words, partly because when Joshua told him that your door was shut and not going to budge open, he didn’t really believe him. Maybe he knew he wouldn’t be able to hit it straight off the bat when he tried to reconcile, but he definitely wasn’t expecting this.

Not that he planned this—he knew you worked here, just not when. Cheol was just struck with luck when he walked in, ready to order a coffee when his eyes landed on your familiar figure this evening, and as an opportunist, he just couldn’t turn down the chance to try and talk to you.

Of course now, he isn’t sure if this course of action was the right one—you were never cold, not to him, not to Yejin, not to anyone really. It’s weird, he thinks.

“Iced latte with hazelnut syrup, please,” he replies with a small nod of acceptance. Joshua was right. Your door was locked.

“Your drink will come out over there,” you say, pointing over to the left counter. “Cash or card?”

He thinks it’s worth a shot to try again. “When was the last time I used anything but card?” Cheol accepts defeat when you don’t crack a smile, not even one bit.

“So you’re using card?” you ask plainly, turning the tablet over so he can swipe down. Cheol chuckles nervously as he pulls out his wallet. He doesn’t say anything after that, and for that, you are grateful.

Once he’s done paying, you turn on your heel quickly and make his drink. You don’t look up, don’t turn back—you don’t know if you’re ready to see him watching you, if he is at all. You aren’t sure what you’d like more: having him watching you, or having him not.

Gulping down a hard lump in your throat as you wait to pull the shot of espresso, you think deeply. It’s just how Jeongyeon said it, you figure: ignorance is bliss.

Jeongyeon thinks parties aren’t your thing. “They just don’t suit you,” she explains when you’re working one afternoon.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What do you mean not my thing?”

She shrugs, carrying in some boxes of cups. “It’s not a bad thing—I’m not calling you boring or anything—I’m just saying. You’re a very work-at-a-coffee-shop kind of girl, and not a let’s-go-party kind of girl, you know?”

The word bounces around in your mind. Boring.

“I can be both,” you huff. “You’re only saying this because I actually do work at a coffee shop.”

“Whatever,” Jeongyeon shrugs. “Come with me tonight then?”

You scrunch up your face. “Tonight? I work tonight,” you tell her with a frown.

“Get Hyunwoo to cover your shift then, I’m sure he’ll do it,” she suggests. You sigh, pulling out your phone to text your other co-worker.

“Okay, but if he says no it isn’t my fault.”

“Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da,” Jeongyeon mutters, waving her hand at you with a sly grin. “So I’ll see you tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raised.

“If Hyunwoo is willing to give up his Saturday evening, I guess so.”

“Ugh, he better agree. Tell him if he does it, I’ll set him up on a date with Nayeon.”

You roll your eyes with a small giggle. “You need to stop using her to get what you want—she’s going to stop being your friend if you keep setting her up on dates so people can do you favors.”

“If that ends up happening…” Jeongyeon’s voice trails off as she glances at you. “…well that’s what you’re here for!”

It’s how you end up putting on some cute pants and black crop top that you’ve been saving for a night just like. Jeongyeon and you are ubering the way to whoever’s house this party is at, and you’re pretty sure neither of you have a good idea of how you’re supposed to get home, but that’s a problem for another time.

When you arrive, the house is already packed, but the two of you don’t have too much trouble slipping through the open door and into the crowd of people that fill each room. You haven’t been to a party in a while, and the loud music along with the rush you naturally feel when you're around so many people starts to return to you.

You see many faces—mostly ones you recognize, but the names fall flat on your tongue. Like you said, it’s been a while since you’ve come to a party.

When you make your way to the kitchen, you’re greeted by a kind, familiar voice. Smiling at Joshua as he calls out your name, you give him a sideways hug before you make your way to the counter with all the drinks. “Fancy seeing you here,” he teases, and you push him lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Jeongyeon invited me last minute…I had to get Hyunwoo to take my shift,” you explain.

“Ah, that makes sense,” and there’s a funny look on his face when he says it.

“What’s with that face?”

“Nothing! It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“You know Hyunwoo likes you, right?” Joshua says casually, pouring you a cup of punch. Usually, you don’t trust what other people hand to you, but Joshua is a safe exception.

“What?” you ask, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “You’re lying. Did he tell you that?”

“Not directly…but it’s obvious. Seriously, who gives up their Saturday evening unless they’re making major bank or they have a crush.”

“Whatever. He’s a sophomore,” you murmur, taking a sip of the drink. It’s so sweet it almost masks the taste of alcohol. “Plus, he’s not my type. And I’m not interested in dating. I have too much going on,” you list.

“Please,” Joshua scoffs. “Your thesis and being a barista is not too much.”

“Shut up! I’m here, at a party, aren’t I?”

“Will you come to the next one?”

“That depends.”

“On?” he asks hopefully.

“Hm,” you hum, tapping a finger on your chin. “When, where, who, why, how.”

“Ugh, you’re seriously annoying about this. Just show up when I call you next, okay?”

“No promises. This night better be good if you want me to live up to that.”

“Well I’m not throwing this party so I can’t control that.”

You grin. “Too bad.” You’re having fun, you realize, even if it’s with the comfort of Joshua. You’re glad Jeongyeon brought you here. Joshua glances around for a moment and then back at you, opening his mouth to speak. “Don’t worry about me,” you tell him before he can say anything, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I just—” he stops himself. You know where this is going, and Joshua knows he doesn’t really need to say it. Cheol is here.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, patting his shoulder firmly, and in this moment you aren’t lying. Not to yourself, not to Joshua. It is okay. You are okay.

He watches you for a moment and then nods, ruffling your hair for a moment before waving goodbye to head off in some other room. You spend the next few minutes tossing your now empty cup to the side, heading off to some other room to find Jeongyeon. She’s dancing with some friends and the moment her eyes lay on you, she notices the deep flush to your face.

Calling you over, you dance with Jeongyeon, music blaring in your ear as you’re pressed up against her and other girls you’re sure you knew the names of at some point in your life. It’s exhilarating for a moment, but then suddenly, after around fifteen minutes, it isn’t.

“I’m going to head out for a breather,” you tell Jeongyeon loudly over the music, and she doesn’t seem to hear your words but with the way you’re pointing at the back door, she figures out what you’re saying. Nodding with a thumbs up, she smiles before turning back to dance along with her friends as you slip out of the huddle of people.

You notice a familiar face from the corner of your vision, but you feel too hot and the air is too stuffy for you to bear another second longer, escaping to the backyard.

It’s quiet outside. The night air is cool, and you now realize why no one is out in the pool like they usually are. Looking down at your feet, you contemplate your next actions for a moment before rolling up the hem of your pants until your knees and sitting by the edge of the pool, dipping in your legs.

You hiss at the cool feeling for a moment, but quickly adjust—you’ve been feeling too hot all evening and this is exactly what you need to take a moment to calm down. Alcohol has never quite been your best friend, the liquid always sending a flush of heat through your whole body.

The water soothes you, and you feel at peace for a moment. Then there’s the sound of the door sliding open and a familiar patter of footsteps thuds against the concrete.

“Isn’t the water cold?” Jeonghan says casually, standing next to you.

You shrug. “I needed to cool down.”

“Hm, fair,” he murmurs, sitting down himself and crossing his legs on the concrete edge of the pool. “It’s been a minute.”

“Has it?” you reply quietly. Yeah. It’s only been six months. You don’t let Jeonghan know that you’ve been counting.

“You don’t stop by to drop off the old pastries anymore,” he says. “Mingyu tries to make croissants now, but it’s the one thing he isn’t great at baking.”

You aren’t sure if it’s the alcohol speaking but you’re blunt when you respond, “That sucks.” Jeonghan laughs quietly, nodding. He isn’t used to you being like this —when Cheol said you were different, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t really this.

“How’s school? You working on your thesis and shit?”

You shrug. “I guess. Busy times.”

“You’re being awfully cold,” Jeonghan says with a tick of his tongue. “D’you not have any drinks—you’re always more fun when you’re drunk.”

“Thanks,” you mutter with furrowed eyebrows. Yejin used to tell you that.

“Sorry, that was rude,” Jeonghan says quickly when he notices how you still. “I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, I guess everyone is more fun when they’re drunk.�� You chuckle a little at that and he lets out a sigh of relief at the fact that he’s able to get you to loosen up, even just a little. There’s an awkward silence that settles over the two of you as he watches you as you kick your feet in the water. Jeonghan thinks he might take his chances.“He misses you.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes, and you really hope Jeonghan doesn’t notice. You hate how you know who he’s talking about right away, not needing to say the name. “Jeonghan,” you say, and you know that your wobbly voice gives it all away, “Do you really think that’s fair?”

He says your name, and you turn away.

“Do you think that’s fair to me?” Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “He misses me? What about me? What about how I feel? Has Cheol thought about that? Has he?”

“I’m not trying to say it’s fair, I’m just telling you how he’s feeling—”

“Okay? There isn’t much for me to do about it,” you reply quickly. “Cheol and Yejin—” you let out a humorless laugh, “—it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. I was able to deal with it. I’m sure Cheol can too.”

“He’s really upset with himself for it,” Jeonghan tries to reason. “Even when he was with Yejin. They’d have arguments about it.”

“Okay? It’s not like I asked him to do that. It’s not like he was my friend to tell me about it.”

“Well if you would just listen—”

“No, you listen,” you say firmly, scrunching up your eyebrows. “Did you know what Yejin said to me the last time we spoke?” Jeonghan shakes his head. “She told me I was boring,” you spit out, and you realize that it’s the first time you’ve ever actually recounted that night to anyone but yourself. “And that she wasn’t even mad that I liked Cheol, but that she hated how I let her have him.” You pause to wipe away some tears. “And she was right. I didn’t put myself first. I could have told Cheol first, could’ve worked things out before she found out, could’ve done something for him, but I didn’t, and I’m not going to make that same mistake again so right now I am going to put myself first.”

Jeonghan is frowning now at the intake of all this information. It’s his first time hearing your side of the story, and he can’t help but get confused with the different timeline’s he’s got going on inside of his head. “Is this really putting yourself first?” he finally asks, and you glare at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying. He was your best friend for a whole decade. Maybe having him back in your life will do more good than you think.”

You scoff. “You mean do Cheol more good to his life. Don’t look at me like that—what do you know about me that makes you so sure of this?”

“Cheol knows you, you know him, and as far as I know, you could use a friend or two.”

“Thanks for calling me friendless,” you say dryly. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m fine. I am over it, and I don’t mind having two less friends. And either way, Cheol couldn’t have been that good of a friend if he was willing to just let go of me like that after all those years.” Jeonghan stays silent. “I don’t need more drama in my life anyways,” you conclude, pulling your feet out of the water and standing up.

“You’re not going to give him a second chance?”

You don’t answer as you walk away.

Choi Seungcheol isn’t drunk, for once in his life. Okay that is an exaggeration, but it’s the first time in a few months that he isn’t stumbling over himself at a party. It’s the first time in a long while that he hasn’t even had a sip of alcohol at this outing, and honestly, he’s quite proud of himself.

He knows why that is, and he isn’t afraid to admit it. When Joshua walks past him and gives him a funny look, Cheol knows what’s up. “No drinks?” Joshua asks, quirking up a brow.

“Joshua,” he murmurs, and he’s surprised his friend can even hear him over the music. “Jeonghan is talking to her.”

Joshua purses his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

Choi Seungcheol is quiet at a party, for the first time in…well pretty much ever. He isn’t under the influence, but it feels like everything is racing through his mind at a hundred miles per hour. Leaning against the wall, Joshua softens his gaze.

“Loosen up,” he says, and then thinks again. “And please don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not drunk,” Cheol scoffs, standing up straight as he glances out the back door, watching you kick the pool water. He remembers his birthday party over a year ago—the pool, you, Yejin, fun. Cheol walks away, not sure where he’s heading and Joshua, using his better judgment, doesn’t follow.

Choi Seungcheol isn’t drunk, but he might as well be out of his damn mind.

Tonight is not your night.

Your head is pounding. You fucking hate it. You don’t like getting drunk, at least not like this. Not in the way that you’re seeing two of everything. Not in the way that your body feels like it’s on fire, sweat soaking your sheen black shirt. Not in the way that you’re thinking about everything you shouldn’t.

After your conversation with Jeonghan, you realize you don’t have an answer. Pandora’s box is too tempting, and all your better judgment tells you to leave this door closed. To bury it up, throw it into the ocean, burn it—anything to keep it away from you, but the alcohol that courses through your veins brings the memories flooding back.

Now, you aren’t sure if your head hurts from thinking about Cheol, or from the alcohol, or both.

It’s too much.

You lean against one of the steps as you sit on the stairs, clutching a bottle of water close to your chest. Jeongyeon is…she’s fuck knows where. You lost track of her hours ago—after you came back in from the backyard, you got lost in conversations with people you haven’t caught up with in ages, and one thing led to the next and now you’re on nth drink.

You feel dizzy and the cup in your hand without the water bottle slips past your fingers and before you can act quick enough, the cup is tumbling down the two steps in front of you and spilling all over the floor. Granted, it isn’t the only mess made in this house tonight, and by the looks of it, it won’t be the last, but you still feel bad, quickly scrambling up to pick up your cup and find some tissues.

As you lean forward and stumble over the steps a little, you realize your center of gravity is off and you’re about to fall forward, quickly holding out your hands to brace your fall. As you land on the ground with a thud, your mind spins—everything spins, you feel too warm, and then you feel your drink stain your pants in the spot you fell onto and—fuck, this really is too much for you.

Maybe you should’ve just accepted what Jeongyeon said. Maybe—fuck, who are you kidding—parties definitely don’t suit you. You’d be a fool to deny that now, especially when you’re aching to just leave already, even though you never made any plans of getting home.

That problem that you saved to deal with “at a later time” is becoming a problem you need to deal with now and you race through your options, all while seated on the floor, forgetting about how you need to clean up this mess.

It’s when your head starts to hurt and you scrunch up your face in hopes to soothe your headache when you hear his voice. A warm hand wrapped around your wrist and then it’s pulling you up and onto your wobbly legs. “Let’s get you out of here,” Cheol mumbles, and without weighing the consequences of your actions, you nod along.

You don’t care anymore. You need to leave, and if Cheol is the path to getting out, you won’t mind.

When his arms lead you out the front door and into the night, you feel cold. Extremely cold. Maybe it’s because your body is so warm, maybe it’s because the wet alcohol on your pants is sending shivers up your spine—maybe it’s that you’re starting to slowly realize who you’re with.

Standing on the grass, you aren’t sure what to do now. What should you do? What does Cheol want you to do—you stop yourself. It shouldn’t matter what he wants you to do, you remind yourself, so why do you find your gaze lazily making its way over to his face?

Fuck ignorance and its bliss. Right now, you want to know what Cheol is thinking. He’s looking down at you, and suddenly you feel small. His face isn’t demeaning, it’s not angry, he’s not upset, but you just feel so pathetic.

And god, do you hate that word. It echoes in your head. Your dirtied pants, flushed and puffy cheeks, disheveled hair, all as you struggle to stand up—pathetic. You turn away from him, not being able to watch him watch you any longer.

“Let me drive you home,” he says finally over the thick air.

“You’re drunk,” you protest mindlessly—you don’t have a clue if that’s true at all, but knowing Cheol, it probably is.

“I haven’t had anything all night.” Nevermind, you tell yourself, maybe you don’t know him at all. Can six months really change a person that much?

Cheol is thinking the same thing about you. Your eyes are glossy and you look so out of it and he can’t even remember the last time he saw you like this—the only memories he has are when you first got drunk with him and Yejin in high school. The memory shoots an arrow at his heart, but he brushes off the feeling, focusing on you right now.

“Trust me,” he says. You blink a few times, staring at the ground, then at the sky, and then at Cheol. “Trust me,” he repeats, and now you remember just how well you know him. Cheol isn’t asking right now, no, he’s begging. You think as deeply as your wasted mind will let you.

Do you trust Cheol? No.

Cheol hurt you. Yejin hurt you.

Is this about Yejin? No.

Do you trust Cheol? No.

What is this about? I don’t know.

Do you trust Cheol? I don’t know.

Can you trust Cheol? …

He places a hand on your shoulder and the touch is firm.

Can you trust Cheol? Of course you can.

His eyes are soft as you look up at him.

Do you trust Cheol? Absolutely.

Optimism would say that you left the door unlocked. Joshua would disagree and say that you weren’t going to be inside even if the door was wide open. Jeonghan, surprisingly, doesn’t agree with Joshua—your words were harsh, but the water streaming down your cheeks told him that there was more going on in your head than you let on.

