pocket rounds

My Little Hero (Bucky X Reader / Bucky X Reader’s daughter)

Title: My Little Hero ( Big Hero, Little Hero drabble series 1.0 ) 

Pairing: Bucky X Reader and Reader’s daughter 

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Bucky stumbled upon a sweet young girl defending his honor. And finding out that her mom is the lovely single mom he always kind of liked.

Next parts: 2.0 Mini Winter Soldier  || 3.0 Bucky’s Little Spy 


The Smithsonian was swarming with people, as expected on a warm weekend. Bucky had a cap on his head, wearing a red henley that covered his arms and a pair of old washed jeans. He strolled around the exhibits with his hands in his pocket, rounding the Captain America exhibit. 

This wasn’t his first visit there since leaving Hydra. The first was when Steve brought him to help him, them, find some comforting part of the 40s. There was even this little corner with some information about Bucky himself and his Howling Commandos comrades. He enjoyed spending his free afternoons in the museum, it was the closest thing to his home back in the 40s he had in this big new country. 

Student groups came and went with their teachers, no one paid mind to Bucky; and he liked that, peace and quiet. He settled himself in front of Steve’s motorcycle. His lips turned slightly into a small smile thinking about just now much his best friend used to like that bike. 

The silence he had in his mind was broken when he heard squabbling to his left. Turning to the direction, his eyes fell to a small group of pre-schoolers decked in blue. In the center of the group was a young girl and boy; the boy was holding his shin, a grimace on his face and the girl had an indignant look on hers, her tiny arms crossed in front of her. 

“How dare you call the Winter Soldier a monster? The sergeant is a hero you hear me?” words tumbled out of the young girl, the frown on her face deepening. The boy looked up at her and sneered “How would you know? You’re just a girl.”

Before the girl could give him a piece of her mind, the teacher stepped between the two and demanded them both to apologize to each other. “You two will be on time out. Sit on the bench with Mrs. Mary and reflect. Both of your parents will pick you up when the tour for the rest of the class ends. No argument!” the teacher warned, voice stern and brows furrowed. 

Bucky looked on as he saw the two children sat on the two furthest ends of the bench, the girl still had her arms crossed. He took a seat on the bench nearest to theirs and at that point, he’s decided he was going to watch over her till her parents came. Just in case the boy was to do anything sneaky. 

At that thought, he chuckled at himself and thought since she was going to defend his honor, he shall do his part and be her guardian for that afternoon. It was probably one of the sweetest things anyone has done for him since the 40s. A tiny girl defending him when he couldn’t even bring himself to defend his own honor. 

“I’ll have you know that my mom works with the Avengers and she knows the Winter Soldier and she says he’s a war hero. Without him, we’ll all probably be Hydra.” she huffed, side-eyeing the boy as her teacher stood a short distance away, probably calling their parents. 

A short half hour later, a young woman hurried into the exhibition hall, her heels clicking away. She lowered herself to the height of the young girl and chastised lightly, her eyes betraying her true emotions. “I heard someone’s in trouble, young lady,” she said, bopping the little girl’s nose. 

Straightening herself, she shook the hands of the teacher and after a short conversation turned to her daughter and said, “Young lady, you will apologize to Brian now and say you’re sorry for kicking him the shin. There’s no excuse good enough for hurting someone you hear me.” The young girl begrudgingly turned to the smug boy and muttered a half-hearted sorry. 

“And you Brian. You will apologize to Poppy for saying she’s just a girl. And for calling someone you don’t know a monster. Poppy is a lovely girl who will turn out just as amazing as any boy like yourself. Bucky, Sergeant Barnes is a respectable hero for our country, alright?” she chastised, lowering herself to Brian’s height. 

Brain’s smug grin fell, as he looked at Poppy and apologized. “Alright. Now the two of you are going to shake hands and make friends alright.” she instructed. 

Her daughter’s teacher gave her a grateful smile and thanked her, “You’re a life saver (Y/N). You should’ve joined us as a parent volunteer.” “If I had the time I really wouldn’t mind but you know how it is over at Stark Industries.” she replied, a resigned smile on her face. 

Hearing her name, Bucky perked up and narrowed his eyes to get a better look at her. (Y/N)? Stark Industries? Could it be Pepper’s PA? That (Y/N)? Bucky’s always paid extra attention to her. Despite no one noticing it. Or perhaps Nat knew but just didn’t want to call him out on it. She did always have this knowing smirk on her face. (Y/N) always had this lovely smile on her face that made her eyes disappear into a cute crescent. 

People mostly left Bucky alone. But not (Y/N). If she baked during the weekends, she always made sure to give him a couple of the treats she made. If he was coming back from a mission, she would always be there waiting. Well, she may have been waiting for anyone. Nat. Wanda. Steve. Thor. God forbid, Sam. But it always warmed his heart a little seeing her tiny figure from afar. 

He knew the (Y/N) was a single mom. Her bastard of a boyfriend left once he knew she was expecting. She also knew she had to juggle a lot, there were even a couple of times Nat helped pick her daughter from pre-school when she was occupied with work. 

As Bucky looked over, he saw that (Y/N) was holding on to her daughter’s hand, arms swaying as they walked towards the exit. He didn’t know what came over him, his shy demeanour that he acquired over time, vanished as he took large steps to the pair. 

(Y/N) noticed his figure and a look of shock appeared on her face when she figures out who it was. He gave her a shy smile as he kneeled next to Poppy. 

“Hi. You’re Poppy, right? I’m Bucky. Your mom’s fr-“ Bucky started. Before he could continue, Poppy let out an excited squeal and jumped into his arms. 

“You’re The Winter Soldier! Sergeant Barnes! Can I really call you Bucky?” she babbled on, her tiny arms wrapped around Bucky. He couldn’t help but let out a hearty chuckle at her excitement as he returned her hug light. 

“Of course you can Pumpkin. Please feel free to call me anything,” he replied, eyes meeting (Y/N)’s, her smile evident on her face as she laughed at her daughter’s antics. 

“Oooooooo. How about Buckaroo? Bucky Bear? Cuddly Bucky? Big Barnes?” she listed name off her head, still not letting Bucky go. An affectionate chuckle escaped Bucky, as he scooped the young girl up, Poppy still happily listing out nicknames for the super soldier. 

“You heading back to the office? Do you mind if I carry her the way back?” Bucky asked softly, his cheeks, a faint red. 

(Y/N) laughed softly and said, “I don’t think she’s going to let you go anytime soon. You’re her hero you know?” 

Bucky’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, as he awkwardly scratches the back of his head. 

“Well, she’s my hero.”  

Tagging: @itsanerdlife @buckysmusculararm @klaus-is-king @callamint @dryerpet @katbird787

I know I haven’t written much or been on Tumblr much. I have been majorly busy with college and I’m so drained. It would mean the world to me if I could get some feedback on this. I hope everyone enjoys this!

For my other writings, search “Ting writes” on my Tumblr!” 


Pairing: Wonho x Reader
Rating: Solid R rating
Warnings: sexting
Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoy this! Don’t be afraid to let me know what you think!

Originally posted by garisanee

“So how long have you and Wonho been together again?”

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Dark Nights (Part 8)

Originally posted by hallowedbecastiel

Summary: The reader convinces Dean to let her go on her first hunt but it’s not as easy as she once thought…

Dark Nights Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 2,100ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: Ah, so much protective cute Dean…

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Happy ever after

It takes Bernie two months after leaving Holby to propose to Serena. Not because she’s nervous, because she’s never been more sure about anything in her life, but because she wants to make sure that Serena is in a place where she’s comfortable to hear it.

She’s spent longer with Serena than she intended, but there’s no real rush to get to Sudan.

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Happy to Please You (Happy x Reader)

Thank you @coolihatemakingpasswords for sending this in <3 

Word Count: 3,868

Playlist: Chivalry is Dead - Trevor Wesley

Originally posted by wakinguptheneighbours

He stood outside Scoops, waiting for the rest of the boys to finish up inside before they were off on business. On any other day, he probably would’ve never noticed her as she passed. That wasn’t to say that when he did see her he didn’t think she was downright gorgeous. The only reason why she piqued his interest was the mountain of thick texts she had bundled in her arms, covering her main course of eyesight. 

He fought the smirk that built within him when he spotted her light eyes peeking around the heavy pile. She blew her bangs out of her eyes with a huff but that didn’t deter her. She continued forward, and as she neared him he heard the incessant muttering. She was guiding herself forward, hoping that she didn’t bump into anyone or anything. He took one small step into her line of pursuit and waited. 

It didn’t take long. Within a minute she’d walked straight into him, her gaze focussed on her destination and not where she was walking. She stumbled forward, all the books flying into the air and crashing into the ground. He watched with amusement, standing still as she fumbled around.

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Quarters (G.Laf x Reader)


request: ᶠᴵᴿˢᵀ off so happy I get to request something!! Can I request a cute one where Lafeyette and Reader are soulmates, and. They meet at the movie theatre Laf saying ‘I think I sit beside you.’

word count: 848 words

After months and months of waiting you were finally going to see your favorite book adapted into a movie. You ordered tickets online for opening night and you could not contain your excitement and now you finally get to see it!

Unfortunately, you were so excited that you arrived at the theater way way earlier than your friend and before they could let you into the theater, but you didn’t mind too much since you could waste time in the arcade until she arrived.

As you were about to put in a quarter for a racing game, a man tapped your shoulder and pointed to the seat next to yours, silently asking if he could play with you.

You blushed and nodded, shocked at how handsome the man was with his dark complexion and beautiful brown eyes. You couldn’t decipher if you were or weren’t disappointed that he didn’t speak as you glanced down at your arm which read “I think I sit beside you.”

It would’ve worked out perfectly for this scenario if he said those words and next thing you know you’re riding of into the sunset with a handsome stranger. But you shook that thought out of your mind because most likely he wasn’t your soulmate, but you not knowing allowed you to dream a little.

But enough talk about dreaming, soulmate or not, you were determined to kick this guy’s ass in this racing game. The game started up and you slammed on the gas pedal. Time went on and you noticed the guy playing against you wasn’t that bad. And normally, you were very good and would almost always beat your friends, but this time you were slightly distracted by your competitor’s good looks.

You were coming to the final stretch and you were in first with the handsome stranger in close second. You grinned and pushed harder against the fake gas pedal in excitement as you were about to win. You were about to cross the finish line when the man used an accelerator boost and zoomed right past you, taking the gold and leaving you in the dust.

You gaped at the screen and then back at the stranger, “You cheated! How could you do this to me?!”

You moaned and covered your eyes as you slumped down the chair. You noticed the man was silent and you peeked between your fingers to see him gaping at you. He was about to say something when you heard your name being called.

“(Y/N)!” Your friend yelled at you as she stuffed some popcorn in her mouth.  "C'mon the movie is about to start!“

You jumped out of your seat and jogged over to her. You glanced over your shoulder to see the man still in the racing game chair, staring at you. You giggled and gave him a small wave before entering the theater.

Since it was opening night, the two of you had assigned seats. You marveled as you noticed the theater had reclining chairs.

"C1, C2, C3, C4…aha! C5 and C6!” Your friend exclaimed. “Which seat do you want? 5 or 6?”

You narrowed your eyes and glanced at both seats, somehow knowing this was a big decision, “I’ll take 6.”

You plopped down in your seat and shoved some popcorn into your mouth. Soon, you saw more and more people filing into the theater. You were half hoping the cute guy from earlier would come in, but you knew it would be a long shot.

After a little while, almost all the seats were filled with the exception of some in the front row and the one next to yours. You shrugged it off as the lights dimmed that signaled that the movie was about to start. You scooted to the edge of your chair as you awaited the beginning, staring at the huge screen. The opening scene started and you nearly squealed but you felt a tap on your left shoulder.

