#And one day I’ll be old and decrepit and I won’t have many of these diminutive memories still | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silent-sanctum · 11 months

Note

Do you do AUs? If you do, may I request Jotaro x fem!reader where he is a mafia boss? 💖💖💖

Oh anon, I absolutely love writing AUs, they're actually my specialty ^^ So I had a nice time writing this one for you. Everyone say thank you to anon for the request~ Granted, mafia aus are the fics I'm not too well-versed with, but I did my best! Hope you and the others enjoy it!💖

Lowlife Princess - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 9.9k+

3 minuscule clangs echoed throughout the darkened ballroom, followed by the screams of pain.

How unfortunate was it to think that this space used to harbor so much events may it be a drinking fest to drown the glutinous, a town hall meeting to indulge the corrupt, hell maybe even an orgy to satisfy the lustful.

Though with a couple of crimson smeared on the walls, unhinged doors cast aside useless on the floor, ruined furniture rid of their contents, and shattered glass from tall windows, the once grandeur of the hall has now been reduced to a decrepit room for slaughter.

All because the greedy politician couldn’t pay his debt.

Within the four corners, men in tailored suits stood by with an assortment of weaponry in their hands- a barbed bat, bladed steel, warm-tipped guns, etc. They remained still and stood to block every path of escape, watching their leader circle around his victim with a simple revolver in hand.

Around him, countless bodies of his guards lay motionless. All done by his hands. Red filled the spaces unoccupied by their corpses. His family was left unharmed but kept under close surveillance in case they try to flee and report.

And of the old coot? He’s bound to the singular chair in the middle of the room, stripped down to his sweat-soaked undershirt and piss stained boxers. 2 bullet wounds punctured his thighs, one each, bleeding profusely down his legs, while the last blew his right ear right off.

With the man stopping before him, the politician whimpered. “I-I swear the money was on its way 2 days ago! You can check my messages for proo-”

“I don’t give a fuck about your messages,” the boss gritted out, gripping the chair’s arms to lean forward with a deathly glare. “You owe us a shitload of funds and this is the third time you haven’t paid what’s due.”

This was also him being extra generous mostly due to this guy’s history with his family, but at the first sign of noncompliance, he won’t be tracing his roots just to spare one influential man. There are many other fishes in the sea after all.

He eyed the darkening skies outside the window and clicked his tongue. “It’s getting late. Might as well loot all your possessions and hack into your accounts to find my severance pay.” At the snap of his fingers, 4 of his men bowed and got to work in an instant.

With a cock of his head, another brandished a knife to slice the ropes off of the quivering politician. The adult immediately planted his face on the cold floor in a full bow, still whimpering. “T-Take all that I have! Just p-please let me go! I’ll find more ways to pay you more!”

The leader pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his blood-tipped gun, not looking at him. “I already let you go.”

A sliver of hope grew on his pathetic face. “Does that mean you’ll spare me?”

“No.”

Another bang echoed within the spacious area and the politician dropped to the ground with the others, a bullet lodged through his forehead.

He spared no more time watching his corpse rot on the floor and turned on his heels with the swish of his long coat. His men stood aside as he crossed through the door frame. “Report to me the details of the ‘transactions’ at my office. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Jotaro Kujo was what one would describe as “ruthless yet reasonable”.

Being the 3rd patriarch of his family bloodline at the age of 28, he was a smart figure with a penchant for methodical violence. He had a lot responsibilities managing the Sangyosei, one of Japan’s most dangerous yakuza clans, infamous for its reputation of gaining followers through material benefit and killing traitors with prolonged torture.

It wasn’t hard but the fact that the 1st patriarch, Jonathan, established the Joestar mafia lineage in Europe and the 2nd, Joseph, in North America, it made the whole structuring a whole hierarchy from the ground up a hassle to deal with.

But it took him a couple months of proving what he’s capable of to his lackeys and enemies, until the Japanese mafia has solidified its place with its current reputation.

And while power felt good to many, he would thrive in it if he didn’t have to deal with … other matters. Paperwork. Interviews. Secret meetings. Training. Dealing with backstabbers.

Jotaro needed a break once in a while. Good grief.

He stepped out of his car, unbothered by the amount of blood painted on his long black coat, and walked through the clan headquarters' main entrance, followed by his men behind him. “Good day, sir.” Two maids bowed upon entry.

“Kakyoin, any updates on the tasks I told about earlier?” Jotaro paid no attention to the ladies’ greetings, instead shrugging off his coat to dump into their arms for wash. “I’m expecting an increase of numbers.”

A man with red curled hair decked in a sharply-pressed olive green suit stepped aside from the line of soldiers, a tablet in hand displaying the needed information. “Yes sir. Accordingly, I’ve received reports from Polnareff that whatever Takahashi had in his possessions, they managed to sack everything valuable he had in his manor and wired all his saved money into your account.”

He handed over the device into the boss’ hand as the two reached the top of stairs where his office situated. Jotaro flicked through the images of accessories and priceless décor and read the success notification of money transferred. “And the clean-up?”

“Avdol already ordered them to get rid of the bodies,” Kakyoin said as he opened the door for the raven-haired to enter. Behind them, two stationary guards stood by to shut them close.

And behind shut doors, Jotaro could finally let that menacing mask off his face for once and slump onto his chair, hanging up his hat on the nearby rack beside him. “This is the 5th time someone hasn’t met deadlines. Why do I still bother offering at this point…”

“Well, you could either say it was due to Ms. Holly’s influence on you or your great grandfather’s values,” Kakyoin said.

The boss pinched the bridge of his nose with the hints of a headache coming any minute. “Damn their persevering good will. Makes me wonder why Jonathan started a business this shady in the first place.”

“Hey boss! We’re back!”

The doors burst open to welcome a silver-haired Frenchman with the indigo suit and upbeat personality, and a dark-skinned man beside him who received all the embarrassment for his companion with his persimmon robes. “Polnareff, what did I say about keeping the noise down?”

“Ah come on, it’s just us here. Let loose for a bit.”

Aside from his numerous men working for him, Jotaro kept a close circle of guards around him, those who had better skills and attributes than the rest. Kakyoin, the one who offered his services in exchange for protection from the Kyuketsuki clan, was the one responsible directing his orders to the others and the one who obtains details about almost everything.

Polnareff and Avdol were both transferred from the American branch under the instructions of Joseph Joestar. Those two shared the same role of leading selected groups of men to do Jotaro’s bidding.

Years of working together had granted these 3 adults privilege to be informal with their leader and the latter to be more lenient towards them. However, they all knew very well not too take his generosity for granted.

“Well… what’s next on the itinerary boss?” Pol asked, reaching into his suit to pull out a lighter for a smoke. With his cigarette lit, he tossed the silver item into Jotaro’s waiting hand.

“Imports from Italy are scheduled to arrive at the docks tomorrow dawn.” He brought the small flame to the tip of his cigarette and flicked the lid close with a tiny clang. Blowing out a puff of smoke, he continued. “But I’ve also heard that bastard’s planning a raid to get rid of the stationed guards and loot all the guns from their crates.”

“Should we inform them of the attack?” Avdol spoke out.

“No need. I already phoned the captain of the ship to change the time of arrival from dawn to late evening. Those who were standing by have already received the new schedule and to prepare themselves in the probable case Brando’s lackeys do proceed with the raid.” The leader said, eyeing the map and other paperwork on his desk.

“And the cops?”

“Sent representatives to deal with them. If they do what they’re told accordingly, then we’re in the clear.”

All three nodded. “How about you,” Kakyoin said. “Are you coming with us to inspect the imports?”

Jotaro huffed and pressed the cigarette butt against the image of a blond man smirking at him through the photo.

The cool surface of his revolver grew prominent as he said with a sneer. “Wouldn’t miss an opportunity to take him down along with his bloodthirsty crew.”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

It was 11:30 in the evening and Jotaro walked through the alleyways leading to the docks with his men trailing behind him.

Prior to his departure from headquarters, he asked for any details if any sudden appearances transpired between 5 to 6 in the morning. Reports told him that several men did arrive fully armed with weapons, bearing the fang and blood tattoos on their skin.

And they were dispatched of at first sight.

Throughout the rest of the day, the raven-haired’s guards continued to monitor the area with sharp eyes, just in case the bastard tried to sneak another raid in an attempt to claim territory. He had another group of guards keeping an eye on nearby windows just in case someone dared to take him out in the clear.

But he arrived at the place the same time the ship delivered his goods with the captain and his crew members lowering the last of them onto the pavement. Around him, his men dispersed to secure the area and stood guard while their leader approached further.

The nearby street light allowed him to glance down and notice the visible red smears still on the wood panels below him and on those surrounding the landing docks. There’s the confirmation.

Though as he was about to move past the two buildings, Avdol spoke behind him. “Boss, you should stay hidden for now. Just so you wouldn’t feel too exposed.”

Jotaro regarded him for a split second and gave one nod. “Open them then but I still plan to have a personal talk to the captain after they load the goods.”

“We’ll just inform about your request to see him. Where shall the meeting take place?” Kakyoin said.

“Bring him to the nearest room here. Clear the area and make sure no one is around. I’d rather meet back at HQ but I know the captain has a tight schedule to follow.”

No further questions were asked and together with his two other personal guards, the red-haired turned to his tablet and went off around the corner.

Jotaro watched Polnareff and Avdol order people to open the crates, and felt satisfaction fill him as soon as he saw the items lifted from the sea of white Styrofoam- Beretta PM12 and MAC-10 sub-machine guns, Beretta 92 and Staccato CS handguns, numerous batches of ammunition, combat knives, bulletproof vests, and a couple of expensive wines and pasta as courtesy from Giorno Giovanna, Passione’s mafia boss- a subset branch of the Joestar business that Jotaro made connections with beforehand.

He shoved a hand into his pant pocket and had the other reach for his phone, informing his assistant to make sure the transaction wired to the young blond end up in success.

Though as he finished with the call, a commotion occurred in the direction of where he came from. He turned to see what caused the ruckus and stepped one foot back at the pack of rats worming around him.

Tiny scattering footsteps grew into regular human footsteps, echoing louder as it drew close. Jotaro reached for his revolver in an instant-

Only for a woman to jump out of the shadows in a panic and grab him with no ounce of decency, hiding behind him. “Help! Help me please!” The fuck? Informing his men of the intruder should be done by now, but she continued to point into the alleyway. “Some thugs are chasing me down! Hide me please!”

On cue, a couple more footsteps could be heard from a distance alongside the audible squabbling of men stating that they heard someone run here. Jotaro kept a firm stance and fixed his attention to the growing noise until a mob of 15 men came barging in with flushed faces and rabid mouths.

He gave one quick scan down their body to find the semblance of some tattoos belonging to a clan only to find none. The leader cocked his head. Just a bunch of predators I see.

One of them walked in front with a bottle of sake in hand with a hiccup. “Oi… you there… I think you should give her to us.”

“Why should I?”

The drunk laughed, turning to his fellow drunkards. “Would you look at this punk?” He spat on the ground. “You gonna regret denying us-”

“Take one step forward and you’ll be the one regretting.” The guy gave one last chuckle and put one foot forward-

Bang.

The sound rang throughout the alley, followed by the dull thud of his body collapsing onto the ground with a bullet wound in his head. Behind him, the woman yelped as she covered her ears from the sudden shot. The remaining mob staggered back in shock.

As if he wasn’t stupid enough, two more of them ran to the yakuza leader’s direction in a blind fit of rage, only for them to meet the same fate as the first with two more blasts of his revolver.

The rest of them cowered at the sight of their fallen brethren and froze on the spot. Behind Jotaro, his own men came running in at the sound of gunfire, and the rushing footsteps were enough for the mob to make a run for it. “Gun them down. All of them and make sure no one escapes.”

No response was needed as Polnareff charged into the shadows with his line of men, while Avdol and Kakyoin remained by their leader’s side.

“You…”

He grabbed the lady’s wrist and kept her securely in his grasp. “You’re coming with us to HQ to sort this little ‘mess’ you brought in today.”

She said nothing but offered him furrowed brows and a scowl in exchange.

“Kakyoin, have the captain wait for one of my calls and tell Polnareff to return as soon as they’re dealt with. And Avdol, secure the imports and bring them to base as soon as possible.”

“I have… other matters to deal with right now.”

Just as they retreated back into the shadows, the resounding gunshots echoed through the night.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

“Why am I dragged into this?” she said as she stood in the middle of the room, constantly glancing at the men watching her. “I’m the one being chased down yet somehow I’m also guilty enough to be here?”

“You’re here because you trespassed into yakuza territory and grabbed me unceremoniously that would have ended you dead like your chasers,” Jotaro said in return, leaning against his chair. “Consider yourself lucky that I left you alive.”

“Okay fine! I get it was rude for me to just throw myself to you out of nowhere and I’m thankful that you didn’t shoot me immediately,” she rambled on but the leader merely cocked a disinterested brow. “I’ll stop talking then. What do you want? Why did you bring me here in the first place?”