Seungcheol tends to only listen to what he wants to hear, at least that’s what all his friends have noticed. They saw it with Yejin—ignoring all the red flags, late nights of arguing until Cheol would murmur, “it’s fine, let’s just go to sleep.” Reality wasn’t the easiest for him to face, and now it’s more apparent than ever.

“He’s too optimistic about her,” Joshua sighs, throwing himself onto his friend’s couch the morning after. He slept over at his friends’ place, and they follow carefully behind him now.

“He still has hope?” Mingyu asks incredulously, sitting on an armchair.

“Too much of it,” Joshua replies, sitting up straight so that there’s room for Jeonghan on the couch.

“She’s still nice to me,” Mingyu says thoughtfully. “Maybe she doesn’t hate him.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” Jeonghan says. “She’s still close friends with Joshua, so I don’t think she’s going to let that whole situation get in the way of her own friendships.”

Joshua nods in agreement, adding, “That, and I never said she hated Cheol.”

Mingyu furrows his eyebrows. “She doesn’t?”

“I don’t think she ever did,” Joshua says honestly, leaning back into the cushions as he stretches his arms.

“Really? I would’ve,” Mingyu admits and Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

“We know that you would,” he teases, causing the taller boy to pout but keep his mouth shut. “Anyways, I think Cheol is going to keep trying.”

“I know he will,” Joshua mutters, running a hand over his face. “He’s going to go in circles after her.”

“She’s not gonna give in?” Mingyu asks, and Joshua shakes his head, but Jeonghan puts his hand up in protest.

“I think she might eventually come ‘round to a stop,” he says, and Joshua shoots him a look of surprise. “I dunno, I know you and her are close, but I just have a feeling. We’ll have to see.”

“Don’t let Cheol hear that. He’ll take it as a sign to never stop,” Joshua warns.

Seungcheol doesn’t hear this conversation now or ever, but he never had plans of stopping in the first place. He was always more optimistic than you—than anyone you knew, really—and anyone who knows him should know better than to underestimate the extent of his determination.

Jeonghan and Joshua are making that mistake right now, and even though Cheol will never know what they said, he is determined to prove them wrong, for the sake of his own sanity.

Jeongyeon picks up the phone after the first ring. “I am so sorry,” she babbles into the line. “I—fuck—we should’ve figured out a ride—I mean I should’ve figured out a ride since I basically forced you to come and I knew I would be drinking and—god, I am so sorry.”

Your head rings at the way her voice blares through the phone, and you sit up and against your headboard. You woke up only moments ago, greeted by a million texts from Jeongyeon, not bothering to soothe your hangover headache before calling her back—she must have been worried, you told yourself.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, reaching over to grab some water from your bedside table. “I got a safe ride home.”

“Yeah, Joshua told me…but still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you to find a ride on your own.” “Don’t apologize Jeongyeon, I left you without a ride too so stop apologizing or else you’ll start to make me feel bad.”

You can hear her huff on the other end, and you smile. “Okay fine, but seriously. I’ll cover one of your shifts or something soon because I feel bad for even taking you. You looked miserable.”

“That was only because Jeonghan came up to me,” you tell her honestly.

“Jeonghan? Like Seungcheol’s friend?” she says, and you can tell from her voice that she’s hesitating to even say his name.

“Yes,” you sigh softly. Jeongyeon wants to know more, you can feel it, but you aren’t in the mood to bring it up, at least not with her. “It’s whatever. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

She pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to comprehend your quick switch of topics. “Uh, sure. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling back your phone as you click to hang up. Letting your head fall back onto your pillow, you inhale deeply. You remember the night before too vividly—even if you were drunk, there was too much happening for you to forget.

You know you can’t forget, so you decide to do just what you’ve been doing for the past half year: ignore. It’s what you’re best at, after all. Yet as your day goes on, your mind begins to trail off. You think, and you think, and you think until you aren’t sure what was real and what was not from last night.

You start to realize that you aren’t as good at ignoring as you like to think.

“You think too much,” Hyunwoo jokes, watching you stare at the shot of espresso in front of you. You’d made it for yourself as an attempt to feel more energized after your lecture, but you find yourself zoning out as the small cup sits on the counter, waiting for you to gulp it down.

“Uh, sorry,” you murmur, shaking your head a little. “This shift is light and we haven’t had any customers in a few minutes so I just…”

“It’s fine,” Hyunwoo replies with a smile, and you purse your lips. Ever since Joshua told you that Hyunwoo likes you, you’ve been warning yourself to tread lightly. Not that he isn’t a good guy—Hyunwoo is great—he’s just not your type.

What is your type? The thought is swept out of your mind before you even come up with an answer, swooping up the shot of espresso and holding it up to your lips.

It’s been three days since the party, and you haven’t talked to Joshua in a minute, so your mind is slightly frazzled. Hyunwoo is nice, but you miss the comfort of your close friend, and maybe you’re just a little curious to see if he has anything to say about Cheol driving you home that night.

You’re sure he does—you can already predict his words: “you told yourself you wouldn’t talk to him.” Joshua might be harsh with his words, but you feel with the way you’ve been losing your damn mind recently, you need someone like him to bring you back to reality.

Maybe that’s what went wrong with you, with Cheol, with Yejin—with the three of you. You and Cheol were too lost in fantasies, Yejin always holding you two down. She was right—Cheol wouldn’t like you. Two people who didn’t know a reality other than their imaginations couldn’t work out.

Cheol needed someone to ground himself, you needed someone to ground yourself, and at the end of the day, Yejin chose to help him. You still think about what you would have done if you were in her situation, and after months, you can’t come up with an answer.

You remember the events leading up to her decision like it’s as clear as day, and no matter how many times you replay that moment, you don’t know what to think, except that you’re angry, you’re sad—they left you.

“I heard you and Joshua,” Yejin tells you quietly, and you feel your heart stop. “You like Seungcheol?” and the way she uses his full name makes you feel almost ashamed for confirming it with a nod.

“I—” you pause, “—I didn’t know you liked him.”

“I love him,” she corrects you.

“Oh,” is all you manage out.

“You’re pathetic.”

That was the start of it. Yejin sent Chaeyoung over the next day to pick up her stuff from your apartment. You didn’t hear another word from Cheol. The last thing you remember him saying to you was from that night is still a jumble in your head.

You hate crying, and everyone knows it. So when you sprint out of the room minutes after Yejin, eyes red and puffy, Cheol knows something is wrong. Before he can walk up to you, there’s a hand on his shoulder and Yejin has her head pushed up next to his ear.

You don’t know what she tells him, but his gaze falters. The last thing you hear him say is your name quietly as you rush away.

That night, Joshua drives you home while you think about how you’re going to tell your mother that Cheol and Yejin won’t be coming to your house for spring break.

That was six months ago. Of course, six months pales in comparison to the decade you spent as friends. The years from middle school, to high school, to college—you three side by side. Things changed so quickly, too quickly.

Sometimes you think about what she might’ve told him—what she could’ve said that made him turn away at every gathering you were both at after that. That made him erase the years you shared before all this. That made you all strangers.

You figure things like this will never make sense to you. You don’t understand now, and you probably never will—you are content with that.

At least, up until three days ago you were. Some small voice in your head is reminding you of the confusion, the hurt, the heartbreak you felt when it all happened. Now, you’re more desperate than ever to know what exactly happened, it’s just a matter of if you’re willing to go down this rabbit hole of reconnection.

It’s like the universe hears you and laughs. The ringing of the door fills the little cafe and you’re pushing yourself off the counter, nodding and Hyunwoo. “I got it,” you tell him, dropping your cup in the sink and walking over to the register.

Of course it’s Cheol standing in front of you. You can’t tell if he found out your schedule from Joshua (but no, Joshua wouldn’t do that to you) or if it’s just something like fate. Fate.

You sigh, preparing yourself for yet another onslaught of thoughts. “What can I get you?”

There’s something mischievous glinting in his eyes. “Don’t you remember my usual?” Cheol attempts, and you’re surprised by his forwardness. Don’t be shocked, you think. Cheol never backs down, never stops trying.

Do you give in? Just this once? He did help you out that night—you aren’t sure if you’d be able to get home in one piece if it weren’t for him. Then again, it could’ve just been one of Cheol’s kind favors, something that isn’t reserved for only you, but just any drunk girl in general. You don’t want to mistake his qualities of a gentleman with him holding out a figurative olive branch.

Trust me, his words are like a broken record in your mind.

You’re thinking too much. Fuck, if he didn’t hold out the olive branch that night, you’re going to try to now.

“Iced latte with hazelnut syrup,” you say quietly, tapping it into the tablet. You’re scared to look up because you know he's grinning. You shouldn’t want to be the reason behind his smiles, but you do.

“Thanks,” he chirps, holding out his card so you can turn around the tablet for him.

“Your order will come out on your left,” you tell him, not looking up. You expect things to stop now, for things to quietly go back to normal.

“Hey, when do you get off?”

You do a double take to make sure you heard him correctly. “Sorry?” You finally look up at him and god, you start to remember why you loved his smile so much.

“I asked when you get off from your shift? Six?”

“I—uh, yeah,” you reply without thinking. “How’d you know?”

“That’s when Joshua gets off on Fridays. Just a guess,” he shrugs. You purse your lips and don’t respond, not sure where to take things from here; yeah you held out the branch but you didn’t expect him to grab it just this quickly. “Can I stay until then?”

You should say no. You really should say no. But then you’re thrown back to three days ago and the words are sounding an awful lot like trust me, trust me, and then you realize you just can’t deny him.

“Okay,” you say softly. You can tell from the look of relief on Cheol’s face that he wasn’t expecting this, and you aren’t sure what to take from that. As you turn to make his drink, you glance at the clock. Thirty seven minutes before your shift ends, and you can’t figure out if you’re going to try and make the time before them fly or go slow.

Handing Cheol his drink, you don’t say anything, your movements swift as you try and unbox your own feelings. Of course, you aren’t given the liberty to do that, not when Hyunwoo is standing in front of you.

“Is that Seungcheol?”

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, closing your eyes tightly for a moment. Maybe if you think hard enough you’ll realize it’s just a dream where your actions have no real consequences.

“I thought you two didn’t talk.”

“Did Joshua tell you that?”

“Kind of…maybe…I sorta figured it out on my own,” Hyunwoo admits. “Sorry, that sounds weird.” You sigh softly, feeling bad for how flustered Hyunwoo is.

“It’s okay…let’s just get back to work,” you suggest, turning away to clean up some of the counters with your extra time.

You don’t notice it, but Cheol watches the conversation between you and Hyunwoo unfold, and while he can’t hear what you two are saying, he has a feeling he won’t like it. He has to remind himself to not have high expectations, to not get his hopes up, just like Jeonghan and Joshua warn, but he just can’t help it.

But when you agree to see him after your shift (he knows you didn’t technically agree to that, but he knows you and is sure that you caught onto his underlying message), he just has to stay hopeful. So as he patiently waits for the clock to strike six, he thinks about what to say.

To be honest, this all happened on a whim. Again, he didn’t really know that you were working today, he just happened to get lucky. Cheol himself isn’t sure what exactly he wants to say to you, he just knows it is a lot.

He thinks about you a lot. The good, the bad, all the in between—Seungcheol misses you. And he knows that it isn’t fair, that he shouldn’t do this, that he doesn’t have the right—Joshua has made that clear to him on numerous occasions.

“She’s fine without you.”

“But—”

“You don’t have a say about being in her life.”

“And you do?” Cheol shoots out.

Joshua steps back. “I don’t either, but I know how she’s doing better than you. I know how she felt after everything happened.”

Cheol pauses. That, Joshua did. Cheol didn’t know anything, did he? “This isn’t about you, it’s about me and it’s about her.”

“There is no you and her,” Joshua says bluntly. Cheol doesn’t say anything, but he knows in his mind that he needs to change that.

Cheol lets the idea run through his mind, that he's making a royal mistake right now, and all this is going to amount to nothing. He doesn’t mull over it for longer than ten seconds. He is going to do this, and if he doesn’t, he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

You get off your shift while Hyunwoo continues his. “You’re going to talk to him?” he asks with knitted eyebrows, pointing at Cheol.

“Uh, yeah,” you say sheepishly in the back, untying your apron. “Don’t tell Joshua, he’ll kick my ass,” you add, only only half joking. Joshua definitely won’t let you hear the end of this, but that is another problem for another time. Hanging up your apron, you grab your backpack from the shelf and slip to the back door. “See you later!” you chirp, throwing Hyunwoo one last wave before you enter the seating area from the back to make your way to Cheol who’s sitting at an elevated stool by the window.

Your once confident strides are much smaller now, you find yourself holding back each one more and more. Do you really want this? Trust me. You’ll just have to find out. “Hey,” you say quietly, and this time you don’t let your gaze fall, tapping on Cheol’s shoulder. He turns around quickly, straw in his mouth as he drinks the half finished drink with a smile.

“Hey, you’re early,” he states casually, glancing at the time. It’s 5:57.

“I guess,” you reply, voice as still as you can manage.

“You’ve probably been here for a while,” Cheol murmurs to himself, getting up from his seat. “You want to go on a walk? The weather is nice right now.”

You want to roll your eyes and tease him, saying “it’s August, of course the weather is nice,” but you stop yourself—you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that level of comfort yet. “Sure,” you agree instead, adjusting your bag over your shoulder as you follow him out the door and onto the main street.

“How was work? Stopped working at the bakery, huh?” he says, and you just don’t get it. How is he being so casual? How is he acting like this is the first time you two have had a real conversation in months? How is he—you don’t even realize you’ve stopped walking until he calls out your name. God, you really missed how it sounded when he said your name. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t even think before responding. “What do you think is wrong?” Cheol is standing a few feet in front of you and the look on his face is confusing…you can’t read it. You aren’t sure if it’s because he’s confused, or if it’s because you just aren’t used to this, or what. Whatever it is, you don’t like it.

“I’m sorry,” Cheol says softly, stepping forward. You still don’t move. “I—uh shit, sorry—this,” he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “this is weird, you’re right I just, I don’t know—”

“Is there something you want to say?” Your eyes bore into his, and Cheol knows he can’t keep any secrets from you.

“I’m sorry.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks hopefully.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask with a shrug. “Sorry for what?”

“A lot of things. Everything,” Cheol admits, and your eyes widen slightly at his honesty. You pretend to glance down at your watch.

“Well you’re going to have to be more specific,” you tell him truthfully, “and don’t have a lot of time.”

“I’ll come again!” he says quickly, holding his hands up as you’re about to walk towards your car. “When do you work? Tell me. I’ll come after every shift.”

“I work almost everyday.”

“I’ll come everyday,” he says with no hesitation. Your heart tightens. You a month ago would have said fuck no, but then trust me, trust me is echoing in your head again and before you can stop yourself, you’re nodding.

“Mondays and Tuesday I get off at 6, Wednesdays at 9, Thursdays at…”

You used to believe Seungcheol always lived up to his promises. When you were younger, you couldn’t think of a single time when he didn’t go by his word. You trusted him, always, so when he broke the promise of “we’ll stick together”—arguably the only one that actually mattered—you were shattered. You still are, or at least your trust is.

Right now, Cheol promises he’ll come see you after every shift. You don’t think you should trust him, but you do anyway, watching the clock to make sure he’s always here on time. You tell yourself you do it because you don’t like to be kept waiting, but you know deep down that you’re just trying to find an excuse.

You’re trying to justify your distrust, even though you already have a perfectly good reason for being tentative around Cheol. Somehow, whenever you’re with him, you forget about it all.

It’s awkward most of the time. Well, more like you’re awkward and Cheol just pretends you aren’t, acting all normal and like you aren’t stumbling over your words and blanking out mid sentence.

You’re not nervous, you just don’t know what to say, the words getting lost in your head as you wonder whether or not there’s a line and where it is and if you should cross it.

Today is the fifth day Cheol comes to see you after your shift. He comes in at 6:54 which is a bit earlier than usual, and it’s the first time that Joshua is seeing the scene unfold. As Cheol walks in, your friend throws you a careful glance before waving over at his friend and connecting fists as he hops over to take his order.

“Iced latte with—”

“I’m not here for a drink,” Cheol says quickly, putting his hand up before he can watch Joshus key in his usual order.

“Huh…did I miss something?” Joshua asks, checking his watch for any missed messages. You chew your lip and Cheol glances at you, realizing that you haven’t told Joshua that you and him are speaking again.

“Uh, no,” Cheol murmurs. He points at you and when he sees that you don’t protest, he proceeds. “We’re, uh, I’m just waiting for her shift to end and—” he stops talking when Joshua whips his head around to stare at you with a look of bewilderment.

You nod shyly, untying your apron as you make your way to the back room. Joshua follows quickly behind you, closing the door behind him while you hang up the garment. “What does he mean by that?”

“I dunno, Josh,” you say, because honestly you aren’t sure how to explain it either.