You sighed, annoyed, and turned to see who disturbed you. You froze as you saw it was the gorgeous stranger from earlier. He was gripping his icee nervously in his hand as he looked down at you.

“I-I think I sit beside you.”

Your eyes went wide and you tensed up. You glanced down and your marking before looking back at him. He smiled sheepishly and angled his arm so you could see his marking.

You cheated! How could you do this to me?!

Your face resembled a tomato after your read it over and over again and you stared at him as he slowly sat down next to you.

“We can talk later about this and in all honestly I totally didn’t expect those words to be said how it was, but I’m glad how it turned out and well uh,” You noticed he had a French accent as he rambled and you nearly swooned in your seat, totally oblivious as the movie going on. He then reached into his pocket to grab something.

“Round two on me?” He asked as he held up two quarters.

every time she smiles

I was surprisingly productive today and managed to write this entire thing (and then I picked a random phrase from it for a title because titles are the worst). I’m pretty happy with it, but I think that, although this was inspired by this weeks #choicescreates prompt, ‘Betrayal’, it got a bit out of hand. I wanted to explore my MCs personality a bit and the way I’ve been headcanoning her thoughts on everything. (I still haven’t decided if I want her to end up with the Prince or with Drake! Leaning towards Drake at the moment though.)

I hope you enjoy it!

Book: The Royal Romance

Ship: MC x Drake.

@hollyashton, @firefly-hwufanficwriter

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100 Quote Prompts: Part 19- Keep Your Friends Close, and Enemies Closer

“Name one thing I’m bad at. Ha– you can’t, can you?”

“No, I can’t name a single thing.” Dark scowled. “I can name several.”

Wilford’s smile dropped, and he went back to flipping his knife over in his hand. “It’s not as if you’re perfect yourself, Darky.”

“Sorry, what did you just call me?!” Dark rose from the pile of boxes he was sitting on, as elegantly as if from a throne. The TV droned on in the background, sending flickers of light across the room. The windows were dark– it might have been 9pm, might have been 3am.

“Calm down,” Wilford said, not even looking up at him. “You’ve existed for what, four months? Seven videos? A livestream?” He scoffed, running a careless had through his hair, turning the fauxhawk into a careless mess. “You’re still a figment. No match for Wilford Warfstache, because Warfstache don’t take no shit from nobody.”

Dark scowled. “That’s rich from someone whose existence has lasted all of a week.”

“I’m a successful journalist and serial killer,” Wilford said, still reclining on the couch, obnoxiously spread over the three available seats, lit only by the light from the TV. “You? The fans love you,” he chuckled, catching his knife, voice suddenly darkening. “But you’re nothing.”

Dark growled, fangs flashing, advancing. Gray smoke began to swirl around the room.

Dark, and for the past week, Wilford, lived in a tiny apartment on the ground floor, under Mark. Dark doubted that Mark was smart enough to figure out that the two of them had been given physical forms, and for the moment, staying close by seemed the most prudent. Keeping Wilford contained was also of the utmost importance.

After all, the saying went, “Keep your friends close, and enemies closer.”

Dark had been steadily gaining power with each day, each video; but was nowhere near close to becoming permanent, much less overpowering Mark. He needed the element of surprise, needed to live in shadow and secrecy until he was strong enough. So far, everything was going to plan.


Wilford had waltzed past his window a week ago, dressed vividly, talking loudly, tiny firecrackers exploding in the air behind him. Dark, seeing yet another version of himself attracting attention, had little choice but to pull the other figment into the apartment and lock the door behind them. They had the same face– what else could he do?

Wilford, despite having been corporeal for less than a week, was already as powerful as (if not more powerful than) Dark. Dark nursed a healthy amount of jealousy, and couldn’t help but give Wilford a measure of grudging respect; even so, the short week they’d shared together had been one of the worst of Dark’s short life.

And now…

Dark stood over Wilford, still infuriatingly comfortable. On his couch. In his apartment. Watching his TV. (Never mind that he’d possessed the landlord in order to get it. It was his.)

Anger wiped out every other emotion in his mind. The ceiling trembled with the force of his aura whipping around the room, light gray smoke gradually darkening, obscuring the still-playing television. This had happened before, and from vaguely within him came a strand of conscience. Holding him back. Reminding him of the destroyed rooms he’d left in his wake, of chances missed, of control lost.

Control. The word echoed in his mind, but it was already too late. The strand snapped.

“Get out.”

Wilford’s eyes widened a little, seeing Dark standing stiffly above him, rage in every line of his figure, casting a shadow over the couch.

“Woah, boy, there’s no need to get so–”

Dark screamed in fury, pure black smoke emitting from his mouth. Wilford, to his credit, recognized the danger he was in and stumbled: first to his feet, then backing towards the door. The knife now useless on the floor at Dark’s feet.

“Dark–” he was almost pleading now. He had nowhere else to go.

Dark’s figure was changing. His shoulders hulked, nails lengthening into claws, black smoke obscuring his outline. The light of the TV flickered and went out, leaving Wilford in absolute, unnatural darkness.

With a monster.

Wilford screamed, scrambling back towards the door. A fumble. A click. The door was thrown open, and Wilford fell out into the night.

Dark’s laugh echoed out after him, a sinister, maniacal giggle; the door slammed violently closed.

Lights began to flick on elsewhere in the building, and Wilford heard the murmurs of humans stumbling out of bed to check on the noise. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the pulse in the tips of his fingers, in his back where it was pressed into the rough concrete. A gust of wind blew over him, cold, and he shivered.

Dark woke up on the floor of his apartment, cheek pressed into the carpet. He blinked, lifting himself up with a groan. Every muscle in his body seemed to have its own kind of ache, and the shirt and jeans he usually wore were in tatters.

A look around the room confirmed his suspicions: the couch was overturned, the TV screen cracked, and smears of black gleaming in the rays of sunlight on the walls. A hurricane had hit the room, and Dark sat on his heels in the eye of the storm. Alone.

A few moments passed, and Dark gathered the presence of mind to stand up. He walked around the tiny, three-room apartment, checking first the bedroom, then the kitchen. No Wilford.

Dark took a minute to curse himself. Standing in the bathroom, stained with the anger of past late nights, he stared down his own cracked reflection. Wilford was gone, doing who-knows-what, probably too scared to ever return on his own. As much as Dark hated him, Wilford couldn’t be left to his own devices. He was a danger to others, a danger to Dark’s plans. Maybe even a potential asset– but he was gone, and Dark avoided his own eye. This was his fault. Everything was his fault.

He couldn’t help it. He looked up. And there was Mark in the mirror, smirking back at him. Laughing. Mocking. Pitying.

Another crack added itself to the mirror with a noise like a gunshot, and Dark forced himself to turn away. There were other things he had to do just now, and quickly.

Dressed in a clean black shirt and whole jeans, Dark stepped out of the apartment. He locked the door quickly, and looked around. No one had seen him. Wishing he’d perfected the technique of turning invisible, Dark slipped out towards the center of the apartment complex, Wilford’s knife stuffed in his back pocket.

He rounded a corner, still in the shadows, and heard someone call his name.

No, not his name.


Dark’s heart pounded in his chest– what he figured was the equivalent of a heart, anyway– as someone rounded the corner. Someone tall, taller than him, and in cargo pants.

Dark jumped over the hedge between him and safety and let his aura engulf him, a ringing in his ears, fading into a shadow against the wall. The darkness of his aura was comforting, a deep, reassuring pressure surrounding him. Nothing could find him in here.

A human he recognized as one of Mark’s companions– Wade– walked past him, looking confused.

“Mark?” he said again, tentatively. He looked around again, staring right at Dark, but seeing nothing.

Finally, Wade shrugged, and Dark, hidden, breathed. As Wade walked away, presumably upstairs to see Mark, Dark held his breath and sidestepped along the wall until around a corner and out of sight.

With a gasp, he let his aura dissipate. Too close. Too close. Dark shook his head, still trying to fight down the panic in his chest. Control. With any luck, he wouldn’t see anyone else that recognized him, and neither would Wilford.

“Oh, there you are! Hey, Mark, what’s with the pink?”

No such luck.

Wilford had ran as fast as he could through the night, desperate to get away from Dark, from the sweeping flashlights of the neighbors. The farther he’d gotten from the apartment, the weaker he’d felt. He had reassured himself: it was cold, he was tired; but eventually, he fell to his knees, too spent to keep going, the gate of the apartment complex in front of him. He’d breathed heavily, battling for consciousness, but lost. His head had hit the ground, his body falling behind a bush, and all had gone black.

Now, he was woken by barking dogs and bright sunlight through the leaves above him. Wilford jolted awake, remembering, and scrambled to his feet. He shuddered, and the dirt staining his clothes disappeared.

His first thought was that he should get back– his second, that he should keep running and not stop. Uncertain, he brushed his hands together.

A flash of light, a puff of pink smoke, and Wilford held a pistol finished in pink chrome. He almost dropped it in surprise, blinking.

A voice was talking to him. Telling him to run as far as he could with his newfound power. Another voice, warning of Dark, of the person Dark called Markiplier. Another voice–

“Oh, there you are! Hey, Mark, what’s with the pink?”

Wilford whipped around, stuffing the gun hurriedly behind him. A human, someone he thought he should recognize. His eyes flicked up and down.


“Mark, what’s up? I was on my way–” The man stopped, looking Wilford up and down. “Are… are we shooting something?”

Not Slenderman. But, a solution had immediately presented itself, and Wilford smiled.

The man– Wade, it clicked– stepped back a foot when Wilford pulled his gun. The handle sat snugly in his palm, as though it had been made for him. The weight, the way the light shone off the barrel, everything about it was perfect. Undeniably Wilford’s.

He drew the gun level with his eyes, pointing it at Wade’s chest. Wade threw his hands up, shaking his head, frozen to the spot.

Wilford squinted and squeezed the trigger.

Dark was running, tennis shoes hitting the pavement at top speed, not even bothering to stay in the shadows. He was getting farther away from Mark, and weaker. The sun was too bright, too hot, and combined, he felt faint.

Just one more push.

He saw something glint in the sun, saw Wade raise his hands in surrender.

Just one more leap.

With a thump of his shoes and a tiny, imperceptible swirl of smoke, Dark launched himself into the air towards Wilford, knocking the two of them to the ground, the gun clattering as it fell.

Wade staggered back in shock. His best friend just pointed a gun at him. His best friend had just been tackled by a monochrome version of himself. Mark–

Dark sat up, panting, on top of Wilford. Wilford looked up at him, dazed. Recognizing Dark, his eyes widened.


Dark glared, poisonous, brandishing his fangs in a grimace that warned Wilford to be quiet. “Shut up. You’re messier than I am, Warfstache.”

Wilford, for once, fell silent. Dark got up quickly, looking at Wade. He was backing up slowly, shaking his head.

“I’m going crazy. This isn’t happening. No, no, no.”

Dark didn’t bother explaining, only sprang forward to stop Wade from getting away. He closed Wade’s wrist in an ice-cold grip.

“Now,” Dark said, mustering his strength, leaning up to stare Wade in the eye, “where were we?”

“Dark,” Wilford panted from the ground, shaken, “you can’t kill–”

“Oh, I can. But I can do it a lot cleaner than you can, don’t you think?” he crooned at Wade, his aura muting the human’s cries for help.

Wilford finally staggered to his feet, the gun back in his hand, hanging limply at his side. “No, Dark.” His voice was fainter than before, but more controlled. More commanding.

