#given that this is dark souls i should have seen it coming but man... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bucketsofmonsters · 1 year

Text

Vows - Part 1

cw: consentual blood drinking, cockwarming, accidental voyeurism, polyamory, more tags will be added as the story continues

male vampire x afab reader

Word count: 6k

Vows Masterlist

You kept your back straight, trying to maintain what little dignity you had left standing before the man on the throne in front of you.

You lost all of that when he looked you up and down and gave you a simple command.

“Kneel.”

You bit your tongue, doing your very best to keep a pleasant look on your face as you got on your knees. He couldn’t know how much you hated him. You wouldn’t blow this.

Your valiant attempt to hide your disdain didn’t seem to have the effect you’d hoped. He looked down at you, sneering, and said, “I was told you’ve been quite eager to get in here. You don’t look eager.”

“I am not in the practice of fawning over men I’ve just met.”

He cocked his head to the side, eyes roaming over you, trying to get a read on you.

His hair was dark, touched with hints of gray. His face was pale and smooth but not uncreased, particularly worn crow's feet in the corner of his eyes telling tales of a smile that you saw no signs of right now.

He looked down at you with eyes that looked faded, like a half-decayed corpse, and spoke through his fangs. “Why did you want to come here?”

You couldn’t pretend it was out of desire, he’d clearly seen right through that. So you tried another tactic.

“I had nowhere else to go,” you admitted, looking up at him with sad eyes.

His brows furrowed. “If you wanted shelter you could have asked for shelter, we would have given it. You took our vows. Why?”

He was right, you had. You’d signed your soul away. Your body too. For what, the chance to live in the home of a leech? You had no idea how anyone could agree to this, how he could have fooled any of the poor people who lived here, who he saw as dinner and as walking sex toys. It was dehumanizing.

But it was also the easiest way to get close to him. To learn his secrets.

His eyes softened as your gaze fell, your combative eye contact turning to something shyer, more nervous.

“We don’t need to talk about that now. But you don’t need to be embarrassed, not here. And you certainly don’t need to be afraid. Whatever your reason, you’re here now, that won’t change unless you want it to.”

He rose from his throne and moved towards you, holding out his hand. You took it as you rose to your feet, not wanting to insult him any more than you apparently already had.

“What can I call you?” you asked, still not having so much as a name for the man.

“Sir is fine.”

It took everything you had not to roll your eyes at him.

“Now,” he said, his hand still wrapped around yours, his grip firm but not strong enough that you couldn’t pull away if you really tried. “I should show you around.”

It wasn’t much of a tour.

He took you through the halls, up a spiral staircase, and past what felt like dozens of doors without uttering so much as a word to you.

The monotony of the tour was disrupted when a young man came barreling down the hall. He was dressed in all white, his hair a curly blond. It was a bit too long and he pushed it out of his eyes as he skidded to a halt only for it to fall dutifully back into place.

“Hey Rook I…” He did a double-take as he saw you. “Oh, hello. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m new.” Your tone was dry. You could tell from the two marks on his neck that he was one of the vampire’s disciples. You knew it wasn’t his fault he’d been fooled into staying here and fought the urge to resent him, to view anything associated with this monster as bad.

A massive smile took over his face. “Great, it’s always nice to have someone new around! I’m Oliver, by the way.”

“Hello.”

“Listen, I know it can be intimidating here at first but I promise he’s a sweetheart under all the dramatics,” he said, gesturing to the visibly frustrated man standing right next to him.

He didn’t take that well.

“You should run along,” Rook insisted, pressing a quick kiss into Oliver’s forehead and cutting off your conversation. “I think I’m going to have to give some special attention to this one.”

Oliver looked at the vampire with furrowed brows. “Okay. You’re being weird but okay.” He turned to you on his way out. “He’s not usually this weird, I promise. I mean, that’s not actually true, he’s always weird but like… different weird.”

“Oliver!” he hissed, his face twitching into what almost looked like embarrassment.

“Okay, okay, I’m going. Just try not to scare them off.”

As you both watched them trail down the hallway, you turned to Rook and asked, “What happened to everyone calling you sir?”

“I didn’t say everyone had to call me that, I said you did,” he replied, an unmissable snideness in his tone.

Great, you’d been undercover for less than a day and he already didn’t like you.

You hadn’t had much further to go before your little interruption. Your room seemed to be only a few doors down.

Rook held the door open for you, beckoning you inside.

He stood in the doorway looking in at you, not entering the room. “The closet has clothes for you. That’s why we gathered your measurements after you took your vows, everything here should be perfectly fitted to you.”

“Thank you, Rook,” you said with a little curtsy.

“Sir,” he hissed at you, his fangs particularly evident as he spoke.

“Rook,” you insisted, refusing to back down.

He conceded faster than you would have expected, a soft chuckle escaping him at your persistence. “Fine. Rook. Now get some rest. You can pick more of those fights you’re so desperate to pick with me in the morning.”

You immediately turned defensive, terrified of what he was implying. “No, I’m not… I just…”

“I’m not blind, and you have a worse poker face than you seem to think. I’m not worried, I’ve proved less understanding people than you wrong.”

“I really am sorry. I think I’m just nervous.” That much was true at least. You had a feeling your nerves wouldn’t subside until you left this god-forsaken place behind.

“It’s alright,” he promised. “We’ll work on that.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. What was intended to be reassuring felt threatening instead. Something about the way he spoke to you, all straight faces and hushed words, left everything he said feeling sinister. You decided that even if you didn’t know what he was, they would make you feel uneasy.

It only left you more convinced he had the people here under some sort of spell. Surely he couldn’t have won them over, there must be something else at play.

You’d half expected to be forced to stay with him your first night so you let out a sigh of relief as he turned without another word and left you in what appeared to be your own room.

It wasn’t like you didn’t think he had the space, this place could house hundreds, you just weren’t sure of his morals. Or how impatient he would be to test your loyalty to his vows.

You patted at your side, ensuring you could still feel the notebook you’d sewn into your skirts before you came.

It was fairly thin. It needed to be able to let it sit, undetected, in the fabric just below your hip.

You hiked up your skirts, pooling the fabric in one arm as the other reached down and grabbed the silver dagger that lay flush against the inside of your thigh. You hadn’t known where it would be able to lie safe and undetected or how thoroughly you would be checked.

You opened the wardrobe to try and asses where you could go about hiding your contraband from now on, your prior hiding spacing being spoiled by your new host's insistence upon extravagance.

You considered hiding it somewhere in your room but quickly dismissed the thought. At least with them on your person you’d know if you were discovered. With them in your room, you could be compromised and in danger and be none the wiser.

There were more clothes in the wardrobe than you’d owned over the rest of your life combined. There were suits and pants and skirts and dresses of every length, even ones that didn’t quite feel appropriate.

Your gaze was drawn from those scandalous dresses as you realized that some in this closet, shoved into the corner, were sheer. Those you discarded immediately, you wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

Despite all the variety in clothing types, it all seemed a bit one note. You were stricken with endless patterns of black and white. There were a few in plain black or plain white that you gravitated towards but the rest were covered in patterns. Diamonds and stripes and checked skirts, it was enough to give you a headache.

The colors and patterns felt aggressive and gaudy when confronted with a whole closet of them, but you couldn’t help but admit that they were beautifully made. The fabric was the softest you’d ever felt.

You pulled out a black dress, the one that felt closest to what you were used to, and started to put it on. You’d been searching for places where you could sew in secret folds when your hand went right through the skirt and into a pocket.

You pulled the skirt upwards to evaluate and noticed that the stitching was far rougher there than any of the other seams, looking not unlike your secret pockets you’d become adept at making lately.

Their presence couldn’t help but worry you. Who had these belonged to before? Who had felt so unsafe here they’d been set on creating hiding spots close to them.

Whoever they were, they had more sense than the rest of Rook’s victims.

Your fingers ran over the handle of the knife as you shoved it into your new pockets instead of reattaching it to your thigh. It was safer there, better hidden, but you wanted it at hand. You’d been reassured you wouldn’t have to use it, not on your first mission, but it was always good to have.

Just in case.

Your knife was still stowed away but the notebook remained out. You still had work to do.

Quickly, afraid someone may walk in on you at any moment, you scribbled out a summary of your first day here. It wasn’t much but you’d been told to take note of everything. Besides, you’d never hunted a vampire before, you didn’t know what details were important yet.

As you completed and folded up your note, you rushed to the window, unlatching it and looking around quickly for anyone surveilling you.

You noted a distinct lack of onlookers at the same time a pigeon landed on the window frame.

Your face lit up as you saw him, your dutiful little messenger a welcome familiar face in this horrible place. You cooed at him for a moment, giving him a soft pet down his back.

“You’re so good. Told them you could find your way to me.”

But you didn’t have time to fawn over him, you needed to get this note out of here as quickly as you could.

You attached the note securely to his leg and sent him on his way, staying at the window and watching him until you could see him no longer.

With your mission for the night completed and your little friend finally out of sight, you gave yourself permission to rest.

Taking up most of the room was a massive bed, with black blankets pulled over white sheets and sheer black curtains hanging around it.

The bed was so nice and perfect you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb it, instead curling up on top of the perfectly made bed in the house you didn’t belong in.

You woke up with a jolt, already filled with adrenaline. The sun was shining through the window and you felt a pang in your chest at the implications of the fact that you had a window at all. He had to avoid the sun, it caused vampires pain and sapped them of most of their strength. Most avoided houses with windows entirely, wanting a space to hide away from it.

But no, you’d been given a window. This really was your space, a space that half the time he was likely to avoid.

You realized you’d slept in much later than you’d intended. So much for getting up early and poking around.

For most vampires you’d be right where you needed to be, most of them were nocturnal but there were a lot of patterns Rook didn’t follow that most vampires did.

He seemed to prefer following the sleep patterns of his disciples who lived with him, or at least you thought he did based on the little intel you had.

It was his house so he didn’t need to be invited in anywhere. Instead, it had wardings that meant only those invited could step inside, hence why you were on your very first mission, all alone. You were the only one who’d never been in the limelight, who vampires wouldn’t know to watch out for so here you stood, invited inside with the rest of his little humans.

If you couldn’t snoop, you should at the very least try and gather information from him.

You stormed out of your room, set on gathering intel.

You needed to have more to report this time. What you were doing wasn’t cutting it. You were supposed to be proving yourself and instead you were what, wandering around a mansion and picking petty fights?

You didn’t really know where he was so you took your best bet and headed down to the throne room.

He wasn’t a ruler of anything, not really. It felt like it was more for his ego than anything.

The massive wooden doors that led to it were shut with Oliver sitting on the ground beside them, like the world's least threatening guard.

Upon closer inspection you realized he was knitting something, the pile of yarn next to him the same black and white as most of the things in this god-forsaken place. It didn’t help him appear more intimidating, that was for sure.

As you reached for the door handle he made a noise of protest from his seat on the floor.

“I wouldn’t go in there,” he called out. “Rook said not to let anyone in.”

“I don’t care what Rook said,” you insisted. “I need to talk to him.”

“I really wouldn’t if I were you…”

You left his calls of protest behind as you stormed into the room.

Rook was sitting on his throne, but he wasn’t alone.

There was a girl in his lap. You couldn’t see her face, her back facing you as she straddled him. Her long, red hair hid most of her from your sight but it failed to cover her lower half and your face heated at the sight of her plush, unclothes thighs hugging his midsection, her dress hiked up around her waist.

He pulled her head to rest on his shoulder and you caught a glimpse of both her face and neck, a trail of blood gently trickling down her side, staining her white dress bright red. From what you saw she looked completely out of it. You weren’t even sure she noticed you coming in.

“Would you like something,” he prompted, his arm wrapped protectively around the girl on his lap. Something in you churned at the sight and you forced it back down.

You didn’t say a word, turning on your heels and storming right back out of the room.

Oliver looked up at you, fighting back a smile as the heavy door fell shut behind you.

“I tried to warn you,” he said, amusement radiating off of him and you wondered if maybe everyone in this god-forsaken place was an asshole.

You spent the rest of the afternoon seething. You weren’t even entirely sure about what, to be honest, just spending most of your time pacing and feeling generally upset.

When Rook finally decided to show his face, you let it all out on him.

The second he entered the room you were chewing him out. “What the fuck was that? Do you have to be getting your dick wet and feeding constantly? I mean, christ, it’s my first day here!”

He countered your aggression with a roll of his eyes. “You’re mad at me? Maybe if you listened to Oliver it wouldn’t have happened.”

You avoided his gaze sheepishly. He was right, this was your fault. Your anxiety about this whole situation was manifesting as anger and you needed to get it under control. For the sake of the mission.

“If you want to be rude to me, fine,” he continued, “but do not be rude to these people. They’ve done nothing but welcome you here.”

“It’s alright if I’m rude to you?”

“For now. I foresee that changing in the future but I don’t mind a challenge.”

Is that what he thought you were doing? Playing hard to get? It bought you time so you went along with it, wondering how long it would be before his patience snapped and you no longer had a choice

Your thoughts drifted back to the redheaded girl. His body language had read as protective but she’d been bleeding and she didn’t even seem to react to you coming in. Your mind couldn’t help but drift to the worst-case scenario.

“How many people live here?” You asked, trying to get him to reveal if she was one of his pet humans or someone disposable, someone you should start quietly mourning.

“Right now? You’re met both of them. Well, met is a strong word, more like rudely stormed in on.”

If she lived here, she was probably alright. You’d do your best to find a way to check in on her, just to be safe.

At the revelation that only two humans lived here, you thought back to the only face you’d expected to see within these walls. “The man who measured me, the one who permitted me inside and made me take my vows. Where is he? Petyr, I think his name was.”

He was an older man, you’d guess late 50’s. He’d been a calming force when you’d met him, making your mission seem less daunting with the power of pleasant conversation, even if you couldn’t admit any of your real intentions to him.

You would’ve appreciated his presence. Your only hope was that Rook hadn’t already gotten to him.

“He’s traveling,” Rook explained, a faraway look entering his already glassy eyes. “He always wanted to see the world. He’s spent far too many decades trapped in here with me so I sent him off to see it.”

You scoffed. “So that’s it? He got too old and you sent him off? You just discard your little lovers when they’re not young enough for you anymore?”

He looked genuinely hurt by the accusation. “You don’t know anything. I’d give the world for him to be here, for them all to be here. But they have lives to live, certainly more than I do. They’ve more than earned their dreams, I just try to help with the ones I can.”

At the clicking sound of approaching heels, you glanced down the hallway to see a woman with familiar long locks of ginger hair striding towards you.

“I’m done taking insults from you. Play nice with her,” he hissed.

“Or else?”

He didn’t answer before storming off, leaving you to get acquainted with the redhead you’d already seen far too much of.

You turned back to her and saw her looking longingly after him as if she didn’t want to be left alone with you. Part of you couldn’t help but take offense to that. He was the monster, not you. If anything, you were going to be her savior.

She let out a nervous giggle as she shifted her gaze from the hallway where your host had disappeared back down to her dress, a new one without blood dripping down it. “I’m sorry about earlier. Not the most dignified meeting we could have had.”

“It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have been in there.” The mark on her neck had already begun to fade, healing much faster than a regular wound. However, you knew it would never fully heal, his mark would be on her skin for the rest of her life, claiming her.

“Regardless, I'm sorry. You shouldn’t have seen me like that until much later, our third meeting at least.”

She smiled at her own joke and you could help but mirror it.

“I’m Vivian, by the way. It really is lovely to meet you.” Her smile was so genuine it was hard to not have an immediate fondness for her.

“It’s good to meet you too. Can I ask, are you alright?” You asked as you stared at the wound on her neck, the blood that had been spilling down her before completely absent except for that small reminder of its presence.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, just a little embarrassed. Rook says I shouldn’t be but you’re the first new person who’s come since I arrived, I wanted to make a good first impression.”

“No, not that. You just seemed out of it in there, he didn’t hurt you did he?”

“What, Rook? No, of course not. He was taking good care of me, I promise. Has he talked to you about when you want him to drink from you yet? It really isn’t scary, I promise. He’s very gentle.”

“People keep saying that to me and yet I haven’t seen any proof. He’s been nothing but an ass to me.”

That threw her off balance. “He has?”

“I think he thinks I’m a bit obstinate,” you said, hoping that was all it was. The alternative was that he’d become suspicious of you and that was something you couldn’t abide by.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “He doesn’t mind a bit of pushback. God knows Oliver can be a handful and I’ve never even seen him get upset.”

“Well, he’s been plenty upset at me.”

“I’m sure you two just got off on the wrong foot,” she insisted. “He’s a little rough around the edges sometimes but hey, who here isn’t, right?”

You couldn’t help but bristle at the comment.

She picked up on your reaction immediately. “No, I didn’t mean… It’s just, we’re all running from something, right?”

You nodded. You needed to stop being so aggressive, you were standing out far too much. “Yeah, of course, you’re right.”

“It’s alright,” she said, resting a reassuring hand on your arm. “It took me ages to get used to this place too. Try not to worry too much, it’ll feel like home before you know it.”

You doubted that.

Vivian wandered off, saying something about taking a nap and you retreated to your room.

You were a mess. It felt like every time you tried to do anything here it ended up being a disaster that got you one step closer to being caught. You collapsed backwards on your bed, set on hiding in your room until morning.

The universe seemed to have other plans.

A knock sounded at your door and you called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Oliver, I’m coming in.”

He opened the door, not even waiting for you to call him in and he stared down at you, collapsed on top of your blankets.

“Good your still dressed,” he said, extending a hand to help yank you to your feet. “You’re having dinner with Rook at sunset.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought of being alone with him and of what ‘dinner’ could entail for a vampire.

“No.”

“Yes,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to,” you snapped back.

“Too bad. He said, and this is a direct quote, ‘they wanted to speak to me so fucking badly earlier, let’s give them an opportunity.’”

Oliver’s persistence in inviting you made sense, it didn’t sound like an offer one was allowed to refuse.

“Go hang out with Viv in the meantime or something, it’s awfully lonely in here,” he said, not waiting for a response before setting out on the move again. It was almost like he was allergic to standing still.

You followed his advice, figuring you wouldn’t be able to relax knowing what was coming anyways.

Vivian wasn’t hard to find, although you wouldn’t exactly say you found her. One second you were wandering down empty hallways and the next second she was behind you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

“Hello,” she said, her persistent warmth immediately setting you at ease, even if her sudden appearance had frightened you.

Vivian was an easy person to get along with. You spent the next few hours milling about with her, not talking about much of importance but passing the time much easier.

She seemed determined to make you feel welcome. It was nice, feeling like you have a friend here, even if she could never be an ally.

Oliver and Rook were entirely absent as you and Vivian wandered about. You made sure not to open any firmly shut doors this time.

After a few hours, the moment you dreaded arrived. Vivian poked her head out the velvet curtains that were covering the nearest window and grinned at you.

“Alright, Oliver said to send you down right about now. It’s right down that hallway.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared down the dark hallway. Vivian didn’t seem to quite understand the magnitude of your anxiety, excitedly shooing you down towards the door.

You entered a room that looked almost exactly like what you’d expect from a dining room in a house this big. The table was massive, spanning the humungous room.

Something you hadn’t expected to see was the number of chairs.

The table was completely devoid of them except for one Rook was sitting at right at the head of the table and another right next to him.

You sat beside him, having no other choice in the matter.

“This massive house and you can’t afford more chairs?”

“They were removed. It’s hard to talk all the way across the room.”

You resented the fact that he refused to even give you the option.

The chairs that remained looked heavy and you couldn’t help but imagine Oliver and Rook desperately trying to push them out of the room in order to trap you next to him. Despite the less than optimal outcome, you had to fight back a smile at the mental image.

“Did you sleep alright?” he asked, cutting through your daydreams of him.

“Fine,” you responded bluntly.

“Are you sure? Your bed was still made.”

You were suddenly very glad your knife and notebook were stashed in your pocket. “Why were you in my room? How did you even get in, I left the window wide open.”

“Ah, yes.” He looked embarrassed and you got the sense that he’d be blushing if he had the blood for it instead of being pale and cold. “Well, we don’t exactly have staff here, they’re too scared of me to come. Everyone mostly takes care of their own tidying but I look after the rooms of newcomers. And I just covered up until I could get the drapes closed, it’s not the easiest way to move but I only have to travel the length of a room.”

Your accusation suddenly felt cruel. There was something so earnest about his words, something sheepish at the fact that he was picking up after you. “Oh. Okay. Well, the bed was just so lovely and made so well, it felt rude to mess it up.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m glad you appreciate my bed-making skills but I promise I don’t mind if you sleep under the covers. That is what they’re made for.”

The conversation put you more at ease, feeling less like you’d been brought here to be interrogated and more like this was a ploy from Rook to make you like him. It almost felt worse this way, the way he seemed to be trying to hide his eagerness to make you feel welcomed.

You looked down at the plate of food in front of you, finally convinced it was probably safe to eat, and noticed that it was the only one on the table. The spot in front of Rook was entirely empty.

“You’re not going to eat?” you asked as you took a bite of the food. It made you a little angry how good it was and for some undiscernible reason, you hoped Oliver had made it. Like that would make it alright that you’d enjoyed it.

He shook his head. “Can’t. Solid food are beyond me I’m afraid.”

“Why would you invite me to dinner then,” you asked, baffled by the decision.

“It seemed like a good time to talk. Besides, it’s a good way to make sure you eat. Viv is very concerned about you, says you’re not handling all this very well.”

She might’ve been right to be. With everything going on, eating had been the last thing on your mind. “I’m just nervous,” you justified weakly.

“So you keep saying.”

He watched you eat, studying you as you made your way through the dish. Finally, you grew tired of his observation and set down the fork.