“Remember what you said?” he tells you—you know where this is headed, and you really don’t want him to bring it up. “You said you’d never forgive them.”

You did say that. “In a moment of anger,” you argue, grabbing your bag. You know he’s just being protective of you, but right now it’s getting on your nerves.

“And? You’re just going to forgive him because he drove you home when you were drunk?”

“I haven’t forgiven him!” you pause. “At least not yet.”

“You’re seriously going to forgive him after all that you said about moving on?”

“I have moved on, Joshua,” you tell him. It’s true. “There’s nothing wrong with letting him back in my life now, especially if he wants to.”

“And what if he fucks up again?”

You roll your eyes as you walk to the back door. “How’s that supposed to happen? Thought you said he and Yejin broke up?”

“They did, but that isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?” you ask exasperatedly. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions. You’re acting like I don’t know the consequences of my actions. You’re acting as if I wasn’t the one who had to go through all that, so please just let me make this decision.”

Joshua steps back and sighs, and by the way he doesn’t say anything as you open the door, you assume he has accepted defeat.

Cheol meets you on the other side of the door, wearing his usual smile. You can only pray that he didn’t hear your conversation with Joshua. “Hey,” he greets and you nod in response. Well if he heard anything, he pretends he doesn’t. The truth is, Cheol hears every word, he’s just very good at putting a smile on his face.

You two walk out of the store silently and side by side. “How was work?” Cheol asks.

“Good. It’s most fun with Joshua,” you reply, walking on the sidewalk like you two usually do. You follow a trail down the street and through some parks for kids, always making a round trip back to your cafe where your car is parked.

The days have been getting shorter, and it’s evident by the way the sky is painted a deep orange right now. “Didn’t sound like he’s too happy today,” Cheol comments, and you halt your steps for just a moment, realizing he did hear you two.

“Uh, yeah,” you mumble. You two haven’t talked about that since you started speaking again. All the things Cheol said he wanted to apologize for were left suspended in the air, waiting for one of you to pluck it out and face reality. Neither of you were ever really good at that. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I’m sorry you had to say that,” Cheol responds almost instantly, standing in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face you.

Your eyebrows furrow when you respond, “What?”

“I mean, shit, I worded that badly,” he groans, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry that…you know—you said you’d never forgive me and I’m sorry. And I know you probably shouldn’t forgive me but I’m sorry.”

You certainly weren’t expecting that, but then again, you need to remind yourself to never be surprised when it comes to Cheol. You bite back the words, “it’s okay,” because you aren’t ready to say that, so instead you just nod. “Okay.” Your eyes glaze around your surroundings and they fall on a bench. Pointing at it, you say, “Let’s sit, yeah?”

You two sit side by side on the bench, and you think that this is the closest either of you have been in a long time, your thighs almost brushing against each other’s. The sky darkens above you, and you usually would take this as your cue to go back to your car, but tonight, you stay.

There’s a question that’s prodding at the back of your mind, and you chide yourself for even thinking about it. Don’t ask him, don’t do it, and you almost listen. Almost. You figure that the fact that you’re even here with Cheol right now is a sign that things are changing more than they already have, that you’re changing in ways that you didn’t know you could, and Cheol is changing, and he’s changing for you.

Cheol senses it too, that you’re thinking deeply, and he waits. When you’re finally lifting your head and looking up at the sky, he turns to you as you open your mouth. “How did you guys break up?” You can’t bring yourself to say “you and Yejin.” It’s too painful of a reminder that there was once a Cheol and Yejin, and that it came at the expense of you and Cheol and Yejin.

He takes a deep breath and hesitates, but you don’t retract your question. You feel after everything, you deserve to know, no matter how aching the memory is. “She cheated on me.”

“Oh.”

Cheol’s voice is flat for the first time since you’ve started speaking again. “Yeah,” he mutters. You purse your lips together, unsure of what to do, what to say. There was a time that you felt you knew all the right words, all the right things to do, but now you’re lost. Maybe it’s because Cheol has changed, but then—no, it’s not him, it’s you. You’ve changed. You thought you didn’t care, and that was true.

You didn’t care about what happened to Cheol or Yejin or them because they had left you and there was nothing after that. You didn’t care because caring wouldn’t help you get either of them back, and you didn’t care because caring only made long nights of you crying in your bed even longer.

But did you ever stop caring about Cheol? About Yejin? There’s a fine line, you realize, between caring about your relationship with someone and caring about them, and it hits you that not once did you not care about Cheol.

What would you have done if this had happened six months ago? What would you have said? You were never the best at words, but when it came to Cheol and Yejin, you always found some way to make them feel better. Looking over at Cheol, his head hangs low as he chews on his lip.

You reach over your hand and place it on his shoulder gently. “I’m sorry,” you tell him.

Cheol chuckles hollowly, causing you to frown deeply. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

“We have time for that later,” you reply honestly, not breaking the contact even when he shifts a little, finally looking up at you.

“Later?” he asks hopefully. You smile and nod. This is a promise, you both know. Joshua is going to kill you for this later.

“He got fired?” you snort. “Didn’t he say he could get away with anything?”

“Yeah,” Cheol chuckles. “And to be fair, he did get away with a lot. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t get fired months ago. He would give me and Soonyoung discounts all the time, it was crazy.”

“I remember that…” you say quietly.

“Yeah, anyways, he got fired and now he’s complaining about not having extra cash. Minghao’s telling him to just find another job but Hannie is convinced that he’ll be able to convince his boss to hire him back…”

“Knowing Jeonghan, he might just be able to pull that off.”

“Who knows,” Cheol murmurs with a shrug. “It’s late. Do you want to go?”

“Want me gone already?” you tease. Things are more comfortable now. It isn’t the same as before—how could it—but it’s getting there. You aren’t sure you’ll ever be “back to the old days,” but you sure are trying to get as close as you can.

“You know that isn’t true,” he shoots back. You trust him, and if that’s a mistake, you hardly care. Maybe this is where you start to crumble. “I’m just trying to make sure that it’s not too late when you get home.”

He’s being caring, although it isn’t unexpected. Cheol was always caring. “You’re right,” you murmur, not wanting to admit that you might have wanted to sit here and talk to him a bit longer. You stand up, grabbing your back and he follows after you as you walk up the street in the direction of the shop. You return back to the conversation of Jeonghan and his antics both in and out of the workplace, and before you know it, you’re back at the parking lot.

You’ve grown to look forward to these meetings—how could you not—and it does kill a little bit of self control inside of you every time you realize that fact.

“You gonna go now?” he asks softly, and as you stop walking, you let the tension grow thick. This part is always awkward. You don’t know if it’s fitting to say “bye” or “goodbye” or “see you later” or hug him or wave or—you usually settle for a smile but there’s a growing ache in your heart which tells you that maybe you want more.

Cheol seems to think the same, and it all happens so quickly, too quickly, and suddenly you’re going dizzy and your world is spinning.

Choi Seungcheol’s lips are soft.

And they don’t press against yours for more than a second before you place your hands on his chest and push him back. You almost indulge. Almost.

“Why would you do that?” you whisper, not meeting his gaze. Cheol runs a hand through his hair, steeping back with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking—shit, shit, shit—I’m sorry, I’m so sor—”

You ball your fists and your face contorts into some ugly sort of grimace. “Stop saying that!” you cry out, and Cheol stills. “Stop fucking saying you’re sorry! I-I-I hate it!”

“What?” and the hurt is more than evident in his voice.

“I know you’re sorry, okay? I get it,” you tell him exasperatedly. “And you keep saying it—you’re sorry for everything, you’re sorry for all of it. It’s all you say, but maybe if you just stopped and thought for a second you’d realize that no matter how much you keep saying it, I have not once said it’s okay.”

He gapes at you for a moment but recovers quickly, running a hand through his hair. “I—” he pauses, “I don’t know how else to tell you. It’s been a few weeks and—”

“You didn’t speak to me for six months,” you spit out, and you wonder if this is what it’s all going to come down to. The past month of you figuring out your emotions, working out what you want, what’s good for you, what’s not—you’re afraid that right now it will all amount to nothing.

Maybe you two were in your heads too long. Maybe this was your harsh pull back down to the ground.

“Six months, Seungcheol,” you repeat, and he winces when you use his full name.

“I know, I’m s—”

“You’re sorry, I know,” you say quieter this time, slumping against the wall. His lips were so warm, so soft, you still feel their ghost on your lips. You calm down for a second at the thought, but then your anger bubbles up when you remind yourself that Yejin got to taste him too. Got to have him, love him, cherish him for those six months. Jealousy doesn’t suit you, but that isn’t what this is about anyways. Right now, all it does is fuel your heat.

“I just—I don’t know how to really say it,” Cheol admits.

“Well you should figure that out,” you tell him harshly. “I can’t stand here forever, waiting for you to find the right words.”

“You’re right, I know.”

“Do you?” you ask, exhausted. It’s all catching up to you know—you’re tired, so tired.

“I do.”

Do you trust Cheol?

“I don’t believe you,” your voice quivers when you say it, and Cheol feels his heart break at the sound. “I can’t.”

“I know—that’s my fault, I know.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m trying.” You know he is, there isn’t a doubt in your mind. Inhaling deeply, you choose your words carefully.

“We need to talk about everything,” you tell him slowly.

“Okay,” Cheol agrees quickly. “Okay, where do you want to start?”

“Where do you think we should start? I think that’s where we should start.”

Cheol sucks in a breath and pinches his eyebrows together. You can tell that he, just like you, is making sure he doesn’t say anything he’ll regret. “Well, the beginning, I guess,” he sighs, and you open your mouth in protest but he holds his hand out to stop you. “Okay just listen.” “Fine.”

“I found out Yejin liked me in January,” he tells you.

“That was a month before…” your voice trails off and he nods.

“Before we got together and…” And we stopped talking to you. He doesn’t say, doesn’t need to. “Yeah. Chaeyoung told me. Yejin didn’t know I knew until…”

“Until you started liking her,” you mutter under your breath. You furrow your eyebrows and look up at him. “You know I know this, right? Joshua told me when you told him.”

Cheol seems surprised by that. “What, really?” you aren’t sure why he never expected that—you and Joshua are pretty much like siblings, after all.

“Yeah. I think I knew before Yejin,” you admit. Your voice is small, and the way the entire event of six months ago is playing out in your head is a not so nice reminder of why you’re in this situation in the first place.

“Oh.” Silence. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You frown. “What was I supposed to say? ‘No Cheol! Don’t like Yejin! Like me!’” you say in a mocking tone. “Why would I do that to her? Why would I do that to you?” you were calm a moment ago, but you feel yourself growing upset again.

“I thought you—” Cheol thinks for a moment, wondering if he should say it, “—I thought you liked me.”

“I did,” you seethe out. “But did you think I was going to beg you to change your mind? To change your feelings?” Cheol is quiet now, and you take it as your cue to continue. “I…I cared about you and Yejin so much—” that’s a lie (you still do)—“and you should know that if you guys were happy I would be okay with that.”

“What about your feelings? Why didn’t you do anything about that?” Cheol shoots back, and it’s starting to sound an awful lot like your last conversation with Yejin.

“You claim you love him but you’re just willing to give him up like that? That’s pathetic. You are pathetic.”

You feel tears stream down your cheeks at the memory and you need to remind yourself that it isn’t worth crying over—but then again, it is. “I would’ve dealt with my feelings just as I have been for the past six months—by myself and totally fine.”

Cheol doesn’t have a response to that, because if there’s one thing he won’t even attempt to refute, it’s this. Because after everything, you have been okay. You have been healing. It killed him every time Joshua would tell him you’re doing fine, because he wasn’t doing fine and he was having a really, really hard time accepting that.

He knows it’s unfair, Cheol knows he’s being anything but fair, but he just doesn’t know how to help it.

It’s the worst that you’re crying now—crying ‘cause of him. Because Cheol knows that you were okay and it was him that decided to butt back in your life to try and make amends, and you being you, decided to let him back in and fuck—he knows he’s being selfish by doing all this and he know he doesn’t deserve this yet you are still here, trying to hear him out.

“I fucked up, I don’t deserve a second chance.”

You choke back a sob, “Damn right you don’t,” and Cheol knows that you’re right.

“I’m still going to try.”

You brush some tears away from your face. “I know.”

You go home that night without another word, and Cheol only stops you to make sure you’ve stopped crying before you start the car and drive off. It’s the next day, and you can’t help but glance back and forth between the door and clock as your shift nears its end.

“You waiting for him?” Hyunwoo asks you from the side, and you feel a little bit bad at the way his voice sounds a bit sad.

“Uh—” Are you waiting for Cheol? “—I guess, yeah.” There’s no reason for you to deny it. You’ve replayed last night’s conversation more times than you can count, and you still aren’t sure how to feel. You need to see him.

As the time nears six, an uneasy feeling pools at your stomach, and you wonder what you’ll do if he doesn’t show up. End it for good? Add it to the list of reasons why you should never talk to him again? Block h—

The bell above the door ringing saves you from that rabbit hole. It’s 5:59 and Cheol waits in front of the door and for once, he isn’t donning a smile. Looking at Hyunwoo, you throw out a small wave before slipping to the back room. Hyunwoo doesn’t follow you, he stopped doing that after the first two times Seungcheol started coming, although you aren’t sure why. It’s a passing thought though, definitely not at the forefront of your mind as you hang your apron routinely and exit through the back door.

Cheol waits for you by the door and you don’t say anything as you both leave through the front. The atmosphere is thick and you aren’t sure who is going to say what and when. It’s only when you’ve walked around two minutes down your regular path that Cheol stops in front of that bench. Flickering his eyes towards yours for a moment of confirmation, he sits down and motions you to follow. You sit side by side and once again, you two are almost touching, but aren’t quite there just yet.

“So,” you finally say. “Where were we?”

“That night,” Cheol replies quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. You glance over at him and can’t help but realize how…small he looks. You want to reach out and hold him for a moment, but you shouldn’t.

“What about that night?” you murmur. There’s too much about that night for you to even fathom what he’s thinking about.

“What did Yejin say to you? In the room?” he asks.

“Does that matter?” You seriously don't want to recount it, but then Cheol is nodding and you just have to give in. “She was mad…same reason as you,” you mumble.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t like how I was accepting of it all,” you sigh, leaning back. “I think she just got sick of me,” you finally confess. “Didn’t like me anymore, and then she thought I was pathetic or something and used that as an excuse to just—I dunno, drop me.” You pause, turning to look at him again. “What did she tell you?”

You know you probably shouldn’t ask. It’ll be painful, you know, but you’re confident you can handle it.

“She said it couldn’t work…the three of us. That it was either me ‘n’ her or nothing, because nothing could go back to normal after this.”

You look down. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You believed her?”

“Well, at the time,” Cheol murmurs, “Yeah I did.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Trust me, trust me. “I liked that she liked me. I liked her and I thought I was going to lose you either way and—”

“I said okay.”

“Is it okay?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “I beat myself up a lot for all that, you know? Wondered what she could’ve said that made you not wanna fight to be my friend.” You scoff to yourself. “I guess we both suck at that.”

“Huh?”

“You know: fighting for what we want,” you clarify.

“That can change,” Cheol says, clearing his throat. “I’m fighting right now.”

That conversation is the first of many. One month later and Cheol is still fighting. It’s your birthday, and you aren’t surprised that he remembers, but you are surprised when he gets you a gift. A new apron. “Your old one is getting…well, old.”

You’re both sitting at the bench once again, and for the first time, your thighs brush against each other’s fully. It’s warm, it’s welcoming, it’s soft. Maybe you and Cheol haven’t finished crossing the bridge yet, but you’ve definitely finished building it. There’s time for the rest later. You want to focus on you and him now.

“I wonder why,” you say sarcastically, taking it out of the bag. “It’s cute—hey, is this my name?” you ask excitedly, holding up the little spot on the top with some letter embroidered in.

“Uh, yeah, it’s custom and all…I got Minghao to help me with the design.” You smile genuinely, turning to him.

“Thank you, I love it.”

“Thank god. Jeonghan said it was a stupid gift but I thought it was thoughtful…”

“Jeonghan once got you a rubber duck for your birthday, so I would take everything he says about gift-giving with a big fat grain of salt.”

“Hey, I still have that duck,” he tells you, and you both laugh together. “It’s in the bathroom, I only take it down for special occasions.”

“Special occasions being…?”

Cheol taps his chin. “Hmm…birthdays, the last day of school, Christmas…I’d like to think my luck is pretty great whenever I use it.”

“Is that so…” you hum. “When was the last time you used it?”

“Like two days ago.”

“Nothing special happened two days ago.” That’s a lie, and he sees right through it.

Cheol smiles smugly. “I know. It was just right before I came to see you.” Your cheeks burn as you turn away.