“And who’s going to stop me?” Dark sneered, pulling Wade’s wrist, cruelly, as he struggled, soundless.

“There’s a better way,” Wilford said, stepping forward. He grasped Wade’s other wrist in his free hand, bringing the gun up to his forehead.

Dark smiled at Wilford for what felt like the first time. “I like your style–”

The sickening crack of a pistol whip, and Wade fell unconscious to the ground. Wilford tucked the pistol back into his waistband, avoiding Dark’s eyes. “Let’s get him back to the gates. I have a plan.”

Dark, more curious than angry, helped Wilford pull Wade’s body towards the gate.

“Of all people,” he sneered, needling, “I didn’t expect Wilford Warfstache to be afraid of killing a harmless human.”

“I’m not afraid,” Wilford muttered, propping Wade up against the gate. “Just not bloodthirsty.”

Dark afforded Wilford a snort, stepping back to watch his ‘plan’ unfold.

Wilford squatted in front of Wade, almost nose-to-nose. He snapped his fingers, and Wade jolted awake, babbling in incoherent fear.

“Hey, hey,” Wilford said, holding his chin in place. “Look at me.”

Dark craned his neck, curious despite himself, trying to see what Wilford was doing.

There was a flash of magenta light, and Wilford spoke soothingly, still holding Wade’s face inches from his own. Dark gasped a little, watching Wade’s limbs go slack.

Wilford snapped his fingers, and the light disappeared. He straightened up, a little wobbly on his feet. Wade sat, slumped, eyes closed. Dark caught Wilford, steadying him, and looked down at Wade.

Dark battled to keep the awe out of his voice. “What did you do?”

Wilford huffed a little, recoiling from Dark'a touch, but so unsteady that he leaned on Dark’s arm anyway. “He won’t remember anything.”

“How–” Dark succumbed to a wave of emotion. Anger? Hatred? …Jealousy?

“He’ll wake up in a minute,” Wilford said, shuffling. “We should go.”

Dark turned away from Wilford and stalked back down the sidewalk. Wilford staggered, but caught himself, then followed. As he got closer to the apartment building, closer to Mark, he felt his strength returning in waves. He watched Dark’s back straighten in front of him as they walked.

He’d only existed for a week, a handful of days, but there was something he enjoyed about having a body. It was grounding, and held endless promise. Wilford smiled to himself, mustache twitching. Endless promise, but for what?

Dark had made it very clear that he was out to get their creator, and his influence. He was all about control, Dark. Wilford took the sun-soaked walk back to the apartment to think.

By the time they’d reached the door, Dark fiddling with the keys, he had an answer. He remembered the fear in Wade’s eyes when he’d pulled the gun, the rush of exhilaration at seeing both Dark and Wade angry. He reached a hand back to brush the beautiful pistol in his waistband, and his face broke into a smile. Chaos. Murderous, sensational, bubblegum-colored–

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re getting ideas,” Dark leered, finally opening the door. “Dangerous ones.”

Wilford scoffed, brushing past Dark into the apartment, lit by the light filtering through the windows. The door swung shut behind Dark as he followed, leaving the room dim.

Wilford had to admit, as micromanaging as Dark was, he was growing on him. It had been a short week, but Wilford felt as if they were falling into a kind of camaraderie, an easy back-and-forth.

Wilford’s eyes gradually adjusted from the brightness of the outdoors, and he stifled a gasp, seeing the destroyed room. Dark walked up behind him, his proximity sending a shiver through Wilford.

“I suggest you don’t anger me again,” Dark said, voice smooth, a step behind fury.

Wilford swallowed his misgivings. “Not likely, Darkipoo.” Ignoring the sudden chill in the room, Wilford clapped his hands, concentrating.

Dark, behind Wilford, stopped to stare. Illuminated by slanting rays of sunlight, Wilford stiffened, tensing. A beat, a rustle. The couch, with a groan, righted itself; the TV’s screen flickered on, a low drone filling the room; the black smudges over the walls, like desperate handprints that Dark had never been able to scrub or bleach away, faded to nothing. The room smelled like spun sugar.

Dark actively chose to be annoyed, rather than impressed. “How,” he growled, jaw clenched, “did you do that?”

Wilford relaxed his shoulders, suddenly tired. He limply flopped down onto the couch, digging for the TV remote. “No problem, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal.” He tried impressively to be flippant, but came off instead as strained. He flicked lazily through a few channels, pointedly avoiding Dark’s glare.

“I prefer to be called ‘Dark,’ thank you,” Dark finally snapped, stalking over to his abandoned pile of boxes, now stacked neatly.

“What, we’re not buddies?” Wilford raised an eyebrow, addressing the television screen.

Dark sat on one of the boxes, dropping his head into his hands. When he looked up, it was with a cool intensity that managed to catch Wilford’s full attention.

Wilford struggled to keep his eyes on the TV as Dark spoke, struggled to appear as if he wasn’t hanging on Dark’s every word.

“No,” Dark said, voice like flint. “You and I are not buddies, Wilford. I–” he pressed an elegant hand to his own chest, and Wilford was forced to look, “–am perfectly honed malignancy, the de facto counterpart of our creator, the lawful evil that drives the curiosity of my pawns until they succumb to my bidding.”

He cracked a smile, eyes glinting dangerously. From where Wilford sat, facing the TV, Dark was lit from behind. His face was lost in shadow, eyes and teeth reflecting in glimmers. Wilford waved his hand, doing an impressive job of appearing nonchalant.

“You,” Dark continued, smile dropping dangerously, voice rising bitingly, “are nothing more than misdirected chaos.”

The words echoed around the room, the murmur of the television lost in the ring of Dark’s aura. Wilford tore his eyes away from Dark’s, sunken in shadow, and repressed a shudder.

“Why am I here, then?” Wilford said, finding a desperate kind of bravado.

“Oh, that’s the best part,” Dark said, still smiling silkily. “Directing chaos is my specialty.” He’d leaned back, looking far more comfortable balanced on a cardboard box than Wilford felt sprawled across the couch.

Dark was less than satisfied, looking across at Wilford. This vividly pink figment was a wrench in his plans, even if he could be of some use. Obviously, Wilford was getting used to living here. Getting used to him.

He was more of an asset than a liability, Dark conceded. The sheer speed at which Wilford had found, and now, learned to use, his powers was astonishing and if nothing else, promising.

Wilford hated the way Dark looked him over, like a tool waiting to be used. Even so, his presence was almost amicable. Dark had made empty threats before, and he wouldn’t hurt Wilford, especially if he was planning on working with him, would he?

Besides, Wilford mused, he himself wasn’t entirely helpless. As new to existence as he was, he already had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Wilford lounged, lapsing into boredom. Dark sighed, seeing his words sink into Wilford’s thick skull, and clasped his hands behind his head. It had been a long week of push and pull between him and Wilford. Between forcing Wilford to take the couch, reminding him that his corporeal form needed both food and a toilet, and somehow finding time to corrupt Mark’s videos in the midst of it all, Dark was tired.

“Tired?” Wilford looked over at Dark, wiggling his eyebrows, fingers now carelessly caressing his gun.

Dark scowled back, examining his fingernails with altogether too much interest. “Bored.” He suffered a glance at Wilford, eyes lighting on the weapon. With a sigh, Dark unraveled a little, stretching out his feet. “Where’d you get that, anyway?”

“This beauty?” Wilford lifted it, the mid-morning light playing across its shined barrel. He waved a finger at Dark, teasing. “I never give away all my secrets.”

“Hmmph,” Dark grunted, an indignant response.

Wilford flipped the gun over and over in his hands, almost proudly aware of the way that Dark’s eyes were drawn to it. He tossed it a little, catching it by the handle. As if he were a performer of some sacred art in a darkened, hushed theater, rather than himself, sprawled on Dark’s couch, Wilford tossed it again, a little higher, letting the chrome finish catch the light. For all that Dark stared, he might as well have been on stage.

It was a beautiful gun, really, and Wilford’s fingers itched for the trigger.

“What is it that you want?” Dark broke the silence with a low question, letting it hang in the air. Wilford might have plausibly refused to answer, but Dark’s tone was not questioning, not friendly. Rather, the simple query hung as if a rhetorical question.

“I could ask you the same,” Wilford said finally, eyes still on his own fingers.

“I’ve made it very clear what I want,” Dark said, almost snapping. “The channel. Influence. Power.”

“Mm.” Wilford nodded disinterestedly. “Perhaps it’s too early for me to know.”

“Ridiculous. What were you created for?” Dark had perked up a little, showing interest in a conversation with Wilford for what seemed like the first time.

Wilford blinked, unsure. “I’m a performer,” he started, tone wavering.

Dark stopped him with a wave, now leaning towards him with the look of a hunter examining weakened prey. “What were you made to do?” he repeated, looking Wilford fully in the face.

Wilford squinted, gaze hard. “Chaos,” he finally said. “But none of this 'misdirected’ nonsense. I want things. Power. Influence. A platform.”

Dark smiled, looking satisfied. “Then,” he said, standing, “providing you are bored enough, I have a proposition for you.”

Of all the plans Dark had had, deciding to team up with a week-old figment had to have been the worst. Wilford had been enthusiastic to have something to direct his seemingly boundless energy towards, and Dark restrainedly excited for the potential the future held.

This, of course, lasted less than a day.

“Hold still,” Dark snapped, reaching his free hand into his pocket for his keys.

“I caaaaan’t,” Wilford whined, stumbling under the weight of industrial-sized cables and wires, piled high in his arms. “I have to go to the bathroom!” He danced from foot to foot, shadow lengthening in the setting sun.

Dark shifted his own, smaller bundle of cables under his arm and sighed, fumbling with the doorknob. “Shut up.”

The door opened, and Dark ushered Wilford through first so he could lock the door carefully behind them. Wilford dumped his package of twisted metal onto the couch and ran, nearly tripping on his way to the restroom.

Dark followed more slowly, sitting down in the center of the floor. They’d been to the dump at the edge of the apartment complex twice, collecting bits of metal and wire, finally uncovering cables and rebar from a nearby construction site. Now, Dark picked up a few bits and pieces of their treasure and began to wind them together.

By the time Wilford had returned from the bathroom, night had really fallen, and Dark was nearly done with his creation.

“What’re we making?” Wilford exclaimed, sitting cross-legged across from Dark. “Frankenstein?”

For once, Dark didn’t reply scathingly. Instead, he held up his creation with a kind of cold pride. “Close,” he drawled, inviting Wilford to examine it.

To Wilford’s eye, it seemed unimpressive. Dark had twisted together several couplings and cables into a messy Y-frame– on each end, a sprig of loose wires and clamps.

“What is it?”

“You’ll find out,” Dark smirked. Outside, right on schedule, it was beginning to drizzle.

A hour later, Wilford, too, was rethinking his decision to ally with Dark. He stood on the roof of the apartment building, soaking wet, lugging Dark’s contraption. Dark, equally wet, was bent over something on the side of the roof. Wilford staggered over, afraid to drop something.

“What’re you doing?” he yelled over the pounding rain, struggling to stay upright. The drizzle from earlier had evolved into a storm, complete with lightning and thunder. Looking up, Wilford could see the clouds swirling, a familiar sight near Dark’s gray aura.

“We’re shorting out Mark’s power!” Dark laughed, high-pitched and insane, and Wilford shivered– It had nothing to do with the November chill in the whipping air.

Dark took the Y-frame he’d built from Wilford, hooking one end to the exposed wiring that he’d identified as Mark’s.

He looked at Wilford, mischievous, even with rain pouring down his face. “D'you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.” Lightning shot through the air, close by. Dark grinned, taking a moment to look up at the tumultuous sky. This was, he acknowledged, dangerous. This was borderline insanity.