“I can’t help but wonder, am I playing right?”

“Playing? This isn’t a game.”

“Yes, it is.” you insisted. “All of this has been, despite the fact that you declined to inform me of it. I think you like when it's a game. So am I playing correctly or have I already lost?”

“You barely know me and yet you pretend to know so much.”

“Am I wrong?”

“About this? No. Might be a first since you entered this place but you are not wrong.”

You scoffed. “What do you want from me?”

“You came here. You act as if I forced you into my home.”

“And you let me in. But you’re not making me give you anything so what do you want, why am I here? Why should I want to win?”

“I want you to trust me. That’s where this has to start.”

“And where does it end?”

“That depends on you. If you keep behaving like this it might end with you never trusting me.”

You worried when that end might be. “So I am losing. Good to know, And of course I don’t trust you, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Alright then,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth quirking up before he could manage to suppress his smile. “Go on.”

“With what?”

“Getting to know me.”

This was your opportunity, he’d just all but given you permission to ask all the questions you wanted. Not wanting to let the chance pass you by, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “So you drink blood.”

He smiled, baring his fangs at you as he did. “See, you know some things about me.”

“Are you going to drink from me?” you pressed on, refusing to let him steer you off track.

“If you want me to.”

“And if I don’t? Isn’t that what you brought us here for?”

He scoffed. “I’m building a community here, not a buffet.”

You just continued on with your questions. “Do you kill people?”

“Not unless it’s self-defense, same as most people I’d assume.” He chuckled as he answered but you didn’t find it funny.

“Let me rephrase then. Have you killed people?”

“Noone who didn’t try and kill me first.” That answer he didn’t chuckle through.

He looked you right in the eyes as he stated it. It felt like a promise. You just weren’t certain if it was a promise not to hurt you or a promise of what would happen if you tried to hurt him.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” you said. You didn’t have to do much acting to appear nervous around him but you hoped it might help. Maybe if he knew you were afraid of him he’d give you space.

“You should. Vampires can’t lie.”

You perked up at that. “Is that true?” you asked incredulously.

He just raised his eyebrows and gave you a shit-eating grin.

You had half a mind to throw something at him.

He didn’t apologize for his stupid little joke, which was well enough because you wouldn’t have forgiven him. Instead, his eyes darted down to your half-finished dinner.

“You going to finish that?”

You crossed your arms. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Don’t be like that, we were having fun! You were playing the game. Well, if you’re really done, come on,” he said, offering you his hand. “I’ll show you the gardens. You’ll like them. Everyone does.”

There were few decisions you could’ve made that felt as deeply ill-advised as going on a walk with him, alone, as the sun had already set.

You told yourself it was because there wasn’t an easy way out but honestly, you weren’t so sure, and you took his hand.

He led you outside, the grip on your hand less firm than it had been last time.

“Where are the flowers,” you asked when confronted with walls of bushes as the two of you stepped outside.

“There aren’t flowers. It’s a hedge maze.”

You snorted out a laugh. “Why do you have a hedge maze?”

“Every self-respecting mansion has a hedge maze.”

“That’s absurd,” you insisted.

“Well, maybe I’m absurd. Either way, absurd or not, everyone loves the hedge maze. Want to give it a try.”

The idea of being lost and alone, or worse, lost and with Rook, wasn’t exactly appealing to you. “Not really.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I have more questions for you,” you said, figuring you should at least take advantage of this alone time that you’d foolishly agreed to. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead. I hope they’re more fun than your last ones.”

“Can you actually turn into a bat?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Can I see?”

“No. Maybe someday but that’s something I only do with people I trust and as someone very cross with me once said, I can’t trust you, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Okay. Another question then. What’s with all the black and white?”

“Don’t you like it? It feels fitting to me. The light and the dark, the wars that are waged, reflected on everything here.”

Your nose scrunched up as he talked, waxing poetic about two colors that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about.

As he went on, you began to put some of the pieces together as he spoke. “Your name is Rook too. That wasn’t your given name I assume.”

“My favorite chess piece. Honest, direct, noble.”

“Okay,” you said, cutting him off before he could start rambling again. “Be that as it may, you shouldn’t impose your weird chess thing on us. Some of us like colors.”

“My weird chess thing?” His voice cracked as he questioned you, snorting out a laugh at your comment. “You are so rude, where were you raised?��

You clutched your chest in mock pain. “Sorry, not all of us were raised in a mansion Rook.”

“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize most people went around insulting one another so freely.”

“I think you’d be surprised. If you went out in the world wearing some of those outfits you gave me I think you’d hear some choice words thrown your way.”

The thought inspired yet another question from you. “When you talked about needing a special outfit to close the window, is it like, a big sun hat? A black and white one of course.”

“More like a sheet ghost.”

You giggled and he laughed along with you, looking down at you fondly and with some undeniable smugness present on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, quickly snuffing out your laughter.

“You’re not afraid. It’s the first time since you got here that you weren’t terrified of me.”

You hadn’t even noticed that the bubbling fear that lived in your chest had faded out as the two of you had spoken, “How could you possibly tell?”

“I can smell it. All those chemicals in your blood.”

“Stop smelling my blood,” you practically shouted, smacking at him.

He let out an almost boyish laugh as he dodged your attack. “I can’t help it, that’s like asking you to stop smelling the flowers.”

“There are no flowers,” you pointed out.

“Well, in theory. I can’t just turn it off. Trust me, if I could I would.”

After a moment of thought he added, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Not a clue.”

“It means I won. This battle, at least.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

A tempest of competing emotions fought in your chest. You were a fool, you were giving in to him. The hunters didn’t want you here for this exact reason, he must be hypnotizing you or something.

That felt more believable than you having a pleasant conversation with him.

With his victims? Maybe. They were people with souls, albeit misguided people. But not with him.

You felt like you were losing control. Of all the things you’d imagined when you got here, this was the furthest thing from your mind and yet you couldn’t deny it, especially after he’d as much as said it.

You’d stopped being afraid of him, for however brief a moment.

#terato #teratophillia #vampire x vampire hunter #vampire x reader #vampire x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader

1K notes · View notes

alessiamalfoyzabini · 20 days

Text

Dark Moon | Chapter Thirteen

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 2,7k

Warnings | +18, angst, blood, risk of death, Jimin is absolutely beside himself, lots of tears and guilt, kissing and promises, mention of rape, mentions of kidnapping and past abuse, mention of murder, feeling of shame, Stockholm syndrome, yandere themes, triggering content

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️ This is one of the chapters I loved writing about Dark Moon, I hope you will like it too! Always let me know what you think, I love your comments ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse, @jiminismine4ever, @btssimpjaneth, @antisocial-mochi267, @reallygenerouskoala, @velvet-stardust2002

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

Everything around him was smeared with blood and dirt, gunpowder shrouded that mansion in the open country that was teeming with Choi's men, but Jimin crushed their heads with ease, he would have eliminated them all, from first to last.

He struck the side of yet another idiot who thought he could confront him and ran toward the dungeon; Hoseok had told him that was most likely where they kept Y/N, because in checking the main rooms he had found no trace of the girl.

At his side Taehyung pinned a man by the arm and with a kick to the throat threw him lifelessly to the ground.

Even with confusion like the clash that was raging it was easy to find the room, although there were many only from one came the inhuman screams of a woman.

With icy chills on his neck he knocked down the door following a violent and desperate shove, freezing in front of that macabre sight.

Y/N was completely tied to a table with her legs shamefully spread wide open, her naked body was littered with bruises and cuts, and she was shaken by violent sobs, not to mention the blood, there was blood everywhere and the sight made Jimin lose all glimmer of reason. What the hell had they done to her?

He sprinted toward her, whose increasingly dull face was stained with terrible purplish marks and red splashes, "Y/N?!" was that his voice?

The voice so shrill and distraught, he himself did not recognize it as his own, Taehyung wordlessly observed the scene before him, he was breathless, Jimin cradled the girl's head in his arms, shaking her hair away from her face.

"Taehyung, help me!" he shouted in his direction, causing his friend to recoil, who retrieved his gun and fired accurately at each handcuff that held the young girl still bound, the skin around her wrists and ankles was now gone, the handcuffs had as if given her burns as a result of the excessive rubbing.

Jimin slowly took her in his arms, trying to figure out where the spillage of blood was coming from, and clutched the girl spasmodically to him, his face a pure picture of shock, he left her just long enough to take off his shirt and press it firmly against the girl's chest, there was only one hole, the bullet had passed through her chest and most likely got stuck inside her, he instead used his jacket to cover his nakedness, Y/N looked at him with wide, vacant eyes, as if she was no longer there but somehow still recognized Jimin's figure.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said between trembling lips, "I made you wait too long," he found himself crying, crying like a child at the miserable sight of that girl who had fought him so hard, lying in a sea of blood. She didn't even look like her anymore.

He had not protected her, he lacked air, he had not protected her.

"Jimin..." she gasped instead, reaching out a hand to the face of the man who had made her suffer so much, "Are you... fine," she sighed through the unbearable pangs of that torment. He was alive, he was well, and he was there, there with her.

Seeing him in that place, to save her, made her inexplicably emotional, even though that made no sense.

Jimin tenderly grasped her hand, kissing it and shaking his head, "Don't talk, don't waste your breath," he raised his face toward Taehyung who was looking at them with a bewildered and guilt-filled expression, "Go get help, Tae, please!"

The friend revived and nodded hastily and rushed out of the room, leaving them alone.

"You're here," sobbed the girl softly, sinking her head into the young man's bare chest, Jimin kissed her forehead trying to comfort her somehow, just imagining what had been done to her destroyed him.

"Of course I'm here, did you think I wouldn't come for you?" he asked in despair in the face of her physical and mental torment, he pressed harder on her now-primed shirt with vermilion liquid, hoping Taehyung would hurry up, "You're mine, Y/N, you mustn't forget that."

"But you hate me," was the only response he received, at which Jimin growled.

"I already told you I don't hate you!" he exclaimed bringing his lips closer to hers, "Would I hold you close to me like this if I hated you?"

Y/N slowly closed her eyes, her conscience screaming at her to stay awake, to listen to Jimin as her increasingly tired body demanded rest.

"Y/N!" he cried anxiously, pressing their lips together for a few seconds, it was a gentle touch as quick as a flap of wings, but it was enough to make her open her eyes again, "Stay with me, baby" he said in a sob.

"I've missed you" she whispered with little breath, it cost her effort in every sense to admit it aloud, but it was so, she must have been crazy for a long time now, but in Jimin's arms, she told herself, she could die with peace of mind.

"I've missed you," he repeated with a strange emotion in his eyes, he looked at her with such a gentleness that she had never noticed in her regard, it contrasted so much with those piercings that adorned his angular and massive body and gave him a dangerous air, "I won't let you go again, Y/N," he said quickly, the girl nodded slowly with a small smile, shortly afterwards her vision darkened.

Their story was strange, inconsistent. A lot had practically changed in just a year, who knew her tormentor would hold her like that? Who knew she would let him, surrendering to his grasp?

A bud had managed to bloom into a beautiful rose, nurtured by the sweet blood and bitter despair that cradled the existence of both of them.

Jimin counted every second that he spent in that house.

Y/N was almost always in bed, even two weeks after the shooting, at first he thought it had something to do with what Minho had done to her, but it wasn't just that, he knew it well.

He had promised not to let her go again, but instead he was a shadow of himself and did not dare to get too close to her. He was ashamed, not because of the desperate and frightened words he had whispered to her in that place, but because he had not been able to protect her, she had almost died and he could not find peace, he was always thinking "What if...?".

He hadn't gone to work anymore, he knew Seokjin would give him a hard time, but he couldn't do it. Every night with his heart in his throat he feared she might disappear again, that house didn't make him feel safe, not anymore.

He shrugged his shoulders closing his eyes bitterly, he had been wrong again.

Ever since he had met Y/N it seemed that the only certain thing he knew how to do was to be wrong again and again, never learning from his mistakes.

Then his ears picked up something, it was Y/N's faint voice calling him, and he jumped up from the sofa, running into her room.

"Did you call me?"

The girl was half stretched out on the bed, wearing a nightgown over the chest bandage she still had to keep for safety, she was so small and delicate that it seemed to Jimin that he was facing a tender fairy.

"I'd like to take a bath," she said shyly, avoiding his gaze.

"I don't think that's a good idea, the wound might leak more blood."

"Please... I feel dirty," she begged him with doe eyes, the man found himself sighing.

"Wait for me here."

The attitudes of both of them had changed, it was different from just tolerating each other, there was a gentleness never seen before in the way they both spoke to each other, it was pleasant and not only for Y/N, even Jimin wondered why he hadn't done it before.

He prepared her bath and then returned to her, took her effortlessly in his arms, and the young woman breathlessly admired the sensual features of his relaxed and masculine face, but adorned with wonderfully swollen lips, to be kissed countless times.

He helped her undress without taking his eyes off her body, but not out of lust.

He wanted to thoroughly scrutinize those marks that invaded her body disrespectfully over and over again, he fed on them to fuel the svisceral hatred he felt for Minho, they were still looking for him but soon they would unearth him, Jimin was sure of it.

When he accompanied her to the water the girl sighed contentedly, she made to loosen the bandages, but there too Jimin stepped in, gently removing everything and revealing the hole just above her right breast, he couldn't help himself, he reached out slightly to kiss gently that still young scar, lifted his eyes to her and found her staring at him with sympathetic blush on her cheeks.

Their new intimacy was strange; the abduction had changed something in their relationship.

He went back to soaping her body, occasionally leaving more kisses on her soft skin, kissed a spot just below her ear and slowly brushed his hand over her belly, the desire to make her feel good was there, pressing into his chest where his heart was pounding, but Y/N shivered and closed her legs instantly.

"I... sorry," she said squeezing her eyes shut to chase away the tears, but Jimin shook his head.

"Take it easy, I don't want to do anything," he tried to reassure her, going back to cleaning less intimate areas to let her know he meant what he said, that he didn't want to force her into anything, but Y/N swallowed a knot in her throat.

"No, you wanted me here to give you pleasure, I'm here for you, but I can't for the moment, not after that..." she froze trembling, remembering all too well Minho's painful and brutal thrusts, as well as Minhyun's thrashing as his boss panted on her like a pig, she covered her face in shame.

Jimin had also hurt her, but there was something different between him and Minho, she was more familiar with Jimin, she ventured to admit that ... somehow he had always attracted her?

She could not reflect objectively, but she was sure that for her Minho had simply been a horrifying and terrifying nightmare experienced with open eyes. Remembering the sadism with which he invited Minhyun to strike her and hurt her as he forced himself inside her would haunt her forever.

"There are so many reasons behind my decision to bring you here, Y/N, that was just one of many, but now it's different, you don't have to if you don't want to" the boy's sincere voice brought her back to the present, Jimin was really trying to make her understand, "And you don't know how much I regret what I did that last night, I was a monster" he said taking it out on himself and once again the girl found herself split in two.

"I... I thought you were, but after Choi Minho and his henchman...after they..." god, she couldn't even complete the sentence, "I understood who the demon was between you and him, believe me Jimin" she preferred to end the speech like that, clutching herself with embarrassment. She wasn't saying that Jimin hadn't done anything to her, but the thought that he was finally by her side calmed her down and she felt a pleasant warmth surface inside her, she was crazy and she was also accepting it.

The boy understood her shame and with a weary sigh began to lift up the light T-shirt he was wearing, the woman looked at him strangely and interestedly, his defined and luscious abs bewitched her, but Jimin pointed to the numerous piercings and dark ink lines on his arms.

"You don't have to feel ashamed of what happened to you, you were a victim, just like me."

Y/N widened her eyes in shock, what did he mean?

With indifference in his eyes, Jimin began to explain.

"In the past I met a young girl, it was night and she was coming back from an evening spent having fun with her friends, a drunk man had attacked her and I stepped in to save her.... I didn't know that my action would also doom me, I just wanted to do a good deed.... but she was part of the wealthy Choi family and was convinced that she could have it all, and by everything she meant me too, she was obsessed and I at the time was a kid committing a few petty thefts here and there, nothing too serious, but it was enough to be labeled as society's trash, no one would notice I was missing, and it was all too easy for her to convince her rich and powerful father to kidnap me and make me her prisoner," the boy's jaw tensed at those memories, "I was under that woman's power for four years, like a toy."

"Jimin, you don't have to do that," she pleaded in a broken voice.

"I don't want there to be any secrets between the two of us, Y/N," he smiled slightly, wiping away a tear from her eyes, "She used to keep me tied by one ankle at the foot of her bed, said I was her prince in a cage, at other times she would call me a dirty dog and I would pray that she would finally let me go free, but she would always burst out laughing... she didn't smoke, but she would always light a cigarette and put it out on me when she wanted to punish me or just vent about something, I was her outlet, I was instead taken to the dungeon when I behaved "badly," she would order her father's men to beat me and sometimes I wouldn't eat for days."

The girl gently brushed all those piercings, each of them hiding that kind of wound, Jimin closed his eyes under her gentle touch.

"Her cravings eventually matured and she forced me to have intercourses with her, but I never came, she blocked every sensation, she made me disgusted," he hissed, "I hated all Choi and all women looked like her to me."

He inhaled softly, wiping his sweaty forehead, something in those memories - his demons - made him react that way.

"Seokjin had some things to settle with Choi Senior and when he saw me, he asked for me as payment to settle what Choi still owed him, it was a lie, he saved me and then exterminated everyone in that house, seeing what he had managed to do only because he had wanted it that way, he convinced me to join his family, I began to have real sex with all the prostitutes who roamed the Dark Moon, the only difference being that I was the one with the upper hand now, I used them to unload my lust and I treated them badly because they reminded me of her all too well, that bitch, I could see it in their eyes the desire to use me to live a more comfortable life," he chuckled without amusement, "Then you came along and turned my world upside down, you unnerved me with your purity, you rejected me and I wanted you instead, it was frustrating, with you I wanted to do everything I had always recommended not to do with anyone and I hated myself."

"What do you mean?" she now stared at him with fascination, in front of her was a man who could finally understand her.

"Love you. I wanted, no… I want to love you."

"Jimin, I-"

"Don't answer me now," he shushed her by pressing his soft, irresistible lips to the girl's sweet ones, "Whether you love me back or not, just wait a little longer, even if it takes fifty years if necessary, just...don't ask me to give you freedom, I can't do that."

That was the love Park Jimin could and wanted to give her; passionate, tender ... possessive, selfish.

As she watched the boy leave the bathroom she found herself longing for that sick love, but one she absolutely needed to feel safe.

122 notes · View notes

cloudninetonine · 9 months

Text

A Player's Aid: Chapter 14

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N: WHAT'S UP FUCKERS- shorter chapter but it's fucking here

Warnings: Bad language, descriptions of panic attack, descriptions of nightmares, descriptions of drowning/choking/suffocating, descriptions of hallucinations, mentions of possible PTSD

In the warmth of the afternoon sun, the people rejoiced.

Some kneeled to kiss the grassy earth beneath their shoes, others hugged and sung thanks to the goddess to see the light of day once more and others merely eased their tense bodies to the welcoming breeze, eyes closed in bliss. Freedom. Finally, they had reached freedom after those terrifying, grueling days stuck in the confines of that age old library.

The Hero of the Four Swords looked towards the castle in worry.

“Any sign of them?” The sailor asked nervously, eyes also trained on the grand palace. “Cook hasn’t picked up on the slate, no matter how much I’ve tried to contact him with the stone.”

The worry brewing in the smithy’s gut only seemed to burn at those words. “Not at all?”

“No.”

The eldest seemed the most panicked of it all. The Old Man held that mask of stoicism well but masks were not made in likeness, their duplicity was still noticeable under a scrutinising eyes and the blonde could see the worry in his gaze. The way he seemed to pace on the spot, how his hands twitched against the hilt of his sword and his eyes stayed fixated on those towers of stone a little too long. Time fought it, of course, and if the ‘accusation’ came that he was fearful in this moment it would be met with a burning glare and swift denial.

“I do not fear when I know you are all capable of holding your ground, especially against that monster.”

But not all of them were his descendant, were they?

Ever since that dreadful day, the Ranch-hand laid in a bed not of his own making, the darkness of the Shadow’s blow seeping into his bloodstream and slowly draining the soul from his weakening body as he edged closer and closer to death. Only a few terrible hours, but enough to air out the grievances with them amidst the worry and frustration. The Four Sword Hero and the Hero of Wild had fought but that had come to pass- however the light shone on the topic of ancestor and descendant could not just be pushed aside.

The Hero of Time had become…stricter with the farm boy. Obvious to them all, the man had taken his role more seriously then. All could see it, the nervous light dancing in his eye when he sent the brunette on an errand or watched him battle a monster with the strength of a Hylian Ox. The very thoughts of fighting the very thing that had nearly sent him to the gates where the Golden Three held eternal paradise was probably eating the Old man alive, concern gnawing at his gut like a dog chewed at its bone.

The Hero of Time knew that the others were capable- but did he think the same of his successor?

The Four Sword Hero could also see that the question mingled in the mind of the Ranch-hand too, albeit the Old Man did try his damndest to not show it in front of him, especially knowing that stubbornness that seemed to last generations in his family.

The Skyloftian Knight had told him, even when he stood, bleeding out and wobbling, he would not yield his position as hero on that day the Shadow struck.

What an idiot his brother was, sometimes.

“How much longer could they be?” Gilda muttered to herself, the fairy having joined them when she had seen them return from their side quest. “Maybe I should go have a look-”

A huff silenced her.