Two days ago being the last time you and him talked about all of it. From beginning to end, just like you had so many times before except for the first time, you were finally able to utter the words, “it’s okay, we’re okay.”

“Right…maybe luck really was on your side then,” you tease.

“Whatever,” Cheol says with a pout, watching you glance at your phone. “Do you need to go? I thought you didn’t have anything planned?”

“I don’t,” you say with a huff. “I just saw that my birthday gift from my parents got delivered. It’s fine, I’ll pick it up when I get home later.” You ponder whether this is the right moment to bring it up. “You can… come along if you want.”

It’s almost as if his ears perk up. “To your place?”

“Um, yeah,” you try to come off as casual. “Only if you want,” you add quickly, and he picks up on the double meaning right away.

Which is how you end up here.

“Haven’t been here in so long,” Cheol murmurs, looking over your apartment. It’s the exact same, save for some pictures with Yejin and him that have since been taken down. He would have been upset about it a month ago, but now he is content. It only makes it a goal for him to take more pictures with you now so you’ll have some to put up.

“Mhm,” you nod, putting your bag down on your kitchen counter.

“Hey…” he says softly as you flick on one light. It’s dim, but there’s just enough light for you to see the worried look on his face.

“Everything alright?”

He chews on his lips and he looks pretty. “I need to know where your head is at right now,” he admits. There’s a lot of different meanings to what he’s just asked, but with the way he’s looking at you, you have a pretty good idea of what he’s trying to say. “I don’t want to misread anything like the last time I—the last time.” The last time he kissed you.

You look down at the counter. You brought him here for a reason, but are you ready?

Trust me, trust me.

Of course you are. With Cheol, you’ll always be ready.

So when he’s pushing you up against the wall, hands grappling at your waist, feeling his warm, wet lips against you, you don’t waste a single second thinking about anyone else. You don’t think about what Joshua will say, you don’t think about how Jeongyeon will react, you don’t think about the look on Yejin’s face if she were to ever find out about this because right now, it’s Cheol that’s in front of you, and it’s Cheol that will always be in front of you.

One leg around his torso, your mouth smashes against his in a tangled mess of tongue and lip and it’s desperate and has you aching for more. And then he’s leading you to your bedroom and you are reminded of the fact that Cheol knows this place so well that he doesn’t even need to ask for directions.

Throwing you onto the bed your mind goes blank—it’s as if all the happiness in the world rushes to you at once, leaving you all light-headed and disoriented when Cheol clambers on top of you, his thigh wedged between your legs.

With his fingers pressed deeply into your hips as he runs his tongue along your jawline,rocking your clothed cunt against Cheol’s bare thigh, his gym shorts hiked up so that you can press your core as close to him as possible. Your breath is slightly labored as his lips press open mouthed kisses all the way down, and you feel yourself become increasingly needy at the way you can see the imprint of his cock against his shorts.

“Shit—you’re so—wait,” he murmurs, pulling his lips away from your burning skin to bore his eyes down at you. “Is this okay?” he asks softly, pulling his knee back so there’s some space between you and him. Cheol doesn’t expect for your eyes to widen, hand shooting out and grabbing his thigh to make sure it doesn’t move another inch.

“Yes,” you gasp out, pulling his leg so hard that he stumbles forward a bit when you do, the hard muscle pressing back against your core. Cheol lets the initial shock of you being needy for him settle in, and suddenly he’s grinning and having one hand back at your waist, the other at your neck so he can tilt your head up and have better access to skin over your collarbone.

His fingers are rough and calloused as they slip beneath your shirt, pushing it up just far enough that your bra is exposed. Hovering above you, you watch through hazy vision as Cheol’s eyes dilate at the sight, swooping his head down to free one of your tits from the cup and catching a nipple in his mouth.

Your body jerks against his as he swipes a tongue over the hardened peak, and suddenly you feel that there’s too much fabric between you and his thigh. “Ch-cheol,” you mutter, tapping at his head that is currently burning beneath your shirt while he sneaks kisses all up and down your stomach, between your tits, and over your cleavage.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, pulling his head out and looking up at you, the pet name shooting shivers up our spine.

“Pants—ah—” you whine when he presses his thigh harder into you. “Pants!” you cry, trying your best to unbutton them with shaky fingers. Cheol picks up right away, helping you unzip them before hooking two fingers on the waistband and yanking the fabric down and over your feet, freeing yourself and your pussy of its unbearable restraints.

“Fuck, this is—you’re so hot,” he murmurs, looking down at your bare legs and tracing his fingers from your ankles to your knees, and then finally through your inner thighs where he bends down and starts to place rough kisses.

Usually, if he was in his right mind, Cheol would have wanted to take his sweet time with you, unraveling, unwinding all of you. But he’s figured that both of you have waited long enough and that you both deserve to be needy, to be desperate, to let this moment pass as quickly as it started because there will be plenty of time for a round two and three later on.

All you need right now is to feel each other, which is how he ends up pushing your panties to the side and digging his tongue into your dripping folds without warning. “Cheol!” you moan loudly, your hand gripping his hair tightly while he simultaneously wraps one arm over your hips, pulling you closer.

Seungcheol is going crazy, he thinks, because the taste of your pussy is better than any alcohol he’s ever drunk. You’re sweet and your cunt is literally fluttering its pretty fuck folds all for him as he slides one finger through them to collect your growing wetness. He feels himself growing high on the feeling and taste alone, his own hips pressing into the mattress in hopes of relieving some of the tension in his own pants.

There’s a slobbering mess that runs down his lips and chin as he fervently makes out with your pussy, and you briefly wonder how a man can be so good at making you feel this good before the thought is swept from your mind by one of Cheol’s thick fingers prodding at your entrance.

Holy hell, you’re so tight for him—gummy walls clamping down on his single digit the second he started to move it in and out’ta you, his mind racing as he thinks about how you might feel around his cock. And Cheol isn’t the only one thinking about it either, because when he’s slipping in another finger, you’re already crying out for more.

“I gotta work you up to it baby,” he tells you sympathetically, using one free hand to shove down his pants leaving him in only a shirt and boxers.

“Don’t wanna wait…” you protest with a pout, eyes shamelessly looking down at his figure hunched over you so you can catch sight of the imprint of his cock against his boxers.

Cheol chuckles, even though he’s on the brink of giving in himself. “Take your shirt off for me, yeah? It’ll save us some time.” That’s all you need to hear before you’re sitting up and yanking the stupidly tight shirt over your head and throwing it to the side as Cheol’s fingers continue their onslaught deep inside your cunt.

It’s less of an in and out motion now, and more of a curling motion that’s exploring you, finding out what makes you hum, what makes you moan, and what makes you go—“Oh fuck, Cheol!” He grins at the sound, leaning down to press a kiss on your clit as he pulls his slick fingers away.

“You wanted more?” he murmurs, slipping his own shirt over his head to reveal the familiar set of abs and toned chest. You let out a dazed smile at the sight, letting your body fall back onto the mattress.

“‘course I do,” you reply without hesitation, watching eagerly as his hand holds the waistband of his boxers and pushes the cloth down, revealing his cock all thick and hard as it springs out and hits his abdomen.

It’s long and it’s thick, and it’s nothing less than what you expected from Cheol, in fact, it’s a lot more than that. But you don’t even have time to think about how pretty his cock looks, pink tip all flushed as a thick vein runs down the side of its length, because it’s pushing against your entrance as he watches your face carefully.

When your eyebrows knit into a convulsion of pleasure and you squeak out his full name, he knows he can't hold back, slamming into your drooling cunt in one go.

And his cock is so big it’s pushing you open, but the pain is so good, so enthralling, that you don’t even mind being split in half if it’s like this—if it’s because every time he pulls his hips back, you know he’ll slam it deeper and deeper every single time, hitting spots deep inside of your cunt that you didn’t even know existed.

All while your limbs are flailing around him, thrashing as you bite into his shoulder, muffling your cries of, “Cheol, Cheol, Cheol!”

Your name falls from his lips too, mixed in with the mindless words of, beautiful, pretty, princess as he compliments you for takin’ him so well and squeezin’ him so good he doesn't know how he hasn’t bust already.

“God, fuck,” he moans when you look up at him through heavy lashes, tethering his boto m lip between his teeth to try and slow his impending orgasm. “Fuck,” he chokes out, “shit—I love you—”

And there is your breaking point. Like the world has come to a stop and there is only you and Cheol and this moment and—god, you really are too far gone now—and him and you is all that matters.

You cum like you never have before, his cock battering your cunt ‘til you’re shaking and crying and yelling out his name as you feel nothing but him, think nothing but him, know nothing but him.

This is the moment you’ve both been waiting for, and as soon as Cheol has noticed your slower breaths he’s pulling out and letting you wrap one hand around his fat cock to help jerk himself off. He’s so close—so fucking close—and then you’re whispering those fated words—those three words—he feels everything in him just snap, hot cum shooting all over your swollen, abused cunt, and Cheol feels his heart swell.

Love.

There’s a lot more you need to work on, you both know that, but it’s okay.

Trust me, trust me.

I love you.

a/n. literally wrote the last part half asleep and i hate the ending but... okay wow … i had a tough time writing this because i really wanted it to be taken slow and i’m not really sure how well it went … also this story might have been a bit a lot of a reflection of a friendship that went wrong in my own life LOL so this might be me playing out how i wish things ended up :/so anyways please sharing ur thoughts and like and reblog!

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mutualcombat · 28 days

Text

oh my god why am i awake? why did i write this?

rating: explicit

pairing: astarion/afab!tav (adriannu :3 )

cw: 18+, parallel masturbation, astarion thinking hes being a dom but is mostly just being a creachurrr. worlds smallest reference to his trauma. also this is unedited if you see mistakes no you fuckin didnt (sorry) (set during act 2 btw)

preview:

The only thing he's laid on her tonight are his eyes, and still she yields. Obliges his whims like it's gospel.

What a wonder it is to desire again. Or to be desired.

"Will you, darling?" His ask his soft. Gentle. Demure. His voice melts into a whisper. Breathy. As if speaking the very words bring him overwhelming ecstasy. "Pleasure yourself for me?"

Even in the dark space of his tent, Astarion can see Adriannu's fingers move down her belly in a torturous crawl. He inhales sharply, and licks his lips as her hand sneaks through her pressed thighs. Splitting her fingers into a 'v', she draws them up her folds, then down and up again. Her little sigh of relief makes his ears fidget.

He can smell her arousal now. Taste it in the thick of the air. Hear it in the rushing of her blood. A cornucopia of sensual delight, spread out just for him and only on her offer.

"My, just look at you." Astarion leans back on his palms from where he sits at the edge of the leather trunk. He uncrosses his legs and unlaces his trousers to take his cock in hand, kneading the rosy, wet tip between his thumb and forefinger. He exhales; a reverent sigh. "Let me see what other talents those fingers have. "

Adriannu is panting. She's watching him in that strange, half lidded way, like he's an adversary she's sizing up for a fight.

Even so, she does as he instructs. Nude, on her back with her knees drawn up and pressing flush together -- Astarion nearly preens just watching her gingerly push a finger inside. She makes a strangled noise that sounds a lot like relief.

The only thing he's laid on her tonight are his eyes, and still she yields. Obliges his whims like it's gospel.

What a wonder it is to desire again. Or to be desired.

He couldn't stand the hands on him. The grabbing, the pushing. Fabric tearing. Skin bruising. Symptoms of twenty long decades of playing the object.

To actually want for someone that wants him in return... it excites him. Terrifies him. He's elated. Perplexed. Absolutely fucking clueless. He wants to pin Adriannu down and drag his cockhead over her clit until tears of raw pleasure bead at the corners of those strange, canid-like eyes.

The slick sounds of her cunt make his fingers flex, his cock twitch. His shallow breaths are a reflex, not a need. A habit from a time when he was just a man.

He bites the inside of his cheek as she pushes another finger in. Grinds her palm against clit while her fingers pump a slow, agonizing rhythm. Something delicious burns in his gut as he watches her drip over the linens of his bedroll. He knows he'll be burying his nose in it later, whimpering as he desperately knuckles the spot under his sack and rids himself of all the pent up release from this evening and the last.

"Just what are you thinking about over there?" It's Adriannu's amused voice that brings him to. Astarion blinks.

An intrusive, downright salacious thought worms it's way into his head -- tells him how good that smile of hers might look with a set of pristine fangs. A set to match his own.

His mouth goes dry. The hunger in him suddenly burns, and the fire threatens to smoke the beast in him right out into the open.

Across the tent, Adriannu's smile widens as she works herself. She's practically breathless. "I see that face--ah," something she does causes her hips to twitch. "Nasty, desperate creature you are..."

He's on her before she can react. Crawling up her body, cock in hand and practically dripping. His claws catch in the fibers of the bedding before he even realizes they're out.

Planting his knees on either side of her shoulders, Astarion straightens up and, tilting his head back, he gives his shaft a luxuriously slow pump from base to tip. "Maybe I'll show you just how nasty I can really be."

#bg3 fanfic #bg3 smut #astarion x female tav #astarion #and then he leaves a gift on her face the end #shit i wrote

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nancy-reads · 1 year

Text

am I the one you think about?

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you're struggling to move all the boxes into your new shop in diagon alley. good thing that you have such a lovely redhead neighbor to help you....after you nearly kill him, of course.

warnings: slight angst and a cliffhanger

authors note: there will be a part two! i promise this has a happy ending i love these two too much. also this is mostly unedited because i really want to post it like right now

CROSS-POSTED TO AO3

As soon as you apparated to your new shop, you knew you should have taken your friends up on their offers to help you move in. The bricks were uneven, the stairs were steep, and you had what felt like a million boxes to move into the shop and the flat above it. Magic would speed up the process, but you could only lift so many at a time.

You’d dropped your third box when you tripped on the stairs and nearly broke your arm. Rubbing your arm and cursing yourself for your stupidity, you weren’t paying attention as you walked outside to retrieve more boxes.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” you cast, anger coloring your tone. Two boxes shot up into the air, and before you could stop them, they hit the man walking past right in the face.

You clapped your hand to your face and lowered your wand, immediately causing the heavy boxes to fall right on top of him.

“Shit!” you cursed as you ran over and squatted next to him. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

You cursed yourself. Of course he’s not alright. You just hit him in the face with a heavy box. Twice.

“Christ,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You really know how to make an impression.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. Of course, he was attractive too. Fiery red hair, a strong jawline, and freckles all around his face. It looked like he was tall too. You couldn’t really tell since he was mostly on the ground, but he looked strong.

“I am so sorry,” you repeated. “I have some bruising salves and if anything hurts more I can probably fix it, I mean I am a healer-” you cut yourself off. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright, I think it's just my pride that’s bruised,” he said, smirking as he moved into a seated position. You cringed as you saw the blue and purple mark that was already developing on his forehead.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to fix that bruise? It looks pretty nasty.”

“Just your pretty face should be fine.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you grabbed the salve. Still, he was cute…

“I don’t know,” you teased as you began applying the ointment to his face. “Delusions like that might indicate some sort of brain damage.”

His smile widened. “Does that mean you’re a hallucination? Because that would be cruel.”

You rolled your eyes as you finished. “Seriously though, I am so sorry,”

“Seriously though, it’s fine,” he mocked with a deadpan expression. “I’m Fred, by the way. My brother and I run that shop over there.”

Fred stood as he pointed to the massive orange shop labeled Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“Really, I couldn’t tell from the massive statue of your face on the front.”

He smirked. “Can’t miss it,” he paused for a second. “And you never told me your name.”

You introduced yourself, and Fred smiled. “Pretty name.”

“Uh…thanks,” you stuttered. It felt like the flush on your face would never go away.

It was silent for a moment before Fred asked, “Do you need any help bringing those boxes up?”

You immediately shook your head. “No, no I’ve got it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you sure?” he smirked. “It seemed like you were struggling a little bit before.”

You glared at him. “I was perfectly fine until you got in the way.”

“Got in the way!” He gasped in mock-anger. “I was simply walking the pavement when someone hit me with like ten flying boxes!”

“It was not ten, you liar,” you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face as you continued to banter with him. It was just so fun.

“Wow,” he tutted. “Barely known me five minutes and you’re already calling me a liar.”

“I’ve always been a good judge of character.”

Unbeknownst to you, Fred had already taken his wand out of his pocket and was beginning to edge toward the boxes. He waved his wand, and two boxes rose into the air as if they were feathers.

Of course, he has to be good at magic too.

“No. You are gonna go home and make sure that you don’t get hit by any more stray boxes,” you demanded, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.

Fred’s smile grew as he lowered the boxes (much more gracefully than you ever have) and placed his hands up in surrender. “How about we make a deal?”

You cocked your head. “What kind of deal?”