But then again, what did he exist for?

Deftly, Dark looped the other two exposed wires around each of his arms. Wilford stared, mustache dripping. A crack of thunder.

“What I need you to do,” Dark said, quickly, “is to unhook this as soon as the power goes out. That is, unless you want to room with a pile of ash.”

“I– What?” Wilford sputtered, shaking water out of his face. He wasn’t sure that he’d heard Dark over the howling wind. “But– You said you planned this ages ago! When I didn’t exist!” Wilford crouched next to Dark, eyes flashing between the wires and Dark’s smile. “Who would unhook you then?!”

Dark laughed, and there was a close flash of lightning to illuminate his face. Mania in his eyes. “This is what i was made to do.”

The following thunder sent Wilford reeling back, away from both Dark and the steadily sparking contraption he’d hooked himself to. “Are you sure about this?” he started to yell, but it was too late.

The next strike of lightning hit Dark’s outstretched arms, and Wilford could see the flash of light move through him, to the wires, to the apartments below.

The power wasn’t out, but Dark was screaming. Smoke– not his aura, but real smoke– rose from his arms, and even crouched in safety, Wilford swore he’d never eat barbecue again. He watched Dark spasm wildly, limbs jerking, but never breaking free of the wires.

The power still wasn’t out, but Dark– Wilford realized, with a jolt– was dying.

Wilford didn’t think, rushing forward. He had to unhook him, had to get there before it was too late, shorting out Mark’s power be damned– almost unnoticed, his skin began to glow with a soft pink light. Wilford had a split-second to realize what he was about to do, laying his hands on the sparking, shaking metal.

The second passed, and he held the Y-beam in steady hands, the cables warm, but not hot. Electricity– or something like it– flowed through him, and Wilford suddenly understood Dark’s lust for power.

For the moment that Wilford held the lightning-sparking rod, he felt something akin to adrenaline spike through him. For a second, just a second, he felt that he had the strength to move mountains.

With the screech and creak of ripping metal, Dark’s creation fell apart in his hands with the ease of wet tissue paper. Dark had the strength to scream in agony one last time, arms still tangled in wires, but not attached to the building anymore. He fell back, and Wilford caught him with a free arm, pink glow fading as the cables fell from his hand.

Wilford stood on the roof of the apartment building for a moment, holding Dark’s limp form in a French dip, rain still pouring down on them. The wires, abandoned, sparked sadly, fizzling against the raging wind and water. Thunder clapped above them. Wilford, looking down at his friend, had never felt more alone.

Dark came to consciousness slowly, his senses returning one by one. As he remembered the night before, the light and pain, he clenched his eyes shut– almost afraid to witness the aftermath.

The first thing that he noticed was the bed beneath him: his own, of course, head pillowed, blankets softly pulled over him. Wilford must’ve brought him back.

He was in his bedroom, then. Through his closed eyelids, he could tell the room was dark. He couldn’t guess at the time– how long had he been out? What had happened on the roof? His mouth tasted like metal.

Dark heard a quiet shuffling enter his room.

Wilford had dragged Dark downstairs in a blind panic, still tangled in cables, feet thumping at every step. Dark was unconscious, and it seemed that his control over his aura was gone– the gray mist had darkened to black, swirling and biting at Wilford. There was a ringing in his ears.

On the last flight of stairs, just as Wilford had been thanking his stars for not running into anyone, he’d heard footsteps. Wilford had frozen on the spot, envisioning the end. Dark’s aura, still snapping like a rabid dog, had enveloped them.

Wilford couldn’t breathe, then, trapped in inky blackness. Dark’s aura was like a straitjacket, squeezing, suffocating. As if though a veil, he saw a gaggle of humans rush past them, heading for the roof, dressed in blue.

Maintenance. A voice, not unlike Dark’s, had whispered in his ear.

The humans’ steps receded, and Wilford gasped for air. The stairwell was suddenly too bright, Dark’s skin too pale. The rest of the wires gently fell to the floor. Wilford, coming to his senses with the air of being dunked in cold water, had thrown himself down the remaining stairs and down the hallway to their apartment. The aura had followed like a cloud, trailing, ringing diminished.

Finally, Wilford had had the luxury of setting Dark unceremoniously on the ground to rifle through his pockets. The keys, hot to the touch, had burned his fingers when he found them. Wilford hadn’t noticed, intent on getting Dark home.

He’d been surprised that he’d had the presence of mind to relock the door once getting them inside. Safe, Wilford had taken a moment to breathe. Dark, crumpled on the floor, had gasped for air in short, shaky breaths, and Wilford had remembered the danger he was still in.

It had been to bed with Dark, then, Wilford re-ripping the black shirt and jeans as he’d wrestled Dark’s prone form into a comfortable position. With a cold rag on Dark’s forehead and the door barricaded with several chairs and boxes, Wilford had collapsed on the couch.

Wilford woke up, feeling as if he’d just run a marathon. He took it upon himself to blink the sleep hastily out of his eyes and run to check on the apartment– first Dark, now breathing steadily, aura back to its usual gray; then the kitchen, innocuous; and finally the living room, sofa still indented from his sleep, door still barricaded by a chair and a few haphazard boxes.

Wilford took a second glance at the door to make sure it was locked, and saw a square of paper, folded and torn, shoved underneath. He looked around despite himself, his knife still loosely held in his hand. Wilford huffed, finally, and picked it up.



Wilford crumpled the paper in his hand. Dark’s failure was an issue for another time. Right now, Wilford just had to be sure that he’d be all right, and have a talk with him about his recklessness.

Speaking of Dark…

There was a slight movement from the bedroom, and Wilford shuffled over to see Dark beginning to stir. He’d be angry, no doubt– Wilford figured he’d might as well fave the music, stepping inside and shutting the door quietly behind him.

The room was dim, curtains drawn over the afternoon light slanting through the windows. Dark wasn’t nearly as pale as he’d been last night, and Wilford almost smiled, sitting down on the bed beside him.

Dark’s eyes opened slowly, reluctantly, at the weight on the mattress.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Wilford teased, wiggling his mustache.

Dark said nothing, looking blearily at Wilford, eyes narrow.

“You slept for a while,” Wilford said, trying to sound confident. “I-I was worried.” He lapsed into silence, watching Dark’s chest rise and fall, avoiding his eyes. “Are you hurt?” he asked, gaze flicking up to meet Dark’s.

Dark took a deep breath, finally conscious. He began to sit up, and Wilford sprang to help him, genuine worry finally springing to his eyes.

Dark scowled. “I’m fine.”

Wilford stepped back, uncertain, as the ringing in the room rose to a peak. Dark shifted, bare chest and arms slipping from the covers. With a barely-concealed wince, Dark settled himself against the headboard.

Wilford didn’t bother to hide his emotions, cringing as he saw Dark’s arms. The wires had left their mark, scorched black lines winding their way up his pale arms, ending in tell-tale lightning-bolt veins. Wilford’s eyes followed the intricate lines, burned skin already peeling to give way to oozing, inky blood.

Dark scowled, again, folding his arms into the sheets. “I’m fine,” he repeated, challenging Wilford to meet his eyes, defiance in every line of his body.

Wilford sighed a little, remembering himself. “You’re obviously not fine,” he snapped, looking straight at Dark, eyes burning with an intensity to match his. “You nearly died, that was such a stupid idea–”

Dark interrupted. “I said,” for the third time, “I’m fine.”

Wilford looked at him, a little hopeless, a little incredulous. Determination renewed. “What kind of reckless idiot,” he started, swinging his hands in the air, knife nearly flying out of his grasp.

Dark reached for the crumpled square Wilford had dropped as he ranted, muscles shaking with the effort of lifting a sheet of paper.

“…bring you home,” Wilford was saying, volume increasing, “and put you to bed, and see my friend nearly die– what is WRONG with you?!” he finally finished, arms dropping.

Dark was staring down at his lap, and in the dimly lit room, Wilford could barely see.

Wilford leaned forward to shake Dark’s arm, scolding him. He jumped a little at the unnatural warmth of Dark’s skin, the wounds gaping beneath his hand, and drew back.

“What is wrong with you?” he repeated, squinting. “You risked everything, it’s like you don’t care if you–”

Dark raised his head, cutting Wilford off with a glare. Suddenly, the room was darker, vibrating with a strange ringing–

“Was it something I sa–” Wilford stopped, looking at Dark’s lap. A white square of paper, folded and torn from someone stuffing it under their door.

“Now, don’t get upset,” Wilford started, doing his best to prepare for the storm, “but–”

“What did I say?” Dark’s mind had gone white-hot with fury, and he had the strong impulse to incinerate Wilford on the spot. Something familiar held him back. A thread of conscience, a voice not unlike his own murmuring, “Control, control.”

Dark breathed as Wilford stumbled for an answer, excusing himself. “You were dy–”


“I said,” Dark leaned forward, sheets slipping down his chest again. Cold. Aura ringing. “'Unhook this as soon as the power goes out.’ Now, what did you do?”

This was much more satisfying, Dark decided, watching Wilford shrink and fumble like a scolded child. His anger felt cool in his chest, more like a keenly honed blade than a flailing mace. This was better, yes. He could work with this.

“You expected me to wait until you were reduced to a pile of ash?” Wilford was saying, glaring under a furrowed brow. “You’re hurt enough as it is, what would’ve happened if–”

Dark’s mind slipped a little in anger, and his aura spread out around him, a writhing mass of tendrils and smoke.

“’If?’” Dark sneered, drawing breath. His chest burned as if on fire, and arms ached, but he pulled himself up against the headboard like a king on a throne. “It is not your place to wonder if. You were given directions–”

“As your partner in this crime, I think I can damn well–”

Partner?” Dark almost laughed, fangs flashing in a grin, and his aura pulsed around him, swirling and snapping: as if laughing itself. His chest tightened with the effort. “This is not a partnership.”

The words were meant to bite, and Dark watched their effect with satisfaction.

Wilford, reeling in hurt and confusion, found his voice. “What are we, then?” he demanded, knowing full well that he was hanging on Dark’s words, wrapped around his finger.

“First of all,” Dark said, sitting back, “there is no 'we.’ Second, what do you think we are? Equals?”

Wilford was taken aback by the cruelty of Dark’s sneer. His heart hardened a little, and Wilford gestured to Dark with the tip of his knife. “I thought we were friends.”

The darkening room reverberated, a low chuckle. The walls were beginning to swirl, closing in on Wilford.

Dark adjusted himself, gritting his teeth, and the curling smoke picked up speed. “We are not friends.”

“What, then?” Wilford had to raise his voice against the whipping wind.

The darkness was swirling, bringing a wall of smoke closer and closer to Wilford– for a long moment, the room was obscured, the air sucked out of his lungs, waves of fear washing over him.

Pinpricks of light. Two, where Dark’s eyes should’ve been. Gleaming fangs. A palpable rush of disgust.

The voice echoed eerily, the ringing now nearly drowning it out. “Consider this a warning, Warfstache. This… relationship… that I’ve so graciously facilitated only exists insofar as it benefits me.” The lights blinked, slowly, seemingly smiling. Wilford struggled for breath.

“Consider yourself an ant,” the voice echoed, the room going black. “An ant on the chessboard, desperately trying to understand the game–”

Wilford looked around frantically, eyes straining against the blackness. The hurricane parted, suddenly– he and Dark sat in its eye, Dark glaring at him steadily.

“–without being crushed.”

The room went black.

The rush of power that Dark had felt controlling his hurricane followed him for the next week. It had been his anger: but at his fingertips, like a tool, rather than a chaotic force. At the center of the hurricane, he’d felt in control of not only himself, but the whole world. It was a good feeling to have.