“Maybe our resident witch has bewitched them,” The veteran’s words came offhanded but he could hear the loathing and wariness in his tone- he did not wholeheartedly believe his accusation but the Vet knew how to weigh down his words. “And given them over to the Shadow just like they probably planned-”

“Veteran now really isn’t the time for such words.” The Skyloftian Knight’s resort sliced through the air and had almost made the Four Sword Hero jump. When had he appeared behind him? “Can you not for the moment?”

“I am just saying-”

“Hey, there they are!”

Necks snapped, Four’s included, in the direction of where the sailor had begun to sprint. Nowhere near the castle gates but instead in the West, five forms appearing in the distance- four walking and the last hanging off the back of one of them.

The heroes plus fairy rushed over without a second thought.

“Are they dead!?”

Wind had exclaimed those words in a moment of panic, eyes wide in a morbid curiosity as they glanced over your paled face in the light of the afternoon sun- you seemed still too. Not moving an inch.

“No!” Wild cried in similar horror, “They fainted! That’s all!”

Gilda didn’t need her brother’s prompt to rush over, her gentle green glow whizzing around your hair in an effort to heal whatever ailed you in that moment.

“We had to take a shrine, there was no other way-” Twilight’s words had come out slightly slurred, his own face looking pale along with the Captain’s and the Traveller’s- Four couldn’t blame them. The Sheikah’s magic from the Champion’s era was a strange one. No one quite liked their teleportation magic, too disorientating for them all excluding the wild blonde from his excessive use of their devices. “Uh, my head-”

Gilda went over each one of them carefully as the small group were led back to the rest, the people of the settlement offering their own help in the form of potions and such of any kind as they rushed about to make an impromptu camp. After all, the skulltula had torn apart most of their settlement already and left them with almost naught to defend themselves with. You were laid to rest on a bedroll, tucked in under a blanket with the careful touches of the Traveller and Champion before all were gathered to talk.

“I’m glad to know you are all okay,”

Time’s voice sounded heavy with both relief and concern during the rush, looking over the group after they were tended to by a maiden scholar with knowledge of medicine- she had practically demanded to help in return for saving her life. “And I’m glad to see you were able to rescue our guest- but what of the Shadow?”

The four shared a look. “It…retreated.”

“Wait. Seriously?”

“Yes, as soon as it reached the light, it seemed.”

“But the light has never stopped it before.” The Hero of the Four Sword brought a finger to his chin in thought, a slight flash of purple dancing in his eyes. “Even when taking the form of a beast, it still stalked the lands when the sun was highest- why stop this time? What could have possibly been the reason?”

The group shared an inquisitive silence.

“Well, the sun has never stopped it but it has seemed to grow weaker under its gleam.” The group glanced over to Sky as he sat himself up on his rocky seat, “Think about it, those many moon cycles ago- The Captain didn’t have much action when he and the Shadow had exchanged blows but when Ranch-hand- I…uh…”

Twilight rolled his eyes, “Just spit it out, knight.”

“Right, uh, anywho- when the Ranch-hand had fought with the monster it seemed to have more power in the oncoming dusk.”

The veteran straightened. “Dusk does bring more shadows than pure light. It would make sense.”

“But what of our time in the forest?” Hyrule asked, “It was darker, more shadows in the shade of the trees- it didn’t seem that strong then either. Angry, but not too powerful.”

Twilight playfully nudged Warrior’s shoulder. “You can thank our Captain for that.”

“Oh hush.”

Sky spoke up once more, “I think Fi’s light may have been the reason, we all see how it reacts to her power. It’s afraid. After all, she was made to seal the darkness and the Shadow is that- darkness.”

They let those words sink in, sharing looks with wild thoughts prancing about in their heads.

“...It didn’t feel that powerful.” The Hero of Hyrule glanced over to your form, situated comfortably in your bedroll and looking much more healthy compared to your earlier sickly expression. “Angry. It was certainly angry and almost suffocatingly so, but the power behind its shifting form didn’t really feel all that…there. I think that’s why it didn’t chase us further and I think that’s why we were able to escape. It’s weak. Too weak.”

“Still strong enough to open a portal?” The eldest didn’t seem all that convinced.

“In the darkness, yes, that’s where it takes its power from.” Confidence bloomed in his gut as the brunette stood a little taller, “The day that (Name) appeared it was late into the night, when it had taken them during our fight the darkness once again overwhelmed the light- these have been the only times that portals have appeared for ages. Don’t you see? It cannot function properly in the sun.”

A sudden wave rolled over the Hero of Time. Dark and guilty, his eyes of ocean blue swirling with conflict as he gaze ran over to your unconscious form. He hadn’t discussed what he had done those few days ago, a secret between both you and his descendant that he wasn’t quite ready to disclose to the group- now was the time however, no matter the look he knew the traveller and (now) the cook would burn into him.

“I have a confession.” Eyes tethered to his form in an instant- no backing down now. “Those days ago, back with the camp at Fort Hateno- I had a plan.”

The Twilight Hero sat straighter- The Old Man continued. “It was intentional, leaving our guest to fend for themself because I had a suspicion that the Shadow was watching us.”

The Hero of Hyrule’s breath stuttered in growing horror and anger. “...what?”

The Wild Hero practically leapt to his feet. “WHAT!?”

The roar grabbed the attention of the nearby settlers, Twilight moving to stand and grab his shoulders. “Champion, please-”

“They told you they could not fight!” The traveller cried, interrupting. “They told us all! They told you and you saw what happened! You did that! That was your fault!”

A few flinched at such a raw blame but the Old Man kept his shoulders squared, face stoic. “And I take full condemnation for such an idiotic plan- but it proved it. The Shadow is watching us.”

The cook ground his teeth, “You didn’t need to see something we all already believed.”

Time would have laughed at the irony of those words- he really did replicate the Ranch-hand in so many ways. To sound like him in this moment would have usually made his heart warm if not for the seething anger behind his tone.

“Seeing is better than believing, we all know that,” He sighed, “But that’s not what I wanted to say- that monster was further proof that the Shadow’s power wavers in the light of the day.”

The smallest hero raised a brow. “How so?”

“It’s positioning- the monster led our guest right towards us, why would it do such a thing? It knew it would take a few of us only moments to cross that river, the Traveller proves that, so why closer? Unless-”

“Unless it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.” The Captain looked up at the realisation, “The Shadow messed up.”

“What does that even mean!?” The champion snapped, throwing his hands up. “The Shadow always messes up- if it were successful in any way it would have killed us all already!”

“It was successful with taking (Name) wasn’t it?” The eldest turned to him. “Both times, both in darkness but when it summoned the Chuchu it messed up. Why did it mess up that time? The only possible explanation is the light.”

The cloud of realisation rained heavy on them all.

The sailor crossed his arms, “But the Shadow was summoning all those monsters! I understand if it was weak in the light but the traveller is saying that it’s weak full stop. This wasn’t just a small camp of monsters, this was an entire herd. Surely in its weak state it shouldn’t be able to summon that many, right? And if it can, shouldn’t it be able to step into the light? It must have enough power for that if it can make a small army.”

Taking a deep breath to control the rage burning in his chest, the Hero of Hyrule spoke once more. “We might not have all the clues here, not yet. But I still think it’s weak, even in that display of horror and intimidation, the power that it gave off felt smaller than it had been for a while.”

“Let’s not forget that it has been months since we last saw this monster.” The Ranch-hand had finally managed to calm his protégé, the blonde more grumpy than enraged. “So that must mean something.”

Silence finally hung.

Their talk was informative, ideas flowing around them all. The Shadow had been pushed to the back of their mind during this long time of rest with nothing to show from its end. They had travelled all over the Champion’s era searching for monsters, for stories, for rumours and for portals but not a whisper in the wind. This sudden return had certainly shook them all but they knew it had been coming, maybe not that day they had found you at the base of that tree, winded and bruised but it was inevitable that the Shadow would one day return.

It would never give up that easily.

A shaky whimper caught their ears and heads turned to your direction, face pinching and lips shaking as you made more noise of distress.

Hyrule didn’t hesitate to move towards you, as did Wild, brushing past the Ordonian Hero to make his way over.

“Are we gonna go check out the castle again?” Wind asked after a moment.

Time shook his head, “No, however we shall in the morning.”

“Okay,” Wind pushed away from the tree he had been leaning against, jogging over to your position too.

After a few following moments of silence, the remaining heroes decided to part also. Twilight stayed by the side of his ancestor however, watching them all go with a heavy heart before turning to look at the eldest as he rested his head in hands.

Time sighed. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to make this up to them.”

Twilight’s hand rested on the older man’s shoulder- it was almost odd to be his comforter when it was usually the other way around. “Just give them time, ancestor.”

And that was that.

----------

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

Your hands clawed desperately at the ooze, fighting its weight as it dragged you further and further into the expanse of nothing. Kicking your feet had proved useless, you made no distance in your efforts, only continuing to sink deeper and deeper with no knowledge of where you would end up.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

Where were you? How did you get here? You had opened your eyes and suddenly you were bombarded by the overwhelming feeling of the black sludge surrounding your body. Trapped, no way to fight it. With the consistency of molasses yet versatile like water, you only continued to sink with no hope of resurfacing.

You could not scream.

You could not cry.

You could only wait.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

Then you felt it- the hand wrap around your calf. Sharp nails digging into the skin of your leg as it captured you within its grasp. You could not flail in panic. You could not fight its grip.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind.

You reached your hand out, begging for someone to save you from this horrid fate. You didn’t wish to die in such a torturing way. Unaware of it all.

But it began to drag you down.

And you were going to die here.

In this horrible, drowning, choking, blinding nothing.

Drowning.

Choking.

Blind-

Your hand was grasped and you spotted it- the light. Seeping through the darkness in smaller beams that grew bigger and bigger as it began to haul you up, up, up- the hand on your calf tried fighting but with this newfound hope in your system you did not yield. Tightening your own hand, you pulled your weight up to greet the surface of the never-ending sludge.

Surviving.

Breathing.

Seeing.

You broke the surface with a heavy gasp, spluttering and coughing. Light surrounded you opposed to the darkness that you had been submerged in and you raised your eyes to look at your savour.

Eyes pooled with kindness looked back.

“(Name)-”

You sat up with a choking gasp, clutching at the blanket encasing your chest.

Eyes wild, you searched the area desperately for traces of that suffocating nightmare only to see that you were laying in a forest, as lush and as green as many were in a scene that slowly brought you back into reality. The trees wavered in the wind, the grass stood tall and you were not drowning in darkness.

Bodies were strewn about the small camp, a fire centring them all. Wild and Hyrule laid only inches away from your sleeping mat in their own, their soft snores light on your ears as you watched them with your pacing heart slowing to a resting thump. Looking around, you could spot a few more of the boys sleeping away with the settlement in the far distance, their torches beacons in the dark.

The dark…

You gulped, glancing around. Surrounded by it, eating away at the borders of your camp, it almost seemed to be watching you, studying you. The light of the fire was the only thing that fought it back, your savour in these desperate times- desperate? Why would it be desperate? Nothing was there.

Unless that nothing was something.

Unless that something was the Shadow.

Cloaked in pitch black, red eyes staring at you from beyond his veil of gloom. Was this what he was waiting for? The night to snatch you up again? Your cockiness would surely lead you to a tortuous death with not an ounce of glory to your name. You had provoked him and now you were destined to die a cruel end.

Something shifted beyond a shady bush.

Your heart kick started with a twisting leap.

You didn’t want to die like this. Not after everything had happened. You had been saved- you were safe! He couldn’t hurt you now! This wasn’t fair!

You pushed yourself to your knees, hellbent on running.

No, this wasn’t it. Not after escaping your fate.

The world muffled as blood pumped loudly in your ears, your shaky, uneven pants returning tenfold as wild eyes stayed focused on the shaking bush. You were not in between trees, you were back in that hallway. Winding and dark, as you watched the shadows slowly seep round the corner with its demonic host just only a few paces behind.

You could not fight but by God you could run.

Eyes peered through the darkness.

You inhaled in suspense.

A fluffy dog pushed its way through the bush.

And suddenly, you were back on the outside.

Collapsing back into your bedroll, you shook. Your pillow muffling your terrified sobs as you heaved and wailed into the comfort of the plush cushion.

It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real. The castle laid quiet in the background within the darkness, the trees acting as a fence between you and your near murder scene. Your mind may have still pushed that horrible notion but you needed to fight it with logic, with a clear mind. Even as tears cascaded down your hot cheeks you needed to see that you were indeed fine, you were indeed safe.

You did not need to add PTSD to the long list of things already wrong with you.

Something gently made contact with your head, the familiar feeling of a wet snout softly burrowing into your hair with frantic sniffs as the canine studied your shaking figure. Nipping at your skin with careful precision as to not actually hurt you, the animal whined and collapsed into a big fluffy heap right next to your shaking body- a boundary between you and the darkness.

After a few moments, you glanced at it.

“...Wolfie?” Wolfie, or Twilight as you knew under the disguise of Twili magic, tilted his head curiously at you. “...what are you doing here?”

The wolf quietly barked- a squeak with maws snapping.

“Right…you can’t talk…” Sniffling, you hiccuped on a breath and reached your hand out carefully, fingers making contact with the poofy fur decorating his chest. “....you’re soft.”

Another quiet bark, you giggled this time at the noise.

“I’m sorry…were you patrolling?” He hummed a whine that you could only believe was a ‘yes’, your head coming to rest upon his paws in an act of seeking comfort- you hoped you weren’t making Twilight uncomfortable. “Sorry for getting in the way.”

Wolfie rested his head atop yours carefully.

“I just-...” You teared up once again, shaking. “It’s so dark and I just couldn’t-”

A deep sound came from within his chest, not a growl or grunt, but a long soft hum that had you fall quiet with only sniffles leaving you. You were tired, you were scared and you wished you were back home with your Mama.

Mama.

You wanted your mama.

She would have held you, even through her grump after you woke her.

“I want my mama,” You sniffed, “I want go home- I hate this fucking place.”

Tightening into a ball, you cuddled closer to the canine. The hero did nothing to fight it, in fact, he pushed his body closer to your own as he curled around your frame protectively. Like a blanket of safety, he kept you covered and made an effort to shield you from the horrors of the outside world. You were not alone in this nightmare, you did not have to isolate yourself and suffer.

You cried yourself to sleep.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu #linked universe imagine #player au #a player's aid

318 notes · View notes

noirflms · 9 months

Text

୧ ˚₊ WATCHING HIM FADE AWAY — geto suguru

all you can do is stop and stare as you watch him fade away.

geto suguru is not himself anymore. he isn’t the geto he used to be, he is no more the cheery boy he used to be, the boy who used to sing out gojo’s name like a melody unknown, he wasn’t the boy that would worry for all anymore, he was no more the boy that loved you so.

he has a heart and that he knows, but it no more dwells in the work to good for the mankind, instead it dwells in the pursuit to destroy this very being.

man may be a mortal, but for the very soul and mind of it is driven by desires, he has come to hate it. he doesn’t like the way mankind has flourished to be so cruel, he hates that they are nothing but a mere burden to the earth, a curse that needs to be lifted up from the face of the earth.

he doesn’t like the way he is thinking right now, he doesn’t like the way he has come to despise his very race. the very thought of destruction is like poison to the mind, but he has no qualms against the idea of ending the human life, for they are nothing but souls that give birth to curses that not many can see.

"what’s on your mind?" your voice brings him out of his stupor, his eyes looking into yours, and they always make his heart falter, he is too in love with you to be in denial, but he is not a man that would burden a being like you with his foul thoughts.

but he should have knows better about you.

you had noticed. you were always there. you saw him be lost in his mind since the day he had come back with satoru, with the dead vessel in hand. he had not been him since then. you noticed the way he had stopped eating, his body becoming much leaner than it used to be, his eyes not as bright as they used to be.

you saw as he lost his spark, the will to be the good was diminishing within him, and it was the fear of what he could become, began to eat you inside and out.

"nothing." the answer of his is like an arrow shot in the dark, he doesn’t know if it has hit the target or not, but he has let it go, aimless it has become. but you know better than to believe his false words, you know him better than he could ever know himself.

and this was the last conversation you ever remember with him. a glimpse of it comes around every now and then and you had wondered if you could have said something more, maybe you could have made him change his mind, maybe he could still had been with you, he could have been beside you.

but you have learned not to dwell on the past in the jujutsu world. you had learned to be cold to deaths of many. even if you had to watch geto become something he was not, you were told to hold your silence, it was his revelation, he was on his own on the path of realisation, you could have never held him back from it.

"sensei! have you seen gojo-sensei?" you eye the pink haired male that peek inside your room, eyes blinking sheepishly as he asks for the whereabouts of the white haired male; one who never seems to stay still on his feet, always on the move.

you chuckle, "i haven’t seen him, yuuji-kun." and it was all to have the boy thanking you and running away. it’s been years since geto had changed his mind, years since you had last seen him. you catch a glimpse of him in your dreams every now and then, but you know he is no more there, and he wouldn’t return you.

your nimble fingers caress the cloth in your hand as you continue to fold it. it’s his old uniform, it’s not your room either as you look around, you sat in his old room, kept out of bounds for anyone to enter; but only you and satoru.

the room still emits with the scent of his musky perfume, his shirt still have the scent of his. the cloth hasn’t given out yet, they were as good as new. geto’s room is untouched, his stuff still kept here, some photographs you thought he would have thrown away were kept like they would have been long ago. you smile to yourself when your eyes catch sight of a photograph of you and him – your very first winter with him.

you swallow hard. the lump in your throat heavy as you relive a moment, you could have changed. but you were to lost in the deaths of many you could never comprehend to know of what geto has seen and been through.

and so you had watched him become someone he was not, you had watched him become a being, he once would have despised. you watched as he fades away, you watch as he becomes someone so out of reach, slipping through the seams of your fingers for you never held on.

geto could have been a great man, if he hadn’t scummed to his thoughts.

#౨ৎ ⋆˚｡⋆ 𝒔.tamped #geto suguru went through a lot man 😔😔#jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sorcery fight #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto angst #geto scenarios #geto imagines #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #geto drabble #jjk angst

145 notes · View notes

sidekick-hero · 11 months

Text

dying on your lips is how I wanna go (kiss me you animal)

Summary: Robin breaks her ankle and Steve's chance at a dance with Eddie at her wedding with it. Good thing there's always a second chance for true love.

Robin and Nancy's wedding was an emotional roller coaster for Steve, and he's not sure if he wants to kiss or curse Robin. At the moment, both sound equally good.

The day had begun with him wondering if he was going to die alone, probably after slipping in his bathtub and being found weeks later, already rotting away. The bittersweet ache of watching his best friend and platonic soulmate marry the woman he thought he'd marry someday had been hard to bear, and he'd been convinced he'd end the night drunk and sobbing on the bathroom floor.

Instead, Robin had given him the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. He knew the guy, Eddie, wasn't exactly a gift because Robin had hired the wedding band without a thought for Steve. Still, he'd like to think that deep down, she did it for him, and he could kiss her for it.

Eddie had checked all of Steve's boxes and had single-handedly created a few new ones as well. The dark, curly hair and big, soulful eyes had been what had first caught Steve's attention, followed by the mesmerizing way he played his guitar, talented, nimble fingers dancing across the strings that made Steve think about how he'd like them to play his body in the same way. And his voice. Steve could still feel heat spreading through his body at the thought of that voice.

But what had made Eddie different, truly different, wasn't the way he looked or his sinful voice. It was the way he cared. He had been so nice to Steve, so sweet and interested in him, his attraction obvious without being sleazy. No, he had made Steve feel seen, like he really wanted Steve and not just another pretty body. And yes, maybe Steve was as easy as some of his exes and one-night stands had told him, but in his book, that was enough to make the first butterflies tentatively flap their wings.

When Eddie's bandmate had called Eddie back to the stage to do his job, he had been disappointed, but then Eddie had come back and asked Steve to save a dance for him, promising him a later for which Steve was giddy to take him up on.

This is where his desire to curse Robin comes into play.

Because Robin was one of the smartest and bravest and most wonderful people he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he would die for her. But by God, whoever thought it was a good idea to let her drink and then dance a fast, upbeat song with Nancy should be slapped in the face, hard. Steve would even volunteer. Robin-actual-babygiraffe-Buckley was an uncoordinated mess when she was sober. Add several glasses of champagne on an empty stomach to the mix, and it was a wonder there hadn't been more casualties.

She and Nancy had been whirling around the dance floor in a flurry of flailing limbs, both dizzy and drunk, when Robin had tripped over her own feet, slammed into a table, and broken that table along with her ankle. Eddie had been there, right behind Steve, helping him dig Robin out from among the splintered wood, trinkets, and flower arrangements.

Eddie had examined Robin for injuries in a way that looked calm, collected, and competent, and Steve had swooned, forgetting for a second where they were and why.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

It just slipped out, adrenaline loosening his tongue, and Robin slapped his arm, offended.

"Could you please not flirt while I'm dying, Dingus?"

"You're not dying, birdie," Eddie chuckled, clearly amused by their banter and the way Steve seemed to have lost his brain-to-mouth filter. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to go to the emergency room, that ankle looks broken. Better get it looked at before it gets worse."

Steve looked at him with wide eyes. "How do you know how to do that?"

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders like it's no big deal, and that made Steve fall a little harder.

"Oh, y'know, I got beat up a couple of times in school, nothing bad, but you pick up a thing or two about injuries. Then we started playing in bars and clubs, but most of them wouldn't let us just play, they wanted money to get a spot, so I started helping out as a bouncer or bartender, and one part no one tells you about is taking care of drunks who get hurt," he looked down at Robin and smiled teasingly at her, "like birdie here. That was pretty impressive, I haven't seen that much broken in one go in a long time.”