He clasped his hands and stepped closer to you. “How about I help you with these boxes-”

“No.”

“Let me finish, I swear did no one teach you that patience is a virtue?” There’s a smiling lilt to his voice that makes you want to melt into a puddle.

“Fortune favors the bold.”

“Anyway,” he continues, smiling still as he rolls his eyes. “I’ll help you with these boxes, and in return, you’ll come and visit me in my shop tomorrow.”

You paused, pretending to think for a moment. Of course, you were going to do it. More time with cute ginger shop boy who was definitely taller than you and looked like he had some very strong arms? How could you say no?

“I suppose I could fit it into my schedule,” you said, daring to elbow him in the side as you both walked toward the boxes.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with more laughs than you thought possible. Fred was so funny, you supposed it made sense that he ran a joke shop. It felt like both of you were laughing every single second.

And the best part was when you found out how strong his arms really were.

Fred had just been telling you about one of his Hogwarts escapades when he and his brother used an age potion to try and enter the Triwizard Tournament.

“So you really grew long white beards?” you couldn’t stop giggling as you followed Fred down the stairs.

Fred threw a smile your way as he reached the bottom of the steps. “Yup. We nearly started fighting each other too. Would have if not for- woah!”

In your incessant laughter, you hadn’t been paying much attention to your very steep stairs and found yourself falling…

…straight into Fred’s very strong arms.

It was silent for a second as you stared into each other’s eyes. His arms held you tightly as if you weighed nothing at all. You could feel heat creeping up your neck.

Fred paused, looking like he was thinking hard about something.

“You know, I guess you could say that you fell for me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

You smacked his (heavily muscled) arm. “That was disgusting.”

“Sorry darling, I couldn’t resist.”

Was it possible to die from joy and embarrassment at the same time? It had to be.

You told him more about your shop as you floated the last few boxes upstairs. You were opening an apothecary with potions, ointments, and other helpful tools for healing so that people didn’t have to go to St. Mungos every time they had a problem. You were also thinking about offering small healing services once you had more staff.

“Thats so cool!” Fred grinned. “I think we’ll probably end up with some similar customers.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get all the victims of your schemes.”

“I just sell the stuff,” he objected. “What my customers do is their own business.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure Fred. You tell yourself that.”

He gave you an innocent smile as both of you looked outside to realize that you had just brought the last boxes in. You stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” you said. “I did make a promise to see your shop.”

“That you did,” Fred replied. “I better see you. I didn’t carry all these boxes for nothing.”

“That excited to see me, huh?”

“Yes, actually,” his smile was genuine. “I can’t wait to see your reaction to all my ‘schemes’ as you call them.”

Heat spread through your cheeks. “I’m excited to see you too.”

The next day was torture. Showing up at Fred’s shop at eight in the morning would have been the definition of creepy, so you forced yourself to set up your shop and unpack most of your boxes.

You were quite proud of the work you had done for the last few hours. Twinkling lights were strewn around your shop, and magical plants wrapped around the shelves. All in all, the glass potion bottles and herbs would fit right in.

You finally allowed yourself to head upstairs and choose an outfit. It took far longer than it should have, considering that Fred saw you yesterday in what was quite possibly the ugliest outfit you owned.

Then you messed with your hair and your makeup. You knew it was kind of stupid, considering how flirty he had been yesterday, but you wanted to feel confident. And looking good was probably the only way you were going to get there.

Finally, after spending far too long on your appearance, you stepped out the door of your shop. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was the brightest thing on the street, and your eye was immediately drawn to the massive statue of Fred at the front, the orange coloring, and the smiles and laughter that surrounded the building. Even just looking at it made you want to smile.

As you walked briskly toward the building, you could feel your heart beginning to race. You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile that was emerging, because really, you should not have a crush this big. You'd met the man once, for Merlin’s sake.

Your smile immediately dropped when you actually got to the shop.

Because Fred was standing there, his smile wide but different than yesterday. It wasn’t filled with the same laughter and joy. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at someone else. He was looking at another girl. Another girl who leaned in a kissed him. And he kissed back.

And you turned on your heel and fled back to your shop.

#sorry #fred weasley x reader #x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter #fanfic #writing

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vampirememory · 2 years

Text

pick a pile || future spouse/lover letter!

I am someone personally who tends to find comfort in these types of readings, so I hope someone here can find the same comfort.

Keep in mind that I am still a beginner, not even quite sure if I have abilities, so I will say that this is mostly for entertainment only, but if it resonates with you, it resonates.

I will be using tarot as a guide and leave the rest for whatever is told to me. Keep in mind I won't be editing the written portions, just the portions that I write myself from my intuition and the cards, everything else is raw and unedited.

pick a pile! webkinz dog inspired <3

masterlist

Pile 1

Wow, they have a lot to say I think.

"Hello, dear (a faint chuckling in the background),

my sweetheart, my beloved. My beloved, I can see you, you are not too far away. Do you miss me? I hope you do, I miss you, I miss you the most. How are you? fine? I'm glad of it. You are stronger than you think, you know, that is why i love and adore you. five years ago, I never thought I would meet someone like you, and here we are today. finally you are here, with me, in my arms, something i never expected to be saying. finally finally finally. there's something about you- there's so much about you that i adore. i cant approach you yet. look at you in your elegance, absolutely a marvel and me? i am just a peasant boy, waking and quaking in your presence. will you do me a favor? don't let someone else sweep you off your feet just yet, i promise that when i get my confidence up and my ducks in a row, marbles in a bunch. it will be soon! I promise. i promise i promise i promise, for your sake and mine we need to meet soon! maybe i hope so, I'm not sure.

anyways i do love you, see you soon.

yours forever. "

I believe that this is from their future self. They are fiery and loving and they love you so much. They may be very nervous in your presence but they want you to know that YOU and only you cause that nervousness, it's like they are a shipwreck when they are around you. You give them anxiety and butterflies! They give off very anxious energy, they just want to keep repeating how much they love you. They'll shake your whole body and shout it from the rooftops and the tops of mountains, only you do this to them. They love you they love you they love you, they really do. I have a feeling that they don't express this verbally but they think it so much and they don't want you to doubt their appreciation.

pile 2

I had to do pile 3 before this one.

"Hi baby <3

My adoration, a mirage of all things beautiful and concrete. Except you're real of course! My beloved baby, how are you? Dazzling, as always. A fortress that cannot be torn down, stopped, or blocked, an absolute unit! (laughter here) I love you, you know? You're funny as hell and I'm glad to be with you. My every wish was granted, would you look at that? I guess the universe really is some unstoppable force, except when it comes to you, it bends for you I guess, like you've got some magic powers? But nothing will stop how I feel for you. You are mine. Alllll mine (hearing Stingy saying "mine mine mine"). Sorry I'm clingy, you know I am though and sometimes you tell me that I need to let go a little bit, which is okay, I can give you a little space sometimes, but I'm still stuck to you like a leech, head over heels! My final resting place will be just in your arms, perfect just how I wanted. God, this is like a school essay. Sorry, this is supposed to be romantic, but maybe it can be funny too? I don't know, sorry, I'm being stupid & silly with you but I think you don't care so it doesn't matter anyway. We are so different but we are so good together yk? Two peas of a pod...except maybe we are two different peas, maybe I'm spike-y, lol! Or no, you're probably the spike-y one, okay I'll stop. But my lovely, I'm glad to talk to you. You're such a good friend to me, how do you put up with me? I'll never know, I can barely put up with myself. Have you ever heard that humans think they're ugly because they get used to themselves and their faces? Maybe that is me, maybe I'm just insecure and you see something magical in me, just like I see it in you. Maybe you feel the same way about yourself and you don't tell me, which makes me sad, but you know you can tell me and I wont push it. I love you ok? stay hydrated and things, do the work, have fun, live your life, whatever bye.

okay i'll give you a proper goodbye, a hug and a kiss on the cheek, a proper smooch maybe? no? okay fine. bye my love, see you in the afterlife... JK!!!! I'm not dead hehe>>, okay sorry bye. nonon wait, okay never mind yeah I'm done now, bye." *phone click*

They have a hard time saying goodbye to you, they never want to stop talking to you. I remember another reading on here (sorry I cannot remember which one or who) describing someone as a "down bad loverboy/girl" and that's what I'm getting for you (if someone knows which reading I'm talking about, please send it to me so I can link it here !!). they are cute. you guys might be long distance in the beginning, which is why i got the phone click. but whatever it is, they love uuuuuuu ok? "to the moon and back."

pile 3

"Hello. (I hear a very deep masculine voice here, very prominent) If I've ever seen such a beautiful soul, no soul could be no more beautiful than yours. No sun could shine brighter than the way your eyes light up, nothing can take that away from me- that appreciation I have for you and your beauty. You radiate, you know? I love that. You radiate like the sun, shining brightly and me being the humble man I am, simply adoring you from below. They say that if you look into the sun, you will go blind, but I would gladly go blind for you my love, because you are blinding and I would rather have you seared into the back of my eyeballs and in my mind as the last thing I've ever seen than to never see you again. Everything is for you, always for you, just for you. Why did you go so soon? We barely had begun our journey and you were off again on your great quest for such knowledge I can never give you. I wish I could give you everything but I cannot, only you can do that for yourself and I will let you- I mean, I don't control you. You're free to do whatever you want, I support you, I just miss you..a lot. more than I admit it. Come home safely, bring me a souvenir? The pretty kind, the beautiful kind, but none will be as beautiful as you are; they're only beautiful because they've been touched by the hands of the angel on earth.

hands I am glad to hold one day, hands I will gladly hold forever.

yours,

fs."

Once again, I got very masculine energy from the beginning. They may be very masculine, I'm seeing mostly a male here. It can be the other way around, or really any gender, but that's what I'm seeing here. They're very....formal? Cut edge, straight to the point. They're good with words, they like using them (I just heard "In more ways than one" :I, that was meant to be sexual but I don't do 18+ readings so they can shut it, haha!). They like you a lot, they think you're amazing and personally lovable (lovable just for them and only them, perfect match, a match made in heaven). They encourage your adventures and your thirst for knowledge, the need to explore, although they may not be able to come with you. They root for you on the sidelines though and may provide financial assistance for you to accomplish your dreams. I'm getting older businessman vibes from this, specifically getting a white older 'gentleman' with brown hair and a very thick beard? that might be someone's person, their name might be Micheal with their last name beginning with an R, very specific.

pile 4

TRIGGER WARNING; d3ath, self-loathing, overall a very depressing & heavy energy.

If you aren't comfortable with these things, here is a quick overview minus the heavier topics.

Your future spouse is going through a lot right now. They may be in a depressed and detached state, they might be a player but it isn't something they enjoy. They need time, they don't believe you exist at this moment. Their energy is very sad and dark, although if they don't change, someone else will take their place as your future lover. The lessons they need to learn are important and you should also take your own lessons seriously.

"introducing... you, my beloved lover!

one of three, hehe. or maybe not, maybe you are the one. i don't know why you would think i am the one, did i make you think that? I'm not that good of a person, you know? people toss me to the side and use me like a puppet, toy on a string. i want you so badly...no, i just want someone. have you ever seen those cute movies with cute couples doing cute things? i would love that to be me and someone, someone out there maybe. but maybe I'm not meant for that, I'm not sure. maybe I'm meant to be a plaything and a lesson and eventually end up in a dumpster somewhere (wow wtf?), not from dying though, just being trash i guess. i'd rather not die. i mean, i don't know anymore. if you're real, can you come get me? pick me up? carry me away, safe in your arms? but there's no guarantees though, I'll probably kick and thrash and be toxic and make you feel lonely for a while and I'm sorry. but i promise I'll be yours one day, let me just get it out of my system. or maybe you don't care? i don't know. I'm tired of people pretending to care, if you don't actually care, maybe it's your actual emotions about me. maybe I'm projecting, I'm sorry. i love you. but this is empty. empty love, no cup to pour from. maybe there's someone else for you out there, maybe i need to find myself first.

-someone new."

oh, this got sad and dark :(? sensing that this is current energy, they're in a bad place. sorry for the sad reading pile 4,if you were expecting something happier & lighter-hearted. i hope you can love your fs in the future for all of the shit they have to go through. they'll be better when they get to you, the universe will make sure of it and if they aren't then someone new will come and take their place for them, they're willing to let the spot go because they know you deserve the best.

they do want you to know that lessons are important.

#pick a card #tarot reading #oracle reading #pac #pac tarot #pick a picture #pac reading #tarot pac #pick a pile reading #love tarot free #love reading #fs reading #future spouse tarot #future spouse pac #future spouse pick a card #upheavalofmemory #uomTAROT

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slytherinboysappreciation · 6 months

Text

Moonlight - T. R. x werewolf fem!reader

A/N: this is the seventh part of this series. It’s mostly unedited so please be nice 💛 No use of Y/N. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated 🥰

Series Masterlist

CW: some swearing, an argument with Tom, mentions of smelling emotions, implied cheating, Hermione being furious on our behalf, implied bullying, talk of revenge

1019 words

“Riddle!” You chase after Tom. “Riddle! Wait, please!”

Tom doesn’t slow as he strides angrily away.

“Riddle!” Your voice is filled with the strange desperation thrumming in your chest. You know it somehow, deep in your bones. This is your last chance for reconciliation.

“Tom!” You shout as loud as you can. “Please, I’m sorry!”

All the students in the hallway stop and look at you. Tom stops walking.

He turns around and advances on you. You panic. The anger in his gaze makes you cower. “I’m sorry—”

Tom grabs your arm and forcefully hauls you into the closest classroom. He slams the door shut, blocking you two from the prying eyes and ears of the other students.

You shrink back away from him. The classroom is empty, and you move towards one of the desks. Tom turns around before you can sit down. He crosses his arms, glaring at you.

You swallow thickly. Your voice comes out a bit weak. “I really am sorry.”

His expression doesn’t change.

You look down, trying to think of what to say. Of how to apologize.

“I’m sorry for missing our trip to Hogsmeade,” you say quietly.

There’s a long, tense silence.

“Why’d you miss it?” Tom’s voice is cold and clipped.

“I was sick. My roommate made me go to the Hospital Wing.” Your voice sours at the mention of your roommate.

Tom scoffs. “And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“She was supposed to tell you.” You say. Even the memory makes your stomach twist from your roommate’s betrayal.

Tom falls silent. He studies you, gaze intense and dark. He’s not quite glaring anymore, but you can still smell his anger.

“And Diggory?” He asks.

You blink, a little confused. “He asked to study with me.”

Tom’s eyes narrow. “That’s it?”

You nod. “I thought…” You hesitate for a moment. “I thought you didn’t want to be my study partner anymore… so I said yes to him.”

“And the flirting?” His voice is icy.

You’re confused for a moment. Flirting? Then you think about it. You had been laughing and having a good time with Cedric. Maybe that’s what Tom meant.

“We were just talking. My roommate…” You stop. You don’t want to talk about her anymore. “Cedric was cheering me up. That’s all.”

Tom’s glare slowly softens. He looks away and uncrosses his arms. “You didn’t answer him. When he said we were over.”

You blink. You weren’t sure what he meant by over, but you didn’t want it to be true. “Are we?” You ask tentatively.

He exhales, looking back over at you. “Do you want to be?” There’s so much charge behind his gaze, so much emotion you can’t identify. You can smell his hope though.

“No.” You say it firmly; no hint of doubt. Whatever you have going on with him, you want it to continue.

A faint smile tugs at Tom’s lips. It makes your heart thrill.

After a moment, he speaks up again. “I don’t… I don’t mind if you study with Diggory. Just…” He looks conflicted.

“I won’t flirt with him,” you say softly. And you mean it. Cedric has been your crush for years, but looking at Tom right now…

He relaxes. Smiles. “Thank you.”

You let out a soft breath of relief. “So we’re good then?”

Tom chuckles lightly and nods. “Yes. We’re good.”

You smile back. Good. You’ve never been so happy to hear it.

The rest of your day goes smoothly until dinner. Your roommate sits with someone else, occasionally shooting you dirty looks as you eat. Eventually, you get too upset by it and you go sit with Hermione instead.

She looks surprised to see you, but her surprise turns to anger on your behalf once you explain.

“That bitch!” She hisses. Your jaw drops. “‘Mione!” You’ve never heard her swear before. You’re glad she’s taking your side though.

“What?” Hermione crosses her arms. “She probably orchestrated the whole ordeal. Fred and George sell their nasty prank sweets, you know. She could’ve slipped you some quite easily.”

You hesitate at this. Surely your roommate wouldn’t go that far…

But you had eaten some sweets the night before you’d gotten sick. And it had been your roommate who’d insisted you’d gone to the Hospital Wing.

Your stomach sinks. “You don’t think she would… right?”

Hermione looks grim. “I wouldn’t put anything past that conniving sneak. She’s been one of Riddle’s fangirls for a couple years now.”