“Bold words for someone trapped in a lion’s den,” Pol spoke up, chuckling.

To which the woman averted her gaze to him with intentional judgment. “First time? What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” The Frenchman spluttered and reached for his gun, only for Avdol to stop him with a visible ‘what are you doing’ look to his face.

“Let’s start things of with some basic details about yourself. Start with your name-”

“Now why the hell would why-”

Multiple guns pointed to her, causing her to shut up with arms up in the air. “Your name, age, and occupation.”

Jotaro heard the lady mumble to herself before heaving a sigh and answering his query. “Y/N. 27. Investigator. You can check my pockets for my ID or badge or whatever.”

Avdol did what she said and found her identification card and badge, both having her in the pictures clear as day. “An informant and detective..,” the Egyptian muttered. “Boss, if we consider her occupation and… distasteful behavior, this could spell trouble for us in the long run.”

“Distasteful?!”

“I hear you Avdol, though with the information learned, we might be able to benefit from it as well.” The raven-haired turned to the woman as he poured himself a glass of imported whiskey. “I presume you’re smart enough to know that by having one yakuza clan save you from those drunks, you’re indebted to us.”

A rebuttal wanted to leave her mouth but with a swallow, she nodded. “Should’ve expected it.”

“You have two choices,” the clan leader presented a wad of bills and a pistol on his desk. “You pay us about 1 000 000 yen for our job and for you to shut up about this whole ordeal-”

“What?! But I don’t have that much mon-”

“Or,” Jotaro held up a hand, not finished with his sentence. “Offer your services to the Sangyosei Clan.”

All three of his personal men turned to him with surprise. Even Y/N widened her eyes at the choice of words. “B-Boss what?”

“Couldn’t we at least just make her one of our eyes in the city?” Kakyoin butted in. “We’ll just make sure she doesn’t end up spilling intel about the underground.”

“It won’t be permanent,” he said in return. “Only for a year or for how long I deem it to be.”

“Does she even know how to fight? Our job isn’t exactly a walk in the park.” Polnareff added to the cherry-haired’s concerns.

“That’s for us to see.” Jotaro snapped his fingers, prompting the attention of everyone in the room. “With the exception of my personal guards, I order for every man in this room to attack her. No guns or blades.”

The lady was appalled at the sudden decision and took in all 6 suited men with their fists up, ready to charge. She made sure to turn to the boss and cocked her head, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “Asshole.”

Admittedly, he didn’t know what to expect but he was curious on how developed she was in terms of combat. At the first advance of a guard, Y/N stepped to the side and elbowed the guy in the ribs, before dodging another incoming punch aimed for her face.

In return, she returned the favor and swept a kick on his knees, toppling him down. On her feet again, she lunged forward to the next guard, grabbed his arm, and twisted around, eliciting a yell from the man. Planting her foot on his back, she launched the guard onto the other one, knocking them both down.

With nimble feet and quick reflexes, she evaded the swings the remaining men had for her. Though, at an opening, Y/N ducked through them and landed a direct chop to one guard’s nape, dodging the last one’s last attempt at a jab. With his momentum lost, she returned the punch with one of her own, delivering a blow straight to his face.

To her luck, she was near the boss’s desk and with no hesitation, went for the pistol and aimed the gun at Jotaro.

“Boss!”

But the raven-haired only smirked, watching as Y/N tried to pull the trigger only for nothing but a dull click to come out. “Impressive. You’ve indeed excelled in your combat training for you to handle 6 grown men with no weapon… aside from reaching the fake model to shoot me with.”

“How’d you-”

“Quick look into your online profile and messages addressed to martial art trainers both new and old will do wonders in providing me information. Combined with your fearless attitude and your chosen career path, one could put two and two together.”

In a flash, Y/N yelped as he swiped the fake gun off her hand in a second, and pointed his revolver to her in the next. “Makes me wonder why you couldn’t fend off the bastards in the alleyways.”

“They were more than double of the men you have in this room, most armed with something. Even I have my limits boss-nim,” she scowled.

Jotaro huffed and gestured for Polnareff and Avdol to move. “Take her to her quarters. I’ll have my men fetch your essentials from your residence and you can start training tomorrow.”

Y/N clicked her tongue with irritation, but allowed the two guards to bring her to the ordered location. At their exit, he exhaled one long sigh, removing his hat to run his fingers through his black curls.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…” Kakyoin muttered quietly.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

What was promised to be a year or two turned to five.

And the next thing Jotaro knew was that Y/N rose in ranks, earning her a spot in his close circle of guards alongside the three men.

She was his right hand man.

And in an unexpected turn of events, he had strange fondness for her.

He could still remember how she performed during her first few weeks at headquarters despite her initial wish of just wanting to get out of her unfortunate situation. The leader had watched her sessions and monitored her performances.

He had to give it to this lady- she knew her way with weaponry as she was with physical combat.

She had near to perfect aim whenever she shot with the gun of her choice, had prowess in handling knives around their test dummies, and had able to withstand daily endurance tests that checked how good her stamina was.

With further research, Jotaro found out that you were an honors graduate at a police university that just so happened to have a club centered around martial arts. He double checked the images depicting her in the institute’s uniforms, scanned several lists she was in.

In every single one, she was there and he didn’t have to search further when her name would often be among the top students.

No wonder Y/N had no issues talking with criminals at their home base.

As days passed and she was given her own set of suits post training period, she was allowed in fulfilling assignments and thus followed orders from either Polnareff and Avdol to made sure whatever was asked was done, may it be to keep watch on a specified target, gun down non-compliant debtors, or secure an important object from a neighboring prefecture.

In the process, Y/N managed to be close friends with the two group leaders and his assistant:

“Hey you know, you’re not that bad as I initially thought.” Polnareff laughed, patting Y/N’s back.

“Really? But I do recall you wanting to shoot me when I was extra bratty that day…”

“Well who wouldn’t? Besides, you’re cool now. You do your job as a goon pretty well!”

She scoffed with a smile and a glass of alcohol in hand. They did come from a new mission to kill a new target and now they’re here in a small pub with blood splattered clothes. “Now that I think of it, I’d be annoyed by myself too, but… you’re right. After all, I do my job the best to my capabilities. Whatever it is.”

“To that I give my cheers to.”

“Is everything secured?”

“Hm, with Group A having returned fully loaded from floors 3 and 4 and Group B having cleared ground and 2nd floor and have helped with the other men, then I’d consider this a successful raid.”

Avdol smiled to himself, contented with a cleared task. “Though I have to say, it’s quite surprising that the Viper gang had several meditation books kept in one of the shelves.”

“And you’re saying this why?”

“Well, outside the bloodshed stress that I found myself in, I’d take most of my free time meditating in my room.”

“A zen person I see,” Y/N chuckled. “I figured you’d be one to let out some pent-up hassle through relaxing means.”

She crossed her arms and sighed. “I doubt our job won’t get any easier so Avdol-san,” you brought up one of the gang’s meditation books for the dark-skinned man to see. “Mind teaching me some of these relaxing methods you’ve mastered?”

With the rest of Jotaro’s men now heading back, the red-haired had stalled for a moment in the area of the interview to record the details of the events, making him more vulnerable to potential-

“Kakyoin!”

He turned around in shock at the sudden ambush of enemies heading straight for him. Though the guy had his gun prepared, he wouldn’t last too long. He pocketed his tablet in an instant and shot a couple of men down.

Y/N made the risk of running back into the fray to pull Kakyoin out of the line of fire. However, in the process of doing so, two bullets grazed her thigh and bicep, causing her to grunt in pain. “Shit! What the hell were you doing just standing there, you idiot?!”

Still on the run and frantic, the assistant reached for his phone to call for the men to return immediately, emphasizing the injury of his companion.

They ducked into the many lines of trees and hid themselves in a small cave hidden underneath moss-covered rocks and shrubs. “If your call did make it through and we keep quiet here, then we’ll make it out here alive.”

“Why’d you save me? You were already out of danger’s reach.”

She stared at him, stunned as if he spoke a different language. “Are you kidding? Don’t you know how mafia rules work? And I’m saying this as someone who’s newer to the clan.” She rose an arm to swat him, but forgot about her wound that she hissed in pain. “No one leaves brethren behind.”

Kakyoin pulled out a handkerchief to temporarily bandage the wounded spot. Y/N offered her own to deal with the one on her thigh. Just then, he let out a silent chuckle and she stared at him with confusion. “You’re right. I get too invested in my job too much that I tend to forget the most common of senses.”

She rolled her eyes with a disbelieving smile. “You sir are indeed an idiot.”

Beyond their small hideout, multiple rounds of gunfire rang throughout the forest together with the panicked screams of the attackers. “You’re gonna tell this to the boss, aren’t you?”

His acquaintance leaned on her good arm and responded with a cheeky smile.

Naturally, months of working together would eventually lead the once-hostile investigator to befriend his tightly-knit circle through violent yet worthwhile experiences. But Jotaro had also expected that organic growth of kinship to extend farther, stretching from his three personal guards to him directly.

Her ability to quickly adapt in any environment and headstrong personality were two factors that could penetrate through the Sangyosei leader’s intimidating aura. That was one thing… her providing insightful strategies and actively hanging out with him knowing he’s one of the country’s dangerous underground leaders were another.

And Jotaro, for the first time in his clan leader life, didn’t know how to respond to the woman’s clever approaches except with appalled intrigue.

“And if we turn to this side of the Hokkaido prefecture, there’s a gap here that will allow us entry to the Lotus gang’s hideout, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get some intel about the Kyuketsuki and their true motives.”

“But I see a slight problem in the plan and it has to do with the crowds we’re dealing with,” she said as she showed Jotaro the printed images of several people bearing lotus and/or blood-fang tattoos, standing guard or in the motion of surveying the area.

“These just came in from your men scouting the area and knowing the gang’s leader’s history of mischief and traps, they pretend to be unprepared to lure in prey.” Y/N said. “And who knows if they have goons on standby inside potential loot locations.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“We play the counter bait.” She reached for a pen and traced a circle on the area highlighting the gang’s main entrance. “If there’s another fact I’ve learned from the guy, he’s an addict to a good gambling game, and once he’s in, he’s in it to win it. Get one or two of your associates to deal a bet against his team and a distraction is set.”

“You got the head occupied but you’re aware of the guards still surveying the area.”

“That’s what everyone thinks, but I’ve studied his patterns long enough to know that once he’s in the middle of a game, he calls in everyone to watch the game in the main arena, because his pride is what fuels him, more so when he doesn’t have a single loss in his track record.”

She introduced three pairs of photos on top, all depicting a raving event featuring the gang’s leader and his cronies and empty pathways at the same time. “I’d know because it has happened thrice.”

“Even if he did leave some men on guard, it’ll be less and we’ll have enough workforce to take them down with the handy silencer equipped.” Y/N tilted her head, a finger under her chin. “Then we can ambush the remaining men from the shadows and capture the Lotus gang leader for info about the Kyuketsuki clan.”

Jotaro didn’t supply anything in return, speechless. Y/N turned to him with one raised brow. “What?”

“You are… very knowledgeable about a gangster mob that’s known to be discreet from the public.”

“Well you forget that I worked as private investigator for multiple clients. Nearly half of their complaints described the details of the same man you are targeting for. Call it a stroke of luck that you got me here now or else you guys would be in one hell of a night.”

And she did not disappoint. Her strategy was what earned Jotaro and his men a successful finish to a mission as his guards took the enemy crowd by surprise and shot them all down before they could launch a counterattack. Their leader, who was drunk with material wins and alcohol, was caught in the middle of his escape.

The bastard did spill intel about the bloodsucking yakuza, but he shared a bit more information than what Jotaro had initially expected.

“All you fucks searching for those leeches when there’s a bigger threat than that clan of his,” the Lotus leader said with his arms bound behind him on a chair. “Kyuketsuki this, Kyuketsuki that. I teamed up with them in the first place because I need to stay safe against the impending conquest of the Seiikigumi.”

“The Seiikigumi?” Jotaro asked, curious.

“Those guys are the real deal. Multiple mob houses and a clans have either fallen or submitted themselves to the mercy of that organization,” he said. “Scary thing is that no one in this city knows about them but Brando and high-paying info brokers.”

He did remember rumors of the mysterious yakuza clan spreading during his first years as leader, but he never saw any evidence to prove their existence. For all he knew, gangs fall because they were too disorganized and had high chances of getting caught by enforcement. Clans, especially the smaller ones, were disbanded due to insufficiency in human and financial resources.

“The Seiikigumi… I’ve heard of the rumors before,” Y/N muttered, deep in thought. “But people only told me details of them as if it’s a novel. I’ve yet to see a member of that group or their actions for myself.”

“Oh they’re real alright,” the bound man said with a grin. “So you better watch yourselves and be careful to not pry too much, or else the Sangyosei clan will be next on their chopping board.”