Being a figment, he healed at a supernatural rate– the winding burns healing over quickly, the faint, radiating lightning-bolt scar never really fading from his chest. He was up and walking in a matter of days, without Wilford’s help.

Wilford, with the air of someone who’d been sitting on the branch they were sawing off, was shocked and confused. For the next week, he carefully avoided Dark, who was sweeping about like a king in the three-room apartment.

Instead of helping Dark with his latest hare-brained scheme (or even being in the same room as him, really), Wilford dedicated himself to getting stronger.

Dark had explained this all when he’d pulled Wilford through the door. They were figments, given corporeal forms by the belief of Mark’s fans. Mark, as their creator, was their life force, and they had to stay close to him. The fans were much more important, at least to Dark. Mark’s subscribers’ perceptions of them dictated the way they were, and how much power they had.

Dark, in the beginning, didn’t even have fangs. Some artists decided he did–as the idea was popularized, Dark’s teeth lengthened.

With each video, they were cemented further into the fans’ heads. Dark relished the spotlight, constantly trying to get into new videos and get more powerful. Wilford, having just the one video, was still figuring out how to edge himself into Mark’s life. As far as he knew, Dark just showed up in the form of nightmares and blackouts, making Mark’s life a living hell. He got videos out of it, and power– but at what cost?

Wilford took to watching Mark’s old videos, trying to learn more about Dark as well as himself. Mark seemed like an okay guy– boring, sentimental, if anything. Wilford didn’t dare ask Dark why he hated Mark so much, at least not now.

“Where’re you going?”

Dark didn’t respond, shouldering his backpack with an air of finality. Wilford stood up, standing between Dark and the door, the closest they’d been in days.

“Move.” Dark pocketed his phone, finally, and looked Wilford in the eye.

“Not unless you tell me where you’re going.” Wilford slipped his knife out of his pocket, holding it behind his back. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“What’re you going to do,” Dark drawled, “stab me?”

“I might.” Wilford’s fingers twitched.

Dark scowled with the air of a teenager caught sneaking out. “I’m going to see a friend,” he said, finally. “Out in the woods. I’ll be gone a few days. Happy?”

“I guess.” Wilford stepped aside, an odd sense of loss filling him as Dark tied his shoes. “What about being close to Mark?”

Dark didn’t bother to turn around. “As if you care.”

“Of course I care,” Wilford snapped, before he could stop himself. Dark was his roommate, if nothing else, and the two figments were alone in the world.

“I’ll manage.” Dark shot back, opening the door. Closing it behind him, he paused. “You can call me in an emergency. The number and spare keys are beside the phone.” A harsh ring to his voice, and the door slammed behind him.

Wilford was left in the dark, staring after him.

Wilford was beginning to doubt if Dark was ever coming back. It had been days, and there was no sign of him. Nothing had happened, nothing to warrant calling, but Wilford eyed the phone every time he passed it, just the same.

Somehow, new videos were showing up with Dark in them, and Wilford inwardly marveled a little at Dark’s power. Out in the woods, wherever he was, he was still apparently strong enough to haunt Mark’s dreams.

Wilford, taking advantage of Dark’s absence, started experimenting. He teleported himself from the bedroom to the kitchen, the kitchen to the living room, and the living room to, accidentally, a small town in the middle of nowhere. He’d teleported back in a matter of seconds, ignoring the screams.

He appeared in the bathroom in a puff of smoke, blinking in confusion. He took a moment to breathe, examine himself in the mirror. His mustache, usually a vivid pink, seemed paler. He wrote it off as a trick of the light, and 'poofed’ back to the living room.

He got braver.

Wilford was juggling knives through dimensions, or as he termed it, interdimensional kn-uggling (the name needed some work), when there was a knock on the door. The lone knife that hadn’t been 'poofed’ away slipped, and Wilford held his breath to stop from cursing.

He was bleeding, a gash on his hand, blood seeping through. Unlike Dark’s blood, which was black, or human blood, which he knew from movies was red, his blood came out a translucent pink. Wilford didn’t have time to marvel, wrapping his hand hastily in a napkin and rushing to the door, knife in his uninjured hand.

Whoever had knocked was gone by the time Wilford pressed his eye to the peephole, but he spotted a magazine on the ground outside. With a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching, Wilford poofed outside to pick it up.

It was some kind of cult, he decided, turning the flyer over. Symbols, few of which he recognized, and text asking him to 'appear before the light.’ Wilford shrugged, tucking it in a pocket.

He turned on the spot, concentrating– a wave of fatigue crashed over him, and Wilford staggered. Suddenly, he was weak, too weak to stand, let alone phase himself through a solid door.

Wilford leaned his back against the wall, struggling to breathe. Thinking quickly. Was this an emergency? Could he call Dark? The phone was inside, anyway, along with Dark’s number and–

The keys.

A jolt of adrenaline, and Wilford looked through his pockets. Finding nothing but lint and a bit of hard candy, he began to panic. He was locked out. Trapped outside, where anyone could see him. Dark was going to be upset if he came home and saw Wilford slumped against the door, throwing secrecy to the wind.

Wilford popped the candy he’d found into his mouth, breathing finally under control. With the sugar, some strength to his limbs, even his still-throbbing hand.

All he had to do was break in, right? Dark had done it to Mark’s apartment before, how hard could it be?

Wilford gathered himself up, knowing he made a sorry sight with a bloodstained rag around his hand, face pale and sweating. A window. He had to find a window. There were two in the living room, he knew that much. Slowly, he shuffled around the side of the building, a hand on the wall, breathing hard.

A window. Their apartment, no doubt.

Now what?

Wilford leveraged a palm against the glass– it was locked. Obvious, obvious. He looked around for another solution, scanning the ground, then the sky for divine intervention.

A rock.

Wilford gave himself the benefit of hesitating. Messy, a voice like Dark’s whispered.

Wilford mentally shook himself, reaching for the rock. He looked around one last time, looking for anyone around, looking for a sign he shouldn’t be doing this.


Glass flew everywhere, and Wilford grinned. Seeing windows shatter was a special kind of satisfaction, even if it was a bit messy.

Holding his hurt hand gingerly, Wilford slid through the open window. Glass crunched under his feet, and he made a mental note to clean it up before Dark got back. For the moment, he stumbled haphazardly towards the sofa, kicking boxes aside.

This, he thought, settling down, was life without Dark. He existed, figuring life out through trial and error, making his own way. He could get used to this, just as soon as he felt a bit stronger.

The question of his sudden weakness never crossed his mind.

He was trying to transform the apartment into something more livable– Dark, even having moved in months ago, had left boxes everywhere, the walls bare. The apartment existed in simple lines of black and white, and Wilford was profoundly bored with it.

A pop of pink here, he was thinking, screwing up his face in concentration to make it so.

Fatigue had been gnawing at him for days, but had never hit him quite like this. If the falling gray mustache hairs in the bathroom weren’t sign enough, this certainly was.

Wilford gasped, falling to his knees. He knelt in semidarkness, fingers digging into the carpet. He didn’t understand– Dark was gone, and with him, his horrible ringing aura. He should be stronger, especially experimenting with his powers. He should–

With horror in his eyes, he saw his hands beginning to turn transparent.

Dark was thinking of heading back to the apartment soon. He couldn’t leave Wilford alone forever, but these few days without him had been a much-needed respite.

He had expected Wilford to have called by now, panicked over a broken water heater or something similar. Honestly, Wilford’s bumbling impetuousness was something he missed having around, if only to make himself feel superior by comparison. Dark smiled to himself, watching the trees rustle overhead. He’d go back, then, maybe even talk to Wilford a bit. Let him feel comfortable. For a while. After all, they had all the time in the world to be enemies.

Dark’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he didn’t feel it.

It was only once he’d said his goodbyes and gotten in his car (that he’d gotten completely legally, of course) that Dark checked his phone.

3 Missed Calls.
From– Home
Time– 12:37pm

Dark cursed under his breath His aura, so well under control these past few days, reared up, a coiled snake. Dark waved it away, squinting at the car’s clock.


Dark felt a deep-set panic start to rise in his chest, and forced it down. Wilford had probably stubbed his toe or something equally insignificant. Probably.

He must’ve called the house phone a dozen times as he sped towards home, knowing that the car was trailed by the smoky cloud of his aura. A police car might’ve started following him at one point, but was lost in the shadow. At this point, he didn’t care.

No one picked up, leaving him with a dial tone and the prompt to record a message. More angry than scared, Dark left a few choice words on the answering machine.

“Fuck you, Warfstache.”

Eventually, the swirls of his aura receded in the rear view mirror. Dark drove in concentrated silence, swerving around other cars. Wind whipped around him, engine rattling, but his mind was on the tiny apartment that he called home.

The drive seemed to take forever. Finally, finally, he skidded to a stop in front of their building. He flung the car door open, cleaving neatly into another car, and bounded out. Dark made sure to lock the car– glaring at the neighboring vehicle as if it had attacked him, rather than the other way around– before hurrying up to his own door.

The cloud of his aura seemed to have not caught up to him yet– Dark was for once, alone, not even the ringing of his own power to comfort him. He pushed the thought aside, fumbling with the keys. His mind was oddly clear, emotionless besides the nagging fear that Wilford had somehow blown their cover.

Stepping inside, the first thing he noticed was the window. Broken: shattered glass and a guilty rock on the carpet. Someone had broken in, maybe. A kid playing, maybe. Dark’s brain worked through the possibilities.

The apartment was a crime scene as Dark stepped through, footsteps muffled by the carpet. He looked for every detail, trying to find the missing piece: the victim. Wilford.

Everything was, as far as he could tell, the way he left it. A few boxes were shuffled, the couch pushed against the wall, showing signs of life. It was as if he’d never left, as if Wilford had never lived here.

Dark tiptoed through to the kitchen, shoes echoing against the tile, looking at the spotless countertops. Wilford had been trying his hand at cooking, but only a few stray pots and crumbs remained in the sink. Dark scanned the counters, then the floor, in pindrop silence.

A spray of blood. Not his, and not human.

Dark knelt to look, examining the rusty pink drops and scratches in the kitchen tile. Wilford had been hurt– but not badly enough to explain three missed calls and a silent apartment.

Well, nearly silent.

As the echoes of Dark’s footsteps faded, there came a weak shuffle from the bedroom. The same nagging panic pulled hard at his throat, and Dark crossed the apartment in quick, measured steps.

He threw his bedroom door open and gasped, despite himself.

The floor and walls were nearly covered with pink splashes that hurt to look at, like residue from a faulty bomb. At the center of the explosion, Wilford.

Dark picked his way over to Wilford as fast as he could, careful not to touch the pooling pink splatters, so unnervingly like blood. Wilford, in stark contrast to the rest of the room, was a washed-out version of himself: mustache gray, skin pale. He looked up at Dark with sunken eyes, silent.

If Dark didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn that he was looking at a mustached version of himself.

“Warfstache,” Dark said, voice as hard as he could make it, kneeling down.

“Dark.” Wilford’s voice was horribly weak, horribly faint. “You’re back.”

“Of course I’m back,” Dark found himself well enough to sneer, looking down at Wilford. “Did you really think I’d leave you to your own devices?”

Wilford didn’t respond, struggling for air. The room was silent, and Dark detected a distant ringing.

“I didn’t think you cared,” Wilford finally managed, chest heaving with the effort of cracking a smile.

Dark ignored the sentiment rising in his stomach. “What happened?”

Wilford gathered enough breath to speak, a pause between words. “I haven’t had… a video.”

Dark knew then, a horrible twist in his gut. “They’ve forgotten about you.” The words came out quickly, bluntly.