Robin blushed, Nancy giggled, and Steve? Steve wondered how long he'd have to wait before he could ask Eddie to move in with him. Maybe after he took Robin to the emergency room, because he was pretty sure she'd kill him, soulmate or no soulmate, if he did it right now.

Steve scooped Robin up in his arms, earning a yelp from Robin and something that sounded almost like a Jesus Christ from Eddie.

He put her in his back seat, glad that his last champagne had been two hours ago. Nancy took the passenger seat and off they went. As he drove away, he saw Eddie getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. There went his dance and his bright future as a wedding band player's boyfriend.

They had kept Robin for a few hours, checking her out thoroughly at Nancy's vaguely threatening request. Steve called the wedding venue and told everyone that they wouldn't make it back, but that everything was paid for and they should enjoy it. Then he sat back down next to Nancy and waited.

Of course, Robin was fine. Her ankle was broken, but they told her it would heal nicely if she kept her weight off it for six weeks and wore an ugly looking boot. She was even given her own walker.

At 5am Steve fell into his own bad, face first and alone.

The next few days are spent in a moping haze. Steve knows he's being overly dramatic when he whines and pouts every time he goes over to Robin and Nancy's house to help Robin out when Nancy has to work, but he thinks he deserves it. Because something about Eddie had felt real in a way that nothing else had before, and as impossible and stupid as it sounds, he misses Eddie.

And that's why, he thinks, Nancy finally pulls him aside one night about a week after the wedding and asks him bluntly, "The wedding band singer, that's why you're so insufferable, isn't it?"

"Hey, if you don't want me here, I can--" he starts, sounding petulant to his own ears.

"Steve," Nancy cuts him off, that steely undertone in her voice that says she means business, "that's not it, and you know it. We want you here, always. But if I hear you sigh one more time, I will have to shoot you." She raises her eyebrow, waiting for him to interrupt or protest.

He doesn't.

"So I'll ask again. The wedding band singer?"

They stare at each other in silence, and it takes Steve a full 20 seconds or so before he gives in.

"Yeah, the wedding band singer," he sighs. "His name is Eddie."

"Oh, I know. We hired him. Which means I know his name, his full name, and his number and address." Looking into Steve's wide, surprised eyes, she adds affectionately, "Dingus.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eddie is just about to bite into his sandwich, flipping off Gareth's nagging voice in his head telling him that nine thirty is too late for dinner, when his phone vibrates.

Unknown number sent 09:32pm: I got your number from Nancy, I'm not a stalker

Unknown number sent 09:32pm: Or does this count as stalking

Unknown number sent 09:33pm: Shit

Unknown number sent 09:33pm: Oh God, please ignore this

Unknown number sent 09:37pm: This is Steve, by the way. From the wedding you played with your band last Saturday. I don't know if you remember, but we talked before Robin broke her ankle and I couldn't get your number so Nancy gave it to me, and I'm sorry if this is weird, I'll delete it if you want me to

Eddie bounced excitedly on his couch, his face aching from smiling down at his phone and his feet kicking. It's a good thing Gareth and Chrissy aren't home right now because they would make fun of him mercilessly. There was no one around to judge him for acting like a teenage girl with her first crush.

Once that was out of his system, he picked up his phone again and tapped out a reply, trying not to sound too eager, but showing Steve how happy he was to hear from him.

Eddie Munson sent 09:41pm: Course I remember you, Steve. You're hard to forget, believe me.

Eddie Munson sent 09:42pm: This isn't weird, I'm glad you did. How is Robin?

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 09:42pm: Okay, good, I'm glad too

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 09:43pm: Robin is fine, doctor said she'll be good as new in about 6 weeks

Eddie is glad to hear that, too. He had joked about it, but the accident had looked painful. Even though he's still bummed that they didn't get to have that dance, it's good that Steve took care of his friend and that she's going to be okay. Maybe they can have that dance after all. Just as he's about to type that, he sees three dots appear on the screen, indicating that Steve is still typing. They disappeared without a new message and reappeared after a few seconds, and after several times of disappearing and reappearing, another message from Steve popped up.

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 09:56pm: Listen, I know we only talked once, but I think you and your band are really great. And there's this fundraiser at my school, we're raising money for a new gym. Maybe you and the guys would be willing to help me out and do a benefit concert to raise more money?.

Eddie deflated. Steve hadn't written to ask him out, but to ask for help with his benefit concert. It was a good thing he hadn't suggested they make up for the lost chance at a dance.

Normally, Eddie wouldn't jump at the idea of playing a concert at a local high school - his old high school, in fact, as Steve and he had discovered during their conversation at the wedding - especially for free. But the thought of seeing Steve again, even if it wasn't like that, made him type an answer before he could talk himself out of it.

Eddie Munson sent 10:02pm: Thanks man, I'll tell the guys you said that. I'll have to check with them, but I'm sure we can swing it. Just send me the date.

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 10:04pm: Wow, that's great! Thanks, Eddie, really. It's next Friday, I thought we'd start the concert at 7pm, so if you could be there around 6:30 that would be great. Just ask for Steve Harrington.

Eddie sighed heavily. He can see Steve's excited face as if he were standing right in front of him and he could tell himself that it was the late dinner all he wanted, but the butterflies in his stomach were hard to misinterpret.

Fuck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve wants to kick himself for making a complete fool of himself as he lies in bed reading over his earlier conversation with Eddie. I'm not a stalker. Jesus Christ, Harrington, that's exactly what a stalker would say.

He's grateful that Eddie has been so nice about all of this. Not that he should be surprised, since Eddie had been nothing but nice and sweet during the wedding. Still, after getting off to a painfully awkward start, Steve couldn't bring himself to ask Eddie to dance, as he had planned. It would have just felt way too weird.

Good thing he remembered the fundraiser next Friday. Sure, he'll have to convince Joyce to allow a concert in the evening, something they hadn't planned, but he's pretty sure she'll be on board. Maybe he'll ask Eddie to go out to dinner or dancing afterwards.

Or both. He'd really like both.

‘In a few days I'll see him again, and this time I won't let him get away,' he thinks as he plugs in his cell phone and puts it on the nightstand.

Steve turns over and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fundraiser is a huge success, largely due to Nancy's impeccable planning skills and the combined efforts of all their friends, most of whom don't even work at the school.

Jonathan, another of Nancy's ex-boyfriends whom they all get along with, is manning the photo booth and his boyfriend, Argyle, is handing out homemade pizza. Their friend Will is drawing portraits for the kids and their parents, while Dustin is doing harmless but exciting science experiments and Lucas is managing the basketball court.

Robin sits at the table with the large donation box, collecting checks and bills and thanking everyone profusely for their contributions. Her walker and crutches are out in the open, and if people feel sorry for her and give a little extra, that's on them. The children will be happy about their new gym and will not care how it was paid for.

Steve, who herds the volunteers and students alike, can't help but look at his watch every few minutes. Robin stopped teasing him about it an hour ago and now just rolls her eyes at him half annoyed, half fondly. It's still not even 6 p.m., the same as it was ten minutes ago, the last time he checked.

He sighs, annoyed at both himself and the slow-moving clock hands, when a voice behind him says, "I heard someone requested a Live Aid worthy benefit concert?"

Steve whips his head around to find Eddie standing right behind him, dressed in ripped jeans and a printed shirt under a leather jacket and denim vest combo that made want pool in his stomach. Eddie in a tuxedo had been mouthwatering, but this? This was downright indecent, his jeans looking painted on and the jacket accentuating how tiny his waist looked compared to his shoulders. Screw dinner and dancing, he wants to take Eddie home. He might even ask him to leave the jacket on.

"Steve? Are you okay, man?"

Eddie's voice jolts him out of the dirty spiral his thoughts had been on and he blinks at him owlishly.

"Eddie, hey. Hi. You're early," Steve stutters, looking for the script, any script, that doesn't make him look like an idiot. "Not that that's a bad thing, not at all. I'm glad you're here."

Steve groans and rubs his hand over his face. Great. So fucking smooth. When he looks up, he catches Robin's eyes across the room and her eyebrow rises before she mouths 'You suck' at him.

"You know what they say, Stevie. A wizard is never late, nor early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

"That's Lord of the Rings!" Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers at Eddie in excitement. "Dustin made me watch it last Christmas, it's really good."

The smile he gets in return turns the tentative flapping of butterfly wings in his stomach into a storm.

"Glad you think so. They're my favorite movies of all time, I watch them at least once a year."

Before Steve can reply, 'Maybe next time we can watch them together,' another man appears next to Eddie, and Steve vaguely remembers seeing him with the rest of the band at the wedding.

He slaps Eddie's shoulder and tells Steve, "Don't believe a word he says. He watches it once a month." He extends a hand to Steve. "I'm Gareth, Eddie's band and roommate. Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you, Steve."

Steve shakes Gareth's hand, catching the glare Eddie gives his friend out of the corner of his eye. He wonders what that's about.

"Thank you, Gare-Bear, for such a valuable contribution to my conversation. Don't you have something to do? Like, somewhere else, maybe?"

Gareth throws his head back and cackles at Eddie's put-upon expression, raising his hands in a placating yeah, yeah, yeah gesture.

"Me and the boys are going to get something to eat, call us when we can set up, yeah?"

Eddie waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I'll call you," before turning back to Steve and saying, "Ignore him. I do it all the time. So, Steve, my beneficiary, where do you want me?"

Everywhere but sucking you off in front of all these families will probably get me fired.

"Um -"

"For the concert? I wanted to check out the stage before I set up with the guys."

"Oh. Yeah, right. Follow me, I'll show you."

On the way to the stage Steve tries to get a grip on himself. What the fuck. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, like his skin was too tight and his stomach was churning with nerves.

As they pass the bleachers, Eddie speaks up from behind.

"Do you know how many times I walked by them and saw some jock or other making out with a cheerleader and made fun of them when all I really wanted was to be in their place?"

This makes Steve pause mid-stride and Eddie walks right into him, causing them both to stumble forward, holding on to each other to keep from falling over.

"Whoa, careful there, big boy, it feels like walking into a brick wall," Eddie chuckles, and it sounds nervous, his hands tightening on Steve's biceps. They're suddenly very close, noses almost touching, and Steve thinks he could drown in those bright brown eyes. He swallows convulsively, his head swimming with how much he wants to close the last few inches between them, and then he thinks, fuck it.

"I was a jock," he tells Eddie, eyes locking with his, wanting him to understand what he's putting out there.

Eddie's eyes widen, searching his for a long moment before he whispers, "Are you - Do you -" his voice devoid of all the assurance and bravado of earlier.

Steve may be slow on the uptake sometimes, but he knows when someone wants him.

"You want to cross out making out behind the bleachers with a jock from your bucket list?"

"Who says I didn't want to make out with the cheerleader?"

Steve licks his lips and Eddie's eyes immediately drop to follow the movement, so Steve just smirks and says, "Eddie? Shut up," and pushes him behind the bleachers, pinning him against the nearest beam and catching his lips in a bruising kiss.

Eddie's hands find their way into Steve's hair, gripping it in tight fists, and it stings in a way that makes his hips jerk forward, a gasp coming from his mouth that sounds more like a moan. Instead of using the opportunity to slip his tongue into Steve's willing mouth, Eddie uses his hands in Steve's hair to control the kiss, to make it slower, softer. Gentle. He moves his lips leisurely against Steve's, exploring their texture and shape before letting his tongue slip out to trace the pronounced dip of his Cupid's bow.

Steve melts into Eddie, surrendering himself as he sinks against his warm, inviting body. They kiss and kiss and kiss, the slide between their mouths getting wetter and hungrier.

"Fuck, I never thought I'd get to do this. You're a dream come true, Steve Harrington."

Steve dives back in, kissing him with everything he has, thinking, I never want to wake up.

#steddieweek2023 #steddie #steddie fanfic #fluff #first kiss #teacher!steve #musician!eddie #modern au #stranger things #my writing

172 notes · View notes

frankenkyle19 · 11 months

Text

A Lesson In Vulnerability

Request

warnings: mentions of murder, ooc James (my bad), angst, and probably grammatical errors

word count: 1.4k

(gif is not mine, again, found it on Pinterest)

It was hard. Being trapped in a hotel for all eternity with nothing to do. Boring as hell. Nearly unbearable. James had made it better. Given you nearly everything your heart desired. You had been one of the spare few who had resided in the hotel without getting killed by the infamous Mr. James Patrick March.

No, you had come to the hotel to end your own life, not expecting that it would backfire, trapping your soul within the confines of the property.

It was a boring existence. One in which you wandered the halls, hoping to come across someone worth talking to. That’s exactly how you had met James. You had stumbled into his suite right as he was in the middle of dispatching his latest victim. The sight should have scared you. Should have made you turn tail and run, but dying had changed the way you saw things. You weren’t afraid of him. Instead, you were curious.

Your relationship only grew after that day, but it would be many years before James gave in to his desires and took you to bed, truly making you his. You were the first person he’d shared such intimacy with after his falling out with his dear wife, who you knew as the countess. You’d only been in her presence a handful of times over the years of which you resided in the hotel.

James had confided in you his desires, his secrets and fears. He truly trusted you with the knowledge of which he gave. He was still closed off, though and you figured he always would be in a way.

For example, you had never seen him break. Never seen a single tear drip from his beautifully dark eyes. Never so much as seen a mournful look on his face. You didn’t know if he just never showed it, or if he was truly lacking such emotions. Would you become like that after spending centuries as a ghost? Or did James already have that darkness in him?

That’s exactly why you were in for the shock of your undead life when you opened the door to his suite and found him on his bed, head in his hands as he cried. His shoulders shook from the force of it. At first, you wondered if he’d been hurt, but no… that couldn’t be it, he couldn’t hurt as a ghost. At least not physically.

He startled when he saw you, having not heard you come in. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands and cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. He knew you had seen him crying, but still he tried to cover it up.

“Darling, I wasn’t expecting you so soon-“ he stood up, looking at you intently, his usual pale face a bit red from crying.

You wanted to know what was wrong but you didn’t want to pry and risk upsetting him more. You decided it would be best not to ask, but as soon as you turned around to leave and give him space, he grabbed your hand. When you faced him again, a fresh wave of salty tears began to form in his eyes. He looked absolutely distraught and you wondered what thing could effect a man like him so much.

“Please stay, you mustn’t leave. You can’t leave like she did, I won’t allow it.”

At first, you were confused by his words. Who? Who left him? But then it clicked: The countess. His wife. You knew the story well by now, but seeing him so upset by it made it all the more real.

“I won’t leave James, please talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, which took you by surprise. You were ready for him to completely refuse you and your ‘sappy words of comfort’. You just wished he understood that even a man like him could be broken, and could be put back together with the comfort of someone else. He didn’t have to deal with this all on his own.

“It’s my anniversary. Nearly a century together my dear Elizabeth and I.” He swallowed hard after the words left his lips, as if they physically hurt him to speak aloud.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What have I said about talking?! Talking does no good, talking is futile. It cannot change the past and it will not solve the future. Therefore I see no point.”

You wanted to scream right back in his face. Call him a selfish man who, even after beginning his relationship with you, pined after his estranged wife who couldn’t care less about him. You knew she hated him, and she had her reasons. He had done awful things to people she loved.

But you didn’t yell back. You were calm, after all you knew that he was only yelling because he did not know how else to expel his emotions. He’d never been taught, and he’d been stuck in a past that didn’t fit the world he now lived in.

Instead, you put a hand on his shoulder, which seemed to surprise him. He was so used to pushing people away that just the mere fact that you stayed sent a whole new wave of tears to spring up in his eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid of vulnerability, James.”

“But my father said-“

“Your father isn’t here, James. You are your own man, don’t let him keep haunting you.” You looked up at him eagerly, cupping his pale cheek and wiping the remaining droplets of tears he had missed. His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, no doubt his feeble effort of trying to pull himself together.

“Let it go, James. It must be so hard keeping it all inside for so long. You don’t have to be like that with me. Whatever you need, I’m right here.”

Carefully, he laid his head on your shoulder. You could tell this kind of physical touch was foreign to him. He was so used to roughing up bodies, he had forgotten how to gently touch one. To savor the feeling of another’s body against his in a non sexual or violent way, just a loving, gentle and caring way. He finally did let a few silent tears slip from his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you as well. He was taller than you, so he bent at the knees to better hold you. This was what he needed, for you to just stand there and let him hold your body, to remind him that not everything in this world had to be so rough and harsh. That he could enjoy being gentle too.

“I miss her.” He whispered, voice muffled against your shoulder as he seemed to squeeze you impossibly tighter, body nearly molding itself against your own.

“I know you do. You loved her so much, you still do.”

“How can you handle it? Knowing I love another woman, and yet you stay with me? Knowing I could never love you more than I love her-“

“I’m willing to settle, James. I’d be a fool to let you go. You’re such an amazing man. There truly is no one like you.”

You felt hot tears drip onto your neck, sliding down to wet your shirt no doubt. It was incredible how silent his cries were, and it made you wonder, with a bit of sadness, how he had perfected this silent cry. How many nights had he been crying alone to finally silence himself?

Never again, you decided. Never again would he have to cry alone in his room over the loss of love, the loss that looked over him like a thunder cloud filled with such heavy weight that it nearly crushed him. He had you now.

“Darling, you’re too kind. I do not deserve such kindness.”

“Nonsense James. You deserve just as much as anyone, if not more. I wish I could find the words to tell you how much I care for you.” You held him a bit tighter, rubbing his back before sliding his jacket off of his slumped shoulders. He needed to relax.

“Come lay with me James.” And with no resistance, he obliged, kicking off his freshly polished shoes as he crawled into bed. He seemed a bit confused when you started spooning him. That was usually his job when he was in the rare mood to cuddle.

He ended up relaxing into your arms instantly, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath.

As a ghost he couldn’t sleep, but he felt at peace for the first time in a century. All because someone took the time to see through his hard exterior and comfort him.

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #american horror story rp #james march x reader #james patrick march imagine #james patrick march #ahs hotel #american horror hotel

129 notes · View notes

marichive · 5 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Daenerys Targaryen in A Clash of Kings , the second book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ Every man who sees them will want them. ❞

❝ No man may take them from me while I live. ❞

❝ They are not strong, so I must be their strength. ❞

❝ I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. ❞

❝ However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face, they must see only their queen. ❞

❝ I would name them for all the gods have taken. ❞

❝ Perhaps we are doomed if we press on, but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back. ❞

❝ I must be strong for him as well. ❞

❝ Do you know what this place might be? ❞

❝ When the gods are gone, the evil ghosts feast by night. Such places are best shunned. ❞

❝ Perhaps I should do the same to remind them that his strength lives within me now. ❞

❝ If I had wings, I would want to fly, too. ❞

❝ We should rest here until we are stronger. ❞

❝ There are ghosts everywhere. We carry them with us wherever we go. ❞

❝ It pains him to speak of her. ❞

❝ Was she beautiful? ❞

❝ I thought she was a goddess come to earth. ❞

❝ I did things it shames me to speak of. ❞

❝ He wants me. ❞

❝ He can never have me. ❞

❝ Seek no more. You have found them. ❞

❝ If you see anything here that you would desire, you have only to speak and it is yours. ❞

❝ Come with me and you shall drink of truth and wisdom. ❞

❝ The young queen is wise beyond her years. ❞

❝ The crow calls the raven black. ❞

❝ They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world. ❞

❝ When they see, they shall lust. ❞

❝ Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power. ❞

❝ She speaks truly, though I like her no more than the others. ❞

❝ My place is here at your side. ❞

❝ Only you can serve me in this. ❞

❝ I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by. ❞

❝ He will kill you, sure as sunrise. ❞

❝ He was a traitor to his true king. ❞

❝ Let the whole world know my purpose. ❞

❝ I am not the frightened girl you met once. ❞

❝ Dragons die, but so do dragonslayers. ❞

❝ I see a deep sadness written upon your face. ❞

❝ They listened, but they did not hear or care. ❞

❝ Tell me what they said to sadden the queen of my heart. ❞

❝ They said it with great courtesy, to be sure, but under all the lovely words, it was still no. ❞

❝ He distrusts everyone, and perhaps for good reason. ❞

❝ Will nothing turn you from this madness? ❞

❝ I have given you my home and heart, do they mean nothing to you? ❞

❝ He asked me to marry him again. ❞

❝ I am afraid, but I must be brave. ❞

❝ Heed the wisdom of those who love you best. ❞

❝ Warlocks are bitter creatures who eat dust and drink of shadows. ❞

❝ Let me walk with you in this dark place, to keep you safe from harm. ❞

❝ Take my arm and let me lead you. ❞

❝ If you value your soul, take care and do just as I tell you. ❞

❝ Our little lives are no more than the flicker of a moth's wing to them. ❞

❝ Listen well, and write each word upon your heart. ❞

❝ I am in the presence of sorcery. ❞

❝ Little princess, there you are. ❞

❝ Come to me, my lady. ❞

❝ You're home now. You're safe now. ❞

❝ Let him be the king of ashes. ❞

❝ The dragon has three heads. ❞

❝ Long have we awaited you. ❞

❝ The docks are no place for lady's finery. ❞

❝ They know who I am, and they do not love me. ❞

❝ You need not go alone. ❞

❝ You have seen dark visions. ❞

❝ I have dreamed brighter dreams. I see you happily abed, with our child at your breast. ❞

❝ I will not wed you. ❞

❝ But where am I to go? ❞

❝ You need only say that one sweet word. ❞

❝ Men have looked at women since time began. ❞

❝ Worms have crawled up your nose and eaten your wits. ❞

❝ Only fools would stare so openly if they meant me harm. ❞

❝ Pay him before he kills himself. ❞

❝ Did I break your hand? ❞

❝ Put down your steel! ❞

❝ Who is it that I owe my life to? ❞

❝ You owe me nothing. ❞

❝ I let each man cut me once before I kill him. ❞

❝ You will accord all respect to my people, or you will leave my service sooner than you'd wish, and with more scars than when you came. ❞

❝ He would have you. ❞

❝ I want every man who sees them to know the dragons have returned. ❞

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay memes #rp prompt #inbox memes #[memes ; mine]#[memes ; for muse]#[memes ; general]#[memes ; sentence]

44 notes · View notes

swampofiniquity · 1 year

Text

Mercy Me (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Trying to get back into writing and posting, as well as obsessing over the Re:4 remake, so I wrote this little thing.