“The Lowlife Princess will have you as her next meal.”

Jotaro shot him clean in the head as soon the man started to cackle.

His words retained in his mind all throughout the rest of the day which was foolish for him to do. He had better more practical things to do than to fret about a myth. Yet, he found himself deep in thought in the middle of a meeting.

Eventually, it came to his realization that he was too busy scrounging his memories for any links to the Seiikigumi so he could devise something to prevent them from infiltrating his clan.

“Hey boss.” Jotaro blinked out of his mental thoughts and immediately made eye contact with Y/N standing before him in his office. “I’ve noticed you’ve been preoccupied with something. Is it what the Lotus leader said the other night?”

He sagged back against his chair and rubbed his temple, a mild headache starting to grow. “It’s nonsense but I’m here wondering why some drunk bastard is making me overthink.”

“You know, you’ve been busy lately- well, 24/7 if we’re being honest,” she said with casual tone, leaning against his desk with her back to him. “Have you even took breaks once in a while?”

“I have no time to let loose when anything could happen at any time,” he said. “Right now, I’m waiting for Kakyoin to update me on the whereabouts of the Kyuketsuki’s eyes. They’ve been too quiet recently and it peeves me off.”

“At this rate, you’re going to die from stress.” She turned to look over her shoulder. “How about we book the small, private restaurant nearby and eat? I heard the meals they got there are to your liking.”

Jotaro didn’t reply and instead stared at her with deadpan. Y/N rolled her eyes and lifted a white plastic bag filled with different boxes and cups inside. “Figured you’re gonna decline my every offer, but I insist you eat. You wouldn’t want the Sangyosei to find their boss dead on the floor due to starvation, would you?”

He was about to reject and suggest she share the meals with the other 3, but his guts had to betray him in that exact moment via a small growl. Jotaro closed his eyes in self-disappointment and Y/N smiled, smug as ever. “Chow time leader-nim.”

Starting from that offer to take-out lunch, the clan leader had granted the woman access to his social circle the same he gave to his personal guards. Where it stemmed from simple offers of drinks and food, slowly spiraled into conversations that didn’t involve the underground world, and eventually to flirting- both the subtle ones together with the direct.

That was the thing with her- she knew what she was doing, knew when to balance work and all the other stuff that was out of Jotaro’s field of specialty. One moment she’d assist him with formulating strategies and carry out orders as if it was merely shopping, and the next she’d share the most absurd stories about a client’s dead pet and its relation to a murder case while wasted beside him.

Y/N’s hardworking work ethics and clever planning eventually earned her spot as Jotaro’s right hand with the whole clan agreeing with the choice unanimously.

With her current position, she was able to connect with him more than before as she was able to follow him everywhere with no permission required. It gave her the power to convey approved orders to his men, acted as his advocate to associates wanting security, and watched over training sessions while he was busy with more serious matters.

With her by his side, Jotaro could feel himself getting swayed by her assertive charms and given how it seemed a heavy weight was off his shoulders, he had no complaints.

She’d start making advances that weren’t too subtle towards him- a sultry whisper into his ear, a brush of her hand against his, shared hooded glances, the press of her body against his in tight spaces, the quiet bickering of the two that contained suggestive innuendos-

It was unbearable, though not necessarily in a bad way.

The one that made the tightly-strung tension snap was the night Y/N made the conscious decision to walk into his office, fresh from a nightly sponge dressed in a silk robe while he in a dress shirt and vest. The raven-haired man swept his gaze up and down at her form with an intense look to his gaze, covering his actions with a quick “what are you doing?”

According to her, she came in with urgent news about the immediate sighting and dispatch of Kyuketsuki members making a move of sorts in the Gifu prefecture. At closer inspection, he learned that at that location, Brando kept majority of his weapons in storage, likely also containing maps leading to several more of his undisclosed bases.

If it were any other day, he would take note of the report and dismiss the reporter, but he kept her in the room longer than what should be.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to send me to my quarters, boss?” Y/N said while she had the gall to cross her arms under the swell of her breasts.

Jotaro stood with furrowed brows, never cutting eye contact as he walked to her in an almost predatory way. “Do you think what you’re doing is funny?”

The closer he got to her, she walked back until she found herself against the wall. “What exactly am I doing boss-nim?” She tilted her head up to face the frustrated clan leader and narrowed her eyes as if to challenge him. “Am I annoying you greatly?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what you’ve been doing and you’re right-” He slammed his hand on the space beside her head. “You’re driving me crazy, you vixen.”

Y/N scoffed, lips curling into a coy smile as her fingers threaded over the buttons of his vest. “Is that so? Why don’t you fire me then?” She purred. “Send me back to the world above the underground where I can expose your plot to the public?”

He clicked his tongue and leaned forward until his voice came out as a growl into her ears. “I’d be damned if I do such a thing.”

“So what are you gonna do, hm?” She whispered.

“I’ll make you shut up the way you like it.”

In the darkness lit only by the light of the full moon, Jotaro had her pressed up against the wall, robe cast aside as he fucked her with vigor, releasing all his pent up stress that accumulated throughout the times she teased him. Y/N whined and cried with every harsh pound of his hips against hers, every inch of her shivering from the intensity of it all.

Once she came, Jotaro flipped her around to let her face him as he lifted her up and thrusted back into her warmth with no hesitation. Y/N tossed her head back and moaned a loud cry, hands grasping his dress shirt with desperation. With her chest bouncing in front of him, he took the opportunity to bite and suckle on the hardened bud, prompting a second orgasm out of you.

He railed her to oblivion to no ends, carrying her over to his office desk only to fuck her over it with the same stamina as the first round. She gasped, breathless as her body rocked back and forth against the smooth surface of his table.

By the time her third orgasm hit her, Y/N still found herself on her back on the same furniture, unable to focus her vision and control herself from drooling at the overstimulation of Jotaro’s rough thrusts.

He never gave her the time to breathe, irritation still bubbling in him. As soon as she came yet again, he maneuvered both of them to his chair, where he planted Y/N on his lap, fucking up into her hear and letting you ride and bounce on cock.

Her body started to grow weary but her moans and cries were still loud as ever, addressing his title with every stimulated cry. Even at that, Jotaro grew annoyed. He wanted her to shout his name.

And so, the second she tightened around him for the fifth time, he held her close to him and pressed the tip of his nose into her neck, trailing it up until his lips grazed the shell of her ear. Raspy from his nonstop grunts, he muttered. “Beg.”

Y/N croaked out her words with unfocused, glassy eyes and a foggy mind resulting from the brutal poundings. “P-Please… boss-”

“Jotaro,” he whispered into her ear, emphasized with a slow yet deep roll of his cock against her walls. “I want you to cry out that name every time I fuck you.” Just like that, he suddenly bucked his hips upward, eliciting a ravishing cry out her reddened lips, one that only bore his name.

As his own release drew closer, his pace turned erratic and his thrusts increased in both speed and intensity, but to hear this woman plea his name over and over again just as she’s told was gratifying for the yakuza leader.

Wringing out one last orgasm out of her, Y/N jerked and let out a silent scream, a stream of clear liquid gushing out of her hole the same time Jotaro groaned and stiffened, feeling his release shoot into her soaked and loosened pussy.

Damn. He was exhausted.

Jotaro panted, sweat beading down his body as Y/N’s sweat-slicked body lay limp against his torso, feeling fluids leaking down his cock and seeping into the fabric of his slacks.

He turned to look at her to check on her current condition. She passed out from their wild escapade, cheeks flushed, panting with ragged breaths with stray hair plastered on her forehead from sweat. Her arms hung over his shoulders, no longer clawing lines onto his shirt.

Strangely enough, he was compelled to brush the hair off her forehead and plant a soft kiss on the area, before lifting her ass up to free his softened cock and arranging her body into a bridal hold to carry her over to his bedroom.

Ever since that night, no words were needed to convey that Jotaro’s relationship with Y/N became more than just simply that of “boss-guard”. They grew addicted to each other, craving that intimacy every moment it was just them in the comforts of closed doors. They would spend time in private establishments to plot, chat, eat, drink, and fuck.

Eventually, she wanted more. She wanted to claim his heart and so brazenly expressed her desires to him. And who’s he to decline her temptations at this point? Y/N was perfect in every aspect- a strategist, communicator, soldier, leader. Why would he refuse someone possessing those talents?

Just as she yearned for him, he gave into her allure, letting this woman become his queen.

But was it for the best?

Months after they had made it official, Jotaro decided to make a move to infiltrate one of the Kyuketsuki’s buildings in Gifu. Everyone in his circle had gathered around to discuss matters of the task, devised multiple plans on how to raid Brando’s precious armory.

Once all was clear and a plausible map of operations were made, he and a selected group of men chosen by Y/N, traveled to the marked location. Avdol had volunteered to join the venture as to provide extra security for his boss, while Kakyoin and Polnareff stayed behind to watch over for him.

It took them a while to get there, considering the distance between Tokyo and Gifu was fairly long. If it weren’t for the pathways formed exclusively for illegal transport, he wouldn’t be able to make it in time to weaken Dio’s forces, causing double repercussions for the territory he left without his watch.

But Jotaro reached the Kyuketsuki’s armory by nightfall and set everything into motion. He stationed his guards in their planned positions, with Avdol leading half of them to stay put in the shadows to serve as Jotaro’s eyes and keep watch of reinforcement, while he and Y/N lead the other half into the building, fully armed and cautious.

They crept through the darkened hallways that were eerily too quiet for a building supposedly filled with lackeys who often indulged in casual games and alcohol. “Boss,” Jotaro glanced at Y/N. “The firearms are found in the hangar in the left wing, but the documents and maps are kept in the right where the offices are located. Do you wish for me to help in retrieving the guns or-”

“I’ll lead the looting. You focus on giving me the paperwork,” he said. “Remember to keep an eye out. Who knows where they’re hiding.” She nodded once and split from the group at the next intersection between the two wings.

Something’s off. Why is no one here? Even as he first arrived, all the building’s lights were off. Not a single fluorescent lamp shining through a window, a lamp from a nearby shed, nothing. No goons were roaming around either, the footsteps of a patrol was non-existent. A chill crept up his spine. This is wrong. What happened?

As someone who’s been bested twice by him, Dio should have placed numerous men around his goods just as he always did to ensure nothing else would be stolen to maintain whatever pride he still had in him. But where were they?

The silence persisted even as he and his men reached the door to the hangar, kept shut with a low-security padlock tied to a chain. Jotaro pulled out his revolver and with a silencer equipped, he aimed and gave two shots before it gave away and fell. He cocked his head to motion his guards to remove the chains and push the door open.

True to the report, what he looked for were waiting for him to grab with crates of firearm stacked on top of each other lay inside while other miscellaneous items such as makeshift bombs and melee weapons lie on shelves. If he looked closer, he could spot a huge safe tucked in a dark corner where cash meant for the lackeys lay inside.

He should be relieved that he didn’t have to spare himself the extra trouble of fighting against a couple of gangsters to retrieve several guns, but he wasn’t because he knew this situation was too unusual and easy for his liking.

Unless-

The door clicked shut behind him and Jotaro spun just as he realized the reality he found himself in. He walked into a trap, but he was a second too late. A hard blow to his head sent him to the ground, warmth leaking out from where the pain came from. He bled from the impact.

He gritted his teeth and attempted to get up only for men, his men, to force him still on the ground, pulling out a white fabric to stuff his face into. Are you fucking kidding me? Jotaro was pinned to the floor, getting chloroformed by his guards.

The last thoughts that circulated his mind before falling unconscious was Y/N. She was caught in this as well and now she’ll be taken captive if she ended up unlucky as he was.

He should have seen this coming.

But why couldn’t he?

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

When Jotaro came to, he was bound in a rather… explicit way that he considered too vulgar for his taste.

He was on his knees, his whole body tied with red rope in a series of complicated knots. It was fortunate that his clothes were still on him or might as well shoot him where he knelt. Above him, a single low-hanging light was the only source of illumination this dark room had. Around him were people surrounding him with sub-machine guns in hand.

And out of the light, a lone figure stood in the shadows with two men standing guard beside them.

He squinted and tried to make out who it was. Dio Brando? Or some other lucky fucker who got a yakuza leader trapped? As a means of verification, he gritted out. “You’re being a coward now? Step out of the dark and face me, Dio.”

“Dio? Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t be more farther than the truth~”

Jotaro stilled, eyes widening and all air leaving his lungs at the familiar voice chirping at him. It was as if a cold bucket of ice had poured over him in an instant. It couldn’t be. How… How did… “Oh damn. I spoke to soon. Literally. But since I’m outed at this point, might as well not be a coward.”

The shadowed figure slowly stalked forward, revealing a woman dressed in a finely-pressed black suit ensemble fused with a black-laced sleeves and posterior half of a lace skirt trailing behind her, and with the culprit under the spotlight, he could see the wide almost excited smirk carved on her face.