You blink. “Tom has fangirls?”

She pauses to smirk at you. “Tom, huh?”

You blush and look away. “The fangirls, ‘Mione.”

Her expression turns serious again. “He’s had fangirls for years. How have you never noticed? They’ve hated you since you started studying with him.”

You think about that. You remember some fourth years last year giving you dirty looks in the hall… and some sixth years tripping you earlier this year…

You’d never really paid attention to them. After Umbridge, you’d just assumed they’d been after you for your lycanthropy.

“Oh. Huh.” You rest your chin on your palm. “I never really noticed them before.”

“Well,” Hermione pats your shoulder. “Regardless, your roommate’s one of them. Given how ridiculous they act around him, I wouldn’t put it past her to go to such lengths. You’re lucky she didn’t try to poison you or something.”

“I guess so…” You sigh and look down. “What am I going to do about her, ‘Mione?”

She gives you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of it.”

You relax… until you remember that Hermione’s one of the most vindictive witches in the school. You give her an anxious look. “You won’t hurt her, right?”

Hermione’s smile turns into a mean smirk.

“‘Mione?” You’re a little scared on your roommate’s behalf. Only a little though. She did betray you, after all.

“I won’t physically hurt her,” Hermione promises.

You’re not reassured. “But mentally?”

Hermione shrugs. “That’s fair game. I’ll only dish out what she deserves.”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

She smiles, and you both go back to eating your dinner.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #reader is from an unspecified hogwarts house #divider by cafekitsune

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honeyynymphh · 1 year

Text

La Principessa Addormentata Papa IV x FemReader Rating: T tags: mostly sfw, cuddles, daddy dom papa, established relationship, fluff, google translated italiano 800 words

summary: Copia returns to his papal chambers late one night to find his principessa asleep on the lounge after trying to wait up all night for him

I wrote this last night at midight and it's mostly unedited, sorry. I was feeling a type of way. I might expand it later and turn it into a proper fic another day. This is the same universe as this fic and this one

“Principessa?”

You open your eyes slowly to see Copia standing above you, the low light of the room made his painted face look eerie—but it doesn't frighten you, instead, it's a welcome sight. You’d been waiting up for him for hours. At first, it had been easy; a little studying before you had put the demonic textbooks aside and swapped them for much more enjoyable books. After showering and getting comfortable in your nightgown, you had sat on the lounge reading. When your eyes had become heavy, you had told yourself you would just shut them for a moment, your novel still held in one hand as it rested against your chest.

But you must have fallen asleep—and how could you not? It was so cosy in his papal suite with the warm fire and the comfortable lounge. The flames had tickled your cheeks and the crackling of the burning logs had lulled you into a hazy place of dreamless rest.

“Papa?” you say, voice heavy with sleep as you gaze up at him.

He smiles down at you, a gloved hand reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The firelight flickers over his jewelled vestments and you note how his hair is a little mussed from wearing the mitre.

“It’s very late, I am sorry,” he says, slowly shrugging out his vestments and placing them on a nearby armchair, revealing the black suit underneath. “You should have gone to bed.”

You shake your head lazily, unable to stifle a yawn. “But I was waiting for you."

The sound of his low chuckle makes you smile, you eyes closing when he leans over you and places a kiss on your temple. Your smile spreads into a giddy grin and he places another kiss on your forehead before his fingers wipe at where he has kissed you—clearly trying to remove the black marks he has left behind.

“Sei troppo dolce, mia piccola principessa,” he says, his arms sliding under you so he can pick you up, cradling your head against his chest. “Time for bed.”

You try to protest, surely you are too heavy for him but he clearly doesn’t seem to struggle as he moves you with ease towards his bedroom. While the smell of the fire and the incense you had been burning earlier had been delightful, nothing could compare to the smell of your Papa and you nuzzle closer, deeply breathing him in. His suit jacket is smooth against your skin and you can hear, and feel, the steady beat of his heart. Ever so gently he places you on the bed, helping to lift the covers up so you can slide in.

The sheets are far too cool and you curl up instantly on your side, your head burying into the soft pillow. You can hear him moving about—the sound of him undressing, and then the shower turning on. His little hums as he sings to himself merely aid you in feeling sleepy again. It was always so comforting having him near, and the domestic sound of him getting ready for bed always made you smile. How quickly you had learned his little routines. He didn’t like hot showers, though they were always so long, and he insisted on using two towels—one around his waist and another to go over his shoulders, he always said he got cold after getting out. You must drift back to sleep as you jolt when you feel the mattress dip and open your eyes to find the room completely dark. Warm arms wrap around you, pulling you close against his bare chest—the hair there still a little damp.

“You use two towels yet you don’t dry yourself properly,” you mumble, though you make no effort to move away from him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead, he just pulls you closer so your back is completely pressed against his chest—you can feel that he’s dampened your nightgown. When he presses his face against your neck you feel water dropping onto your skin from his wet hair.

“Copia, you’re making me wet,” you whine half-heartedly, wiping at the droplets he has dripped on your neck.

“I hope so, principessa,” he says, pressing himself against you—you can feel his cock hardening against your ass.

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile in the darkness. “You said bedtime.”

His mouth presses a kiss against your neck and you shiver. He does it again, his mouth hot and hitting that sensitive patch of skin behind your ear. You can't help but sigh in pleasure at the feel of it, feeling less sleepy with each touch of his lips on your skin.

“Si,” he murmurs in between another kiss, “I said bedtime.” The arm he has over you shifts, his hand moving down your side and skating over your hip. “But not time to sleep, principessa.”

La Principessa Addormentata - The Sleeping Princess Sei troppo dolce, mia piccola principessa - You are too sweet, my little princess

#my-writing #the band ghost fic #papa iv x reader #copia x reader #fanfic #copia x sister of sin #papa iv x female reader #ghost fanfiction #ficlet

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ugh-yoongi · 7 months

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Jewel, I know your requests are closed but I desperately need to hear your thoughts on who in BTS would do this: https://www.tumblr.com/writing-prompt-s/739417828719034368/you-a-powerful-demoness-have-just-been-summoned

and why is it Namjoon (the potential for crack with this 148 IQ man who is also way more innocent than we think acc to one park jimin just takes me out)

i'm so sorry it took me so long to finish and post this but thank you so much for sending it bc i have been cackling about this scenario ever since.

the prompt: you, a powerful demoness, have just been summoned to earth. this man, this human, wants you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a few days so his parents will get off his back about it.

the gang summons a demon

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: supernatural au; crack warnings: reader is a demon and engages in demon behavior, swearing, namjoon makes mention of not being straight, heteronormative parental expectations, jk learns about arcane things on tumblr (which is not an original idea; i read a fic ages ago where taekook are tumblr witches but i cannot find it, so credit to that author or whoever came up with it first), unedited so any mistakes are mine. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 2k

It’s been years since you’ve been to Earth—even longer since you’ve been to South Korea.

“I haven’t been here since 1910,” you say, staring at the gobsmacked man across from you. He’s tall, with tanned skin and a bleached buzz cut; a smattering of tattoos dotting his toned arms—whites and rich hues of blue, imitations of some kind of ceramic art, you think; a golden hoop through his nose; cheeks with dimples so deep you’re sure they’ll crater. “People here definitely didn’t look like you back then, so I’m going to assume we’re pretty far into the future.”

“It’s 2024,” he answers, seemingly still a little dazed. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, jaw dropped. Normally it’s nice to be looked at like that, with all the reverence and awe you deserve, but Earth is not your favorite place to be. Doesn’t even crack the top fifty, if you’re being honest. “Did you say 1910? As in the beginning of the—”

You sigh. “Uh-huh. Hey, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying this up, I’ve got things to do.” The man continues staring. Could be a trick of the light, but you think he’s turning paler by the second.

Minutes tick by. Nothing but silence.

“Are you even listening to me?” you snarl, quickly losing patience you were never given. “I said I’ve got shit to do. My schedule’s booked solid for the next eight centuries, so I really don’t have time to be dilly-dallying in mundane human affairs. Your problems are always so boring.”

More silence.

Which is irksome, sure, but what’s worse is this stupid fucking circle you’re trapped in. Drawn crudely on the floor of (seemingly) this human man’s actual apartment, which would’ve told you all you’d needed to know, if you’d taken ten seconds to take in your surroundings upon first being summoned. This place has got books stacked floor to ceiling in every available inch of space, but you’re certain this person is a fucking idiot.

“Hello?”

The man shakes his head. “Oh, sorry, I just—I’m Namjoon? Kim Namjoon.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right, right.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Well, you’re probably wondering why I summoned you here today”—you roll your eyes—“and, uh.” Namjoon scratches at the back of his neck, anxiety oozing from every pore on his body. Definitely paler. “I am too, to be honest.”

“You what—”

“I didn’t mean to!” Namjoon hurriedly adds, all of that anxiety shifting quickly into pure panic. “It’s just—it was a joke! Mostly! Jeongguk said it as a joke, because everything he says is a joke, and I should’ve known that, but—I don’t know! I’ve tried everything else, and the longer its gone on the more desperate I’ve become, and suddenly what Jeongguk said as a joke didn’t sound so much like a joke anymore! I’m sorry! I didn’t think it’d actually work!”

It takes your brain a minute to translate and decipher the useless slush that just came out of his mouth, but when it does… oh, when it does, you feel absolutely murderous. “You summoned me as a joke?”

Namjoon must see it, too. There’s no way you’re looking cool, calm, and collected right now, because you’ve seen the faces of others that have witnessed your wrath, and they were almost always on the brink of (if not outright) shitting their pants. This stupid, clueless human in front of you doesn’t appear to be faring much better.

So you continue, just to watch him squirm. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Um,” comes his brilliant response. “Yes?”

“And who am I?”

He holds up his pointer finger and digs through the back pocket of his jeans. Pulls out a crumbled scrap of paper, nearly soiled from ass sweat and time, and his eyes squint as he tries to read it. “I—well, it’s probably not an accurate translation, you know, since—”

“What does that piece of parchment say, Kim Namjoon?”

“Nothing,” he lies. “I can’t read it anyway, so… a-haaa…”

Patience officially worn thin, you snap your fingers, delighting in the startled shriek that escapes him as the paper goes up in a plume of smoke. “I am going to give you one chance to be honest with me,” you explain slowly, leveling him with a look. “Who do you think I am, and why am I here?”

Namjoon pales further. Looks like he’s trying to melt right through the floor into a puddle of useless slush, and you’d be more than willing to speed up the process if it weren’t for this god forsaken demon trap.

“Can I—can I sit down for this?”

Kim Namjoon, you learn, has a friend named Jeon Jeongguk.

Jeon Jeongguk, you also come to learn, has learned magic from a website called Tumblr.

“There, uh. There are definitely blogs for that sort of thing,” Namjoon explains, tattooed fingers scratching at the back of his neck. He takes a very quick glance at you. “Clearly not very accurate ones.”

You hum. “That’s the only smart thing I’ve heard you say since I showed up in this shithole.”

Namjoon gawks. “Hey, my apartment isn’t a shithole! It’s the best I could afford, alright? There was just an article in The Business Times about how archaic of a system jeonse is—”

“Uh-huh. And this… website?”

Namjoon goes red. Coughs into his fist. “Oh, right, yeah. I’m gonna be honest with you—”

“I already said that—”

“—my parents are coming to visit from Ilsan in a few days and I need a girlfriend.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. Long enough to replace the rug that had been pulled from under you, because you’re pretty sure you heard this human man allude to having summoned you so you can pretend to be his girlfriend.

All things considered, you’re impressed by how calm you are. This is not a trait most demons have, you especially, and it makes you nostalgic for the days you used to rip men apart limb by limb for less.

“Are you insane?” you ask simply.

“In my defense,” he explains around a wince, “Jeongguk said it was a love spell.”

“A love spell.” Namjoon nods. “And you wound up summoning a demon.”

“It… appears I may have done that, yes.”

“And you want a demon to meet your parents?”

“I mean… when in Rome, right?”

“I’ve committed at least four-hundred and sixty-seven separate atrocities there, so no, probably not when in Rome.”

Namjoon’s jaw drops. He tucks his knees closer to his chest. “Christ, that’s a lot. How did you have the time?”

“I’m immortal,” you deadpan.

“Right, right. Anyway, to answer your question: yes.”

Your eyes narrow. “How bad are your parents that you’d want me to meet them?”

“They’re fine, mostly. I just… am not what they expected in a son? Like, I have the hair and the tattoos and I dropped out of my engineering program in university to pursue art and poetry, so the least I could do is find a wife and settle down and give them grandchildren, but I don’t even know if I want to ever settle down. I’m also not… heterosexual? Entirely? Do you see that a lot—”

You sigh. “Misconception. Not to launch you into some kind of existential crisis, but the gods really don’t give a shit who you humans sleep with.”

“Gods? As in plural?” You snap your fingers. Namjoon’s fingers immediately go to his temples. “Damn, I have a really bad migraine all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“What’d you do?”

“Made you forget something.”

“Oh. What’d I forget?” It takes a second. “Oh, right, yeah. Um. What was the last thing I said?”

“Your parents wanted you to be an engineer and have a ton of kids but you like art and also not-women, sometimes.”

He flushes again. “I—yes.”

You sigh, arms crossed over your chest. All you want to do is sit down, or open a window. This apartment smells far too strongly of patchouli. “Look, I haven’t been to this place in a long time, but surely you aren’t undesirable by your society’s standards.”

“Are you saying I’m attractive?”

You scowl. “No. I’m saying there had to have been easier ways of doing this, and also can you open a window?”

“It’s February.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It’s really cold outside.”

“I’m literally from Hell. Go put on a sweater, then.”

With a roll of his eyes, Namjoon stands and moves to the window. Cracks it open a millimeter, just enough for the cold to seep in, before he’s stalking off toward—you’re assuming—his bedroom. You think he’s shoving a garment over his head when he calls out, “You know, you’re really fucking bossy for someone stuck in a trap.”

You vow to kill him as soon as you’re free.

It isn’t often you’re held hostage.

Usually you can spot a trick coming a thousand miles away, but since Namjoon hadn’t meant to summon you at all, you’d been caught unawares. Doomed to be stuck in a demon trap, just like he’d said, which meant you didn’t have a ton of bargaining power.

At least that’s what you’re telling yourself, because as you sit across from Namjoon’s parents at some fancy restaurant, you aren’t convinced he isn’t a crossroads demon himself.

“So,” his mother begins, turning her attention to you, “what do you do for work?”

Namjoon elbows you beneath the table, giving you a silent warning to stick to the script. You’re only here under threat of force—because Jeongguk had stopped by Namjoon’s apartment, saw you in the summoning circle, and nearly fainted before going back to Tumblr to find a binding spell.

Except that one wasn’t great, either, because it only bound you and Namjoon together for three days instead of forever. And, as penance for all the chaos you’ve sown across the universe, Namjoon’s parents’ visit fell within that time frame, so here you are.

Out to dinner. With humans.

You’re pretending to be someone’s girlfriend.

You’re in for the most embarrassing ribbing of your existence once you’re home.

“I work with idols,” you respond, as convincingly as possible, because Namjoon had thought it’d be really funny. Get it? he’d said. Like false idols? You hadn’t laughed. “It’s very secretive, of course, but—”

You don’t finish your thought, because Namjoon’s mother looks delighted: face lit up with mirth, smile blinding, eyes half-lidded under the weight of her happiness. “Oh, how exciting! Has he told you he used to do performances to old H.O.T songs? Namjoonie, what was that one song you liked—”

“Eomma, please—”

“Wasn’t it ‘Candy’?” Namjoon’s dad offers from behind his menu. It’s the first thing he’s said all evening.

Namjoon whimpers, foregoing all social decorum and lectures on posture to sink further in his chair.

You do not, under any circumstances, feel a hint of fondness.

(Which dissipates not even twenty-four hours later.

“The blog was deleted,” Jeongguk says, eyes wide as saucers. “I—the blog is gone, I don’t know how to—”

“What do you mean the blog is gone?” The poor kid is overcome with panic and fear, tries to stutter out a response that makes no sense to you at all through his sobs. “Jeon Jeongguk, what do you mean the blog is gone?”

“I—it’s—I had it bookmarked, I swear! Once the binding spell wore off I was gonna send it to Namjoon hyung so he could send you back, but the blog is gone so the post is gone, too. I don’t—what do I even search for—oh my god, please don’t kill me, I think I’m having a panic attack, I’m gonna—”

And then this human man vomits all over your feet. Namjoon sighs as he goes to fetch a bucket, and you think it’ll be a miracle if any of these people—yourself included—live to see the end of the week.)

#namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes #jewel answers

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fandom-blackhole · 2 years

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hi, i really liked your work in ao3, so i’d like to request about joel where reader is pregnant and she’s freaking out a bit about telling joel, afraid he’s not going to take the new well, mostly cause of his traumas, but also cause it’s not a safe environment to raise a kid. thank you!

So sorry this took me absolutely forever to get to my lovely, school has been super busy for me! But I'm so happy that you liked my other Joel works and came over here send a request <3 I hope you like this!!

WC: 3.6K (this one got away from me woops)

Warnings: afab!reader, pregnancy, set in Jackson, no real spoilers (that i noticed), one cuss word, mentions of doubts and intrusive thoughts over the pregnancy, very unedited (i am tired and i am sure there are a ton of mistakes sorry)

When the sickness first started you chalked it up to food poisoning from the twenty some year old can of Cambell’s baked potato soup you had found and eaten while out on a three day supply run. Joel had warned you about eating it, but you had been too excited over the soup and the nostalgic memories of before the outbreak that it brought with it. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when two days later as you were hunched over the toilet, Joel rubbed your back gently and waited until after you were finished and he passed you a glass of water, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the door frame and sighed, “Told you not to eat that soup.”

You had only huffed at him and lifted your hand, motioning for help, to which Joel helped you up off the floor and helped you to bed. He left you there with your glass of water and a small trash can, but not before he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead and whispered, “Rest up. I’ll come check up on ya in a few hours.”

Of course when a week passed and you were still running from bed each morning, Joel insisted you visit the doctor in town. You pushed back at first, saying that it was probably just the flu, it was that time of year right before winter fully sets in and the weather bounced from warm and cold and almost everyone had at least the sniffles. Joel, however, kept pushing and eventually he won out after a particularly rough day where you could barely hold down water and you couldn’t handle Joel’s worried glances anymore.

So the next morning, before he left for his patrol, Joel walked you to the building downtown that had long been converted into a doctor’s office. The whole walk there Joel kept fretting over you.

“You sure you’ll make it back home alright? I can ask Maria to come and walk you back when she’s finished, or have her grab Ellie to do it.”

”I’ll be fine. I swear you act like I am gonna walk out of there knocking on death’s door.”

Joel of course gives you an exasperated look as the two of you turn the corner to the main hub of Jackson that was downtown and he gives a huff before saying, “You just have me worried. I’ve never seen you this sick and you haven’t been getting any better. It’s been two weeks, you should be getting better by now.”

“Joel, I really think you are making a mountain out of a molehill here,” you reply to his worry, trying to reassure him just a little, but as he opens the door for you to enter the doctor’s office he just shakes his head while looking at the ground. When he meets your eyes again, he says with full seriousness, “I don’t think you ‘re taking this serious enough. Maybe I should stay an’ make sure you don’t downplay everything.”

At that you take a step forward towards Joel and stick a finger on his chest with your eyebrows raised.

“Oh no, you are going to go do your patrol with Tommy. I can do this like an adult,” you pause and meet Joel’s hazel gaze, reading into his worry with a sigh, “and I promise I will tell the doc the whole truth, leaving nothing out. You aren’t going to lose me to something as small as the flu Joel Miller, you’re stuck with me.”

That earned you a small quirk of Joel’s lips, before he sighed again before nodding. You gave him a small smile back and pressed a kiss to Joel’s nose before whispering a goodbye and walking into the doctor’s office.

---

Well, Joel was right it would seem. It wasn’t the flu like you had assumed. You weren’t even sure how to wrap your head around what the doctor had come in and told you. He had told you that he ran the test twice just to be sure, but both had come back positive. You were pregnant and there was no doubt in your mind whose child it was.

You didn’t mean to start crying, but once it started you couldn’t stop, the tears cascading down your cheeks as your shoulders shook with silent gasping sobs. Your doctor held you, letting your tears soak his shoulder as he ran a comforting hand up and down your back. From his reaction, you doubt this is the first time he’s comforted someone with news like this, afterall who wants to bring new life into a world like the one surrounding you now, it wasn’t a safe environment for children.

Once you had calmed, the doctor pulled away and with a gentle voice started giving you the pregnancy spiel- avoid this, don’t drink that, try to eat more of this. All of it was a blur in your mind, shock clouding your thoughts. The doctor told you he estimated that you were about six or seven weeks in, which is when morning sickness tended to make an appearance. So he gave you a bottle of multivitamins to start taking as well as a chamomile and ginger tea that is supposed to help the nausea. He also gave you a small bag of honey and mint candies, saying he was a little worried about your lack of calorie and fluid intake over the last week, telling you to drink the tea and try and suck on a few candies until you thought you could hold down actual food.

As you got ready to leave, your tote of goodies, as the nurse had called it, slung over your shoulder, the doctor gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze and a small smile telling you, “Try not to worry too much, you’re in the best spot in the whole country to be going through something like this, and you aren’t alone, you have a whole town at your back. Not to mention the hardest fighter in town beside you.”

You returned his smile, though your’s was hollow and full of worry, and nodded. You wished the doctor and the nurse a good week and walked home, not stopping until you were alone in your bathroom sobbing as you slid down the wall in your shower.

---

Weeks passed and your nausea and morning sickness eased with the help of the tea which you drank in the mornings, smiling over the rim of your mug as Joel drank his coffee, always offering you some and you always declining. He never seemed any suspicious of your condition. He believed you that evening when you had told him a lie, told him that you had been right, that the doctor said it had been the flu making you sick. He didn’t question you when in the mornings after saying you were better you still drank the tea telling him you had really liked it and just didn’t want it to go to waste, when in reality you were still waking up with a queasy stomach each morning.

You aren’t completely sure why you continued to hide the pregnancy for Joel. He didn’t say it much, but he had told you that he loved you, he showed it to you almost daily through small things like bringing you fresh eggs when you mentioned a craving for cookies but you were missing that one ingredient, how he brought home you favorite food from the dining hall once you were finally able to hold down food again, how he surprised you with a gift yesterday- a small wooden bird carving he’d started for you when he noticed you’d been feeling down. He loved you, you knew this, and you loved him, but you were terrified of telling him. What if it changed how he felt? What if he didn’t take the news well?

You should know to ignore these doubts, you really should, but they cloud your thoughts anyway. Joel had already been through so much with his daughter, Sarah, and his adoptive daughter, Ellie. He’d long since confided both of their stories to you, he had told you how the death of his daughter had shattered him and how his cross country trip with Ellie had broken him back down once more. What if the pregnancy brought up all the bad memories and traumas for him? What if it was too much for him to go through the process of raising, caring, and protecting another kid?

That’s not even mentioning your own personal worries of the pregnancy. You knew Jackson was one of the safest places left, but that doesn’t mean that it is completely safe from the outside world. The town often had enough raids from hunters to remind you of that fact, and the hordes of infected wandering up north and getting closer to town were of no comfort to these worries either. And what about all the possible complications? Things could always go south and put you at risk. You could die giving birth, the baby could die, both of you could die. You both could end up as just another name on Joel’s list of loss. You didn’t want to be another source of pain for him, you didn’t want to hurt the man you loved like that.

So you don’t tell him. You continue to smile at him over the rim of your mug each morning. You continue to live your life around Jackson like nothing is different and you live in fear of the day you can no longer hide yourself from the man you love.

---

Months pass and you continue working. You continued patrols with Joel and you kept putting on the facade that everything was fine and like there wasn’t a constant fight going on in your head. Joel of course ever observant gave you worried looks like he could see through your mask, but never brought it up nor asked you what was troubling you. It was tearing you apart being the only one that knew and unable to bring yourself to say anything.

The nausea and morning sickness started to fade around the three month mark and you were truly overjoyed to not be waking up feeling ill each morning. But of course there had to be a downside. You only got another two weeks without the morning sickness before you noticed the thing that was going to be your undoing.

You had been pulling on your jeans, getting ready for the day’s patrol- one of the longer routes and you’d be accompanied by both Joel and Tommy- only when it got to buttoning them, you couldn’t. You’d noticed them getting a little tight, but had hoped that you’d have more time. Luck had never been on your side however, so as you struggled with the button you could feel your heart in your throat as your panic started to take ahold of you.

After several minutes you gave up, knowing your struggle was going to stay fruitless. Looking around your room for a solution, you paused on your spare pair of boots. As quickly as possible you dethreaded both sets of shoelaces and slipped them through your jean’s belt loops as many times as possible before tying the sides together and zipping the jeans closed as much as you could.

After shoving your boots that still had their laces on, you raced downstairs and rushed out an apology as you slipped your coat on, the weather still holding its chill.

“Sorry I couldn’t find my warm sweater. Let’s go before Tommy starts complaining about us holding him up.”

Joel just shook his head with a fond smile, holding your bag out for you to take as you passed to leave the house.

The walk to the front gate was quiet, the morning sun just gracing the horizon as you rubbed your hands together and slipped them into your pockets for your gloves which you hurriedly pulled on. Like you had predicted, once you reached the gate, Tommy stood next to his horse with his arms crossed and he spoke up as you and Joel approached, “What took you both so long? Coulda slept in in my nice warm bed if I’d known you’d be late.”

You rolled your eyes as Joel helped you up onto your horse and he replied, “Someone couldn’t find their warm sweater even though it was hanging right there in the closet.”

Gasping, you nudged Joel’s shoulder with the toe of your boot as he walked away, grumbling, “Just throw me under the bus why don’t you. See if I agree to go on anymore patrols with you two.”

Tommy laughs as he swings onto his own horse before leading the three of you out of Jackson and out towards your path for the day.

The three of you travel in silence for a little bit, you yourself enjoying listening to the early morning bird songs. Once you all get to the first sign-in point, you all take the chance for a pause and a stretch. You walk around the converted home, stopping to look through the bay window in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The room was clearly a kid’s room, the walls painted with fields and a barn and farmhouse surrounded by houses, cattle, chickens, and bison. The bed one of those that grew with a kid, going from cradle to toddler bed. Toys and stuffies long forgotten and scattered around the room. You leaned down and picked one up, a weathered build-a-bear wearing a pair of faux denim overalls and a red handkerchief. Gently you wiped the dirt and dust off the eyes, letting the black plastic shine once again.

Without realizing it, one of your hands drifted down to lay on your lower abdomen as you swallowed heavily and your eyes start to water. But you don’t get too far, as a soft knock on the door behind you brings you back. Turning, you find Joel looking over you, eyes slightly worried as he holds out a small pack of dried fruit. You give him a small smile and set the bear down on the bed before grabbing the food, noticing the hand on your stomach, quickly laughing and patting the hand there saying, “You must have heard my stomach growl downstairs.”

Taking your lead Joel gave you a grin replying, “Thought there was a runner up here from all the noise it was making.”

You huffed a laugh, kissing Joel’s cheek as you walked back downstairs and let out a sigh of thanks to whoever let you get away that easily with such a terrible lie. But you didn’t dwell on it, the three of you hopping onto your horses and setting out on the trail once more.

As you went this time, Joel and Tommy passed the time with conversation. You though just listened to them, eating the fruit Joel had given you and occasionally adding little input when prompted.

Tommy made mention that the meat stores were running a little low and he’d been asked to try and catch a deer if he could. That led the two down a conversation over how the food stores as a whole were doing and if there needed to be any supply runs anytime soon. You however zoned out at this knowing they would probably get wrapped up in the conversation. Instead you looked around as you rode, both to keep an eye out for anything and to keep your mind busy. Not that it worked as your mind drifted.

You were starting to show and while it wasn’t too noticeable right now, it would only be a matter of time before nothing fit and you’d be forced to tell Joel, or he’d figure it all out himself. At this point you're worried over his anger at being left in the dark over this for so long as well, adding to the number of worries you already held. The doctor had told you on your last check up that all your stress and worrying was causing your blood pressure to raise and that worried him. He had urged you to take a break, to try and relax but you couldn’t, not when relaxing meant your thoughts would be given more time to circle and bring you more stress and worry. You just wished all of this would disappear, that everything was fine and you only had to worry about the usual things like hunters and infected. You hated yourself for it, because you had truly not wanted it, but in the beginning you had hoped and prayed that something would happen, that this would go away and you wouldn’t have to tell Joel. But here you are and you should have known that this child being part Joel meant it wasn’t going to give up, that it was going to be there no matter how hard they had to fight, and fuck did you already love the little devil, but the worry it brought left you breaking apart.

Hearing your name shouted pulled you from your thoughts. Jerking your head you met Joel’s worried and confused look as he said, “Come on, Tommy is gonna go start a fire for us all to warm up an’ I spotted some deer tracks so you an’ me are gonna go see if we can find anything…..you good?”

Looking around, you noticed the three of you had reached the next sign in spot on the patrol route while you had been lost in your thoughts. Turning back to Joel you nodded before sliding from your horse and tying her up.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just got a little lost in thought. Sorry.”

Joel just nodded slowly, his worried look not leaving, before he nodded his head to the right, saying, “The tracks lead this way.”

You nod, and grab your rifle from your shoulder, and start to follow after him, watching the tracks as the two of you go. It didn’t take long to catch up to the deer, the pretty female gazing on an open patch of grass only a fifteen minute or so walk from where you both had left Tommy and the horses. Quietly, both you and Joel looked through your scopes that the deer as she slowly stepped and ate at the patch of grass. You had had a clear shot, and were about to take it, knowing Joel’s own was blocked by a thin tree in front of him, but you paused when you saw movement next to her and that’s when you saw the small fauntling clinging close to its mother’s legs.

For some reason all of your worries came to a head as you saw the two together, and your hands shook as you put your rifle down. Joel turned to you confused as he had yet to notice the baby, so you just turned to him and shook your head and pressed your fingers to your lips before pointing to the deer and cradling your arms, signing to him that she had a baby with her. Joel took another quick look and sighed, putting his rifle down as well when he finally saw the fawn.

The two of you started back to Tommy to tell him that the prints had been a dead end, but halfway back you couldn’t help but pause, and say, “Do you ever feel jealous of them?”

Confused, Joel turned to look at you where you stood and shook his head as he said, “What?”

You sigh and refuse to meet his eyes as you motion back to where the deer were, clearing your throat.

“The animals. Do you ever get jealous over how they aren’t chased after like we are, how they can’t turn into monsters that become murderous and hunt down the rest of their species? They just have to worry about running fast enough away from those of us that are living so they don’t become some terribly seasoned stew.”

Joel takes a step towards you, reaching a hand out to cup your shoulder, and says your name, “Where is this coming from? Does this have to do with what’s had you so stressed lately?”

You opened your mouth to reply, to brush it all away and just say nevermind, that it didn’t matter it was only a thought, but you met Joel’s eyes, the hazel swirling with concern and his voice laced with the need to help. In that moment every reply is lost to your tongue and your eyes swell with tears as you utter the words you’d been so terrified to share.

“Joel, I’m pregnant.”

The seconds ticked like hours as you realized you finally let the truth slip. As you watched the emotions filter over Joel’s face. Surprise, confusion, worry….wonder. His eyes danced around your figure as a single tear finally slipped.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded choppily and you gave him a timid smile.

“Yeah…turns out you were right months ago, it was never the flu,” you paused, taking a shuddering breath before continuing, “I…. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I-I just didn’t know how and my head kept fueling all these ‘what ifs’ around my thoughts and I just didn’t know how to handle it but god I should have told you and I am sorry.”

Gently, Joel cupped your face and wiped away the tears that had fallen as you apologized. He looked at you like you had just whispered to him the secret cure to the infection, one that didn’t involve Ellie.

Joel’s eyes bounced between your own as he asked, “How far….how far along are you?”

“Almost three and a half months,” you reply, your stress slowly fading to the background and slipping away.

Joel, as if he could see all of your doubts over the last three months, looks you right in the eye as he says, “You don’t have to worry anymore. Nothing will happen to either of you, not under my watch.”

Have an idea or headcannon you want written for Joel? My askbox is open! Feel free to send it to me! Thanks for reading and check out my other Joel fics! <3

Masterlist

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader

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legacygirlingreen · 4 months

Text

Part 4, Chapter 7: Repository III (the final) // Sebastian Sallow x Reader

AN: I apologize for this unedited mess. I am also so sorry I’ve been swamped and haven’t uploaded. I have a lot going on right now in my real life and writing has taken a backseat to it. I plan to finish this series soon. Thank you all for holding out with me. This is mostly just filler. Again, sorry.

Pic belongs to @99luka9 on Pinterest! (Not sure if they have a blog here as well but I found in on there)

Warnings: mention of blood, death, violence

Word count: 3,800

Link to Masterlist

The more Sebastian dug into the stone the more blood began to pool in his palms. Sweat dripped down his brow and down the sides of his neck, as well as down his nape, before trailing into his shirt collar. As he went to push yet another piece of piled up rumble to the cave floor, the slick of his palm caused him to lose traction, resulting in him slamming his fingers into the harsh surface as he let out an expletive.