Rated: Teen

Word Count: 1,630

Cross-posted on AO3

Summary/Warnings: Takes place right before and after the events of Resident Evil 4. You are a bartender and Leon is your favorite customer. Leon x gn!reader, alcohol consumption, Leon is obviously lonely and needs someone to take care of him.

Masterlist

"Wait, hold on, you're telling me you just snuck out of that women's house through the window?"

Leon shrugged, knocking back the last of a Knob Creek triple that should have been a double, but he tipped so well that you didn't mind giving away a few over pours now and then for him. Well, that and he had a habit of nonchalantly dropping just the most insane, quietly compelling anecdotes that you actually looked forward to your midweek closing shifts at the bar when he was in town.

"She had a roommate. I didn’t want it to be awkward."

"At least tell me it was on the first floor?" You had stopped pretending to even be working at this point, the wash cloth in your hand having long since gone dry and useless against the still sticky spot on the bar top.

He hesitated a moment, a cute flush creeping on his cheeks as he scratched the back of his head. "Uh, third floor. It was fine though, the apartment had a fire escape."

You let out the laugh you’d been holding in since you’d finally nagged loose the story behind his latest romantic excursion with the last person you’d observed him leaving the bar with. You couldn’t help but flash him a smile as you heard his answering self deprecating chuckle. “You certainly are an interesting man. Need a refill?” you asked, half turned to go fetch the bottle again from the counter behind you.

“Nah, I should probably call it. I’m actually traveling out of town for work tomorrow morning and I’ll hate myself later if I don’t hit the hay soon.”

“Fair enough, I’ll cash you out.” As you moved to close his tab at the register, you were practically vibrating with the need to ask. Nearly an entire year had passed since Leon had first visited your bar and while you wouldn’t hesitate to call him a friend, he played everything so close to the vest that you had no idea what the hell he did for a living, other than it seemed to pay decently and he’d disappear for weeks at a time, often coming back with a hitch in his step or a new kaleidoscope of bruises. It worried you, not that he didn’t seem capable of protecting himself, you’d caught peaks at the piece he kept in a holster under the jacket he always wore.

But it made your friendship seem oddly lopsided with how often he’d lend an understanding ear to your troubles taking over the family bar after your dad died or your less than successful efforts with the local dating pool. You were an open book, a heart on your sleeve kind of soul.

You could only guess where the man across from you would keep his own heart. In that holster perhaps, nestled behind his gun. Or maybe off his person completely, tucked away in a footlocker somewhere. Hidden in the dark and solitude, not out of nature or preference, but out of survival. His life had to have been lonely, you’d never seen him leave with the same person twice and there was never any mention of even a coworker, let alone a friend or any family. In your experience, most people drinking alone after midnight on a Wednesday didn’t have anyone waiting up at home.

If they had a home to go back to at all.

“Don’t bother, this should cover it.” While you were embarrassingly lost in thought, Leon had fished a couple of bills out of his wallet and slid them across the bar. You grabbed them as he turned, stretching his back out before turning for the door. “Have a nice night.”

“You too, have a safe trip!” But you couldn’t keep back a shout when you opened the till to complete the transaction, finally counting the money. He’d given you $200 for two middle shelf drinks.

“Wait, Leon! You gave me too much.” You waived the money back to him, attempting to beckon him back over with a smile. “Should I be worried about how much you’ve had to drink, giving me a 500% tip?”

“I’m not drunk, and it wasn’t a mistake.” He paused, flipping his collar up in preparation for stepping outside into the cold. “Save that stool for me until I get back.”

With that, and a quick head pat for your dad’s old bar dog Max, Leon stepped out into the night, leaving you with a giddy pit in your stomach.

Someone was pounding on the door downstairs.

You had dismissed it at first, chalking it up to just another sound from the storm raging outside and trying to fall back asleep, but then Max started growling from his orthopedic dog bed by the radiator, heaving his old bones up to howl at the window. Heart pounding, you gingerly pulled back a sliver of the curtain, catching sight of a familiar motorcycle parked crookedly on the sidewalk outside.

You didn’t think twice, throwing on a robe over your pajamas and flying down the stairs to the private side door of your apartment over the bar, flipping the multiple deadlocks and stepping out into the freezing rain to find Leon soaked to the bone, leaning up against the front door to the bar like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Leon,” you called out over the sudden lump in your throat. He’d been gone for almost a month and you’d been lowkey terrified that he wasn’t coming back this time. No matter how confused you were at his reappearance, you felt tears sting your eyes with relief.

You watched as he started, wheeling around and squinting through the rain and darkness. He mouthed your name before moving towards you, limping so alarmingly that you lunged forward to grab him before he could fall. He was heavier than he looked, body shaking with the cold or something else you couldn't tell. “Just my luck, you wouldn’t be open tonight, huh.”

“You know we always close early on Sundays. C’mon, you’ll catch your death out here.” You were both soaking wet and dripping onto the threadbare welcome mat when you finally managed to coax him inside your apartment, just as another huge clap of thunder vibrated the windows of the old building. “You rode here in all that?”

“M sorry, didn’t know where else to go. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the storm blows over, I promise.”

“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll put on some tea.” You froze as your sock gave a nasty, wet squelch as you made a step towards the stairs. “Shit.”

The storm raged for hours, but neither of you seemed to notice once you finally convinced Leon to stop apologizing for ruining your night. You’d found some of your dad’s old clothes in your closet for him while his own were tumbling away in your ancient dryer. After you both were warm and dry, you made some black tea for the two of you, splashing in a bit of whiskey and some fresh lemon to fight off the chill from the rain.

He didn’t explain where he had been and you didn’t ask, content to sit with him quietly as he sipped his tea and absentmindedly pet Max, the dog leaning happily against his legs.

“So this is where you grew up, huh?” You startled a bit at the sound of his voice cutting through the comfortable silence, looking up from your mug of tea to find Leon staring up at the old photos on the fireplace mantel across the room, the smallest smile twisting up the corner of his lips.

You tried not to focus on the new scar that marred his smooth cheek, positive he hadn’t had it last you saw him, and tucked your feet up under you on the couch. “Yep, my dad too. My grandfather bought the bar off a guy when he got home from World War II. Almost ran it right into the ground too, until he hired my grandmother to do the bookkeeping. They got married after less than a year and my family has lived here since. The portrait in the middle is from their wedding.”

To your surprise, Leon stood up, poorly hiding a pained grimace as he limped to the mantle, picking up the picture in question. “You look just like her.” The charming smile he sent you over his shoulder gave you butterflies. Until he replaced the frame and instead of returning to the couch, started perusing your other family pictures, much to your horror.

“I guess so, but hey-” You jumped up, latching onto his arm and applying gentle pressure until he turned his attention back to you. “Don’t look so hard at all those, I’m not sure I’m ready for you to see my awkward highschool phase.”

“Aw come one, I’m sure you were cute.” He winked and his eyes looked so much bluer up close in the low light of your living room.

“Yeah, well maybe I’ll let you see them if you tell me what’s going on with you,” your words gradually dropped in volume until you ended on a whisper. You could feel Leon stiffen. “You can’t just show up like you did at someone’s doorstep and not offer any explanation.”

“It’s not a very nice story,” he replied softly, reaching out to touch the necklace at your throat. You held your breath as he turned it over, righting the chain you hadn’t noticed was twisted.

“I’m a bartender, more than half the stories I hear aren’t very nice. Try me.”

Leon heaved a sigh, scrubbing a palm over his face before nodding. “One condition: got any more of that whiskey up here?”

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 remake fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #please be nice im rusty #i may or may not have a spicy idea for a follow up if anyone is interested

311 notes · View notes

nonotnolan · 1 year

Text

An Excellent Choice

Dedicated to my valentine, the lovely @mergeman

-----------------------------------------------

“You still sure you want to do this?” Brad texted. Finn had already spent most of the bus ride on his phone, so he’d already finished reading the message by the time his text notification had finished chiming. “It’s okay if you get cold feet. I won’t be offended. ;) I promise!”

Finn couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “sounds like ur the one w cold feet” he shot back. “i already told u were doin this” Granted, he would have been lying if he’d said that he had no fear... but Finn had worked through all of that hesitation when he purchased the bus ticket. He’d spent far too much time and money on this offer only to back out now.

Brad was offering $150,000 to a like-minded young soul who was willing to merge with him. The man was pushing 60, and was hoping to absorb enough youth to try life over again. For his part, Finn was sick of scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, and if that meant giving up 20 years of his life, well... at least he was being reimbursed for it. Five years of his current job’s wages was no joke, and the funds would go a long way towards buying a reliable car, and maybe even a down payment on a house.

And anyway, it wasn’t like he was going to disappear. Rather than opting for the type of merge that put two men into one body, this would be one of the more experimental versions where two people combine all of their traits, and each person becomes the average value. Finn stepped off the bus and started looking around the agreed-upon meeting place to see if the other man was here.

“Guess I’ll tell my bank not to stop that money transfer. I really didn’t think you were going to show up, but here you are.” He watched as an older gentleman strolled up to him, looking very out of place in dark navy sweats. More impressive was the raven black hair, which looked very out of place given his wrinkled skin and frail figure. “What, you’ve never seen a man desperately cling to youth with hair dye before?” he asked, clearly used to the stares. “We can’t all have vibrant hair color, Finley.”

“I’m used to your kind trying to over-compensate with fancy cars,” Finn admitted, unable to pull his eyes away from the older man’s thick beard. “And my name is Finn. Respect my name, and I’ll respect yours. Bradford.”

Brad threw his head back in raucous laughter. “Oh yes, you are an excellent choice. Come here!” Brad pulled him in close, and started to kiss him full on the lips. It took Finn a few moments to realize that the odd sensation in his mouth was Brad’s tongue, and a few more moments to realize that the kiss was how Brad was planning to perform the merge. His height was one of the first things to go-- he no longer needed to bend down to maintain contact-- and his skin felt a bit stiff as it tightened with age. But it was the beard that really felt odd.

Brad’s facial hair crept onto Finn’s chin and worked its way up his sideburns like some sort of crawling ooze, while a smaller tendril grew up toward his nose to form a mustache. The sudden itch of new hair under his nose was a bit much, and Finn briefly opened his eyes. The man in front of him was clearly a few decades younger, which could only mean he was now a few decades older.

“Just a bit more,” Brad said, panting for breath. “We need to even out our hair color, and I think our weight is still a bit uneven. Once we’re done we can stop by the courthouse and file all the paperwork.” Finn nodded in understanding, and leaned back in for another kiss.

-----------------------------------------------

“Is it normal for hair dye to completely vanish when a merge has finished?” Brad asked, as they sat in front of a mirror in the lobby of the County Recorder Clerk. “Our hair should be a combination of the two inputs, but it’s like your red hair and my former brown hair mixed together, rather than the deep black I was dyeing it to be once it started to go gray.”

Finn just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know why you’re asking me. You were my first merge. I didn’t even really register that this was a technology that existed until you reached out to me. I’m just glad we just look like twins and not, like... cloned copies of each other.”

“I’m just glad I got to keep my piercings,” Brad said as he absent-mindedly traced the heavy stud with his finger. “Sorry if you didn’t want to deal with jewelry. Yours look small enough that it would probably heal shut in a few weeks.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Finn admitted, still getting used to the idea that the man with the thick beard was his new reflection and his new body. “Do you think they would let us change our names when we register with the state? I really don’t feel like a Finley anymore.”

“I hope so,” Brad replied, following up with another deep laugh. “I was planning to change my name to Bradley. It won’t change my nickname but, it just feels right somehow. Like our names merged when our bodies did.”

Finn smiled. “I think you’re right. Finnegan sounds pretentious and borderline obnoxious, but... I also think that it’s my name, now.”

Brad responded by slinging an arm around his shoulder, giving Finn a supportive squeeze. “I think it’s an excellent choice.”

#male body merge #male body transformation #twinning

297 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 1 year

Note

I may have no money but I would offer my soul in exchange for some more spoils of War

Now that's a Deal if you ask me

I want your soul in my bank account immediately.

Soap had seen Ghost. His body. His face.

He was… shockingly pretty. Soft dark hair that fell in his eyes. Strong jaw. A pretty nose, even if it was a bit crooked from probably being broken in the past.

His eyes suited him.

More than that, he saw his body too.

The brand on his back made him sick. It was a name, that was clear but Soap hadn’t been able to figure it out. The entire mark had been blurred as if scratched at. All those scars…

Soap had felt such a rush in that moment. A need to protect him as if Ghost wasn’t one of the most capable people he knew. He just knew that if it came down to it, he’d bloody his hands if he met the person who’d do this.

Then Ghost’s arms were around him. Holding him tight. Ghost’s breathing was steady and if Soap hadn’t seen the look of fear, the revulsion and something that looked painfully like self loathing in his eyes, he’d think Ghost was calm.

He felt Ghost shiver. “Are you cold?”

“Yes.”

Soap swallowed and gently ran his hands against Ghost’s arms, feeling him shake and shiver. He believed Ghost was telling the truth. That he really did just keep Soap here so he could keep him safe. Maybe it was naive to.

Ghost stared at him, looking so tragically sad. Soap cupped his face again through the cloth.

“I lied to you.”

“When?”

“I… I stared at you while you were drunk. I wanted more but I didn’t… You were…” Ghost had reached up and grabbed Soap’s face between his hands. It sounded like hail marys. Penance for what he’d done. That harsh hunger came back to his eyes. Something that must eat away at him. “I wanted to touch you. I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t leave. I don’t… I don’t want to be him.” Ghost sounded so desperate. So sad.

“You’re not.” Soap reassured, setting his head on his shoulder. “You’re a good person.”

“I killed someone who couldn’t even fight back earlier. I turned him into a lesson.”

Soap couldn’t exactly argue with that. “Well, you’re a good person with me. Treated me with a lot more respect than I’d receive anywhere else at the moment. More respect than I would’ve given you…” He knew he’d never do this to someone. The idea of a much younger Ghost being treated so cruelly was revolting. “Thank you.”

“Don’t. I beat you. Captured your team. I wouldn’t have had to protect you if not for my decisions. Please don’t thank me.” Ghost looked up and away from him. Soap pressed into his neck, putting his arms around him. He ignored the pain sound he got from Ghost as the man tried to press even closer.

“Simon.” Soap said softly, gripping him tighter. The air around them changed and started to crackle as both men realized what exactly they were doing. He should step back. Ghost was vulnerable. At least emotionally. He had the decency to not touch Soap while he was drunk and Soap should have the same decency.

“Johnny.” Ghost echoed to him, hand going down his back. “Should I stop?”

Should he stop?? Soap was the one that had been throwing himself at him. Calling him pretty. Asking if he thought he’d jump his bones.

“We should.” Soap replied dryly, but he pulled back just far enough to see him. “Take the mask off.”

“Johnny.”

“Simon.”

Ghost gently peeled it off and set it gently on the dresser. Soap traced his features. “Why do you cover up?”

“Don’t want people to see the scarring. Also don’t want them to know who I am.”

“Would many people know?”

“A disturbing amount. Regardless of my reputation, as soon as the mask comes off I’m… boytoy of Roba. Concubine, sex slave, dog. Whatever you wanna call it.” Simon melted into Soap’s ministrations, letting him do whatever he wanted. Soap pressed his lips to Simon’s and he melted into him.

Soap felt that protectiveness come back. The overwhelming urge to keep people safe. Normally it was for his village but right now, all he could focus on was Ghost. His hand tangled in his hair to pull him in closer. The other hand went to go under Ghost’s shirt. Ghost stopped him quickly.

“No.”

Soap nodded and started to kiss along his cheek, feeling Ghost’s hands finally move. They followed the planes of his back and held him closer by his hips. He lost track of time, melting into Ghost’s touch as much as Ghost was melting into his.

Ghost pulled him to bed and they tangled together. Soap felt Ghost’s mouth against his throat, making him shiver. Neither went any farther, both staying right there.

Ghost fell asleep on his chest. Soap hadn’t been expecting it but that didn’t mean he was upset about it. He played with the soft dark hair he had, tangling it around his fingers. God, the man was gorgeous. Who knew the great Ghost was such a bonnie.

Well. He did now. Not many others did.

He tried to ignore how that made him feel fuzzy inside.

Ghost trusted him with this. Maybe it was just because of the forced proximity. Or guilt for having to do this in the first place. He still did. And that was so exciting to Soap.

He kept running his hand through his hair as Ghost slept. Maybe he could convince Ghost to not wear it while they were alone. Hopefully.

If Ghost got him to protect him, it was unlikely he’d let his sisters fall into bad hands. He should try to get more info when Ghost woke up. His hand settled between Ghost’s shoulder as he closed his eyes.

Sleep came quickly and this time, he didn’t dream.

Ghost had already gotten up while he had slept. The windows no longer had light steaming from them so it must’ve gotten dark outside.

He stretched and felt his back pop.

Ghost heard him and was in the doorway in moments. Masked again, but not quite as tense.

“Morning.”

“Morning…” Soap smiled at him, noticing for not quite the first time, that Ghost softened just a tiny bit around the edges when he did.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah. We should sleep together more.” Soap winced when he realized the double entendre there. “I mean, on top of each other.” That wasn’t better.

Ghost laughed, covering his mouth despite the fabric already doing a damn good job of muffling him. “I get what you mean, MacTavish.”

“Does that mean we’ll be doing it again?” They hadn’t even had sex but Soap still wanted it to happen again. Maybe more. If Ghost would be willing.

The idea of Ghost in his traditional clothing meeting his mom flashed in his brain and he bit his cheek hard to keep from laughing. Or worse, liking the idea.

Ghost looked away and for a moment, Soap thought he was upset before realizing no. He was shy.

Soap’s heart did a funny fluttering thing in his chest.

“Y’er quite a braw looking man, m'eudail.”

“English, MacTavish.”

“Bet you’re a brasser under there.”

“English!! I don’t know what that means!!” Ghost growled.

Soap laughed and stood up. “Braw looking means attractive and brasser means flustered.”

“And the other one. Meudail?” He butchered the pronunciation so bad Soap almost winced.

“M’eudail.” Soap said softly. “It’s not an O sound.”

Ghost repeated it. “M’eudail.”

“Quick learner.”

“That doesn’t tell me what it means.”

“Well. Technically it means cattle.” Soap smiled, wanting to tease him.

Ghost narrowed his eyes.

“But when you use it for a person, it means darling.” Soap laughed and Ghost flushed deeply. He could see the red across the little bit of skin he could see.

“Ah. But you… You call..”

“Yes. Does the nickname make you uncomfortable? I can stop?”

“No. I like it. Just… not in front of others. I don’t want to be called a cow.”

Soap laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t. I don’t think anyone here can understand half of what I say anyway though.”

Ghost nodded and moved closer, putting his head on him.

“Ghost. Do you know where my sisters are?”

“Yes. They’re with… I don’t want to call her a friend. But they’re safe. I think they’re basically working as maids right now.” Ghost pulled him in. “She’s nice.”

“Who is she?”

“Maybe its best you don’t know.”

“Simon.”

“Her name is Valeria?”

“My younger sisters are with that bitch???”

“See this is why I said it was best you didn’t know.” Ghost pulled back, clearly amused.

Soap was not amused. “She’s known for being fucking evil!! For taking scores of slaves and you’re saying its fine?”

“They’re safe. And all paid. And she only takes slavers as slaves. She believes in divine punishment, just she’s the divinity part.” Ghost reassured. “I talked to her when Shepherd first tried to sell them. They’re safe.”

“I”m going to kill him. I want him dead.” Soap hissed.

A deafening silence followed those words. Ghost’s eyes just… shut down. A complete and utter blankness overtaking them.

“Johnny. Don’t say things like that.”

“You… You hate him. You…” Right? Did Soap read something wrong?

“Don’t speak like that. It could be a problem.” Ghost said very quietly. “Understood?”

Soap didn’t understand. There was no way they’re being listened to. They were in Ghost’s home. Alone.

“I…”

“MacTavish. Careful, alright?” Ghost glared at him.

Soap didn't understand.

#call of duty modern warfare ii #soap call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #soapghost #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #spoils of war

141 notes · View notes

unreadpoppy · 6 months

Text

To Win the Princess's Heart - Chapter 1

Raphael x OC (Genevieve)

Summary: Raphael is a bastard, having no title or land given to him by birth, but he has managed to make a name for himself, gaining success. However, ambitious as he is, Raphael wants to be more than just a wealthy bastard, he wishes to become a party of the nobility.

To achieve that, he decides he’s going to seduce like the most wanted bachelorette in town, Princess Laverna von DeWilde. The only trouble is getting through her older sister, Genevieve, who can see beyond his lies.

(Bridgerton season 2 inspired AU).

A/N: Althought Bridgerton is set in the Regency period, I don't like the regency period, so I tried to go a more victorian era route. Also, I'm not going to be following canon that closely bc then this wouldn't work as I want to. Anyways, enjoy.