“Y/N…”

“The one and only darling.”

He couldn’t fathom how he’s still able to keep it together at the revelation that the woman he saved that night, who served him to no ends for years, who became his lover, ultimately was the woman who would be his downfall. “Oh and you don’t need to worry about Avdol. I already sent them back to HQ, informing him that for investigative purposes, our half of the group had to stay behind a bit longer. And he listened with obedience.”

Jotaro felt a range of negative emotions boiling within him due to the most insulting betrayal he had throughout his life as a clan leader- anger, confusion, surprise, humiliation, hurt. “Explain yourself. There’s no point in talking about anything else now, is there?”

She hummed. “Might as well. Though there’s a lot of stuff I have to dump on you in one sitting unless you want-”

“Just get on with it, bitch.” He spat out, eliciting a delightful “oh?” from the other.

“Reaching curse words now are we? Alright, I’ll start from the beginning until where we are right now then.”

Everything started the night the imports from Italy arrived. With her associates, 80% of the civilians living in his turf, lurking in plain sight serving as her eyes, had updated her constantly on Jotaro’s every move. The same individuals who had sought his clan out for security.

The lackeys that Dio sent in an attempt to steal his weapons were all dealt by Y/N’s men who she called “wraiths”- silent and hidden only to strike at the right moment. The leech’s goons were all taken out by her snipers from the comforts of their undisclosed positions before they could reach the docks.

At the same time, Y/N had hired a group of drunk men she found in the streets, promised them she’d pay them for playing the part of assaulter, only for the promise to be in vain with them ending up dead.

The ID and badge that proved her "profession" as part of law enforcement were fabrications to sell her persona, but her combat skills and her way of handling weapons were very much true. Getting involved with the ruthless underground world would require one to possess at least one of those things.

Throughout her time working as one of his pawns, Y/N would do her job diligently, too diligent to the point where she was able to sneak through his and his men’s watch and kept contact with hers, updating them on new tasks to do that aided her and by proxy, the Sangyosei and she was able to do this without causing suspicion.

The strategies she had formulated were all due to her constant exposure to other clans and mob houses, studying their patterns, way of living, connections, and how their operations worked to find the one loop hole in order to flush her targets down the drain of defeat.

The photos she had presented him all this time, photos of which were high in definition and close to the target, where taken from her wraiths, not his men. How they knew where they were? Turned out she had eyes everywhere- a waiter serving meals, a mother and her child by the swings, a farmer in the fields, a ship captain or his crew members, a passing businessman, a politician’s bodyguard.

She had majority of the population in her grasp.

While they worked externally, Y/N did her part from the inside. She climbed up the ranks until she landed into a position where she shared power that equated to his. With new acquisition of power, she now had control over his men, sending a handful or two out to an empty mission only for them to get gunned down, replaced with wraiths disguised in their clothes.

The same wraiths who accompanied Jotaro to the hangar.

And of the Kyuketsuki’s lackeys who were supposed to watch over the armory? Y/N had them dealt with just as the time during the first day they met, their bodies disposed onto a nearby lake, leaving the building devoid of life.

“Now we’re here with you tied up under my mercy,” Y/N drawled out.

“You’ve got loads of conniving bullshit planned out admittedly well for a leader of a small yakuza clan,” he responded with a glare. “Must be tiring for your so-called wraiths to do so much just to do this.”

At that, Y/N tried to stifle it in but failed to keep the laughter from escaping. “Small? Do you really think my crew is just some fiery underdogs who knows what we’re doing?” This time, the wraiths in the dark laughed after her. “You’ve complimented me then insulted me, oh how do I process this?”

“Who the fuck are you then to spit this much confidence to my face?”

Y/N stopped her sadistic glee and faced him with sudden stoicism. She drew a few steps closer and grabbed his chin, making sure he’s facing her head-on as she sat on her heels and said.

“You’re here with the Seiikigumi darling,” she purred, tilting her head with a growing smile. “Lead by none other but yours truly, the Lowlife Princess.”

All this time… The myth spread around the underground about a mysterious clan taking down multiple others before him. The men skilled enough to not be caught by enemies. The leader responsible for running such business. Everything was bared open for Jotaro to experience first hand as their next target.

To that, he cursed to himself for being foolish to trust a random stranger pleading for help.

“As you’ve may or may not known, I’m notorious for shutting down clans as I please by first killing the boss and either letting loose a mass ambush to every known location where their men are or have them join my side… but-” She cupped his cheeks and held them dear. “You may be my first exception~”

“Just shoot me now and spare yourself the effort,” Jotaro hissed but she paid no attention and shushed him.

“Listen to what I have to say darling~” Y/N said with a pout. “Unlike the other fleabags I had to be with, you’re different. You’re competent, stoic, rich, intelligent, and above anything else, pretty handsome for a yakuza boss. Plus, your personal men were so lovely to be with. I’d hate for them to be killed from the get-go.”

“How about you swear loyalty to me and you get to keep the Sangyosei alive and running? You head back as if nothing happened and do what you do, but to imagine you leading your troops with me as your right hand knowing that you're actually mine to control?” She sighed. “Oh it would be such a waste if I were to do what you just said. I do like having my trophy be shiny with power.”

Jotaro growled. “In your fucking dreams.”

Y/N scoffed, standing back up to step back and pull something out from her pocket. “Of course, I’d expect you to be defiant. I know you too well.” She raised her hand to reveal a button. “Standard protocol for stubborn prisoners is usually torture with the usual go-to stabbing, breaking of fingers and/or toes, and other forms of prolonged physical pain.”

“But since I hold you to a higher regard than the previous victims I’ve kept hostage, I have a different form of torture for you~” She gestured for one of her wraiths to gag his mouth with fabric. “Consider yourself lucky~”

With a press of her thumb on the device, Jotaro widened his eyes as his hips jerked and back arched, letting out a strained groan as something stuck to his cock and nipples started to vibrate with much intensity, and he couldn’t do anything about it with his arms and legs stuck in a compromising position.

“I very much enjoyed the nights where you fucked me so hard I couldn’t think straight. Truly, an experience I’d love to be in again. So in your honor, you get to feel what I’ve felt during those times for the whole night.” She pressed the button and his muscles relaxed, sighing with relief.

Y/N slid the gag off his mouth for a moment and said, “So? Will I expect your compliance by dawn, Jotaro-ssi?”

His body still felt the lingering sensations from where the devices were taped on him and he’d expect worse to come, but he wouldn’t back down. He was better than to give his dignity away to a traitor who more or less, deserved to get killed by his rules.

Jotaro responded with a smug smirk, letting her know he’ll indeed be different than her past captives. “Go fuck yourself.”

And just like the first time she stepped into his office, she tongued the inside of her cheek and ordered for the gag to return to his mouth. She turned on her heels, pressing the button to the highest level, causing him to grunt and quiver from the overwhelming sensation of the vibrations.

The door opened for her to step through, but she paused to say one last thing, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that you’re being recorded as well. Knowing you’re a man with dignity, it be awful for everyone to know how the leader of the dangerous Sangyosei clan is tied like this, captured and shaking. Just something to consider.”

He locked into her gaze with a deathly glare.

“Though I’m proud of my title,” she smirked. “I’m glad you made me the Queen, and you only have yourself to blame.”

And the door closed shut.

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #mafia au #enemies to lovers #got inspired by an album with the same name sharing vibes with seulgi's mini album songs

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cake-writes · 4 years

Text

No Vacancy (3/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Both Bucky and Reader are gonna get kind of dark in this, so… Dark Fic (I guess?), Very Dubious Consent, Somnophilia (sex with a sleeping partner – and it’s gonna be more than once), Breeding Kink, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Hair-Pulling, Visible Marks, Breathplay, Throatfucking, Restraints, Subspace, Choking, Spanking, Degradation, Masturbation, Angst, Anxiety, Feels, Mutual Pining, VERY OBVIOUSLY 18+

Summary: You and Bucky have been on so many missions together, you’ve lost count. How is it that you’ve never shared a bed until now?

A/N: NEW WARNINGS so have a look just in case there’s something you don’t want to read. i also made a moodboard. other than that... heh. enjoy, my fellow harlots. 🙈

Part Two / Master List

The devil on your shoulder tries to frame it as a confession.

The angel tries to claim it’s a sign of a guilty conscience.

I pressured you into sleeping with me, didn’t I?

Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s both.

Pressure. You should have said force. You encouraged him – took advantage of him – spurred him on with pleasured gasps and desperate pleas and god, you feel so full. He’ll be dripping out of you for days after.

It’s wrong.

You should have stopped him. He couldn’t consent – but the memory turns you on.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Just knowing how easily he can overpower you even while he’s asleep leaves your body burning with a certain kind of heat you’ve never felt before. Not to this degree. You’ve always known that he’s enhanced, of course, but until last night, you’ve never seen his strength so up close and personal – never experienced it firsthand like that, and now, it’s all you can think about. He’s all you can think about, and he doesn’t even know what he’s done.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

His hand pressing your face into the pillow – you couldn’t breathe.

His cock stretching you out so perfectly – you couldn’t think.

His cum filling you to the brim – you couldn’t stop him. Or at least that’s what you try to tell yourself, but it’s a lie. You didn’t even try.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

The morning is spent tiptoeing around him, like he’s a grenade ready to explode at any given moment. It’s evident that Bucky doesn’t remember a thing about the night before by the way he interacts with you: careful, guarded, like maybe you’re the grenade.

You know you should tell him, but you don’t.

The secret you keep is the grenade, and when the pin is pulled, you don’t know what will remain. You’re scared that he’ll hate you, but you’re not ready to consider that he won’t.

So you confess in a bout of anxiety, instead, because your conscience is muddled and things are weird and you can’t even act right around him anymore.

You’re suffocating.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

He wanted to sleep with you. That’s what he said, but in that moment, it’s crystal clear that you’re not on the same page. The sleeping with you mean is vastly different to the sleeping with he means.

There’s tension. There’s never been tension before. It feels like you’re walking on eggshells, and you hate it. You hate the way he puts you on a pedestal half the time and treats you like a friend for the rest. You hate that the only time he’s serious with you is when you’re joking around. You hate it.

Why can’t he just be honest?

Why can’t you?

It’s overcast outside – downright miserable, really, with rain every ten minutes and you with no wet-weather gear. Washington State is dreary at the best of times, but now it’s even worse. It reflects your state of mind; the storm clouds are your inner conflict, and every clap of thunder signifies a punishment for yourself for wanting this, wanting him, wanting more.

You have to tell him.

As Bucky pulls the beater into the parking lot at the drugstore, the rain finally lifts for the umpteenth time. It feels like a blessing, or maybe it’s a sign.

You slide your hand into his as the two of you walk inside, something you’ve done too many times to count whilst undercover: a fact further proven when his fingers lace with yours so easily, so comfortably, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it is.

When the bomb drops, it won’t be anymore.

“Cold meds are over here,” Bucky says as he leads you in that direction – but you don’t follow, and he stops to glance down at your hands like he’s only just realized what you’ve done. Then his eyes turn back up to your face, and in those pretty baby blues you watch as the confusion turns to suspicion, and your stomach turns to knots. “What are you doing?”

“I—I have to tell you something,” you stammer, hesitant, unsure. Your voice wavers and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it difficult to swallow.

You’re nervous. Of course you are. You’re not ready to pull the pin.

“We’re not together on this mission,” Bucky informs you, plainly, like you don’t already know that. You know what he means by together; you’re not a couple. You know that, too. It’s painfully obvious that you aren’t, now.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

“We could be,” you suggest, to which he sighs in annoyance and pulls his hand free.

“Get your meds,” he says, tone clipped. “You can tell me in the car.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left feeling even more uneasy than before.

By the time you get back outside, it’s raining again. Thankfully, the car’s unlocked, and you jump inside to find that Bucky has his seat reclined and his hands are tucked behind his head like a makeshift pillow. The radio’s tuned to some station you don’t recognize, but you’re in the boonies, now, so that’s really no surprise. A bit of static distorts the song that’s trying to play – something classic rock, but you can’t really place it through the low volume.

As you pull the door shut, he greets you with a sharp, “Took you long enough.”

He’s pissed off, and the way he eases his seat back up is further testament to that – slow, but precise. Calculated. Vibranium fingers tap the steering wheel, like he’s waiting for an apology.

Great.

The pharmacist just had to grill you about your sexual history, because this really is the boonies and you’re a single, unmarried woman looking for contraception. It took a lot longer than it should have, so much that you’re in a mood now, too.

“Sorry,” you mutter, locking the seatbelt into place. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, or,” you gesture to Bucky’s general vicinity, “whatever the hell this is.”

You’re already so tired and it’s only eleven o’clock.

That’s when you finally meet his eyes – just long enough to see that sassing him was probably a bad idea, and predictably it pokes the bear.