Wilford laughed, a dry, terrible sound. “Yeah. Yeah they have.”

“You’re…” Dark half didn’t want to speak the truth, sentence Wilford to his fate.

Wilford did it himself. “…fading,” he finished, a whisper.

Silence again, Dark sitting on his heels, Wilford listlessly staring up at the ceiling. The ringing was getting louder.

“I’ve always considered you a friend,” Wilford started, sickening emotion in his voice. Dark stopped him, an angry hand on his shoulder.

“Shut up. Just, shut up.”


Dark turned on Wilford, eyes flashing. “You are not dying.” The statement betrayed a harsh depth of emotion, and Dark turned away.

Wilford reached out, arm trembling with the effort, to put a hand on Dark’s knee. Dark looked down, seeing the fabric of his jeans through Wilford’s fingers, hating how light the weight of Wilford’s arm was.

“It’s okay, Dark.”

Dark didn’t respond, watching Wilford’s hand against his leg. The ringing was closer now, inside the apartment, outside the door.

Dark finally screwed up his face, closing his eyes, feeling the weight on his knee disappear. “You would’ve been a great partner,” he said, letting the words drop slowly.

There was a familiar ringing in his ears again, and he opened his eyes to an empty room. Wilford had faded completely, the only lingering trace of him the scent of bubblegum and pools of pink blood around the room.

Dark took a breath. The chessboard was his again, but what was it without an ant to play around? Not messy enough. Too clean, too boring.

The winds of his aura began to bend the room into inky blackness, erasing what was left of Wilford’s existence. Still, Dark knelt on the carpet, heart as empty as it had ever been.

There was a hurricane in the room now, and Dark sat in the eye of the storm.


dog days are over (AKA Alex and Maggie adopt a dog)

The dog comes about a week and a half after they first move in together–Maggie’s lease runs out six weeks after Alex’s kidnapping, and they have the discussion, and what once was just Alex’s apartment becomes Alex and Maggie’s apartment. A temporary fix, given that Alex’s lease is up at the end of the summer and Maggie still isn’t fond of the open floor plan, but a big step nonetheless.

They’re out walking through the city, hands intertwined, Alex’s shoulder bumping companionably into Maggie’s when they pass the adoption drive.

Alex slides one look, eyes twinkling and mouth pulled up at the corner like she’s trying to hold back a full blown grin. Maggie sighs and caves.

“Let’s go, Danvers.”

By mutual agreement, they skip the puppies, leaving the wriggling piles of fur to the children. Alex wends her way through the crowds efficiently, clearing a path with Maggie trailing along. She drags them to a stop in front of a smaller pen near the back, occupied by older, calmer dogs.

Maggie, hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, rocks back on her heels. “You know there’s no way in hell we’re naming them Gertrude.”

“Aw, babe, you don’t like the name Gertrude?” Alex smirks, crouched closer to the pen, one hand cautiously extended for the dogs to approach in their own time. “I think it’s classy.”

“In eighteenth century England, maybe.” Maggie rolls her eyes, dropping to her knees to coax one of the more timid dogs forward. “Please.”

“I’ll bet when we pick one, I can come up with a better name first,” Alex challenges, attention split between the lab mix snuffling her hand and the pit bull mix tentatively licking Maggie’s.

“Psh, as if.” She grins, shifting her hand gently to scratch behind the pit’s blocky ears. “There, you like that, don’t you?”

“I’ll have you know I named all five of the goldfish we kept when Kara and I were kids.”

“I know, Kara told me. Goldie One through Five doesn’t seem like the height of pet nomenclature, Danvers.” Maggie practically melts as Alex migrates over to meet the dog in front of her, all warm smiles and gentle words and hands. “Why were you gonna pick such a gender specific name? Who says we’d be getting a girl dog?”

“Are you mocking my naming choices? Really, Mags? After Mr. Flufflesnout?”

“He was Tia’s!”

“You told me she let you name him.” Alex smirks again, head tilted in memory. “She told me she let you name him.”

Maggie sniffs haughtily, folding her arms across her chest as she shuffles around to get a better look at some of the dogs the next pen over. “He was a very good dog.”

“Even more so for suffering that name,” Alex agrees easily, the top half of her body bent into the pen and both arms secure around the dog. “Oh who’s a good dog, you are, aren’t you?”

“Babe you’re hardly even looking at the other dogs,” Maggie protests, forehead nuzzled against a Belgian sitting in the next pen. “Look at this one!”

“But I found the one I like.” Alex asserts, giggling as the pit licks at her face fondly. “Just look at this face and tell me you can say ‘no’,” She props her chin above the dog’s head, pulling an impressive pout.

She has to give it to her, Maggie almost caves.

“Who said you get to pick the dog?” Maggie rolls her eyes and then her gaze sharpens, a dangerous grin curling her lips. “There’s only one way to solve this, Danvers.”

“Game of pool? Pfft, we both know I’d win,” Alex smirks, still resolutely cuddled around her new canine friend.

“Nope. We’re gonna need to find a bigger place, Danvers.” Maggie snags the information sheet from both pens, offering a hand to Alex. “Dogs like these need a home with some space, and room to exercise.”

Alex stumbles over her feet for a brief instant, tripping after Maggie. “Wait, both? You wanna get both?”

“Well yeah, I refuse to be the owner of a dog named Gertrude, and the poor thing’s gonna need a buddy to stick up for it at the dog park when all the other dogs find out how lame its name is,” Maggie says calmly, flashing a cheerful smile to the adoption drive’s attendant as she hands both sheets over. “Even Bear knows there’s no way I can convince you that he’s clearly the superior dog.” She shrugs, handing over her driver’s license and reaching back to swipe Alex’s wallet from her coat pocket for the second round of information. “So we’re getting two dogs.”

“Bear. Really. That’s the best you can think of,” Alex deadpans, accepting pen and clipboard from the volunteer. When Maggie attempts to get a look at the name she’s filling in, Alex quickly blocks her view with her body. “Because that’s a better name than Gertrude.”

“If it’s good enough for lesbian goddess Sarah Shahi, it’s good enough for me,” Maggie huffs, craning up on her tiptoes to try and look over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex hunches forward, thwarting Maggie’s attempts again. “Nerd.”


“You love it, though.”

“Yeah, I do.” Maggie softens, a gentle smile pulling the Dimples™ out in force. “Why are you so determined to hide Gertrude’s name from me?”

“Because I’m not naming him Gertrude,” Alex sniffs, poking Maggie in the stomach with the clipboard before she hands it back to the volunteer with a smile. “It’s obviously not a boy dog name, duh.”

“You didn’t let me–Ugh, fine, what name is this poor dog being saddled with now?”

Alex grins slyly as the volunteer brings both dogs forward with new leashes. “Mags, I’d like you to meet Bill Nye.” She scratches behind his ears gently, letting the dog settle leaned against her knee. Bill pants cheerfully, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“Oh my god you humongous nerd.”

The sly grin on Alex’s face changes to a full blown smirk. “What? I need a new lab partner.”

“You’re the worst.” Maggie groans, shaking her head as she glances down at Bear. “Your poor brother, buddy.”

Alex snorts. “As if Bear is any better off.” She tilts her head, chewing the side of her lip in thought. “…You do realize Kara is gonna visit all the time now, right?”

“Aw, hell.”

(And that is how Alex and Maggie end up with two dogs and a new house before summer’s end.)

May The Best Man Win || Hoshi vs Woozi

Originally posted by shudderme

Title: Boyfriend vs Best Friend

Words: 3.6k

Genre: angst??

A/N: Okay, so I’m hoping to make this the start of a new seires. It’s all really based off a recent dream that I had and I hope it turned out as well as I imagined it. After this part is posted, I plan on making a separate ending for each boy so you can chose who you prefer to end up with. I also plan on doing this for the rest of the members, so if you end up enjoying it, please let me know so I can try and get these parts out as soon as possible! Thank you!

Soonyoung felt sick to his stomach. And no, this wasn’t because of the bad sushi he had ended up eating for lunch, but rather because of the couple across the room from him. There sat across the room his group mate along with his best friend, basically flirting their asses off as he watched from afar. In all honesty, it had been his own fault that he was so jealous over their relationship. If he had introduced [y/n] to his group members, she would have never met her current boyfriend, Jihoon.

Soonyoung has been madly in love with [y/n] ever since they were kids. He remembers specifically being the outcast in their primary school days. Everyone thought he was weird and ‘girly’ all because he loved to do dance. He tried to be social and he tried to fit in, but no matter how hard he tried his class mates would always push him away and tell him that he was too abnormal to hang out with him. He had lost a lot of self-esteem and social confidence throughout that experience. It wasn’t until one day when a new transfer student had arrived at his school and sat down next to him on the bench outside at the playground. The young girl had introduced herself as [y/n] and asked him if he would like to be her new best friend. Ever since then the two of them had been glued to each other’s side, even all throughout their high school years into Soonyoung’s pledis trainee days.

The day he introduced [y/n] to the rest of seventeen was the biggest mistake of his life. No, he doesn’t mean it in a mean way, it’s just that the day he introduced her was the day he had actually lost her. At first the flirting between both Jihoon and [y/n] seemed playful and harmless as if they were just a pair of casual friends, but somehow and in some way Jihoon had ended up asking out [y/n] before Soonyoung even got the chance to confess, not that he would have the balls to anyways.

Soonyoung groaned as he watched the couple share a quick kiss from across the room. Both [y/n] and Jihoon looked up at the dancer with a quizzical look.

“Is something the matter, Soonyoungie?” [y/n] asked.

“Uh yeah! I’m in love with my best friend but she’s dating my group mate instead and I’m not okay with that!”


He wanted so badly to scream that out loud, but he bit his lip to prevent himself from doing so.

“Uh yeah, I’m just having trouble thinking about what choreography to create for out newest single,” Soonyoung answered.

[y/n] sent him one of her heartwarming smiles. Soonyoung swore he melted at the sight of her as butterflies fluttered inside his stomach.

“I know you’ll do great, Soonyoung!” She exclaimed, “If you’re having trouble, maybe you could ask Jihoon for help. He did want to become a part of the performance team originally.”

“I’ll be sure to take that into consideration,” He stated as he stood up, “I’m going to go to the practice room and try to dance around for a bit, don’t miss me too much.”

Soonyoung walked over to [y/n] and ruffled her hair before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. After he did so, [y/n] fixed her hair and turned back to her boyfriend. She furrowed her brows in confusion as she looked at Jihoon.

“Did he seem kind of ‘off’ to you?” She asked.

Jihoon shrugged his shoulder and grabbed [y/n]’s hands in his own.

“Maybe he got annoyed with the skinship we were doing together. It’s not something I do in front of people usually.”

“I understand, but I’ve known Soonyoung my entire life and he’s never really acted like this before. You should know, the two of you have been trainees with each other for years, I’d even go as far to say that you are best friends, maybe even brothers!”

Jihoon sighed and caressed [y/n]’s faces with his thumb gently. He smiled at her softly before pushing some of her hair out of her eyes.

“You want me to go talk to him,” He stated bluntly.

[y/n] nodded and kissed his nose softly.

“You guys are way closer than the two of us are. It must be a guy thing. If anyone can get him to open up, it’s you.”

Jihoon chuckled slightly.

“Don’t you think it’s the opposite way around? He’s been your childhood friends, the two of you guys are basically siblings. He’s probably told you everything,” Jihoon stated as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Jihoon,” [y/n] started, “As close as Soonyoung and I seem, he’s always had an issue with opening up to me. There’s something that’s been bothering him ever since you and I first met. I’ve tried to get him to tell me but he shakes it off saying it’s fine. Can you please just ask him, or at least try…for me?”