Read on AO3

Dearest Reader,

As we enter the most exciting months of the year, good news have arrived. Her Royal Highness, Princess Laverna has recently celebrated her twentieth birthday, and her parents are already intent on finding a good husband for her. Traditionally, the oldest daughter would be married first, but having seen as princess Genevieve was incapable of forming a match, her sister shall have to fill those shoes. The expectations are high, but as more and more suitors leave the palace with sour faces, one must ask:

As beautiful and charming as the princess is, will she score a husband before the season ends? Or will she fail just as her sister has?

Yours truly,

The narrator.

~~~~~~

The long winter had ended, the snow melting away and allowing the flowers to bloom once more. Spring had arrived, and with it, the social season had begun. During this time of year, the daughters of the aristocracy who become of marrying age would be presented to society, in hopes of scoring a husband by the end of the season.

Even if the royal family was no longer responsible for governing, that being the Council of Four’s job, they still served a symbolic role, and it was during times like this where they shined. As per tradition, they hosted the first ball of the season. This year, it would take place in the household of Prince Theodore, the King’s fifth and youngest son.

During the ball, the ladies would wear the best dresses they could find, hoping to be asked for a dance. The men would chat and drink, and should someone catch their eye, they would quickly make their way and ask for a dance before any other could.

One of the gentlemen attending the event was none other than Raphael. A bastard son of the Archduke Mephistopheles, lands or titles were not in his birthright. Everything that he had accomplished, that he owned, the reputation he had, had been of Raphael’s own making, and of that, he was proud. If in the Hells he was seen as nothing more than a half-breed, amongst the humans, he made a fortune providing solutions to any poor soul that found itself in need of help.

Now, although Raphael was a wealthy man, he still had his ambitions. He wanted to move up in the social ladder, he wanted a title. Of course, being the devil that he was, no king in his right mind would freely bestow Raphael a title. Now, he had come up with a plan to do just that. Tonight, on the opening ball, there was one young lady he would keep his eyes on:

Princess Laverna von DeWilde.

She was a half elven maiden, with fair skin, dark blond hair, green eyes and freckles across her face. Tonight, she was wearing a lovely green gown. Laverna seemed to charm everyone in the realm.

Laverna was also the second daughter of Prince Theodore. Being the beloved granddaughter of the reigning monarch, Raphael was sure the girl could convince her grandfather to make him a duke, if they were to marry.

Raphael was standing at a corner of the ballroom, sipping on some water and analyzing the people when he was met with an old friend of his, Lady Korilla Hearthflame. She approached him and struck up a conversation.

“Will you try to fight for the princess’s attention tonight?” The dwarf looked at the dancing floor, where Laverna had been spun by several different suitors.

Raphael smirked at the question. “It won’t be much of a fight. Look at them. ” He pointed with his chin towards the male guests. “All I need will be one dance with her, and the girl will be charmed.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be your ‘competition’ that I’d worry about. Her sister’s the bigger problem.”

Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed with that comment, but before he could ask, he noticed how the current song was nearing an end, finally allowing him a chance to dance with the princess.

He pushed his way through the mass of men, until he was right in front of her, extending his hand and bowing. “May I have the honor of this dance, your highness?”

Laverna nodded and took his hand. While they danced, he asked. “Tell me, princess, have you found any suitors yet?”

She chuckled. “Plenty, my lord, but none that interested me.”

“And what would you be looking for? A wealthy man? One who could provide for you?” He spun her. “Or a charming young man, to swipe you off your feet?” In truth, he asked those questions to better know what she would want from a potential partner, so that he could prepare himself. While he waited for a reply, he couldn’t help but feel as if there were a pair of eyes watching him closely.

Laverna mulled on the question for a second. “I want much more than that. I want love. True love. To find someone who completes me. I know it may be silly, but I want to be courted.”

“I understand.” At this point, the dance approached its end. They bowed to each other, but before he left, Raphael held one of her hands and kissed it. “I hope we see each other soon, your highness.”

He noticed her blushing cheeks. “I hope so too.”

Raphael smirked as he made his way to the garden outside. Arriving there, he found Haarlep passionately kissing one of the guests, a white haired male elf. When the devil made his presence known, by cleaning his throat, the two of them quickly let go. Noticing Raphael wanted to speak, the incubus told the elf “Go back inside, we’ll speak soon.” The man nodded and brushed past Raphael on his way out.

“Haarlep, I see you already found entertainment here.”

“What is it that you want, Raphael? Don’t you have a princess to seduce?” They asked, with their back turned to him, clearly annoyed to have been interrupted.

“I have.” He replied. “And I just finished dancing with her.”

Haarlep turned around. “Oh. And what did you think of her?”

“She is delightfully naive. The poor thing wants to be loved.” Raphael scoffed. “Love. What a terribly human emotion.”

“My oh my, will the great Raphael give up his pursuit then?” Haarlep replied. “Afterall, you wouldn’t be able to provide what she desires.”

“That’s where you are mistaken, my friend.” He faced the incubus. “I’ll make her fall for me, lure her into my den, and only after I get my title, will she realize it was all an illusion on my behalf.”

Haarlep’s eyes suddenly widened as they looked behind Raphael and quickly exited.

“I pray that you are not speaking of my sister, my lord.” A female voice, filled with anger, spoke up behind him.

When Raphael turned around, he was greeted by none other than Genevieve von DeWilde, the sister Korilla had warned him about. Now, although the two women were sisters, they couldn’t look more different, considering that Genevieve had been born a tiefling.

She had skin as white as snow, having a fuller figure than her sister, two horns and a tail, light blue wavy hair, and blue eyes. She wore an aquamarine ball gown, along with two opera gloves covering her arms from hand to elbow.

But most importantly, Genevieve looked at Raphael as if she was ready to tackle him to the ground and suffocate him to death with her hands.

“Princess, were you eavesdropping on me? How unbecoming of a lady such as yourself.” Raphael raised an eyebrow, trying to get her to leave him be.

It did not work.

“You ought to hold that tongue, my lord, or unless you wish to lose it.” Before he could reply, she continued. “I heard what you said of my sister, of your foul plan to seduce her, and I will not allow it.” She said firmly. Genevieve stepped closer, and although she was shorter than Raphael, her rage made her look more intimidating. Were he a lesser man, he’d cower in fear. “Laverna deserves a good man who will treat her right, and if she wants a love story, then by the gods, I’ll make sure she gets just that.”

Raphael stood his ground, furrowing his brows as his nose scrunched. “I do not appreciate what you imply, your highness.”

“I am saying that you are a scoundrel and you ought to stay away from her.” By some strange force, it was as if her voice had boomed much louder. When Raphael looked into her eyes, it was as if they had a small glow to them.

For a moment, Genevieve broke eye contact with him and looked around and then down at her gloved hands. After hearing a few gasps, she noticed her mother at a distance, looking for her. She grabbed his coat and leaned closer. “Heed my warning. Should you try anything against Laverna, I won’t let you live to see another day. Now, have a good night.” She whispered, letting go of him and then turned around and left.

Raphael brushed his coat down, furious. No one had ever dared to challenge him like that before. But the little altercation of words had given him more motivation. If moments before he could have been persuaded to stop going after Laverna, now he was determined to get her, if only to spite her sister.

But there was something that left him intrigued. When the tiefling’s voice had boomed, he felt magic in the air. Could the princess be hiding a secret? If she was, he would make sure to discover it soon and use it in his favor.

For now, he thought it best to leave and start planning his new strategy.

#raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael fanfic #raphael x OC #my writing #baldur's gate 3 #raphael x genevieve #haarlep bg3 #korilla bg3 #bridgerton inspired AU

23 notes · View notes

alessiamalfoyzabini · 2 months

Text

Dark Moon | Chapter Seven

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 2,8k

Warnings | +18, torture, beating, violence and threats, slight mention of past abuse, Jimin has much suppressed anger

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Dark Moon is a story destined to get darker and darker, be careful ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

She had gotten out of the Dark Moon business, at night she no longer heard shady footsteps of clients coming and going from the rooms of her former colleagues, nor any alcohol-induced shuffling murmurs from the hallway, the thing still seemed impossible for her to believe.

Over the course of those three days Jimin had not approached her in the slightest, in fact she had not even seen him, there were only the objects he used to testify to his presence in the house. Perhaps she also had to "blame" her time spent in her bedroom, her new refuge.

She hid under the covers wearing the softest and most delicate clothes she had ever had, even as a child she had never been able to afford such things, her childhood consisted of hunger and nightmares.

She knew that Jimin had not given her everything for free, and that soon he would present her with a hefty bill.

But what she did not know was that Jimin had avoided any contact with her to keep his beast at bay.

The idea of having her in his house, the house he had recently bought for her, drove him crazy with desire. He wanted to bang her at every angle of the house, make her his, sadistically thinking that it would be like a baptism for the new home.

Just before he made the decision to accept Seokjin's offer, Jimin was living in a smaller apartment, suitable for a man who lived alone but, more importantly, spent most of his time outside.

He wanted to give her all the amenities necessary and suitable for a young woman like her: a nice, airy room, expensive clothes, a private bathroom, and even jewelry.

Things that Y/N had barely touched except out of strict necessity, but it didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that she was there with him, ready to fulfill his every order when he decided the time was right.

"Earth to Park Jimin, hey... Hyung... Yah, Jimin-ssi!" he roused himself from his thoughts by bringing his gaze to Jungkook; the young man was staring at him with large, doubtful eyes.

It was not only Jungkook who squared him strangely, the others also had one question stamped on their foreheads, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

Jimin sighed, "Sorry, go ahead-were we talking about the Just Bloods?" he rubbed his hands over his face, he hadn't slept a wink that night.

"They took out four of our people, in return we are holding one of theirs hostage," Hoseok said, Jimin raised an eyebrow.

"Only one? At the very least I would have expected carnage from you, Hoseok" Hoseok glowered at him.

"While you were having fun picking out the furnishings of your new apartment, I was attacked without warning, lost men, and it's already so much that I only captured one of them," darted the redhead, causing Jimin's amusement.

"Don't feel bad, hyung, you did a great job capturing the strategist," said Taehyung trying to improve Hoseok's tension.

"The strategist?"

"Choi Kyungi," replied Jungkook, "He is the right-hand man of the Just Blood leader, I'm sure they will be furious now."

"Furious and vengeful, what do we do Seokjin?" Namjoon turned to their leader for an answer; Jin did not even think about it.

"I want him to confess what his gang's plans are exactly, if they attacked us it's because they plan to take control of our territory, but I want to hear it from his putrid mouth," he hissed, "Torture him if it seems appropriate, I want him to confess by hook or crook, these bastards have already dared to do too much."

It did not take a genius to understand that Seokjin was livid with anger. The men they had lost had received a strict military education to be the perfect killers, Jin had invested in them and hated losing money, Jin just hated losing.

The man's grim look was sublime, his feline eyes showed no mercy, much less did the eyes of the remaining Bangtans.

Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook saw each other again in the afternoon at one of their establishments, Choi Kyungi stood there, tied with chains to a wooden chair, the room mostly empty except for some "work" tools they usually used when they had to gouge information out of someone's mouth.

"Hoseok?" asked Jungkook.

"Jin doesn't want him here, he's afraid it might kill him," said Namjoon as he looked sideways at the man with the sack over his head; they had sedated him to keep him quiet for a while and now it was their turn to wake him up.

"I wouldn't even blame him," spat Jimin, tossing aside the black sack covering their captive's face, the bruised face showed a boy who could not have been more than twenty-six years old, Jimin growled in anger before unleashing a punch on the man's well-delineated jaw, knuckles collided painfully on the already abused face, and instantly Kyungi opened his spirited eyes, gasping breathlessly, "Lice striking from behind would piss off anyone."

Namjoon approached the boy, lowering himself to his height, "Choi Kyungi, may we know what the fuck you're planning to do?" he asked trying to be reasonable in tone, he wanted to save himself the trouble of another beating at least that day, but in response the prisoner spat a stream of vermilion blood into his face.

"Fuck you, Bangtan boy," laughed Kyungi with contempt.

For a few moments frost fell in the room, no one daring to move in the face of that deliberate disrespect, Namjoon wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, which he later observed disgruntled.

"That was my favorite," he hissed, the kick that shot straight to Kyungi's stomach was swift and powerful, the man coughed up more blood as Namjoon adjusted the collar of the sweatshirt in question, his tense gaze betraying his apparent calm. That dog had unnerved him, "I wanted to be charitable and save you a lot of beating, but you leave us no choice," he made a sign toward Jungkook, who nodded with a grin, his dark eyes glittered with sadism, and walking confidently and cadencedly on on his amphibians, black as his soul, he went to pick up an interesting object.

It was a spiked bat, which he clutched in the palm of one hand with confidence, his swollen muscles flexing from beneath the light mesh, foretasting the little job that would soon set them in motion.

"You're not going to walk out of here on your own legs, Choi," he laughed softly, showing the bat to Kyungi, who swallowed slightly without blurting out a single word, "You're such a jerk, like those little friends of yours who tried to play with us, not knowing that for Bangtans there is no such thing as forgiveness," he pulled back his mighty arm with speed, bringing the bat down against one of the unfortunate man's legs, who held back no longer and screamed breathlessly, his eyes out of their sockets testifying to the lacerating pain that the bat equipped with dangerous ferrous spines had been able to inflict on him.

He trembled agonizingly with his bruised jaw clenched; he would not speak.

Jimin studied the whole scene over and over again, he had lost count of how many times Jungkook had hit him; with the bat, with his own kicks and punches, nothing, Kyungi was barely breathing. He was only capable of spitting his own blood, soiling even more of the already long gone floor; he was a tough cookie and this Jimin had to admit.

"Stop, Jungkook," Jimin put an end to that torture, Jungkook gasped with his forehead and upper lip drenched in sweat, his dark, brooding eyes seemed unwilling to lose sight of their prey, with his chest swollen with irritation he threw his weapon to the floor, backing away.

Namjoon stepped forward to take his place, but Jimin shook his head.

He had something far more useful than torture or a beating; he could be said to have let Jungkook continue just for the sake of revenge.

He approached the now unrecognizable man, put a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a postcard.

Kyungi widened his good eye, a choked breath caught in his throat.

Jimin smiled serpentinely.

"She's very pretty, Choi," he said softly, "Those chubby little cheeks make my heart melt, I have to admit," he chuckled, waving the postcard, which turned out to be a picture of a baby girl just nine months old.

"How...how" Kyungi stammered without being able to finish the sentence; he didn't have the strength.

"How did I get this picture? Bangtans have their own connections, Choi...as a result I know about your little girl that you left with her grandparents so they would take care of her, you went off to keep her safe and that's admirable, believe me," he said sympathetically, "But I probably wouldn't do the same in your place, who knows how many wolves might kidnap and eat the hunter's family when he leaves the hut to look for more food."

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME, PARK?!" he suddenly ranted, throwing himself at Jimin just enough that the chains could allow him, the idea that his little girl might end up in the hands of those bastards drove him crazy, and Park Jimin looked like the biggest bastard there.

"That should be me asking you, what the fuck do you want from us?" he asked in a low, quiet voice, "You'd better tell us if you don't want anything to happen to Mada."

Kyungi remained silent, frozen. He even knew his daughter's name, how far had he gone?

"Namjoon, take this picture, tonight we are going on a visit to Daegu province, Yoongi and Taehyung know where to go," the boy stretched out the picture of the little girl to his friend, followed by their prisoner's shout.

"I will talk! Fuck!" he whined, "Don't touch my daughter, I'll talk!"

"You'd better start doing that now, because I really don't know what might happen to her if you don't cooperate: our boss might sell her to a rich family that can't have children, as well as he might raise her in our brothel, making her a respectable Bangtan whore in the future," joked Namjoon, "Or he might just kill her, what do you say Jungkook? One way or another, you will never see her grow up."

"He could indeed, once a decision is made Kim Seokjin doesn't give up, not for anything in the world," shrugged the younger man, holding up the game to his friend.

Now in tears Kyungi spilled the beans, "The Just Bloods would never attack the Bangtans for no reason! Shit..." he exclaimed.

"Bangtan never had any contact with Just Blood, what the fuck are you talking about," chafed Namjoon, already fed up with that play.

"Not with us... but with Choi Minho yes," he said, sending a shiver down Jimin's spine, "He provides us with drugs and prevents the cops from giving us unwanted attention, in return we fulfill his favors," he swallowed, "And..." he cast a glance at Jimin, "He asked us to eliminate one person, a Bangtan."

Jimin snickered openly; it was obvious who Kyungi was referring to.

Minho must have really tied his finger the night he had spent at the Dark Moon under Jimin's threats, and he wanted to retaliate with in other ways so as not to get his hands dirty, the idea pissed Jimin off, it was as if Minho was openly declaring that Jimin wasn’t even worth it to be eliminated with his own hands.

That cowardly behavior was intolerable.

"Listen to me carefully, Kyungi," he leaned slightly toward him, "I want to know every thing you have said to each other, the plan you have devised, and most importantly the place where you are meeting," at those words the man tried to shake his head, but Jimin grabbed him hard by the hair, nailing him with one lethal glance, "Maybe we have not understood each other, you will do it or I will personally visit your daughter and feed her to the worms, screwing anything else, understood?!" he blurted lethally, Kyungi trembled from head to toe bowing his head, he had no choice.

Namjoon and Jungkook accompanied Jimin to his apartment first, they had just discussed about giving a bodyguard to the direct concerned.

"No way, I am Kim Seokjin's bodyguard, and a bodyguard with a bodyguard is even ridiculous to imagine," he growled.

"Hyung, a bodyguard is not embarrassing if your life is involved," the younger man tried to reason with him, failing.

"It's embarrassing if I've been trained to defend and stand up for myself, okay? I don't want someone to protect me," he made adamant, causing the other two to snort.

He got out of the car stymied, but Namjoon called him back, turned listlessly, "What?"

"Would you really have hurt that child, Jimin?" he asked, there was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity. In their world they had seen anything and everything, but they had never gone that far.

Jimin remained impassive, before shaking off an uncomfortable feeling.

"It's just the way we live, hyung, no hard feelings," he said in a colorless voice, before turning and leaving.

When he returned to his new apartment waiting for him was a small figure, she held a plate in her hands and on it lay a soft slice of chocolate cake, the girl's eyes widened.

They had not seen each other for days and she did not expect to see him at just such a time, she cast a glance at the wall clock that read two o'clock in the morning. She believed he would not be back by that evening....

She made to set her plate down on the low coffee table, but Jimin beat her to it, slipping away into his own bedroom.

She was petrified, was this the same intimidating man she had come to know?

She asked no more questions, grabbed her cake and ran to her room, to her shelter, before the boy changed his mind and came back to her with the intention of tormenting her.

But Jimin would not return to her that night, he was struggling with the blood that soaked his skin, after Kyungi's confession had made sure the man fully understood his situation, Jimin rubbed his skin under the shower water, bruised with rage.

Minho was not going to get away with this, the son of a bitch had finally moved, now not even Jin would find excuses to stop him from carrying out his revenge.

He thought back with disgust to his captive days spent in the dungeon of the Choi mansion.

His nerves tensed and he narrowly restrained himself from hitting the pale tiles of his bathroom with his fist.

That and more would be reserved for Minho.

He stepped out of the shower with a small towel tied around his hips, his shiny, flawless skin showcasing the man's beautifully fit figure.

He went to bed that way, not bothering to get boxers to sleep in.

He was tired and mentally exhausted, the last thing he wanted was to take one more step.

He closed his thin, magnetic eyes, trying to fall asleep, but in vain. Chaos reigned in his head, a woman's shadow stretched across his memories, and hours passed, hours where he tried to escape her hands, turned over and tossed and turned in bed in a sweat slick. The woman's laughter scratched his ears, while the Choi forefather's smile never stopped taunting him.

He jerked his eyes open staring at the ceiling in the dark, he breathed heavily for air, frustration made him kick between the clean sheets, he lifted himself up holding his head in his hands, a sickening rage that was hard to let go took over his body.

His beast.

He had to let it out.

He abandoned his bed in search of his vice, grabbed the pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, placed it between his fleshy lips inhaling its bitter substance once lit, after three or four puffs he realized it would do no good.

Frustrated and with damp hair in front of his eyes he pressed it down on the ashtray, putting it out in an unnerved manner.

He had developed an addiction to smoking to escape from his problems, but a bad feeling made him sense that even that habit would no longer be of any use, his crisis was not passing and he was going crazy after it.

With one last glimmer of lucidity he remembered her. Y/N.

He widened his eyes, pupils dilated. With his body trembling, invaded by negative emotions too painful to keep to himself, he prepared to reach out to the only life form in the house besides himself.

75 notes · View notes

phantomskeep · 1 year

Text

Putting the "Fun" Back in "Funeral" - Chapter 1

AO3 Link | Next Chapter

Chapter One: Furries, Cannibalism, and... The Goonion?

Danny sometimes wished he could travel through time. Don’t get him wrong! He knows the danger of messing up the time stream (Dan, Desiree, and Clockwork all taught him that much) but there are still times when he would sit on top of a building, staring at the stars, wondering what he would change given half the chance.

Currently, however, he was debating on his life choices while very much not on a rooftop.

White gloved hands shakily grasped broken concrete, slowly lifting his beaten body out of a crater in the middle of some random street. The latest ghost who had decided to try their hand at using Danny as a punching bag was one that he hadn’t encountered before. His usual roster of ghostly enemies still came by, of course. They all visited Amity Park at least once a week - if not more. However, the ghostly entity that Danny was currently facing? He had never seen them.