“If anyone’s acting off,” he begins, voice sharp, turning the engine back on, “It’s you. Don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but figure your shit out. We’re on a mission.”

You and Bucky have argued before, but not like this. This is personal. The fact that he used your words from your earlier spell of anxiety is proof of that.

As if you need him to tell you what your priorities should be. You already know.

“Roger that, Sarge,” you bite out sarcastically, rummaging around in the plastic bag to rip open the pill package. “I’ll get right on that.”

Then you shove the pill into your mouth and take a swig of water from your water bottle, before you slam it back down into the cup holder a little harder than necessary. Bucky lets out a long, slow breath as he shifts the car into gear, and you don’t even have to look at him to know you’re trying his patience.

Good. He’s trying yours, too.

Crumpling up the bag and its contents, you toss it haphazardly into the back seat and pop your feet up onto the dash in a fit of irritation. That’s when Bucky turns up the radio, and you finally hear the lyrics over the static:

We are all just prisoners here of our own device—

Of course it’s Hotel California. As if you can feel any more trapped than you already do.

You’re suffocating.

It’s clear you won’t be having any more conversation until you arrive at your next destination.

It’s clear that Bucky doesn’t care what you wanted to say, or maybe he’s forgotten. Not that it matters.

Up until now, the confession burned hot on the tip of your tongue – a desperation to tell him about what happened last night, or maybe even an apology, but not anymore.

He was the one who woke you up.

He was the one who held you down.

As far as you’re concerned, you’re the victim here. Not him.

So you don’t say a thing. Instead you shut your eyes and hope to god he didn’t get you pregnant.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave—

The rest of the day unfolds with even less camaraderie between the two of you.

There’s friction, so much that you’re about ready to scream by the time you make it back to the motel. Maybe a little friendly fire would be sufficient, because you’ve had enough.

Steve would understand. He knows what a pain in the ass his best friend can be.

Bucky doesn’t get the door for you this time, not like he usually does; instead he walks right into your shared room and leaves you standing out in the rain. That pisses you off even more, and you slam the door shut behind you so hard that the window next to it clatters in its pane: old, decrepit fibreglass.

You’re lucky that the whole thing didn’t shatter. It’s only hanging on by a literal thread.

That observation sobers you up a little. You can’t keep on like this.

“What are you, a bratty teenager?” Bucky barks at you, and the way he rounds on you so suddenly sends a jolt of excitement straight to your core. “Do you want the rain getting in, princess?”

The last word is spat at you with such vitriol, it makes your jaw drop.

He’s angry. He’s pissed off. He’s had it with you, and it turns you on.

What the hell is wrong with you?

You’ve felt like this all day – just blamed it on your anger because it’s easier to focus your energy into that than on the fact that you want him. That you always have. That you always would, now that you know what he’s capable of.

It’s wrong.

“No,” is what you finally answer; timid, almost, and your shoulders slump in defeat. You can’t keep on like this. It’s only seven o’clock – less than half a day of fighting with him and you’re already over it.

You’re exhausted. And so is he, by the looks of it.

He’s drenched from the rain. The carpet where he’s standing is damp with water, and his clothes haven’t fared much better. You’re sure you’re in a similar state – t-shirt and jacket soaked through, not to mention your jeans, and you’re dripping water into a matching puddle on the floor.

There’s a pause while Bucky runs a hand through his wet hair, before he mutters under his breath, “Christ.”

The rainwater only adds to the atmosphere, of course, and although that certain musty, damp smell isn’t quite as bad as the guest services office, it’s still very present. It tickles your nostrils, makes you sneeze, and then you can’t help but shiver because of the bitter cold.

Bucky’s hand on your shoulder is all the warning you get before he shoves you toward the bathroom – not gently, but not too roughly, either. Just enough to make you stumble.

You open your mouth to rip him a new one for it, because you’re feeling defensive over how much you like it, being pushed around so easily, being put in your place – but he beats you to the punch.

“Go have a hot shower.” The way he says it makes it sound like an order, and you shiver again when your thoughts go where they shouldn’t. “Your cold’s gonna get worse if you don’t warm up.”

That’s right. Your excuse from this morning.

“Fine,” you snap, “but I’m not going because you told me to. It makes sense.”

He sighs in frustration and picks up his towel from this morning off the back of a chair – uses it to dry his hair. “Fine. Just go. I don’t want you getting sick.”

He doesn’t have to say how much of a pain he thinks it’ll be if you do. The implication is enough.

So you shoot him another dirty look and stomp into the bathroom, feeling pissed off and turned on and fed up with this stupid fucking mission and awful fucking town and this shitty fucking motel. The old shower creaks and shudders when you turn the handle, and it takes a couple of minutes to heat up, but soon the hot water is a balm and you’re sighing in relief.

That feels much better.

When you take a little extra time to relieve yourself of the day’s frustrations, too, those happy sighs turn to breathy moans, and you can only assume they’re being drowned out by the water – but they’re not.

The walls are paper thin.

Not that it matters.

The shower leaves you feeling a lot more refreshed.

As you exit the bathroom, towelling dry your hair, you feel so much better. Clearer. Even if it’s wrong to use last night as a fantasy, it still takes the edge off – lets you concentrate more on the mission than Bucky, which is the entire reason the two of you are here.

Problem is, he’s staring at you like that.

Her mind is tiffany-twisted—

Hotel California immediately dies in your throat; you hadn’t even realized you were singing it to yourself until the look on his face made you stop.

“What?” you ask, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Bare. You’ve got a towel around yourself, but it’s not enough. There’s something about the look in his eyes that’s dark, hungry, and it makes your throat go dry. Makes you feel like you’re on display.

Bucky clears his throat and pulls himself to his feet; he’d been sitting at the foot of the bed, leaning more like, probably waiting for you to finish your shower so he can have one himself. “Nothing.”

And then he pushes past you into the bathroom – leaves you alone with your thoughts.

By the time he’s done, you’re already asleep. Or maybe that’s just what you want him to think.

It’s cold.

You must have fallen asleep at some point; you don’t know when, but the digital clock on your bedside table glows bright red in the darkness – 01:12 – and you stifle a yawn. You’re still exhausted, not to mention sore from being put through the ringer over the last day and a half. Your body’s still aching from last night, never mind the soreness between your legs.

The blankets shift beside you, just a little, and you freeze – but Bucky doesn’t do more than roll onto his back. Judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he’s fast asleep.

It’s like last night was a dream. Like it never even happened.

He’s a light sleeper, usually, but he doesn’t wake even when you go to get a drink of water, nor does he stir when you climb back into bed, half-scrambling to get back under the sheets and away from the autumn chill in the air.

It’s freezing, but you can feel the warmth radiating off of him even from your side of the bed.

“Bucky,” you whisper.

No response.

So you reach out hesitantly, nervously, like he’ll lash out at you for even trying – but of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. Your hand splays across his shoulder in a gentle caress, and it’s only when you finally have his too-hot skin beneath your fingertips that you realize how cold you really are. Your fingers are like ice.

Or maybe it’s just an excuse for you to get closer.

Carefully, you lift his arm just enough to slide underneath. Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt and your cheek rests just beside; he’s warm, so warm, and your eyelids instinctively flutter shut because god, he smells good. Sandalwood and musk and everything him, just like last night, only stronger, more concentrated, right from the source.

That’s when the fire between your legs starts to burn. You almost wish it didn’t. You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this, but you can’t escape it.

Last night did happen, and it’s something you’ll never, ever forget.

You shift to peer up at him in the darkness, but his breathing stays just as even – just as steady.

“Bucky.”

It’s not a whisper anymore, but it’s not so loud, either. Your voice is rough from sleep. That’s all.

His brows knit together, and for a moment you think you’ve woken him – but then his face relaxes again. He’s still asleep.

Your hand smooths along the planes of his chest, slowly, as if to savour the feel of his muscles under your fingertips; and then it slides lower, to his abdomen, and your heart starts to race.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He’s so strong, so ripped, so fucking attractive and you just can’t help yourself because you’ve never touched him like this. You shouldn’t be touching him like this.

It’s wrong.

Your hand dips lower still, to the waistband of his sweatpants, and you swallow thickly.

Another glance up at his face – he’s still asleep.

You should stop. You shouldn’t do this.

But you do.

Your palm brushes against him through the thick cotton and fleece of his sweats, and your heart skips a beat because he’s hard. It spurs you on, gives you the courage to wrap your fingers around him, pump him once, twice—

And then you’re on your back, with him on top of you and cold vibranium fingers digging into the flesh of your neck.

You can’t breathe.

There it is again, that expression that makes your heart sink in realization and your core throb in muscle memory. He’s not here. Not really. Those pretty baby blues of his are blank, emotionless, and a cold sweat breaks out over your skin when you gather that he might actually hurt you this time.

“Buck—” You choke out, but you can’t breathe. “Bucky—”

He’s too strong, too powerful, too good at what he does. He has your arms pinned down with the way he’s straddling your upper body, and he’s far too heavy for you to push him off.

You’re trapped.

Only when your vision starts to go a little spotty does he finally let go, and you gasp and cough for air – at least until you feel the vibranium trail up your neck and along your cheek, and suddenly you’re staring up at him with baited breath as he drags his thumb against your lips. When he dips it inside to feel the wetness of your tongue, you shiver.

You like this.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He says something in Russian, then, but you don’t know what it means. Probably should have taken Natasha up on her offer to teach you way back when. Not that it matters.

At your lack of response, he grips your chin to the point that it’s almost painful. Almost.

It turns you on.

Then he repeats himself, a little more firmly this time.

“Da,” is all you can manage, a breathy whisper, because ‘yes’ is the only Russian you know. Problem is, you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to.

You soon find out when he lets go of your chin in favour of burying his hand in your hair, to pull your head forward; and with his free one, he pulls down his sweats just enough to free himself, let you come face to face with his cock. All eight inches of him, thick and hard and leaking precum.

The breath leaves your lungs with a whoosh.

He says a single word, and you don’t have to understand the language to know what he means.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, first, and then you glance up at his face, like maybe this is the dream and he’ll snap right out of it. Then again, you’re not really sure that you want him to. The desire coursing through your veins feels like a bushfire, turning any rational thought in your mind to ash.

It’s not a dream. He’s not awake.

It’s wrong, and you don’t care.

You lean forward slightly to take the head into your mouth, and then you give it a tentative little suck. He’s thick, so much that you know your jaw will be aching by the end, but the salty taste of him is intoxicating, it’s addicting, and you can’t get enough. Your tongue swirls around the head, as if to collect every drop of precum he’s offered you – and then you take him further.

About halfway down is what triggers your gag reflex, and you quickly pull away to cough.

A mistake.

He uses his tight grip on your hair to shove your mouth right back onto him – and then he pushes past your tonsils, and your nose is buried in his curls.

Sandalwood. Sweat. Bucky.

You gag once, twice, feel your throat constrict around him, but he doesn’t let up – just makes you take every inch of him until you feel like you’re about to pass out for a second time. Survival instinct has struggling to push him away, has your fingernails digging into the backs of his thighs, has you drawing blood but you don’t even notice – the lack of oxygen’s already gone to your head.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

You like this. You like it so much that your panties are soaked through.

By the time he pulls away, you feel a little dizzy, but you have half a mind to beg for more.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Each gulp of air feels like a blessing, one that he’s given you, that he’s allowed you to have and you look up at him again through half-lidded eyes as if to say thank you.

Then his cock’s all the way down your throat again, and your vision blurs with tears: a physiological reaction from gagging and coughing, nothing more. You’re not scared, no – you’re turned on. So turned on that you can’t think straight anymore.

You’re losing it.

When he finally relents, you rasp, “Fuck me.”

It’s in English, but he seems to understand just fine.

He lets go of your hair and moves off of you so that you can catch your breath. Your cheeks are wet, and radiating heat – but you don’t notice the latter until cold metal fingertips come back up to brush away your tears.

You feel dazed. High. Floating, and you never want to come down.

Clarity slowly comes as your breathing returns to normal, but everything still feels like a fever dream.

“Clothes.”

Another one-word order, in English this time, and you comply like you’re on autopilot because he’s him and your body’s buzzing with endorphins. Your t-shirt hits the ground first, followed by your pajama bottoms – but when you reach for your underwear, you notice that your hands are trembling. That’s how excited you are.

It’s wrong.

Not that it matters, because you discard your panties quickly, too.

“Spread your legs.”

After leaning back on your elbows, you do so – and when he finally touches you there, your head lulls back. Two warm fingers spread you open like he’s checking to make sure you can handle what he’s going to give you. You’re not sure that you can, now, but hell if you don’t want to try.

When he removes them, a glistening string of wetness follows – and then it breaks. Some part of you does, too.

His arms hook around your thighs before he pulls you forward, just enough to line you up where he wants you. You yelp in surprise at the suddenness of the action, but it doesn’t faze him; he just sluices the head of his cock through your folds, and then he pushes in.

No warning. No preparation.