Jihoon sighed and nodded his head slightly. He looked up at his girlfriend with a slight pout and soften his look on her.

“You’re lucky I love you,” He answered.

[y/n] squealed in excitement as she leaned forwards and placed a loving kiss onto her boyfriend’s pout. Jihoon fixed his pout and smirked slightly to himself as he kissed her back. Once the two of them pulled apart, [y/n] pushed Jihoon off the sofa slightly and motioned for him to follow Soonyoung to the practice room.


Jihoon shoved his hands into his pocket as he rounded the corner that lead to the designated practice room for Seventeen. To be honest, Jihoon wasn’t really looking forward to having a deep talk with Soonyoung. It wasn’t that he had anything against him, but ever since he and his girlfriend got together, he’s seemed a little distant and awkward, especially around Jihoon. Maybe it was just the thought of his two best friends dating, but whatever it was, he and Soonyoung definatly weren’t as close as they used to be back in the pre-debut years.

Loud music of their newest song echoed into the hallway as Jihoon finally reached the door. He could hear the sound of feet scuffing across the floor until it came to an ubrupt stop and a loud groan that followed. The music stopped playing completely and it was silent for a few seconds. Jihoon took that as his queue to walk in, but the second he put his hand on the door knob, a voice from behind made him retract.

“You don’t seem completely focused, Hyung,”

It was Chan.

“I’ve just got a lot of things on my mind. Things you wouldn’t really understand,” Soonyoung’s voice echoed.

“What things, maybe I can help,” Chan replied.

Jihoon couldn’t tell what was going on, but he heard the shuffling of feet walking across the floor. Jihoon stood up on his tip toes so he could get a peak of what was happening from the small window on the door. He saw Chan walking closer to Soonyoung, stopping in front of his hyung and looking up at him.

“Like I said, you wouldn’t understand. It’s too difficult for a young one like you to understand,” Soonyoung said as he walked over towards the mirror that was plastered along the wall.

“You never know until you ask,” Chan piped up, “Plus, if something is bothering you it usually helps to tell someone about it. You know, just to get it off your chest instead of keeping it bottled inside.”

Soonyoung sighed deeply before turning towards Chan, leaning against the mirror and slumping down to sit on the floor.

“It’s [y/n],” He spoke, “It’s all because of [y/n].”

The mention of her name make Jihoon’s heart flutter and suddenly, he became more interested in what was going on, not just because his girlfriend was the reason, but everything that involves her makes him excited. It’s a natural thing for a guy to become involved with anything that includes his girl, right?

“What did Noona do?” Chan asked as he sat on the floor across from Soonyoung.

“Too much,” Soonyoung stated, “She broke me. Not intentionally, but it happened. I used to be so cheerful and happy and then she completely broke me. It’s all I can think about these days.”

“How so? Did she declare someone else her best friend? I know I would be hurt if something like that happened,” Chan said as he leaned closer to his hyung.

“Not quite,” Soonyoung replied, “It’s a little more heartbreaking than that.”

“Well, you didn’t start acting all moody until-“ Chan cut himself off as his jaw dropped. He clapped his hands loudly on his thighs in realization.

“You like her, don’t you Hyung?” Chan asked, “You’re heartbroken because [y/n] agreed to go out with Jihoon hyung over you.”

Soonyoung was silent. That was all that Jihoon needed to confirm that Soonyoung was in fact in love with [y/n]. He clenched his fists together as he continued to watch with what was going on.

“Hyung,” Chan spoke up, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung said, “I never felt this way about a girl before until I met [y/n]. Ever since the day she first introduced herself to me I’ve been in love with her, but it’s clear that she doesn’t love me back.”

As much as Jihoon hated to admit it, he really wanted to scream back at the broken boy that it was false, [y/n] did love him, just not in the same way she felt about Jihoon. Sometimes he wondered though. Soonyoung always somehow would become the center of [y/n]’s life, even when both Jihoon himself and [y/n] would be out spending the night alone. He was almost afraid that if he tried anything that Soonyoung’s name would come out rather than Jihoon’s. Thinking about Soonyoung being in love with his girlfriend mad him mad. He wasn’t really mad at Soonyoung, but more so of the fact that there was a possibility that Soonyoung could easily take [y/n] away from him. This is when Jihoon decided to intervene. He yanked the door open swiftly and stood in the door way, breathing heavily. Soonyoung and Chan looked up at the young composer with confused eyes.

“…you love her…” Jihoon mumbled.

Both Soonyoung and Chan looked at him in confusion.

“Hyung, what did you say?” Chan asked Jihoon.

Jihoon looked up from the floor and pointed a shaky finger at Soonyoung.

You,” He said as he exhageratied the word, “You love her. You love my girlfriend.”

Soonyoung stood up quickly and looked at Jihoon with his mouth agap.

“You heard…” Soonyoung trailed off, “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”

“Well now I have,” Jihoon stated as he gritted through his teeth.

Chan chuckled nervously as he walked up to his younger hyung and grabbed onto his stiff arm.

“Jihoon hyung,” He spoke, “Don’t be mad at Soonyoung hyung. He can’t control his feelings.”

That may have not been the right thing to mention.

“If he can’t control his feelings how can I be sure he won’t make a move on my girl.”

Soonyoung stood quietly as he picked at the hem of his shirt. Again there was complete silence.

“How long?” Jihoon asked after a couple of seconds.

Soonyoung hesitated before replying.

“Since I first met her,” He spoke, “And I still do.”

Jihoon’s blood was boiling. He knew he shouldn’t be mad at Soonyoung, but he just couldn’t help it. The thought of someone else taking his girlfriend away from him angered him. Especially if it was someone as close to [y/n] and good looking like Soonyoung was. There is a high chance that Soonyoung could sweep [y/n] away from him and take her as his own. Jihoon knew that [y/n] wouldn’t be like that and just allow Soonyoung to take her away from her relationship to start a new one, but if Soonyoung has feelings for [y/n], there is a 50/50 chance that [y/n] might too.

“Stay away from her,” Jihoon stated bluntly without thinking, “I don’t want to see you near her. Ever.”

Soonyoung stared back at his friend in shock. He had never seen Jihoon so protective, so angry. He knew Jihoon wouldn’t be happy if he found out that he was in love with [y/n], but he never expected him to banish him seeing his own best friend.

“I can’t! She’s my best friend-“

“And she’s my girlfriend!” Jihoon shouted back.

Both Soonyoung and Chan flinched at the tone Jihoon gave. They had never seen him like this before.

“Just stay away from her. I will get you if I find out, Soonyoung,” Jihoon stated as he walked back out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

“Hyung,” Chan said as he tried to reach out for Soonyoung.

Soonyoung said nothing as he too left the practice room, probably to go spend some time on his own, maybe even cry a little. The only thing was, Soonyoung didn’t feel like crying. His pain was beyond that at this point. How does one respond when you’re told to stay away from your best friend, or in this case, his crush?

Chan stood in the practice room by himself as he tried to process everything that just happened. Seeing both of his Hyungs like that made him scared. Never in all 3 years they had been a band has anyone gotten in a fight like that and it scared him. Seventeen meant so much to each individual member and now that two of them were in a huge argument, what will happen to them now?


A couple months had passed since the incident happened between Soonyoung and Jihoon. All the boys and [y/n] had noticed the change of behavior in the two boys. Neither of them talked to each other, they didn’t even look at each other anymore. Jihoon had asked their manager if he could switch rooms so he didn’t have to be with Soonyoung anymore. So Jihoon moved out and Chan moved in to the room in place of while Jihoon got his own room along with [y/n].

[y/n] began to grow worried over both of her boys. Jihoon spent more and more time working than usual and Soonyoung wouldn’t even speak to her. Whenever she would ask Soonyoung to hang out he would always make up an excuse by saying that he was either busy or he just wasn’t feeling well. [y/n] knew her best friend too well to believe any of the lies he was telling her, but she shook it off thinking that maybe it was just a stage he was going through. Jihoon was almost the same way, but he still went out and took her to fancy restaurants to make up for spending so much time on work. [y/n] was beyond confused with their behavior and decided to do something about it. It wasn’t until one day after a long practice that Jihoon decided to get some more work done that she finally got the chance to talk to Soonyoung.

“Soonyoungie!” She called out to her best friend as he tried to escape the practice room.

Soonyoung flinched at his name and ran out of the room without looking back. [y/n] groaned and looked at the boys for help. Chan motioned for her to go after him and that’s just what she did.

“Soonyoung!” She called again as she ran into the hall and followed Soonyoung closely behind.

“Soonyoung I know you can hear me. And don’t even think of outrunning me. You already know I can beat your ass in any race!”

Soonyoung stopped at the entrance of the Pledis building and stiffened up his body. [y/n] jogged up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She furrowed her brows and walked around to become face to face with her best friend.

“Soonyoung, why are you so tense all of a sudden?” She asked as she forced his chin up so her eyes could meet his.

“I can’t talk to you,” was all that he said.

[y/n] looked at him confused and cocked her head to the side.

“Why are you acting so weird? I thought we were friends,” She asked.

“Apperantly not anymore,” Soonyoung replied as he tried to get around her, but [y/n] was too quick and gripped onto his wrist to stop him.

“What do you mean? Why can’t we be friends? We’ve always been friends, best friends!”

Soonyoung sighed and bit his lip to suppress any tears or sobs that threatened to escape.

“We just can’t okay?” He stated trying to stay strong, “Just go hang with Jihoon. He’ll appreciate your company over my own.”

“But we never spend time together anymore. I miss you, I miss spending time with you.”

Soonyoung wanted to hug her so badly and apologize for everything, but he just couldn’t. [y/n] somehow managed to sense the brokenness in her best friend and reached out to hug him tightly. Soonyoung gave into her hug and squeezed her back, letting a couple of tears fall down his face. He choked out a sob and gripped onto [y/n]’s shirt tightly. [y/n] didn’t do anything except rubbing Soonyoung’s back comfortingly and whispering, “its okay’s”, into his ear. The two of them stood like that for what felt like hours until a throat clearing interrupted their moment. The two of them broke apart and became face to face with Jihoon who stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring slightly at Soonyoung.

“I came to see if you wanted to get some dinner,” Jihoon said to [y/n], his glare never breaking Soonyoung.

[y/n] noticed this and walked over to her boyfriend. She gripped onto his bicep and looked between the two boys and back at Jihoon.

“What is with you two?” She asked, “You guys haven’t spoken a single work to each other in months! It all started when I sent Jihoon to go talk to you about what was bothering you, Soonyoung. What happened?”

Soonyoung looked at Jihoon. Jihoon didn’t do anything but looked down at the floor and back over to his girlfriend before speaking up.

“We talked, it just didn’t go well.”

[y/n] sighed and tilted back and forth on the balls of her feet before breaking away from Jihoon and stood in between the two boys.

“Someone better tell me what happened,” She stated as she looked at both of them.

Soonyoung stayed slient and rubbed his eyes gently as he sniffled.

“Soonyoung said something,” Jihoon stated, “Something he probably should never have said.”

[y/n] looked at her best friend who was being oddly silent.

“Soonyoung, what did you tell Jihoon?” She asked.

Soonyoung refused to speak. Jihoon sighed and gripped [y/n]’s hand tightly in his own.

“He said he was in love with you. He confessed to Chan about everything he felt towards you. I heard them,” Jihoon spoke.

[y/n] stood in shock as she lifted her head to look at Soonyoung. Soonyoung looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in this position right now. [y/n] let go of Jihoon’s hand and walked over to her best friend. She reached out her hand and placed it on his cheek.