Frustratedly he wiped his hands on the surface of his pants in an attempt to once again gain traction before resuming his efforts to push the stones. The more rubble he cleared, allowing him to gain more information as to what was happening on the other side. More loud taunting, more loud crashing, and thankfully more spell casting. He couldn’t quite make out what she was shouting from wherever this opening would lead, but he could hear the distinct sound of a spell hurling through the air followed by the occasional roar or groan of Ranrok. Everything about this reminded him of how broken she had felt when he rushed into the house with Solomon hot on his heels while he gripped her bleeding body to his chest.

Solomon. That was the strangest part of the ordeal. The more he continued to dig, the more he could hear her sole voice calling back against the goblin. He knew that Solomon had been trapped inside the cavern with her, and a part of him hoped that at the very least the man was alive to help keep her safe, but given the lack of hearing the man’s gruff voice or simultaneous casting there only left a few options for his uncle’s fate: the man was knocked out, the man ran, or he was already dead.

And as callous as it seemed, Sebastian didn’t really care which of three it wound up being.

In fact, Sebastian knew that if he got inside with only the ability to save one of them, he would save her with no hesitation. Solomon may be blood, but that didn’t make him family. Especially after finding out what he had done to Anne, and leaving his love to die at the hands of Rookwood, he had no love left in his heart for Solomon Sallow. That - and years of abuse at the man’s hands didn’t exactly bode well. In some small ways it might be better if Solomon was already dead, he thought. That way he wouldn’t have to kill Solomon himself.

Eventually he pushed aside just the right stone to cause the majority of them to fall away, opening up a small hole which he could see lead into a tunnel. Seeing it as the only way forward he crouched the best he could, pushing through until the tunnel allowed him to once again stand to full height. Inside it appeared similar to San Bakaar’s fourth trial and the location in which he witnessed the memory of the keepers confronting Isadora.

Sebastian felt a chill run up the entire length of his spine before it settled against his nape as he shuddered remembering what he had seen. In some ways he respected San Bakaar more than the others - as the man seemed to understand his policy of using whatever means necessary when your life's on the line. Even during the keeper’s time at Hogwarts the killing curse was forbidden. Knowing all four of them agreed to use it on Isadora in order to protect the wizarding world from her demented actions of corrupting the purity of ancient magic with human pain, made him more inclined to trust their judgment. It also made him glad that he taught the girl how to use it in extreme circumstances.

“Sebastian I am not so sure about this…” she spoke as they rounded that all too familiar staircase of the restricted section. The weight of the books he was returning pressed into his forearms. This was not to do with Anne that he had come back here. In fact he’d given up searching months ago after she finally convinced him they would find a way with ancient magic. But for some reason, after a night where she’d stumbled back even later than his shift with Sirona, covered in blood from poachers, he decided maybe raiding some of the healing spells would benefit her.

“We are just returning what I borrowed. Not taking anything else, I promise” he told her with a sigh.

“What did you take?” She asked cautiously, worried he’d have slipped back into old habits.

“Healing spells they just don’t teach at the school. I wanted to be able to teach them to you. I’m sick of seeing you stumble back broken and bloodied.” He explained, finally coming back to the spot in which he’d removed a few tomes on advanced healing.

“Oh. I thought - nevermind” she said, coming forward to help place the books back on the shelf near him.

“You thought, what? That I was messing with dark magic again?” He asked playfully, not concerned about her response because he genuinely hadn’t. Sebastian had no reason to be embarrassed or start a fuss over something he wasn’t engaging with any longer. And if he was honest with himself… he felt better. His head felt clearer. His back, less weighted.

“Well… why else would one sneak into the restricted section…?” She asked as she peaked open one of the books seeing it did in fact have very complex healing spells before putting it back on the shelf.

“Pornographic material” he said with a shrug.

“What?!” She shrieked and he laughed at her response as he pointed back to a dimly lit alcove all the boys at school had heard about. It was true that several boys always found a way to sneak in and raid it. On occasion he’d grabbed a few on his way out to make the trip more worth it…

“Yeah some of them even moan and make noises and such-“ he started and she smacked his arm as he chuckled.

“Stop being a brute and just put back the healing books you stole. Merlin, why am I courting such a delinquent?” She asked.

“Because you love me?” He teased stretching his hand out, which she graciously took.

“I do. And I’m also glad you stopped looking into dark magic. I know there’s been circumstances your knowledge has come in handy but… overall I prefer not using it as a first resort”

“I agree. I admit, I might’ve started getting a tad loose with some spells I shouldn’t have. I do still think it’s important to have knowledge of dark magic. And there are times I think the ends justify the means…”

“What are you talking about?” She asked, feet stalling as she looked at him.

“Well, if you do face Ranrok, and he has you pinned down without a moment of your life or his, I would prefer to know that you at least knew the killing curse. At that moment I believe it would be a justifiable means to kill him. And I don’t think the ministry would care either given goblins and human rights aren’t the same. But either way, I would like to know you would do anything to keep yourself safe if it came to that. Not as a first choice but a last resort” he explained, somewhat timidly. He knew she didn’t love the use of dark magic, but she never discouraged him trying to gain understanding of it. She saw past the black and white nature of it all, and it was something he deeply loved and admired her for.

“Oh… I hadn’t really thought about it.” She said nervously.

“You don’t have to-“ he tried to explain he wasn’t demanding she learn one of the three unforgivable spells on his account purely, but she cut him off.

“No. You’re right. This is too important. This magic is too dangerous to leave in Ranrok’s hands. I should at least know what to do if it came to that. Not necessarily for my sake but everyone else’s” she explained leaving him stunned.

“I’m really surprised you are so quick to want to learn an unforgivable curse” Sebastian told her honestly.

“Like you said, this mission is important and killing him may be the only way to protect it. Come on down here. I’ll show you the athenaeum. It’s where I went that day you took the fall for me. You can teach me in there how to use it” she said, dragging him along further into the restricted section.

Sebastian had been surprised at her willingness to see the greater good and now he just hoped that she had both paid attention and was alive to make the call if it came down to it.

Finally having a plan seemed to help. The more she continued to use the attack strategy suggested by Sebastian, the more Ranrok began to absorb the pain as the magic separated from the toxicity contaminating it. This strategy seemed to be the solution, however the more desperate Ranrok became, the more she continued to be knocked down with his futile attempts at preventing her from removing his power.

Each fall felt worse on her already aching body. But at the end of the day, she knew that she would need to stop the goblin, even if it was the last thing she did. This was too important to give up now.

The swirls and conflicting magic surrounded them both as he drew smaller. And then with the most deafening scream of pain did the blast of red and black magic surround them as Ranrok once again returned to his original state.

“You are… but a child…” he grunted out in pain as he stared up at her.

“You shouldn’t understand anyone on account of being young” she spat as he quickly moved to his feet once again, only to be shoved down by her usage of the ancient magic around them.

Watching in horror as the last of the pain entered the goblin, he rose from the ground, screaming in agony as the pain she removed became too much. In horror she watched as she slowly began to glow, breaking apart into thin ash like parts before suddenly he was gone.

A gasp left her lips as she fell to her knees, shocked that it was over. It was finally all over.

Loud banging filled the space before the cavern lurked, loud sounds of falling rocks once again filling the space as she looked above. The chamber she was in began to collapse, as she struggled to rise. Energy depleted from the fight with Ranrok, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand long enough to search for a way out.

And in her heart she found comfort in knowing at least everyone would be safe. The world at large had been saved. The likelihood of her walking away was low. And yet, she simply wanted to be granted the opportunity to say goodbye to him. To the handsome Slytherin boy, who had taught her so much. Who had shown her great care. Who had loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Laying down, she simply closed her eyes, accepting her fate. Perhaps her mind's eye could recall his big brown eyes one more time. Or imagine all his adorning freckles. If she really concentrated she almost felt as if she could hear his voice shouting her name. What she wouldn’t give to feel him hold her one last time.

But then she felt it. A dirty trick of the mind to shift to the afterlife is what she assumed, but when she opened her eyes and saw the cavern collapsing just behind his head she gasped.

“Bash” came the hushed whisper before she was desperately pulled into his arms as he stood.

“Hold on, we are getting out of here. Just hold onto me” he spoke before whistling loudly, the sound of loud flapping filling the space as her eyes drifted closed. Flashes of feathers, falling debris and his worried face filled her mind before it all faded to black.

“Mr. Sallow set her down on the cot so the nurse can look over her injuries!” Professor Weasley shouted as the rag tag team of staff and students bust into the hospital ward.

The girl, having lost consciousness somewhere on the journey out of the repository, was still perched in Sebastian’s arms. The boy damn near growling earlier when someone tried to remove her. Lurching forward he set her down, unaware of the wards existing students.

Their friends and educators all coming around to stare down at the battered girl who had saved them. Well, all of them except one.

“Sebastian…” whispered behind him and when he finally tore his eyes from the girl he saw Anne.

“Annie…” he said in shock, having forgotten until now that poppy spoke about his witch find a cure.

“What happened? Where’s, where’s Solomon?” She asked, looking around.

His mind flashed back to the cavern, seeing his uncle crushed on the floor no longer breathing just as he had fled. She had whispered something akin to Solomon before she had fainted but he already knew the man was gone.

“He didn’t make it Anne” he spoke softly as his sister begun to wail loudly. Ominis coming forward to remove his sister from the already chaotic scene, he turned back to his love who still had yet to wake as the nurse began to try and heal some of her injuries.

“Is she going to be alright?” he asked softly as the nurse turned to him.

“I’d say so. Diagnostic spells show most of the damage is external, not internal.” The nurse spoke mending gashes and wiping away blood. As she did so, he took note of the already pink forming scar along the girl's face, now running through the middle of it. It wasn’t the kind of mark that happened by accident, the way it looked was deliberate. Poppy’s cries in the room of requirement were all he needed to know that it had been the result of Rookwood.

“Merlin…” he whispered as Professor Fig tugged him aside.

“It’s best to let them clean her up first. I need to speak with you” the man spoke and all he could do was nod. Deep down Sebastian knew the man was likely playing the events in December over in his mind, recalling how awful the boy had reacted to seeing her injured. Sitting at the edge of a separate bed he sighed.

Soon he found himself in front of the professors. Sebastian hadn’t noticed that Professor Weasley had escorted out all the other students, leaving only Leander who sustained a slightly sizable gash on his leg. But when the adults stared down at him as they refrained from talking he grew confused.

“Mr. Sallow you need to remove your shirt” Professor Sharp said sternly as he looked up confused.

“What?” Sebastian asked as the man harshly pointed at the wound on his shoulder. “Oh. I forgot about that…” he said gritting his teeth as he tried to unbutton the shirt with his non dominate hand.

“Adrenaline can make the body forget the trauma it’s experienced. It doesn’t look as bad now but still shouldn’t take too many chances with it.” The man said as he finished using spells he knew from his time at the ministry to examine the wound. Knowing the nurse would likely be too busy, helping the young Sallow man fell to him in responsibility.

“Is everyone decent?” Came a voice behind Professor Sharp who simply nodded as Matilda Weasley came forward.

“Mr. Sallow. I am going to need much more information this instance.” She demanded.

“Alright.” He spoke grumpily.

“Do you have any kind of idea the danger you put yourself, and your classmates, in?” She asked.

“Did you? Because from what I have come to realize, is that only Professor Fig and I were aware the danger everyone was in this whole time. I was likely more prepared than most of you to handle this”

“That doesn’t excuse your actions-“

“I will not apologize for wanting to make sure she walked out of there alive. Give me detention for the rest of the year. Expel me. Lock me in Azkaban. I don’t care. She is alive and going to be okay. That is all that matters to me” he spoke with exasperation.

“Matilda, perhaps given none of the students were in danger we should consider thanking Mr. Sallow for his assistance. Has they not arrived I am not sure even we all would have walked away” Professor Sharp spoke up.

“The distraction provided by Mr. Sallow and the other students allowed us to gain the upper hand during the battle.” Hecat pointed out.

“Yes but, they could have been hurt. How would I have explained it to their parents or the headmaster?” She questioned.

“Considering Sallow and I are the only two who got hurt, new fifth year excluded, I’d say it’s not something we need to be concerned with Professor Weasley. Chalk it up to some Slytherin resourcefulness and Gryffindor bravery.” Leander grunted as a house elf finished wrapping his leg.

The woman sighed before looking around. Eyes landing on the floor network as two figures emerged.

“Everett found me but when we made it back to the cavern everyone had left” Andrew Larson spoke walking forward with Officer Singer.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here? What is this I hear of a goblin attack?” She asked looking around at the battle worn professors and few injured students.

“Yes. And it appears several of our students mounted a counter offensive” she said with a frustrated sigh.

“Students?! The minister-“

“Will be delighted to know that Hogwarts has such brave, resourceful, loyal and intelligent students that they would be willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Going so far to go against the measure we took to ensure their safety” Professor Weasley spoke.

“I will need to contact the minister and start a full investigation into the matters-“ Officer Singer began before Matilda once again cut her off.

“Tomorrow. These students, and us for that matter, have been through a great deal. Let them rest. Recover from their injuries before we go bringing up such events again.” She said sternly, nodding to Sebastian that his witch was alert.

No longer caring about the logistics he ran forward, sliding onto his knees as he took to her bed side.

“Sebastian?” She asked gently as he grabbed her hands in his own, kissing the skin along the back of her hand firmly over and over again.

“You are alive. Merlin be praised, you are alive!” He said excitedly as he no longer cared about the hospital ward full of people as he reached his hand out along the back of her neck and brought her into a kiss. It conveyed all the fear, anger, love and pain he was dealing with at all that had happened.

Breaking away to catch her breath the sighed in pain before looking back up at him sadly. “Sebastian… Solomon he…”

“I know” he told her, not really finding it in his heart to care about it at the moment.

“No. He saved me. I was falling. I - I would’ve died had he not saved me. And then he fell to his own death. Sebastian, it was horrible…” she said as tears began to well up in her eyes. He reached forward, hoping to provide comfort as she sobbed. Inside, the boy knew it was rather callous to not feel bad about his last remaining adult relative being gone, but after what he did to Anne, what Solomon did to him and most importantly what he had let Rookwood do to her, he didn’t care.

“We don’t have to discuss it now… you are alive and that’s all that matters” he told her gently as he wipped the tears from her face and she nodded. Reaching towards the table beside her bed, she produced Solomon’s wand and handed it to Sebastian.

“I managed to grab this before everything happened. I thought Anne might want it. But Sebastian-“ she started to speak as the girl in question ran forward.

“Why do you have our uncle’s wand?!” She shrieked.

“We got separated and he was with me when Ranrok-“

“So it’s your fault.” Anne spoke harshly as a gasp fell over them.

“Anne, I’m not sure we have all the information to make claims like that-“ Ominis spoke but the girl interrupted.

“No. She walked out. Solomon didn’t. That’s all I need to know” Anne responded.

“Anne. You have no idea the vile things Solomon did to even you. He-“ Sebastian started only to be interrupted by the witch at his side.

“You are right Anne. Solomon sacrificed himself to save me. And there’s nothing I can do to bring him back or make it okay. I’m sorry.” She said sadly.

“Maybe if you weren’t so careless he’d be alive. It is all your fault.” She spat before standing up.

“Anne! She saved you-” Ominis said standing up and rushing after the girl who was fleeing the hospital ward, leaving Sebastian and her to sit in silence over what had happened.

“Poppy told me what happened. Don't worry. Anne doesn’t know what Solomon did to her. We will talk to her-“ he spoke after a moment and she stopped him.

“No. Let Anne grieve him. She deserves that. I won’t take that away from her” she told him.

“She deserves to know she was dying because Solomon is a coward.”

“Sebastian, I will not be the reason your sister loses the image of her protective and loving uncle.”

“He was anything but that. I won’t have her speak to you that way. You saved her. For heaven's sake, you saved us all '' Sebastian told her sternly.

“And right now she is a girl who is sad over her Uncle’s death. She should be allowed to do that.” She replied.

“Not at the sake of your good name” he told her.

“We will tell her eventually. Right now I really just want to rest.” She said sadly.

“I have talked to Officer Singer. Tomorrow you will all report to discuss the events of today first thing in the morning. Classes have been canceled. For now you are released to go rest.” Professor Weasley spoke before turning on her heels to discuss with the other professors.

“Let’s get you back to the dorm-“ he spoke and she shook her head.

“Room of requirement. I can’t… I don’t want to face anyone right now” she spoke and he nodded, helping her rise to her feet and start down the stairs to their private sanctuary.

To be continued…

#hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow/reader #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #anne sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwartslegacy #leander prewett #matilda weasley #solomon sallow #aesop sharp

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