You don’t need it anyway.

The first thing you notice is that you’re sore, an observation soon forgotten the further he slides inside. The stretch of him feels different, now – better, because you’re already so soaked and the saliva only adds to the slickness. The position he takes you in bears a resemblance to missionary, with him on his knees, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning because it’s so good.

That doesn’t last long. The last couple of inches sink into you all at once with a snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” you whine, holding onto the pillow above your head like it’ll ground you, maybe keep you from losing yourself.

It won’t.

With his fingers digging into your hips, you’re not sure how long you’ll last. It’s a grip that ensures full control of your body, something only further proven when he uses it to pull you off of his cock. Then he shoves you right back down onto him, forces you to take every inch of him inside of you, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

It feels too good. He feels too good.

You’re losing it.

The pace he sets isn’t gentle, but you don’t want that anyway. Not now. Not anymore.

Skin audibly slaps against skin as he fucks you – and that’s exactly what it is. He’s fucking you. He’s fucking the life out of you, rough, brutal, and there’s nothing admirable about it. It’s not the kind of sex that they show in the movies; it’s the kind that warps your mind, distorts your senses, makes you feel like you have only one purpose: this.

It’s carnal. It’s instinct.

You need to feel him blow.

It’s addicting, watching the sweat roll down his muscular chest. It’s exhilarating, seeing the furrow of his brow as he concentrates. It’s shameless, the way your breasts bounce with every punishing thrust, and you know he notices when his fingertips tweak a nipple.

Every part of you is exposed to him like this. Raw. Debased.

His.

It only sends you higher when you see the bruises on your hips.

You’re losing it.

And then he leans forward onto his forearms, caging you in – and it’s intimate. His forehead touches yours, his nose brushes yours, and you shudder because it’s not real.

Every part of you is exposed to him except for that.

So you pull him closer, giving him no choice but to bury his face in your neck, and it’s there he sucks a bruise; he leaves a mark, a claim, a scarlet letter on your skin.

It’s wrong, but it almost feels right. Almost – but it’s off.

The suddenness of him slamming into your g-spot draws you out of your head and back into the present. Even if it’s not real, he still knows how to play your body like an instrument, and he soon has you dangling over the edge, whimpering, begging, ready to implode. His fingers are in your mouth to stifle your moans, and he’s saying things – things in Russian – things you can’t understand, but it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

None of it is real.

When the pace changes, your ankles lock around his waist. He’s close.

“Come inside me,” you gasp, or maybe it’s a plea.

His hips stutter, then, and when he shoves it in as far as he can go, you fall.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

His cock throbs, and that’s when you can feel it, the warmth, the heat – you feel each pulse as he spills inside of you, every hot rope of cum as he fills you to the brim. You’re clenching down so tightly around him, it’s impossible not to feel it. It’s impossible not to lose yourself. It’s impossible not to break.

When he bites into the tender junction of your neck and shoulder, you see stars. It’s a mark, a bruise, a delicate mixture of pleasure and pain, and his teeth leave your skin a reminder for the morning—

You’re his, inside and out.

If only.

Part Four

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

829 notes · View notes

mysterytickingegos · 3 years

Text

I’ve Created a Monster

Pairing: Darkiplier x Clairvoyant!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,480

Summary: After a bad date, you made a rather interesting friend. But better yet, you discovered something just as interesting about yourself. This something leads to a very exhilarating part of your life, but you learn the hard way that it’s not quite as glamorous an adventure as it may seem. The last person you’d expect is the one to bring you back to reality.

Anonymous Request: If I may request! :) Can I have a darkiplier x fem!reader fic with the prompts 37, 44, 45? After the events of wkm? Just some hurt and comfort to give me dem feelz 😀👍 Maybe Dark is the one saying it please? Much thanks!

Authors Note: Probably not what you were going for with the prompts but I hope you still enjoy it!

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A Gif of Darkiplier from the “horror” branch of “A Date with Markiplier,” speaking to the viewer at a table, while another image of him leans away and yells. End Description]

Junk mail, bill, wrong address, junk mail...

The usual. You weren’t sure what ‘cool thing’ you were expecting to get in the mail in 2020 but the disappointment was there anyway. Just as you shut your mailbox you heard somebody coming down the stairs and cringed, bracing yourself as you hoped it wasn’t who you thought it was. But of course it was.

Your upstairs neighbor, AKA the worst date ever. “Ah, hey Y/n.”

“Hi Mark...” You gave him a sad attempt at a wave, and he gave you a nod, walking over to his own mailbox.

‘How’s it going?”

“Great, yeah...you?”

“Good.”

And with that the room dissolved into awkward silence, and you took your leave back up the stairs. Funny enough these moments used to be filled with dumb jokes and flirting, that was until he finally asked you out. You had been overjoyed, happy that someone had taken an interest in you and glad that something was breaking your dull everyday routine. Little did you know the highlight of the date would be the end. He had taken you to an expensive restaurant only to reveal that he had ‘forgotten’ his wallet (which ended up falling out of his pocket in front of you in the theater.) Then he had been upset with you for accidentally falling asleep to what must’ve the most boring Rom-com you had ever been subjected to. You both seemed to be in silent agreement that this should never, ever happen again.

But unbeknownst to you and Mark, somebody else had been lingering around. That was the first time that specific somebody had decided to visit you, making a sucky date the least of your concerns. You spent the rest of your night watching compilations on YouTube and eating chocolate Ice Cream. You kept going from sad to angry over your horrible day in your head.

Were you only worth asking out for a free meal? A meal that for you took about half your grocery budget. You should’ve given that ass a piece of your mind.

You sniffed, wiping your eyes and scarfing down even more ice cream. “Damn it.”

“Aw, don’t cry, darling. It wasn’t that bad.”

You screamed and nearly jumped out of your skin, scrambling away from the man now next to you on the couch. The moment your feet hit the ground you grabbed your phone and locked yourself in your bedroom. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Let’s say I'm a... friend of a friend. I thought I’d check up on you after that train wreck.” He spoke through the door. You heard a laugh layer over his voice, and wondered if somebody else was there.

“I’m calling the police!” You shouted back.

Then you heard the same voice just in front of you, clearly amused with the situation. “You’re welcome to do so, though I’m not sure they’d believe you.” It was the same man from the couch, smiling at you. You noticed how he seemed to be glitching, and how as his head tilted to the side his figure had duplicated in blue for a split second. “As I’m sure you can tell by now, I’m not exactly human.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to get to know you, Y/n. Is that so much to ask?”

The first few nights that you had stayed up a little too late and wound up speaking that deranged spirit again, you had been terrified. But soon enough you learned to enjoy his company. Sure, he could be a little unsettling at times, particularly when he was irritated and got...cold. Not just figuratively, which he was, but literally. The temperature in your apartment would drop a significant amount and you would change subjects shivering. But all in all, from what you could see behind that wall he had up, he was simply lost at worst, not exactly evil. And it was nice to not have to be so lonely all the time.

But during one of these visits, early on, you had decided to ask why.

“Why me, of all people?”

The man you had come to know simply as ‘Dark’ leaned in, lighting up as though he had been waiting on you to ask that this entire time. “Oh, Y/n. Don’t you know?”

“Why would I ask if I already knew?”

He let out an impatient sigh. ‘That’s...I was being...” He glanced up at you just in time to catch the smile playing at your lips after successfully ruining his aesthetic. “You know what? You can stay in the dark.”

“No no no, I’ll shut up, just tell me.” You turned to face him on the couch, tucking your legs under yourself.

He left you in suspense for a few moments, before dropping his voice down low when he spoke so you would have to lean closer in just to hear him. “Let’s just say you are...spiritually attuned to my world.”

“Spiritually attuned?”

“Yes, you are psychic, a medium, clairvoyant. Whatever you want to call it.” He explained. “You are a magnet to things outside the realm of the natural. A strange pair, aren’t we?”

And that was all it took, so many unexplained events from your past were now explained, and a world of possibilities was opened to you. You must’ve spent weeks researching how to harness your abilities, starting the second he left. Sure, most sites and blogs were absolutely full of it but you got the gist. With that and some common sense, how much could go wrong?

You started to take silly jobs on the internet, from old women who thought something was off with their mirrors to amateur ghost hunters who wanted a ‘consultant.’ It took you a while to gain some confidence that you weren’t just pulling this stuff out of thin air, that you hadn’t lost your mind. But after a few months, once you hit that learning curve, man it was fun.

Your latest job was a little more hardcore, a young family wanting help to push a poltergeist out of their new home. Their stories had chilled you to the bone, but you were happy to help. Your evaluation at the house went fine, nothing too far past what you were used to. Except, the entire time you were there you felt as though you had weight sitting on your chest. You could barely listen to the poor couple tell you what they experienced due to a faint scratching feeling at the back of your mind. You weren’t an expert yet but you could tell that whatever this thing was, it did not welcome you there. Worse yet, the feeling of being drained that the couple mentioned was certainly affecting you as well. Perhaps worse.

But all that accomplished was making you even more determined to rid the house of it. You took notes for your research later, tried to communicate in the most active part of the house (with no results,) and gave the couple the best advice you could at the moment.

“Until this thing is gone, it’s best you stay somewhere else.”

A few nights later, you had just finished packing your bag and begun heading for the door when you heard Dark just behind you. “Good evening, Y/n.” His voice was layered, followed by a subtle echo bouncing off the walls of your small apartment. When you turned to face him you saw he was already frowning, having realized you were on your way out. “Where are you off to so late?“

“I’m going to hang out with some friends. So I’m sorry, you’ll have to find some other way to entertain yourself tonight, instead of ya know, slowly but surely turning me into a nocturnal hermit.“ You joked, adjusting the tote bag on your shoulder.

He chuckled, bringing his hands behind his back. “I hate to break this to you my dear, but you were there well before we met.”

“Ha ha.” You turned to leave but were stopped short when you saw that he had apparated directly in front of you.

“What’s in the bag?” He asked, starting to reach for it curiously before you stepped back.

“Nothing.” You said, a little too quickly. “Just some party supplies, alright?”

He raised his brow, no longer amused. “...Convincing. Is it really so difficult to be honest with me?”

“Oh don’t even try and pull that card, you won’t even tell me why you’re haunting that jerk upstairs.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you. “That’s different. Bringing such things to light would only do more harm than good.”

“Well, I may be wrong but...my thing is kinda the same. And I like what we’ve got going on so just let it go. Please?”

Dark stayed quiet, peeved off and clearly even more curious than he was before. Finally, he side-stepped out of your way, “Just be careful.”

When you got to the house, you were careful. Keeping lights on and keeping quiet while you did everything your research said you were supposed to. As you did, the spirit was also quiet, too quiet. And on your way home, you kept waiting for that heavy feeling on your chest to fade away.

Your apartment was freezing when you stepped out of the bathroom after your shower. Cold air brushed over your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Dark?” You called out, looking around for him. This wasn’t like him. He usually made you aware of his presence as soon as he showed up. You walked into your bedroom and when you locked eyes with another in the mirror, you froze.

This wasn’t like Dark, because it wasn’t him.

Instead, the person standing behind you was a very decrepit and very angry old woman, seemingly fading in and out of reality as she glared at you. “Y̸o̵u̶ ̴s̴h̷o̵u̶l̶d̸ ̸h̵a̵v̷e̷ ̵l̸e̴f̷t̶ ̷w̶e̶l̵l̶ ̸e̴n̵o̷u̶g̷h̶ ̶a̸l̶o̴n̸e̷.̴“

The mirror shattered and you whipped around to face her, but she wasn’t there. The air whirling around the place started to pick up, and picture frames flew off the wall at you, then other objects that had decorated your room. You tried to flee but your front door wouldn’t budge. You started to bang on it, crying in fear and praying that anyone would hear you. Next thing you knew though, you were flung towards the wall.

Finally, everything settled. The weight was off your chest, but there was plenty of pain there in it’s place. You slowly pulled yourself into a sitting position, then wiped the tears off your face with one hand and held the other over your ribs. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, waiting for something to happen and your heartbeat overpowered the ringing silence in your ears. You wanted to get your phone, to call for help but you were terrified of gaining attention again. You didn’t even really stop shaking until you heard a familiar voice.

“...Y/n?” Dark didn’t see you when he first showed up, just the disaster area that was your living room. Once had seen you, he was beside you in a blink of an eye. You didn’t even think about it before you wrapped your arms around him. He only gave you a moment of comfort before he pulled back, looking over you in concern. “What happened? Who hurt you?”

You couldn’t really get much out between pained wincing as he scooped you into his arms. “It was a -Ow- s-spirit.”

He laid you down on the couch as gently as he could, and you could see his face change from confusion to recognition to irritation. “Why, pray tell, would a spirit be here?”

“I may have taken a job to get rid of it...” You muttered under your breath.

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head, about to say something else before he stopped himself. Instead he moved his focus to your hand, moving it to reveal the dark bruise over your ribs.