“Is that true?” She asked, “Do you really feel that way about me?”

Soonyoung looked up to meet her gaze and nodded.

“Ever since we first met,” He spoke, “And even on after that. Every chance I got to spend with you made me fall harder and faster in love with you…”

[y/n] couldn’t believe it. Her heart fluttered at her best friend’s confession. She bit her lip and looked over at Jihoon who looked like he was about to murder Soonyoung.

“And both of you decided to keep this from me?” She questioned once more.

“I was afraid,” Soonyoung said quietly.

Jihoon glared at him and shook his head disapprovingly.

“I couldn’t lose you, not to him.”

[y/n] looked at Jihoon with a hint of hurt in her eyes.

“You really think I would just leave you because a guy was in love with me?”

Jihoon opened his mouth to speak, but he knew that no matter what he said could ever make it sound any better than what he meant. It was too late, so he kept is shut.

“I can’t believe you would ever think that! I thought you trusted me?” She spat at him, her body trembling at every word.

“And you,” She said as she turned to Soonyoung, “You could have just confessed to me.”

“It’s not that simple, [y/n],” Soonyoung replied.

“Well if you weren’t too afraid to see the outcome than maybe you would have known that I too was in love with you for like my entire life. I still am, but not as much since I got with Jihoon.”

Soonyoung’s head perked up at her statement. Jihoon walked up to [y/n] and turned her around by the shoulder. He looked at her with hurt in his eyes as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

“You still love him?” Jihoon asked her, “Do you love me more?”

[y/n] didn’t say anything at first. She looked up at Jihoon through glossy eyes.

“I can’t say I do. I don’t know anymore,” She said quietly.

Jihoon sighed and pushed some of her hair out of her eyes and wiped away a tear that fell down her face.

“I don’t want to force you into this if you don’t really want it. If you love Soonyoung…you can have him.”

[y/n] shook her head.

“I don’t know who I want,” She said, “I love you both.”

Soonyoung grabbed her arm.

“You can’t have both of us, [y/n]. You know that,” he said.

Jihoon nodded in agreement.

“We won’t force a decision into your hands, but it’s either me or him. Who do you chose?”

Your Choice: Hoshi || Woozi [both parts coming soon]

yes, voting for Hillary Clinton would have been a whole fucking lot better. 

she wouldn’t have put Scalia 2.0 Gorsuch on the Supreme Court. she wouldn’t have put too-racist-to-be-a-judge Sessions in charge of the Justice Department. she wouldn’t have put “let’s destroy public schools” DeVos in charge of education. or literally every other department which is run by someone who wants to destroy it. 

she wouldn’t be ripping off the taxpayers for millions every single weekend to line her own pocket. she wouldn’t be rounding up nonviolent immigrants by raiding schools and courthouses. she wouldn’t have just killed every living thing for a radius of 2 miles in Afghanistan. 

she would be smart enough to know that nuclear war with North Korea (which will bring China in, and their weapons we know work) is a terrible fucking idea.

but you hate women so much and were so receptive to Russian propaganda it was worth it to you. and the kicker is, we all have to live with the suffering people like you wrought, while you’re probably white and straight and male and rich enough not to suffer the worst of it. 

GGG-Canelo, who you got?

And how?

I’m taking GGG by decision or late stoppage. Think people are putting too much on the Jacobs performance. Canelo isn’t gonna be able to dance at range like Jacobs. Like GGG, he’s a plodding methedocial pocket fighter (tho Canelo is the better, more consistent defensive fighter by a good stretch). Canelo is going to have to swim in the pocket for 12 rounds to win this one and I think GGG’s power wins out over Canelo’s defense the course in a 12 rounder. Expecting it to be really competitive though til the late stages where GGG pulls away. Interesting to see how this plays out cause they both operate in the same ranges. Wouldn’t surprise me tho if Canelo invests in the body and manages to outpace the much older GGG to a decision win.

No way Pete (Yondu x reader)

7. You did what?
20. Just admit that I’m right

You glanced over at the steadfast captain sitting in his chair his eyes studying something intently. You couldn’t stifle the small sigh that escaped your mouth as you watched him flip through a set of papers. You didn’t notice the other Terran on the ship watching you with a smirk. You couldn’t handle the sight of your captain sitting there biting his lip so you stood grabbing your tools and rushing down to the engine room instead.

Peter watched you for a moment his smirk widening as things clicked. He’d seen you watching Yondu for a while now. The idea of you two together gave him a little hope that maybe Yondu wouldn’t be so strict and annoying. Peter moved into action at the idea of a less annoying Yondu. He moved up next to Yondu crouching so he was eye level.

“Hey. Cap. (Y/N) needs you in the engine room.” Peter told Yondu.

Yondu raised an eyebrow before standing. He pushed Peter to the side before making his way to the engine room. Yondu glanced behind him once or twice to see if Peter was following him for some sort of prank or something. When he was finally in the engine room he caught a glimpse of you half under a piece of machinery.

“(Y/n)! Whatcha want!” He yelled out as he got closer.

You gave a shout as you hit your head. You pulled yourself out from under the engine. You hurriedly stood brushing your hands on your overalls. You gave the Ravager salute before grinning at your captain.

“Whatcha want (y/n)? Said ya needed me down here?” He asked crossing his arms over his chest.

“I…” you trailed confused, you didn’t ask for him, “actually could you sign off for a few of these parts?”

“Ya need these three?” He asked raising an eyebrow and checking the pad you handed him.

“Yeah I think I could really get the ship going top speed with these.” You smiled pointing things out as you did.

“Good. Ain’t no one can make her purr like ya can.” He grinned tapping the engine.

“Thanks Captain. I try.” You nudged his arm a little playfully.

When Yondu stiffened you did too. You panicked for a minute thinking you had overstepped. That all faded away when Yondu grabbed your shoulders pulling you into a kiss. Your eyes widened for a second before you melted into it. You threw your arms around his neck pulling his as close as possible.

When he pulled back his face had hardened once more. You gave him a soft smile and a hint of one seemed to tug at his mouth. You moved and kissed his cheek softly before getting back to work.

“I’ll see ya later (y/n).” He called behind him his hands in his pockets.

“See ya round Cap’t.” You called back.


Peter made his way down to the engine room his Walkman playing. He caught sight of you a few minutes into his roaming. He kicked your foot and you pushed your way out from under the engine.

“What do you want Pete?” You asked wiping your face.

“So you and the captain have fun down here?” He asked squatting down next to you.

“Yeah we did.” You grinned.

“You did what?” He asked grinning back.

“Had our fun. Not that you would need to know anyway.” You laughed pushing his shoulder so he fell.

“Just admit that I’m right and the two of you are perfect for each other. Come on.” He laughed.

“Fine fine I admit it Peter Jason Quill. I’m head over heels for Yondu.” You smiled thoughtfully.

The chronicles of the winter || Part IX

Part II  || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII|| Parta VIII
continuation of imagine

Summary: Steve’s mission went wrong… Very wrong.

Word Count: 2194

Warnings: Blood, injuries

Author: Beast

Keep reading

Kurai Koibito - Chapter 5 -Smut

Originally posted by jasminshore97

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Void/Reader
Words: 3,633

Warnings: Character death, beheading, stabbing etc.

AN: This is the end, I got really emotional, I’m so sorry. Thanks to @writing-obrien for her input on the ending.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Void sighed in his sleep, pulling you closer, your skin pressed against his. You were hiding out in apartment somewhere downtown, keeping a low profile and watching as the pack scrambled to figure out your next move. They thought they were ahead of the game, but they would soon find out that there was no way that Void would be outsmarted this time. Not when you were here with him.

You shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and smiling when you felt him rubbing your back, his lips ghosting over your shoulder.

“You awake?” He asked, his voice rough.

You hummed, burying your face in his neck, your hand moving to play with the hair on the back of his head.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

OT3 Prompt: "please, you need to come with me."

It was a Friday night when Jonathan Byers decided he loved Steve Harrington.

Jon was sitting on his bed, music playing too loudly, and cleaning his camera. It was one of the only ways he could truly unwind; take it apart, make it better, put it back together. In those moments, his mind was consumed with so many thoughts. Thoughts of the two people he needed most—which was the way it had become, though he had no idea when.

Someone tapped on his window. Jon looked up, a little startled, but relaxed when he saw that it was only (thankfully) Steve.

He stumbled over in the dim light, pushing up the old wooden window frame. Steve’s breath was a minty white cloud, and his face was bright with anticipation. “Jon,” he said, “you gotta come with me.”

“What?” Worry gripped him, then, and he thought of her. “Is something wrong with Nancy?”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not really. I just… I have like three things to do tonight, and you need to come with me. Please.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Welcome back! Ummmm for fic, yoonjin and "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear"?

Yoonjin: Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear.

Send me a ship and a number!

* * *

* * *

Seokjin pushed the flower into his buttonhole and grinned in the mirror, winking at his reflection a few times until he got disgusted groans from the rest of the room. He laughed. “If I’m not allowed to be vain on my wedding day, when can I be?”

“Never,” Jungkook said from his position sprawled over Seokjin’s bed. “Save the vanity for after the wedding.”

“Yeah, save it for when we’re not here,” Yoongi agreed. He was more modestly sitting on the end of the bed resting his chin on his fist and staring into space. Feeling Seokjin’s eyes on him, he looked round and stuck his tongue out.

Seokjin got up and smoothed down the front of his suit. The car would arrive at his apartment in twenty to take them out to the hotel. In the meantime, he stood in the middle of the room with his arms out. “How do I look? Good?”

“Very handsome,” Jungkook said without looking up.

“Yeah,” Yoongi agreed. “Namjoonie will probably do the whole crying thing when he sees you walk in.”

That had Seokjin laughing and he leaned down to check his hair in the mirror. “Oh man, okay I want to get a selfie with my best men. My phone’s in the kitchen, gimme a minute.” And he headed out into the corridor, letting the door tap shut behind him. But only two steps down the hallway, he found his phone in his pocket and turned round to head back into his bedroom. Jungkook’s voice had him stopping.

“You sure you’re okay, hyung?”

Yoongi sighed. “I have to be. He’s my best friend and he’s getting married, I have to be okay with it or I’m a bad person.”

“I guess.” The sound of Jungkook shifting on the bed. “I don’t think it would make you bad if you weren’t okay, though. You love him.”

Seokjin blinked.

“Yeah, I know. I love him. But there’s a reason things with Seokjin-hyung never went much further than kissing at parties. We just… Friends. And he doesn’t love me and I can’t make him love me and he’s happy now so what the fuck ever.” Yoongi sighed again. “I just gotta be happy for him.”

“And are you? Happy, I mean.”

There was a long pause. “No. But I will be. I’ll make myself be happy.”


“I don’t fucking know, Jungkook, I just will. He’s getting married today and he’s happy and I’m not gonna ruin his life by telling him I love him now. So I’ll just make myself be happy for him and then go out and find someone who loves me back.”

“Plot twist: Min Yoongi in a successful relationship.”

“Fuck you.”

Seokjin’s heart twinged in his chest. He looked down at his reflection staring up from his phone. His mind flickered through images of Yoongi, his old college roommate, sitting next to him through bad movies and going with him to clubs and comforting him after heartbreaks and kissing him when they were both lonely then laughing it off afterwards. His friend. Yoongi had only ever been his friend… Oh fuck, if he’d known

He closed his eyes and sighed, biting his lower lip. There wasn’t time for this. He was getting married in an hour to someone he loved more than anyone in the world and he would just… He’d deal with this later. Seokjin plastered on a smile and pushed open the bedroom door, holding his phone up. He was a good actor, and nobody knew a thing.