It was something that had been occurring more and more often. A random ghost would show up, declare a challenge against Danny, and inevitably lose.

As Danny raised himself out of his impromptu resting place, he considered the being before him. Dark, void black skin and fur greeted him. The ghost’s face was an odd cross between a horse’s and a dog’s - a long, block-shaped snout with a mouth reaching right up to under their dark red eyes. Pointed ears flicked wildly back and forth between a long mane that reached just up until the collar of the ghost’s thick golden necklace. The ghost’s choice of clothes baffled the white-haired man greatly; black dress shirt and bright, gaudy golden skinny jeans? Really? Who died and thought that was a good fashion choice?

Yeah, Danny was just as baffled.

The other ghost looked down at the young halfa, “I cannot fathom how you are the one Hotep described to me.” He sneered, clearly mocking Danny. “The great Akuris will easily defeat such a pathetic child.”

Danny gasped, mock-offended. “Well, Mr Tall Dark And Barks A Lot, I will have you know that at least I don’t dress like an accountant in the middle of a mid-life crisis.” He smirked before resting a soul-piercing green glare at the larger ghost floating above where Danny stood. “Or would it be mid-afterlife crisis?”

With that, Danny leapt back into action. He swung a powerful punch directly into Akuris’ long muzzle, causing the dark ghost to be pushed back. Amity Park’s ghostly hero did not relent on his assault, though. Danny followed the other ghost’s backwards momentum to bodily slam into his opponent’s soft belly in a move he often saw Dash pull during his football practices. The twenty-year-old halfa quickly grabbed the Fenton thermos off of his belt loop, taking the opportunity to finally capture the winded ghost.

A great sigh left Danny’s body as he hovered in the air, surveying the damage leftover from the fight between the two. It was well around two in the morning, judging by the placement of the twinkling stars. With a jolt, Danny remembered that today was the day of his coronation - exactly five years after he defeated Pariah Dark.

Originally, Danny had been told he was technically king of the Ghost Zone in the aftermath of the battle. The young ghost had argued with the mysterious time-themed ghost named Clockwork who had appeared and was successfully able to get a five-year grace period of kingly procrastination.

Since then, Danny had grown up a little bit. He defeated his alternate evil self, discovered new powers, traveled through time on Clockwork’s request, graduated high school, took a “gap year” to focus solely on fighting ghosts, and successfully never let his parents or the world know about his ghostly half. All in all, Danny considered it a successful time.

All good things must come to an end, though, the half-ghost thought as he kept staring dejectedly at the stars so far away. He knew that even though he probably should tell his parents what was going on, but the fear of everything going wrong lurked in the back of his mind. After the events of Dan, the young man pulled away from his parents’ bit by bit. It was grief that drove Danny to rip out the most vulnerable parts of himself, after all. If he had nothing to grieve about then he would never be pushed into doing something as drastic as destroying the world, right?

Jazz disagreed very heavily with his mentality, but he was fine with that.

Another sigh left the poor halfa’s body, and he re-hooked the Fenton Thermos to his belt loop. He might as well go back home to continue to lick his wounds before he had to, unfortunately, be crowned king. What a shitty Tuesday.

༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

Later that day, at exactly three in the afternoon, Danny Phantom walked through the ghost portal in his parent’s basement. It felt almost like he was walking towards his own death - a quiet, somber affair with very little fanfare. Danny had made sure no one knew what he was up to; Sam, Tucker, and Jazz all had their own lives to worry about. He was sure that the three of them would give Danny the ass-kicking of the century for making them miss such a big milestone in Danny’s life, but…

Well, from the walk-through of the coronation his ghostly mentors laid out for him, Danny was sure this would not be a pretty affair.

Danny pulled himself from his musings as he stared into the deep green abyss in front of him. The young, white-haired ghost tilted his head forward, letting gravity take hold as the man fell into the Zone like a sort of twisted, backwards Baptism.

Useless lungs pulled in the ambient ectoplasm streaking through the air of the Infinite Realms. A parade of ghosts were waiting for him on the other side, lines of his soon-to-be subjects chanting his name. Ectoplasm-green eyes darted across the various ghosts lining the young king’s path, quickly registering those he knew and didn’t. Many of them wore clothing from various different eras, some seemingly dressed to impress their new ruler. Danny spotted one ghost in particular wearing what looked like a bedazzled bathrobe next to one whose long hair seemed to be braided into their dress. Some of the others who were cheering him on were more animal-like than Danny had come to expect, or were even completely non-humanoid. The odd shadow of a ghostly whale loomed over Danny as he turned his awed face upwards to watch the giant creature sail easily overhead with Young Blood’s pirate ship alongside it. Many loud cheers were heard from the ghostly child’s crew and large booms echoed across the infinite green surrounding them as cannons were fired. Smaller marine afterlife followed closely behind, easily marking the trail Danny had to follow to arrive at his official coronation spot with their different, bright colors.

Even though Danny had gone over what he was supposed to do with his council, he still hesitated a little in the face of all the excited residents of the Zone. He knew, logically, that many were excited for him to take the crown. King Phantom’s reign was projected to be one of peace among the Realms, after all. However, seeing it? All of the souls - passed or created - of the Ghost Zone cheering for him?

Well, it made his core swell with a frosty sense of pride-I did this-they are safe-protect my people. It filled him with a feeling lighter than air and full of confidence, like he was actually making a good choice for once in his half-life.

Danny slowly started moving forward, waving at the Zone’s inhabitants, talking to those he knew. Pariah’s old castle had been slowly moving closer to where the Fenton Portal usually floated in the great expanse of the Realms. What used to be a two-hour flight was now closer to a little under an hour’s walk. So while Danny originally complained to Frostbite about how he didn’t want to slowly make his way there, he realized now the giant ice ghost was probably right when he said Danny’s stroll from his old haunt to his new one would seem faster than ever. It certainly didn’t feel like much time had passed at all when Danny finally laid eyes on the large, ugly castle that was going to be his.

Danny’s first order as king? Tear that eyesore down. Ew.

The thought made the young king snicker quietly, before slightly turning his head to eyeball the thousands of ecto-entities at his back. He scanned the ever-growing crowd under the watchful eyes of his various mentors. He could pick out Ember, Lydia, even that ghost who fought him that morning - Akuris? -, and so many more of his various frenemies watching Danny.

The young man picked his methodical float back up to his new haunt. He could just barely see the figures bobbing at the front doors to the royal eyesore, though he could pick each of the Ancient ghosts out easily. Danny felt his core thrum nervously inside his chest, seeming almost like a heart with just how harshly it pulsed. Underneath his gloves, the white-haired ghost felt sweat start to form. But Danny kept making his way down to the landing where many ghosts were waiting for him to be officially crowned as king.

Danny really, really hoped he wouldn’t make an absolute fool of himself.

As Danny looked up at the stoic figure of Clockwork, the various Ancient Ghosts fanned out beside the Master of Time: Frostbite had a goofy smile on his large face, Pandora wore a proud smirk, Ghost Writer was almost sneering at him as the smaller ghost floated next to his peers. Vortex was grudgingly gazing at the inhabitants of the Realms with his large arms crossed, and, finally, Undergrowth was completely ignoring Danny. Fright Knight, while not an Ancient, was standing alongside the various mentors Danny had throughout the years. Behind the Ancients floated many of the Observants, who gazed upon the Zone with an air of collective anticipation.

Taking a small step, Danny finally presented himself to the various ghosts looming over his much smaller figure. The halfa gave Clockwork a nervous smile, only to receive a tiny nod from the much older ghost. With an awkward about-face, Danny fully faced the entirety of the Ghost Zone steadily. He felt it when Clockwork stepped up to be next to Danny, the Ancient staying in his middle-aged form to address the Infinite Realms and her inhabitants.

“People of the Realms,” Clockwork started, his voice booming over the quickly quieting chatter. “Today is a new dawn for us. Five years ago, Danny Phantom defeated King Pariah Dark through single combat - sealing the King back into his Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. This was a task that the Ancients ourselves struggled to complete in years past,” the blue ghost paused, resting a comforting hand on Danny’s (totally not shaking) shoulder. “And as our laws state, upon the defeat of the previous Ruler of the Realms the new King must take the final step into rulership by consuming all that remains of the preceding Crowned Head.”

Even though Danny knew it was coming, hearing those words out of Clockwork’s mouth made him shudder all the same. When he turned to face Clockwork the young halfa could feel Clockwork’s concern radiating off of him, even as he still went through the process of accepting the box holding Pariah Dark’s core from Frostbite. Danny tried to focus on the box - dark red with black trims, how nice - instead of what he was about to do. This was another part of the whole “you’re going to be king” schtick that Danny complained about greatly.

Eating another person, even if that person was technically a ghost, just felt so wrong to the halfa. Unfortunately, as Clockwork opened the sparsely decorated box, Danny was about to have to become a (technical) cannibal.

Yay.

The white-haired young man cupped his hands like he had practiced weeks prior. Clockwork gently lifted the swirling pearl to place in Danny’s waiting hands. Pariah’s core, despite holding one of the nastiest beings Danny had the unfortunate luck to meet, was honestly a thing of beauty. Dark reds dueled with lighter pinks, with small bubbles of fire and electricity leisurely swirling amidst it all, deep inside the older ghost’s core. Danny almost wanted to shake it to see if it would swirl like a snow globe.

Danny hesitates for a second, glancing up at Clockwork. The ancient being floated patiently, deep red eyes boring into Danny’s own. Ectoplasm-filled air passed through the halfa’s chest as Danny carefully rolled the pulsing core onto one gloved hand, slowly bringing it to his mouth. A shudder racked Danny’s body as he quickly dropped the warm rock-like core onto his extended tongue before hurriedly swallowing it whole.

For a brief moment, Danny only felt the dizzy sensation of nausea before a blinding surge of raw power burst through his chest. His core was practically vibrating with uncontained energy and felt like it was going to push through his chest like some sort of alien baby in a shitty horror movie. The sharp sensation of pain took over Danny’s entire world, his eyes open but unseeing.

It felt like hours had passed by the time the young half-ghost’s thought process was restored. He groggily blinked, attempting to focus on the present. Strength flowed through Danny’s veins - which he dutifully ignored in favor of looking up towards the oppressing castle behind himself. The keep itself was barely shaking, little pieces of rubble spilling into the greenish fog surrounding it. A pulse rushed through Danny’s core and he was in awe as he watched the depths of the Zone light up in tandem. A shaky hand reached up to clutch at the stylized letter displayed on the halfa’s chest - Danny could feel the Zone around himself. Trying not to panic, knowing that Clockwork said this was totally normal, young Danny, he managed to give his mentor a shaky nod.

The other ghost continued on with his speech, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Taking a large, glowing green skull ring from the steady hands of Undergrowth, Clockwork spoke. “With the core consumed, King Phantom will bear the Ring of Rage with a fair and just hand.”

Danny held his quivering right hand forward, watching as the older ghost slowly slid the ghostly artifact over his ring finger. Holding his breath, Danny waited. He fully expected the ring to reject him - who would put him in charge of an entire realm, after all? When the sharp sting of electricity never came, the halfa let out the smallest sigh of relief. His eyes met Clockwork’s own, earning a smile in response.

When Danny casted his gaze back onto the ectoplasm colored jewelry, he was shocked to note the colors and overall shape of it had changed. Before he had the chance to further inspect it, he was interrupted.

“The Ring of Rage is coupled with the Skeleton Key,” Clockwork continued as Ghost Writer presented the glowing key to the other ghost, “and is used to access the many realms connected to our own. The Key allows our Crowned Head to reach any of his subjects in their times of need.” With that, Clockwork waved his hand in front of the artifact. When the key was back in Danny’s view, he could see it was attached to a sturdy-looking chain. The young man ducked his head, letting Clockwork slip the necklace over his head.

Clockwork turned to face Pandora, who was holding a flaming green crown in her hands. He gently took the headwear, before meeting Danny’s eyes. “And finally, to fully become Ruler of the Infinite Realms - Land of the Dead, the Eternal Plains, the Place Between, Heaven and Hell - a crown built from the fires of her core must be placed onto the brow of the Realm’s Chosen. King Phantom, kneel before the people you are to rule and accept this great burden for them. Feel their cores with your own, their obsessions alongside your own, and the Realm will fully accept you as her Crowned.” Gingerly, Danny dropped to his knees like he had practiced. He bowed his head, closing his eyes and waiting for the Crown of Fire’s weight.

When the warm metal touched his head, Danny felt the Zone shudder. As a bright light eclipsed Danny’s form, he could feel the metal on top of him change. In fact, as the young king tried to focus on his newest headgear, he could tell he was no longer wearing the white hazmat suit he died in.

The light faded and Danny took stock of himself. Monochrome rubber had turned into fancy-looking black pants tucked into armored white boots, a tight-fitting white shirt with his logo in black blazed across his chest, and a heavy-fitting cloak wrapped around himself. Danny wanted to inspect himself more - but the feeling of the Zone pulsing through his core brought Danny’s attention to the cheering of the thousands of ghosts around himself.

Danny was flooded with the feelings of happiness-hope-rejoicing-euphoria from around him. The Zone quaked, pulsing purple lights blooming across the infinite green void surrounding its inhabitants. A smile cracked its way across Danny’s face, and he didn’t even try to hide it as he faced his subjects. The speech Ghost Writer drilled into his head fled Danny, and for just a second he floundered. Before he could drown in the bottomless pit that was his brain, another pulse of pure hope shot through his veins.

Feeling like he was drugged, Danny spoke around his smile. “When I was a kid,” he started, “I never could have imagined becoming the King of anything. All I wanted to do was go to space, to see the stars watching over me.” He let out a laugh. Usually, these days, when Danny laughed it was world-weary and bitter. Now, high on the feeling of hope, his laugh was one of joy. “Now look at me! Look at yourselves! We’ve all come so far - and I promise to protect each and every one of you. I will be your star - your light in the dark, your guide to a better future.”

“You are the people of the Infinite Realms, and it is my promise to forever keep you all safe.”

The ghosts of the Zone cheered for him. Pandora flanked Danny’s right side, Clockwork on his left. A cold presence at his back told the new king that Frostbite was behind him. Danny could only assume the other Ancients were also surrounding him, but he didn’t dare look away from the mingling bodies before himself. As one, the Ancient Ghosts let their cores hum, speaking in a language known only to those of the Zone. Before him, Danny’s subjects joined in until a swelling song of hope-peace-happiness-new era flooded his senses, leaving the young halfa to float endlessly in the feeling of pure acceptance.

That day, as a chapter of the Ghost Zone’s history ended and a new one began, a song of hope touched the many universes attached to it.

ヾ( ･`⌓´･)ﾉﾞ

Jason’s day was going pretty okay, so far. He woke up a little before noon, made himself some breakfast, worked out for a few hours, and managed to read an entire three pages of a book before he got a call from his siblings about a potential drug bust. A majority of them had recently began working on chipping away at the increasing amount of drug trading going around Gotham. Ever since Red Hood had taken a step back from his self-appointment crime lord duties, other criminals have been attempting to fill in his shoes. It usually ended in one of Gotham’s various vigilantes drop-kicking said criminals into a wall, but still. Criminals were the worst kind of weed.

So with a grumble that was half for show and half pure annoyance at being interrupted, the man suited up and made a stealthily exit out his window. Apparently he had a pre-”Curbstomping the Newest Pain in His Ass of the Week” meeting to attend with a handful of the Wayne family.

Jason can only hope he doesn’t get stuck with the annoying ones for this.

His day was still going pretty well after the initial run-down of the game plan when he and Dick, who was decked out in his Nightwing wear, finally landed on top of a warehouse’s unstable roof. They were near the edge of Crime Alley and Robbinsville, closer to the docks than Jason’s usual patrol routes brought him. Based off of Oracle and Red Robin’s joint intel, a large shipment of illegal drugs was being delivered to the Iceberg Lounge sometime after dusk. The issue came up when the question of how the drugs were going to be transferred from wherever they were stored to Penguin’s business front.

Which is where the Batkids came in, apparently.

“Comms check,” Oracle started. “Nightwing, sound off.”

“Comms confirmed, reading you loud and clear!” The older vigilante chirped from where he was stretching lazily. “Red Hood?”

Red Hood sighed, speaking up. “All good. Red Robin?”

“Also reading loud and clear. Orphan?”

Three taps cut across the comms, letting the other four know their sister could hear them all. “Awesome,” Oracle started. “Plan A is ready on Red Robin’s signal. Remember - do not engage.”

Hood slowly rose from his crouch, shaking his hands out before letting them rest on the many holsters strapped to his body. “How many times is she going to say something like that?” He stated, words practically oozing sarcasm. “Every single time we somehow manage to still end up in a shoot-out.”

The crime lord could practically see Red Robin’s eyes rolling, “And who’s fault is that, Mr. Emotional Support Guns?”

“Shut it, Replacement,” the Hood growled.

He lazily turned to look at Nightwing, a challenging grin hidden behind the red helmet protecting his face. “Race you, Dickface.” Hood stated before turning east and leaping off the roof in a burst of speed. The helmeted man ignored his brother’s sputtering protests as he tried to keep the small gap forming between the two while they parkoured to the docks in one of the most eastern parts of Gotham.

Jason wanted to laugh, to revel in the feeling of messing around with his older brother. Despite all the bad blood still looming between the rest of the Wayne clan (adopted, blood, “family friends” or otherwise) and Jason, he wanted to make up for his past mistakes with the rest of his family.

Does this mean he fully forgave Bruce for never avenging his death? No.

But did he see the man try. Dick told Jason about the full-body cast their father put Joker in as soon as Batman could. Which was more than Bruce ever told Jason, but whatever. All of the Bat’s kids know he’s emotionally constipated on the best days.

Things were still awkward between all of them, though. Jason talked more to Dick than the rest of the Bat Clan, mostly because he was the only one between the original three who actually apologized. For being a shitty older brother, for not being there, for not realizing Jason was back earlier. Really, the older man practically apologized for everything under the sun one night while Jason stuffed his face full of fries and tried his best to not be emotional. He still needed to talk to the others about everything that happened.

However, that meant emotions and Jason? Jason didn’t do emotions.

He was a cold-blooded semi-retired Crime Lord. Anyone who said he had any emotions besides pure, seething rage was a lying liar who lies.

Even though Jason’s head was practically higher in the clouds than his body was, he was abruptly reminded that he was doing some epic parkour when Nightwing finally passed him.

“You’ve gotten slower, Hood!” The older taunted as he did a theatrical flip between rooftops.

Red Hood let out a frustrated noise, all previous thoughts of his family forcibly shaken from his brain when he rolled onto a gravel-topped roof.

The man could tell by the state of the buildings around him that they were getting closer to the docks. Red Robin and Orphan would be further north than Nightwing and himself. The intel collected had stated there were two locations being used that night; one was a dunce, the other had the actual goods. Red Robin originally wanted to only focus on the location with the actual drugs, but Nightwing was able to convince him to also hit up the secondary location for information. So, that’s what they eventually agreed to do.

Hood looked forward, eyeing Nightwing as the other slowed to a stop at the edge of the last warehouse’s roof before the high-chained fences of the port stood. “You ready to bust some kneecaps?” Hood quipped as he walked up behind his brother.

“But of course,” Nightwing playfully scoffed, “hopefully we got the drug side of things.”

“That’s a sentence that would worry most parents.”

Even with the domino mask covering the older vigilante, Hood knew he was getting side-eyed. “And you suddenly care about what parents think?”

“Not the time, Wing.” The crime lord practically growled. He knew that was a remark aimed at the sort-of hostility between Jason and Bruce. And he was going to be the adult in this situation, thank you, Dick, and ignore what his brother said. “Let’s go ahead and get this over with.”

“Alright, alright,” the other pacified, “time to get our sneak on.”

Hood rolled his eyes, even if they were covered by his helmet. He aimed himself towards the edge of the street between the two vigilantes and the fenced in areas. With a quick drop and a well-timed roll, Red Hood was in a secure shadow cast by the metal warehouse. With a near-silent grunt, Nightwing joined him. The two shared a nod while Nightwing let Oracle know that they were about to enter their targeted site.

The larger of heroes quickly moved across the small, broken down street. Nightwing was half a pace behind him, and the two easily vaulted over the tall, barbed fence unsuccessfully keeping out unwanted civilians.

Silently, they hurried deeper into the heart of the port, easily dashing between long shadows thrown between towering cargo containers. Hood only slid to a stop when Nightwing held up a fist - a silent order to stop. A few months ago, Jason would have completely ignored his brother’s signals and simply shoved his way past him. Now, however, Hood stilled just behind the smaller figure. With a hurried gesture, Nightwing grappled as quietly as possible onto the dulled metal stacked around them, Red Hood quickly following.

Hood watched as five figures turned into the alley the two had just been. Kevlar-covered fingers caught Hood’s attention in swift commands to spread out and attempt to follow the people below them. A quick nod of a helmeted head showed agreement and Hood silently stalked his prey from his perch on top of sea-touched metals. Nightwing slowly slinked the opposite direction, going his own route to cover more ground.

The five people, dressed in stereo-typical “Goon in Hiding Garb” (as Dick helpfully named it so many years ago), continued on their journey between the containers. Their silent observant kept close watch on them, doing his best to listen in on their conversation. A fit of frustration ran hot and angry through Hood’s veins when he realized that, in order to clearly hear what was being said, he would have to plant a bug of some sort.

Which meant he would have to get closer. And Jason? He really did not want to do that.

However, since Hood was such a nice person, he would put his frustrations to the side in order to successfully plant a tiny Batbug. He was just that nice.

Hood waited until his unsuspecting targets rounded another corner to take action. Once the end of his grapple line was securely hooked, the helmeted man quietly slung down to the concrete-covered ground. After releasing the grapple’s hold, he continued after Penguin’s goon squad. He carefully peeked around a corner, took aim, and quickly threw a small robotic Batbug after them. He watched only long enough to see the tiny piece of technology successfully bounce and latch onto one of the goon’s shirt before ducking out of sight. Hood tapped the side of his helmet to turn on the listening device and stood still as voices flooded into his ear.