“See, I knew you weren’t gonna like it.”

“You going off and messing with things you haven’t even begun to understand? Of course I don’t like it.” His figure glitched and layered itself in different colors before he got up and went to the kitchen.

You scoffed at his remark, trying to sit up. “Hey I understand more than you think, I’ve been doing this crap for months!”

He came back around the corner with an ice pack from your freezer in his hand. “Months?” He apparated in front of you, gently placing the pack down on the bruise, allowing you to squeeze his free hand until the shock wave from the pressure passed over you.

“I started looking into all this after you told me the truth.” You confessed. “I mean with the internet it wasn’t difficult, and I do my due diligence alright? I don’t know what went wrong.”

The aura behind him flashed pure red for just a moment, he approached his next words much softer than usual. “You can’t navigate things like this using the internet, Y/n.”

“Well I didn’t think you’d want to help me help everyone else get rid of their ghosts.”

He scoffed at you, beginning to raise his voice as the aura swapped back to blue. “You were right! I don’t understand why you would want anything to do with this, anyway. Why would you do this to yourself??”

“I thought...I thought it’d be fun-”

“This isn’t a game!”

“You know I really don’t get you, why-”

“Of course you don’t! Do you even know what I am?”

“Well, no...”

“Neither do I.” He growled. His words truly sunk in once you saw the pain behind his eyes. He collected himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, “What I do know, is that I was human once. And people screwing with things that they shouldn’t have for selfish reasons is what turned me into this. Over the years I’ve had to see other terrible things happen to well meaning people. I’ll be damned if you throw yourself into the fire for fun.”

You nodded softly, breaking the intense gaze between you to look as your hands. “...Okay.” You opened your mouth to speak again after that, but decided against it.

“What is it?” Dark asked, trying and failing to hide the impatience in his voice.

“I just didn’t think...well I really didn’t think you’d care. Well, about this part I guess-” You sighed, cutting yourself off this time, rather than rambling.

He was quiet for a moment, placing his hand under your chin and tilting your head up to look at him. “I care...more than you know.” It was the silence after that, that spoke volumes, and even more so the way he moved forward to press his lips to yours. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a poltergeist to take care of.”

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier fanfiction #darkiplier fanfic #darkiplier x y/n #markiplier egos x reader

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delicioussshame · 3 years

Text

This was written with time I 100% did not have and I’m so going to regret wasting it later.

Luo Binghe had always planned to come back for Shen-laoshi.

It’s why he’d chosen to study business in the first place. If he wanted to steal Shen-laoshi away from the job that was stretching so thin he was already close to breaking when Luo Binghe was only a high school student, he needed to make so much money that Shen-laoshi could not say no. If Shen-laoshi were to think, even for a second, that supporting him would weight Luo Binghe down, he would remain a teacher for the rest of his life, Luo Binghe knew it.

Luo Binghe had expected this would take at least a few years, even with the prestigious university degree he only got because Shen-laoshi personally tutored him for so long.

He hadn’t expected the shortcut life had sent his way, but he was not going to ignore it.

“…Binghe? Is that Luo Binghe?”

Luo Binghe feels his stomach drop. Shen-laoshi could never be anything less than stunning, but even his visible joy at seeing Luo Binghe again cannot mask the dull, almost sickly pallor of his skin, or the deep bags under his eyes. As Luo Binghe feared, the terrible school he had attended had eaten Shen-laoshi alive. He’d always known that good intentions wouldn’t be enough to permanently counter chronic lack of funding and colleagues so apathetic they could only be matched by the students, but witnessing it this obviously tears at his heart.

Luo Binghe had never planned a conventional courtship. He’d known since he was fifteen that Shen-laoshi was his soulmate. He didn’t want to wait. If Shen-laoshi were to ask, Luo Binghe would marry him right here and now. The ring he’d gotten for him had been the first major purchase he’d made, once he’d understood he’d never have to restrain himself again.

Saving Shen-laoshi is more important that Luo Binghe’s romantic intentions. He has to take him away from here, as fast as possible. He hadn’t planned on moving this fast, but since summer break is fast approaching… “Does Laoshi knows who Tianlang-Jun was?”

Shen-laoshi blinks at the non-sequitur. They’d been catching up moments ago, and now this? “…Yes?”

“After I graduated from college, I found out I was his only biological son. His only family still alive. He left me everything.”

Shen-laoshi lefts out a polite, unbelieving laugh. “Really? How lucky for you.”

Luo Binghe hands him his phone. Does Shen-laoshi even have a decent phone? The older model he’d used when Luo Binghe was still a student here cannot possibly still work, can it? “You can look it up, if you want to. There were a couple articles about it.”

Luo Binghe stays silent at Shen-laoshi’s face turns astonished, before he gives the phone back. “Wow. Binghe, congratulations! Or should I be offering you my sympathies? You’ve never met him, have you?”

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “That’s not why I told Shen-laoshi this. Laoshi should know that I’m very, very wealthy. I’ve taken over my father’s affairs, and I fully intend on keeping things that way.”

Shen-laoshi blinks, confused. “I’m very happy for you, of course. Binghe deserves it more than anyone, after all the hard work he did to get ahead. But why are you telling me? You must have many friends now. Maybe a lover? You don’t have to hang you with your old teacher anymore.”

“Come home with me.”

Shen-laoshi tilts his head just a little, before gesturing to the mountains of tests he’d surrounded with. “As Binghe knows, the semester is almost over. I have tests to grade.”

Too many to only be his class’. Luo Binghe bets older teachers have left Shen-laoshi their share. Again. Still.

He grits his teeth. He’d chosen to approach Shen-laoshi in July exactly because of this. He’d thought they could get closer during the summer months, and with luck he’d convince Shen-laoshi not to return in September.

September is too far away. “Shen-laoshi shouldn’t waste his valuable time on this! Look at him, so exhausted, so pale, so thin! Has he been eating at all after I stopped bringing him food? Laoshi, your student cannot let this stand! Shen-laoshi needs to stop working. Instead, he can stay with me. I make more than enough to support him!”

He can see Shen-laoshi fluster. “Binghe, what nonsense are you spouting? You can’t just take people in like they’re stray dogs! And I’m perfectly fine! I can take care of myself without having my former student worry about me like I’m a child! Really, Binghe, are you the one working too much? It’s the first time we see each other in years, is this really what you want to say?”

Luo Binghe has never heard more blatant lies. Shen-laoshi couldn’t even meet his eyes as he spoke. He’s on the verge of a breakdown, anyone could see it.

He won’t let this stand. “Shen-laoshi isn’t a child, but I’m not one anymore either. I’ve thought this through. Why do you think I came to visit Laoshi here, at school? I wanted to see if he was doing better, or if he’d moved on from this place, but since it isn’t the case, it’s clear he needs help. Help I’m more than willing to offer, in exchange for all those years he spent tutoring me.”

Shen-laoshi’s voice softens. “Binghe, no. You don’t owe me just because I was doing my job.”

Shen-laoshi wasn’t just doing his job. Even when he met with Luo Binghe at his desk, Luo Binghe had been aware that he sometimes intruded; that Shen-laoshi had pushed back grading or his second job aside to give Luo Binghe, the one interested student he had, the attention he needed to blossom.

No matter what Shen-laoshi says, Luo Binghe owes him the world, and he’ll give it to him. “I want to. Shen-laoshi would stay inside, reading the books he doesn’t have time to read right now and resting until he’s well again. Wouldn’t that be nice? I assure him my home is equipped with any luxury he might need, and if something is missing, I’ll get it for him. All he would have to do is be there for me when I return. That’s not much to ask for, is it?” The work day would be never-ending if it were keeping him away from Shen-laoshi, but it would also be so much more worthwhile. Working to keep his beloved safe and happy would fuel him through each day.

“If Binghe is lonely, he can get a girlfriend! They must be fighting to get at you! Keep your teacher out of it!”

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “I don’t want women. Laoshi is the only one I want in my home and in my bed. As I said, I’m a man now, and I know what I want. Living with me would be so much better for him than,” he gestures to the decrepit teachers’ room, “this. Laoshi has to accept that much.”

Shen-laoshi’s skin is now white as a sheet. He probably finally figured out that Luo Binghe was serious.

Good.

“Binghe really… Do you realise what you just said? Binghe wants… You’re not well. If you prefer… men, that’s perfectly fine. Get a boyfriend who’ll be your equal. Don’t offer to… pay older men to…” The rest of the sentence dies out, Shen-laoshi obviously too distraught to continue.

Distraught, but not disgusted. “I said I wanted Laoshi, not anyone else. I wouldn’t offer such a deal to a stranger. I just want to give back to Shen-laoshi for all he did for me.”

“Binghe has a strange definition of giving back.”

To be honest, Luo Binghe would wire an obscene amount of money in Shen-laoshi’s account each month if he thought for a minute that his former teacher would accept it. He just knows he won’t.

But if he’s his… Shen-laoshi has a reason to accept his generosity, and Luo Binghe has a golden opportunity to demonstrate his devotion. “I have no plans to trap Laoshi in something he doesn’t want. I came to see him because the semester is almost over. How about he comes spend a week at mine, see how he likes it? If it doesn’t suit him, he can go at anytime. I won’t ever restrain his movements. I just think it would be a better deal for both of us. Or does Laoshi doubt me? Have I ever given him a reason to distrust me? I was always a good student, wasn’t I? I can tell Laoshi needs some time to recharge. Some time away from all of this, for him to be taken cared of properly. I would love to provide that time for him.” Luo Binghe advances a bit, and takes Shen-laoshi’s frail, trembling hand in his, closing his own, much warmer, fingers over his gently. “Please?”

Shen-laoshi stares at their joined hands, apparently mystified at the fact that he’s not taking his back.

Luo Binghe is content to wait.

“…This is crazy. I can’t possibly be considering… Binghe, are you certain?”

Luo Binghe has never been more certain of anything. “Yes.”

“…You said just one week?”

To begin with. Luo Binghe has no intention of having him leave after said week. Shen-laoshi will be so thoroughly wooed, he won’t even realise seven days have passed until a month has. “One week.”

Shen-laoshi rubs his temples in a gesture that reveals how much his own existence weights on him. “I must be insane. Who does that? Binghe, who does that? Who do you think I am?”

“My teacher, and the only person I want.” He lets his hold on Shen-laoshi’s hand turn inviting, rubbing with a touch so light Shen-laoshi shivers under its caress. “Think of it as a vacation. Laoshi deserves one. That’s not so strange, is it? A vacation away from everyone and everything, where you only have to think about yourself, for once.”

“And you.”

“And me.” Luo Binghe won’t let Shen-laoshi forget about him, not even when he’s at work.

“Why me?”

“Why not you? Shen-laoshi is beautiful.”

He laughs. It’s a bitter, ugly sound that Luo Binghe instantly hates. “I am not. You said it yourself; I’m tired. I’ve exhausted myself. I look twice my age.”

Luo Binghe rolls his eyes. He’s never heard anything more ridiculous. “You do not. Laoshi barely looks older than I.”

Luo Binghe thought Shen-laoshi would keep on arguing. He could go on for hours, when Luo Binghe got him in the right move. His anger had been captivating, as a child. Luo Binghe had dreamed of creating such passion in him.

He might have a chance to, now.

Instead, Shen-laoshi is vanquished by the years of overwork. Luo Binghe can tell. It’s not his proposal that seems rational, or Luo Binghe himself that’s too appealing; it’s, as he expected, this revolting environment that Shen-laoshi wants to escape from for a moment, even if the only way to do so is by running in Luo Binghe’s arms. “Fine. If Binghe wants to do something as stupid as taking his old teacher as a charge, he can do it, as long as he doesn’t expect much. I don’t have anything left to offer.”

More nonsense. Shen-laoshi, tired to the core and depleted as he is, has more to offer than the prettiest of the heiresses who tried their hands at him.

Luo Binghe gives him a card, folding his fingers over the thick paper. “My address. Shen-laoshi should come on the first Sunday after the term has ended. I’ll be here to welcome him properly. And I won’t let him forget. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll come pick him up. He can pack, or he can bring nothing; either way, I’ll provide anything he needs.”

Shen-laoshi’s fingers twitch over the paper before he pockets it. “I see. I’ll do as Binghe says, then, and come visit him on Sunday, unless he gets his senses back and takes back his offer, in which case, he should call to say so.”

As if. “Shen-laoshi shouldn’t count on it.”

Shen-laoshi sighs. “I’m starting to understand that.”

By the end of the week, Luo Binghe will make sure Shen-laoshi knows down to his bones that when it comes to his teacher, Luo Binghe’s senses have left him long ago. “I’ll be waiting, then.”

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu #That AU where LBH and SY fail to negociate their sugar relationship

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.”