“-and like I was saying, Sal, some days it’s better and others it’s worse.” A woman’s tone was the first Hood could make out. “Just do what the bossman says, take your cut, and keep your head low. So long as you try to not break a lot of laws you’ll be fine.”

A younger man’s voice followed behind the woman’s, “I don’t know… The pay is good, yeah, but I’m not too keen on being someone’s punching bag.”

Hood could only presume this boy was Sal. While the man wasn’t one to put stock into guessing ages based only on the sound of their voice, Red Hood found it very difficult to even begin to think this kid was of legal age. It wasn’t that surprising, but it did make Hood’s heart ache and begin to feel a wash of rage ebb into his mind.

“Don’ listen ta ol’ Tracy, kid,” a third voice joined, this one with a thick Narrows accent. “Jus’ get the money ya need ‘n get out. Boss ain’t gonna fault ya for tha’.”

There was a small pause in the goons’ conversation and Hood took this opportunity to glance around the corner again. The five of them were further down, far enough where he could confidently follow within the shadows without being seen.

“... Thanks, Mark,” the kid’s small voice made the Pit Rage lingering in the back of Hood’s mind swell once again. Kids shouldn’t be joining the many villain gangs that lined Gotham’s streets so young. He knew it was hypocritical for the Red Hood, once most feared crime lord in Gotham to be saying, but he practiced what he preached. Kids that came to the Hood for help were given it, no questions asked. He did what he could to make sure no child in the Alley went cold or hungry. Red Hood protected his people.

The Penguin did not.

It was this knowledge, that Cobblepot was openly risking the safety of these children, that set Jason off. The leather protecting his hands creaked as he clenched his hands. He was shaking as he desperately fought to keep the rage from creeping into his vision, mentally warring with himself. Blue eyes blinked behind white lenses, still tracking the hazy figures through the toxic green fog swirling before him.

He needed to keep following them. At a distance.

Jason honestly wasn’t sure if he could control himself if he got spotted and put into a confrontation.

Quickly grappling back onto the top of the many containers surrounding him, Red Hood continued to follow the people he was eavesdropping on. The five continued to chatter as they unknowingly led a temperamental vigilante straight to the heart of their operation.

Nightwing was keeping tabs on another group he had spotted, if the quiet commentary he was filling the comm line with was any indication. The group Nightwing was following was heading in the opposite direction of Red Hood - meaning that it was likely the older pair who had pulled the short straw of the night.

Which only caused Jason’s frustration to grow. The man really, really wanted to punch something now.

However, Jason was experienced enough in the art of “conceal don’t feel” to not let the raging emotions burning his inside explode outwards. He kept on task, easily keeping up with the small figures below him in an awkward half-crouch.

It was when the small group made it out of the corn-maze inspired cargo storage system that everything went right into the shitter. A massive, green-painted ship swayed gently in the tide, her mooring lines quietly creaking with the strain of keeping such a large vessel moored. Red Hood quickly attached his grapple to a parallel line of containers stacked in the direction Penguin’s goons were heading in. The near-silence of the night, however, did nothing to hide the shocked gasp as the feeling of absolute peace overcame Jason halfway through his leap to the other side.

The worn handle of his grapple gun slid out of Jason’s grasp as he plummeted to the quickly-approaching concrete. Luckily, the man was able to twist enough mid-air to land across his side. Unluckily, he landed directly behind the previously stalked squad of goons.

A quiet, “shit” was all Hood was able to say before the raggedy bunch turned to face him. The man quickly jumped to his feet, pulling out his dual pistols in the same movement. He did his best to try to compartmentalize the growing panic in his chest. Hood kept reaching for the giant void so often full of swirling rage and finding nothing.

He fired rapid shots at the scattered goons, striving to not shoot the smallest one. However, for all of Hood’s training, nothing could have prepared him for being in the middle of a firefight while actively seeking the very cause of all his problems.

Shooting a well-aimed bullet through a hispanic-looking man’s knee, Red Hood rolled behind a sun-bleached blue container. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps made Hood whip around, coming face-to-face with another three of Penguin’s goons. He could also see two suspicious figures booking it down the ship’s gangway. Hood knew he could handle a fight like this, widening his stance and taking lazy aim at the hostile figures. His first shot went wide when a pulse of hope-settled-forgiven rushed through him, leaving Jason’s eyes useless and his legs shaky.

A bullet piercing through the body armor on his shoulder was barely enough to bring the man out of his head, leaving Jason to realize he was about to be surrounded if the feed from the Batbug was to be trusted. The distant phantom feeling of lounging in the sun, on his favorite chair in a giant, book-filled Wayne Manor library made Jason realize something was wrong. What should have been pain was only half-baked fuzzy feelings of warmth and comfort. It was enough to cause Jason to shoot wildly around himself, bringing a hand to clumsily tap on his helmet. When the man finally heard feedback from someone else’s com, he drunkenly slurred to whoever was listening.

“I-I need b’ck’p,” the hooded man said, firing a shot that went through a goon’s abdomen, “‘m drugged?” Jason couldn’t help but giggle as a smaller body got closer to him, turning his near-unresponsive body to slam the other into unforgiving concrete. An armored boot smashed the goon’s head against the ground. “Hemlo to ya’, too!” Jason laughed as the voices of his siblings flooded his ears.

Another burst of gooey happiness reverberated throughout the crime lord’s body, causing his vision to blackout again. He turned to see a woman with a gun pointed at him. She was the last one left, Jason blearily noticed, her friends’ broken bodies scattered across the ground around him. When did that happen? Jason doesn’t remember them playing, he thought with a frown. It was only when a black-clad individual backflipped into Jason’s narrowing view that he realized Dick had shown up at some point.

“Big Bir’!” Jason cheered as his brother smoothly took down the last person playing. “Ya go’ ‘er!” His vision went dark again, but the feeling of something rapidly tapping his cheek brought the world back into focus.

“Hood, Hood can you hear me?”

Jason groaned in response, weakly pushing at his brother with heavy arms. “Shhhh,” he hissed, “‘m try’ng ta l’sten!”

Dick’s masked face, darkened with spots of speckled blood, danced with black spots around his vision, “Hood, what do you mean?” The older one asked.

Instead of responding, however, Jason’s body decided that talking was too much work. A peaceful feeling overtook him as he fell unconscious to the increasingly worried voice of his big brother, and a song of hope sung deep within his being.

( ुᴗᵨᴗ)ु.zZ

A/N: Hello! Please pardon any bad writing, it's been one hell of a hot second haha. Anyways - this has been an absolute labor of love from me. I've had this chapter finished since mid-February but a combination of my jobs, schooling, and a big editing block made it hella late. That being said, huge shoutout to my two betas @the-archer-goddess and Aerois! Legit could not have done it without you guys <3

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @apointlessbox @mentalcarebear @asphyxia778 @horribly-lost-and-gay @may-rbi @blacksea21090 @kyrianclawraith (Hope I got everyone! If you want to be added to or taken off the taglist feel free to ask <3)

#DCxDP #DPxDC #Dead On Main #fic #Crossposted on ao3 #first fic in a while #cannibalism warning #slowburn #friends to enemies to lovers #its gonna be a long one boys #buckle up

108 notes · View notes

french-toast-enjoyer · 14 days

Text

Writing Share Game:

Rules: share some writing!

thanks to @rkmoon for the tag, here's a snippet from a symbrock fic I'm not sure is good enough to continue! I also submitted it to @funkycave so if you see it on their blog hey, same hat. lemme know if I should actually write this:

To the world, he was once known as Ediliaphon. The scribe of creation, and the angel of all to be known by man.

Now his collar simply reads “Eddie”. A bastardization of the name given to him by the god he once loved. The God who had abandoned him for daring to question his divine plan.

The God that had left him there, in the writhing city of Pandemonium with every other rejected angel. Tossed like an unwanted, unruly pet. Weighed down with a rock and thrown in a river to die.

And he would’ve died.

For nine full days after the collapse of Lucifer’s army, Eddie and all other now fallen angels had lay in the depths of what was now hell, paralyzed with the never-before-felt sensation that would come to be known as pain.

That fateful period had brought to birth several new, unbearable concepts.

Suffering came forth in the physical anguish of broken bones and hellfire-charred skin. Agony crept into the faces of those lost, regretful angels. And annihilation–

It claimed half of all lower angels on the first night.

Without a master or cause to tie themselves to, without faith in either their love or hatred of God, many of the regretful, lost souls had simply ceased to be. Succumbing to their injuries with no hatred to empower them to stand up and keep fighting.

But for those who did hate?

It disfigured them. Morphed their wounds into splitting heads. Their faces became permanent snarls, their halos had cracked into horns, and their bodies had melded into darkness from days of bitterly crawling on their bellies.

Eddie was lucky. Eddie had avoided both fates, somehow.

It eluded him, how he had fallen without shattering his soft white wings. And how he felt so little in the advent of his fall that malevolence had not consumed his broken, once divine body.

Much like the others, however, he was frail. Fading in real time without a deity to uphold him.

On night one, his wings had wilted, night two, his skin began to burn.

He'd have given up forever to touch God again. Just once.

There were nights when he’d remember his time as a scribe. Appointed by the Father to pen the histories of all that had been created. It'd been so brief, yet so blissful. To think he gave it all up, out of pride. Out of the want for more accolade than the ultimate honor of witnessing the birth of all the world. What a fool he was.

He would’ve died. But on his knees, something had found him.

It called itself Venom. A manifest of sin much like those conceived with Lucifer’s first betrayal. In perpetuity, it was meant to be the lord of treason. Of biting the hand that feeds.

He'd been despondent when the entity had found him. Useless. Too tired to curse God and too prideful to beg for forgiveness.

It had sensed the angel’s weakness. Known it to be the closest thing to a lamb this wretched pit could offer. Only in appearance, of course.

Much like that which tempted Eve, it'd crawled to the angel on its belly, whispering sweet nothings about divinity and reclamation. Offering him protection in exchange for devotion.

Eddie, feeling bloody tears welling in his eyes, knew that his choice was either to obey, or so begin the process of fading away completely.

He'd looked to the heavens. They couldn't be seen. God was not coming to forgive him, much less save his life.

In short, he'd agreed.

So began his life, given up to the first and last entity that'd shown him mercy.

Herein begins the true fall.

I'm gonna tag @spibbb and @bunsofhoney because I like what I've seen of their writing! as always, no pressure to participate:)

#symbrock #venom #wip writing #writing games

10 notes · View notes

veronicaphoenix · 6 months

Text

IKIGAI (or A REASON FOR BEING) — CHAPTER SIX

Lia’s chest rose and fell slowly against his arm wrapped around her. “I want to have a purpose, Noah,” she sobbed suddenly, the weight of her dreams mingling with the pain etched into her soul. “You have it, it’s just that now it’s too dark to see it.”

Chapter tags: best friends, parent’s neglect towards children, angst, comfort, dysfunctional family. | Word count: 2.4k | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

CHAPTER 6

Lia is 13. Noah is 14.

Noah had a key to Lia’s house.

She had offered it to him months prior in case she didn’t show up at school or didn’t answer her phone calls and no one knew anything about her for more than a couple of days.

They had gone together to get a copy made, but the store had refused as soon as they had seen the two teenagers, hair disheveled from the bike ride to the shop and innocent faces, looking like they didn’t know exactly what they were doing there.

But they knew very well, and the truth was that they couldn’t tell the man behind the counter that it was a matter of safety. Someone outside the four walls where Lia lived needed a key, someone who cared about her, about her health, about her well-being and her simple existence, and no, that someone wasn’t the men who came and went and to whom her mother had left keys with which they disappeared, jeopardizing the security that a home should provide.

They had talked about it to Noah’s grandparents, but they were firm on the idea that getting a copy of somebody else’s house without their permission was not right. The house wasn’t Lia’s, and they also didn’t know half of the things that happened behind those closed doors because Lia didn’t want them to know.

Noah needed a copy because he was the only person willing to get Lia out of Hell. Since the last two years, they had never gone more than forty-eight hours without hearing from each other. Whether it was at school of by phone call, they were always in touch.

They left the store empty-handed that day, and Lia burst into tears, the weight of helplessness settling on her shoulders like a heavy burned. She thought she was deemed to be alone, to be loved by no one, and to be left to tend for herself. If a mother fails you, and you have no other family, what can you expect from the rest of the world?

But the world had given her Noah.

On the street, car traffic was flowing and the noise coming from the vehicles muffled her sobs.

Noah put his hands on her shoulders, giving her a slight shake, and assured her that they would get a copy. While Lia hardly had any friends (given her introverted nature and the speed at which she was forced to mature), Noah, at fourteen, had quite a few friends. Some of them were of age, and those who were not, had siblings who were, and one of them would be able to get a copy of the key without intrusive questions or arbitrary obstacles.

It wasn't just about having a key; it was about having the means to unlock the door to a world that threatened to consume her.

That’s how Noah got the key, and he didn’t have to use it until one summer afternoon, a month and a half before he turned fifteen. Although he had seen Lia the afternoon before and they had been swimming in the lake, something happened.

Noah’s world seemed to tilt on its axis as the rumors reached his ears. He had been having lunch at Nicholas’ when he returned home, and Hana told him that a gunshot had been heard around the Parker house, or at least, so she had heard from the neighbors down the street. She herself had called the phone number that Lia had written in a post-it and stuck to the fridge, to make sure it was nothing and that the girl was okay, but no one had picked up.

The afternoon spent with Lia in the lake now felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by an impeding sense of dread.

Noah left his house without asking any more questions, picking up his bike up off the driveway and pedaling as fast as his legs would allow him until he reached Lia’s house, fear increasing. He jumped off the bike while it was still moving, and he didn’t mind leaving it laying there on the asphalt, where anyone could pick it up and take it away. The bike was the last thing he cared about at that moment.

He rang the bell first even though his heart was drumming in his chest, and he was almost shaking. Sweat was trickling down his back and down his right temple, and a few strands of hair were sticking to his forehead.

He rang the doorbell again.

When a few seconds passed and no one answered, Noah’s desperation grew. He took a couple steps back as he strained to detect any signs of life within the house—any flicker of light or hint of movement.

The stillness fueled the knot of worry tightening in his stomach.

He used the key, then.

Noah entered the house. The threshold between uncertainty and the truth lay before him, and with a deep breath, Noah pushed open the door, steeling himself for whatever awaited on the other side.

It smelled of alcohol and tobacco, as always; a testament to the turbulent environment that had become all too familiar to Lia. There were dirty clothes scattered in different corners and a couple of empty wine bottles on the wooden steps of the staircase. The house was loaded with furniture and junk, a total disarray, a fucking mess. The place where Lia lived.

“Lia?” His call was hesitant.

There was no one on the ground floor, and by then he didn’t care if anyone was in the house. He just wanted, needed, to find Lia. Find her okay.

Ignoring the chaos around him, Noah navigated the path to Lia’s room on the second floor.

The door was closed. He hesitated for a moment, the weight of the unknown settling on his shoulders, but the not-so-distant sound of Lia’s weak sobs broke through the silence.

With a deep breath, Noah pushed the door open, revealing a scene that both tore his heart and fueled his determination. Lia, that usually managed to be a pillar of strength, lay on her unmade bed, her tiny body curled into a fetal position. The sheets beneath her seemed to absorb the echoes of her pain. Her body was shaking.

His immediate concern cut through the heaviness of seeing Lia like that. Noah made sure there were no bloodstains marring the bedsheets. His eyes scanned the room for any sign of blood. The room, cluttered with piles of books, boxes full of dry flowers, drawings stuck to the walls, and Lia’s discarded sneakers and winter boots told a story, but not of physical harm.

“Lia,” he called gently.

Her head jerked out of the shelter of her hands, and her big, wet eyes looked up at the boy from behind a curtain of light brown hair. Noah approached cautiously, giving her a moment to recognize his presence on the threshold of her bedroom. When he stood just a couple of steps away, Lia rose abruptly, throwing her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt at seeking comfort. Noah wrapped her in his arms, holding her more than hugging her, and he let her cry against his shoulder for as long as she needed.

After what seemed like an endless passage of time, Lia managed to pull herself together a bit and was finally able to tell Noah what had happened. They sat on her bed, shoes off, back against the headboard. Lia flexed her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Her mother had brought yet another man to the house the night before, after her shift had ended. Thankfully, said man had remained blissfully unaware of Lia's presence in the house, at least until the next morning. Lia had gone downstairs to prepare breakfast, unaware that the man had brought a gun, a snubbie, with him, left it on the kitchen table and ended up covered by her mother's worn sweater. Before getting down to breakfast, Lia decided to pick up the laundry and put a load in the washing machine, since it could take Cristina another two weeks to do it. As she dropped the pile of clothes in front of the washing machine, the gun, which she had carried without being aware of it, went off as it collided with the floor. The bullet punctured one of the walls, but it could have gone out in another direction, and next to the pile of clothes Cristina could have found her thirteen-year-old daughter in a pool of blood.

What she did find was Lia standing in a corner of the laundry room, with her hands over her ears and completely paralyzed, and all she did was yell at her, push her, and remind her what a stupid girl she was. The man who came down behind Cristina in a hurry was wearing only boxers, but Lia didn't even notice that. The man said something to her, admonishing her for meddling with things she shouldn't have, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to leave weapons around the house, hiding underneath dirty clothes.

The absurdity of the situation only heightened Lia's confusion, the ringing sound of the gunshot still reverberating in her ears. She couldn’t understand anything.

Minutes later, concerned neighbors arrived, drawn by the commotion. Cristina, adept at managing appearances, plastered a smile on her face and reassured them not to worry. The neighbors, perhaps desensitized to the peculiarities of the Parker household, accepted Cristina's reassurances without delving deeper into the unsettling incident.

When the man left a couple of hours later, Cristina followed him suit. Her parting words to Lia were a callous directive to sort out the laundry, leaving her alone to grapple with the residual shock and confusion, the laundry room a silent witness to the perilous dance with danger that had unfolded mere hours ago.

Lia didn’t do the laundry. She didn’t have breakfast and she didn’t eat lunch either. She spent the day lying in her bed, recalling the moment in which she had dropped the clothes, the sound of the gun firing, the buzzing of her ears, the momentary shock in which she thought she was dead. It took her a full minute to realize that the bullet had gone in the opposite direction.

Throughout that day, Lia wrestled with the aftermath of the near-tragedy. The ordinary had become fraught with the extraordinary, and Lia grappled with the fragility of life in the wake of the incident.

The hole in the wall would still be there nearly two decades later, when the ebb and flow of life would lead Lia back to that same house to announce to Cristina that she would soon be a grandmother.

By the time Lia finished talking, Noah had been rubbing soothing circles with his hand on her shoulder. He had put an arm around her and Lia, worn and vulnerable, had leaned into his body, resting her head on his shoulder.

Noah kept her close to him. He didn’t say anything. They remained in silence for a while. The only sound coming from the open window being the melodic chirping of the birds outside and the distance hum of cars navigating the streets.

When Lia lifted her head and looked up at Noah, she did so with a glint of resilience in her eyes. Though still watery, they were also shining. Their faces were so close that Noah could catch the faint scent of Lia's minty toothpaste—a detail that seemed almost intimate in its simplicity.

“Can you stay?”

Noah nodded without a second’s hesitation.

He would stay there by her side through any storm and after, to weather the echoes of whatever she went through. She had done the same for him multiple times by now. They were each other’s sanctuary.

Lia turned around and laid down on the mattress, giving her back to Noah. He laid down, too, and moved his body close to hers until they were touching —a gentle proximity— and wrapped an arm around her. Lia found refuge beneath Noah’s chin, and settled into the contours of his protective hold, her eyes closing in an attempt to escape the remnants of the day. Noah’s reminded open as he absorbed the vanilla-scented warmth emanating from Lia. She had this obsession with a vanilla and argan oil-scented shampoo that she would still be using years later, when they had moved out of this town and into a new home.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Her voice was low and laden with weakness when she asked.

“Grandma says it won’t,” He replied in the same tone. Lia’s hair prickled his chin. It felt nice.

Lia was trapped in the grip of the day’s events. She couldn’t shake the tendrils of doubt so easily.

“You believe her?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Even though his faith in his grandmother’s wisdom and beliefs some times failed, he wanted to hold onto the idea that things would be different; better.

“I can’t see myself out of here, in a different house, being a different person…”

As Lia expressed her struggle to envision a life beyond their current circumstances, Noah's grip tightened subtly, a silent reassurance that they were in this together.

“I’ll buy you a house.”

Ever grounded in practicality, Lia responded: “You don’t have money.”

And Noah, undeterred, replied: “But I will when I start selling music.”

It was a declaration of dreams and determination, a glimpse into the future that he envisioned not just for himself but for her, also.

Lia’s chest rose and fell slowly against his arm wrapped around her.

“I want to have a purpose, Noah,” she sobbed suddenly, the weight of her dreams mingling with the pain etched into her soul.

“You have it, it’s just that now it’s too dark to see it.”

“I don’t want to be like my mom,” she confessed, her voice slowing down, her sobs held under the last ounce of control she had left.

Recognizing her fear, all too familiar to him now, he responded full of certainty.

“You don’t have to be, and I’m sure you won’t. You’re good at so many things. You’re my best friend.”

As Lia’s emotions spilled over, her fears and dreams laid bare, she clutched Noah’s hand on her chest.

“Don’t ever leave, Noah,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of you, but please, take care of me.”

“I will,” he promised.

Before she fell asleep with the mid-afternoon breeze entering through the window, she confided: “You’re my only reason for being.”

#bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x ofc #ikigai #the inevitability of love at second sight #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction

13 notes · View notes