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented. He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

#Star Wars #Star Wars Prequels #Naruto #Uchiha Madara #Uchiha Obito #crossovers #Phoenix Posts #body horror mention

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glitterecs · 4 years

Photo

Conservative towns/Secret relationship

🌾 Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds

Summary:

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

🌾 That's What I'm Here For by taggiecb

Summary:

Louis Tomlinson is a dairy farmer on a tiny farm in eastern Canada. His wife of nearly thirty years has left him and his children are all grown up and out of the house. Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

🌾 the dead things we carry by MediaWhore

Summary:

September ‘49 He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out.

This is the man who saved Louis’ life.

For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself.

“Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight.

This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real.

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

🌾 I’ll Be Here Waiting on Forever by sweaterpawstyles

Summary:

Harry made Louis feel like he was walking on air. He was beautiful in every way and it constantly amazed Louis. His eyes could melt Louis' heart at a single glance, his soft hands made Louis' heart race with a simple touch, and the words from his cherry red lips were so captivating that Louis held onto everything he said. There was a constant buzz in Louis' veins when Harry gave him that look, the look that spoke more than words ever could. It was a soft fond that Louis fell in love with so easily. Too easily.

Louis was in love with the boy he could never have and show off to the world. Or, A Romeo and Juliet AU where Louis is an alpha prince who falls in love with Harry, an omega prince from the neighboring kingdom

🌾 Through Lonely Streets and Neon Lights by sweetly_disposed

Summary:

1920's era, Great Gatsby inspired. Harry is a poor boy living in the South Village. Every night he watches the North City come alive and longs of crossing the river to be a part of it and escape his dreary life. The infamous Mr Tomlinson lives across the river from Harry. His parties are the stuff of legend; people on both sides know about them, and all Harry wants is a chance to go to one. When fate swings his way and he finds himself in Mr Tomlinson's house, he gets much more than he could ever have bargained for.

🌾 Blossoms in Barren Land by kassio

Summary:

Mr. Louis Tomlinson is a dutiful son to Lord and Lady Tomlinson, a caring older brother, and a beloved fixture of their village. He has always done what was expected of the Tomlinson heir.

An unexpected new resident fascinates Louis and awakens feelings that threaten to throw his perfectly-ordered life into chaos. Mr. Harry Styles, however, has plans of his own, and may not be what he seems...

🌾 and then he is the darkness by familysdisappointment

Summary:

No one in town knew where he came from nor who his parents were. Men swore Harry was the only one who could cure incurable diseases. Marriageable women claimed that Harry had the power to make men ask for their hand in marriage. Married men, jealous of the passions that the young gentleman awoke in their wives, used to spread the rumor that he knew about spells, magic, and enchantments.

or the Colonial Mexico Tale AU no one asked for.

🌾 Pray Till I Go Blind by el_em_en_oh_pee

Summary:

Louis is (kind of) a preacher. Harry is (probably) a demon. Of course, nothing's as simple as that.

This is not a love story.

🌾 threadbare by kiwikero

Summary:

Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill.

He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.

🌾 Break Me Down, Build Me Up by creamcoffeelou

Summary:

America, as it’s been told, is the world of riches. Men and women alike can come to the land of the free and achieve the American dream, regardless of their background. He wanted nothing more than to create a better life for his sisters, for himself, and perhaps for his future. Harry Styles was never a part of the plan.

[or: Louis moves his family to America to try and find a better life. Harry finds him instead.]

🌾 Embellish Your Heart by letsjustsee

Summary:

“You’re sort of a mystery, Harry Styles,” Louis says, and Harry looks surprised before he laughs loudly. “Am I?” Louis nods his head a little. “A very interesting, intriguing mystery.”

Or, a Bootlegger AU where it's 1925 in small town America, and Louis Tomlinson has never met anyone quite like Harry Styles.

🌾 Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore

Summary:

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

#fic rec #p:Larry #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry stylinson fic #larry fanfiction #folereslikes

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

A Way Into the Future - Luxu

Alright, we’ve got the green light kiddos! So, without further ado, here’s my piece for the Shattered Fates - Foretller Zine. Enjoy!

Music Inspiration: I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead - Set It Off

~~~~~

Footsteps echo off the stone walls of the underpass beneath the Outer Gardens. One set—much faster than the other—struggles, moving unsteadily and with a lot of panic. It’s no wonder considering the owner of said steps took quite a beating. He put up a decent fight, but poor Braig had no hope of prevailing against his tormentor: a legend, a man of time, a Master—Luxu.

Ruthless yellow lights barely have the power to illuminate the tunnels, but the young man doesn’t need to see to know the man hunting him is not far behind.

As the black coat stalks persistently closer, his prey stumbles down the path, unaware that he’s being driven straight into a trap—doing everything that the stalker had intended to a T. Luxu has spent many years refining a variety of skills, both combative and strategic; coercing his victims into his snare is child’s play. Decades of thought have gone into formulating the criteria for his perfect vessel and, unfortunately for the young man, he matches every point perfectly.

Unbeknownst to the Radiant Garden native, Luxu had scouted his playground days prior to this encounter and had collapsed the only escape that gave his victim any prospect. His hope is effectively crushed at the sight of the clogged tunnel.

Eyes wide with pure terror, he turns back to Luxu. The sharpshooter has a quick draw, even in fear, but it proves just as useless as it had before. Barely any thought is spent on the barrier that prevents the bullets from reaching their mark.

“I already told you resisting me was useless,” Luxu drawls. “All this fear and pain could’ve been avoided if you had just done as I asked. But I guess it’s only fair to assume any self-respecting warrior worth his salt would struggle.”

Backed against the debris, the kid quivers. To his merit, he maintains his aim, despite how utterly doomed he is.

“What do you want with me?!”

Luxu pauses his approach. “Hmm, let’s see—that brand new job you just took at the castle is a good start.”

“A job? You want my job? I-I can talk to my boss! Just let me talk to Ansem!”

“I hate to tell you, kid, but I need more than your job. I need your entire existence. Or more specifically, I need your body.” The boy’s petrified face goes pale. “My scapegoat has finally arrived; things are about to get very interesting and your life perfectly fits all my needs. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop struggling; I’d like to avoid injuring that body any more than necessary.”

As he closes the gap and the boy cowers beneath him, Luxu recalls how he came to be here, stealing the bodies of young men.

~~~~~

“Master, what is this?” the young man asks, looking over the paper and not entirely sure he’s read it correctly.

As he has many times before, Luxu stands in the Master’s study. The room is filled with books, vials, and plenty of objects of which Luxu couldn’t even guess the purpose of. The only thing he can be sure of is that none of it is as it seems, and that broad statement brings with it its own sense of security. It has always been filled with wonders and the Master seems to introduce him to a new one each time he visits. This time is no exception.

The eccentric man folds his arms. “What do you think it is?”

His voice catches in his mouth. He’s read it over once, twice, but surely, he must be mistaken. “This sounds like a method for taking over someone’s body.”

“Bingo! You are correct, sir!” the Master praises, waving his hands animatedly.

“WHAT?!” In his exclamation, young Luxu throws the paper in the air.

His master snatches the fluttering paper. “Don’t lose it! I only have one copy of that!”

“Okay, one, why don’t you make another copy? And two, why do you know how to possess someone’s body?!”

“Oh, I don’t know how; this is all just theory. I wrote it this morning.”

His master never fails to perplex him. “And you think I need it why?”

“Because you’re only human,” the Master of Masters replies. “That body of yours will become old and decrepit and weaken over time but your job will be far from done. So, you need some way to continue living and persist into the future.”

The Master may be a strange man, but it’s no secret that he enjoys pulling emotions from his pupils—his favorite being shock. Luxu has made a point to accept his master’s eccentricity and all it entails, having come to see the unpredictability as predictable. It’s been a long time since the Master has been able to truly flabbergast the young man.

Luxu’s arms wave in disbelief. “And you think body snatching is the way to do that?!”

Matching the animated gestures, the Master retorts, “Well do you have any other bright ideas?!”

Luxu glances away. “Couldn’t you figure out immortality or something else?”

The Master holds his arms up in an X. “Absolutely not. Immortality is far more complicated and we just don’t have time for that. So, this is your only hope of completing your task.” Again, the paper is pushed into Luxu’s hands. As the student stares at the page, the Master’s tone turns serious. “Remember, while the others have very important roles, everything hinges on the success of yours. If you don’t see this through, the Book of Prophecies won’t be written and things will fall in ruins.” His tone drops even more, almost as if he’s threatening his pupil. “And all those people you care about will die for nothing.”

Those words strike the young man. Aced, Ira, Invi, Gula, and Ava—they’re family. Even if they sometimes bicker and disagree, Luxu grew up with them. He already disliked the idea of them fighting, possibly to their destruction, but they’re all fighting for the light’s survival. If he doesn’t do his job, they’ll lose their guidance and their struggles will be meaningless—his family will die in vain.

But taking someone else’s body and losing his own: it’s unthinkably horrifying. He’d never considered that his body could be disposable; that something so undeniably “Luxu” could just be swapped out as easily as his coat. These thoughts become too much to deal with in this moment, so he decides not to. Still, he can’t simply throw away a key aspect of his master’s orders, so the paper is carefully folded and tucked into his jacket to address later.

“Thank you for your guidance, Master,” Luxu murmurs.

Back to his light-hearted self, the Master of Masters slings an arm around Luxu’s shoulders. “That’s more like it. Now, let me show you why you’re going to need that paper.”

~~~~~

Spasms wrack every gasp he takes. They come not from his chase of the now-unconscious man at his feet, but from the seriousness of what he must do next.

Staring down at his very first victim, he feels a heavy guilt in his chest. Based on what’s written, he can only assume the original heart will be ejected and either become a Heartless or ascend to Kingdom Hearts. This man had no say in the matter; he was hunted down like a dog and endured only terror and pain in his final moments. He’s still young and could’ve had a full life ahead of him filled with happiness and adventure. He had potential but Luxu deemed him a lamb for slaughter.

Luxu shakes his head; he can’t have these sorts of distractions dragging him down.

The old parchment slips from his pocket, a perfect cross forever creased into its aged surface. Instructions written in black still read perfectly clear despite time’s efforts. He’s read and reread the page thousands of times, each time going through the shock of what exactly is being asked of him: ice shoots through his veins while his skin scorches, a suffocating grasp squeezes at his throat, and a violent churn nearly upheaves his stomach. The possibility of failure reels in his mind, threatening to evolve into a full-blown panic attack. He spent his whole life as himself—as Luxu—but now, for the sake of light itself, he must discard that. Just thinking about looking in a mirror and not recognizing the face looking back reminds him of his nightmares. Supposedly, his heart will retain his memories, but he still worries over exactly how much of himself he’ll get to keep; after all, sacrifices for such sins must be made.

The tremors in his chest have spread, shaking the page in his gasp. A deep breath does nothing to soothe his fears but allows him to regain focus. He reminds himself that this is for the existence of everything—for the people he loves. It doesn’t matter if he’s scared, it doesn’t matter if he loses himself, it doesn’t matter if the people who matter don’t recognize him, he has no choice.

Sighing, he lets the paper float to the ground, letting his eyes linger on the victim at his feet. He can’t let himself dwell on anything lest his mind trail back to his fear. He gets started.

Clearing his head, he rests both hands against his chest. The suggested mental imagery serves him well while his heart begins to compress. He remembers the most important parts of himself—the things about himself he values—and imagines placing them in a box. His personality, skills, and knowledge are added inside. Memories follow suit; all the good, the bad, and the in-between are stowed away as important, for they have shaped the person he’s become. The young man takes great care in packing all of himself away.

As these things fade from his conscious mind—all bound to his heart for transfer—the darkness stalking at the edges of his mind begins encroaching on his thoughts like wolves prepared to devour him. Luxu’s natural instincts react in fear, causing the man to tremble and his physical heart to pound in his ears. Just like the darkness, a chill creeps along his quaking limbs, his control over them waning. With every bit of himself that he stows away for his next life, the little rationality that must stay behind cowers in terror. He would simply do away with all his senses, but he knows that some of his consciousness must stay to facilitate the move. He must suffer this fear and lose part of his mind to succeed.

The body to be left behind is nearly shut down. His throat closes, no longer able to draw air into his spasming lungs. He has no idea if he’s doing anything right or if he’s even ready, but the innate fear of death has him in a panic. He has to go now.

Eyes snap open, nothing but bright light consuming his vision. This is it; this is where he discards everything he is. This is the point of no return. With the dread as potent as ever, his consciousness fades as he sends the light on its way.

Instantly, Luxu becomes aware of the intense, stinging pain. Every nerve is like a needle, searing at his heart. He would absolutely be screaming if he could but, as it currently stands, he has no access to any vocal cords, let alone a mouth.

A firm pressure resists his heart, struggling against him. The way it reverberates is reminiscent of his own screams. This is his victim, desperately fighting to keep control. Their panic gives them strength, allowing them to push against Luxu to the point he feels his grip slipping. A desperate alarm shoots through him, fueling his struggle.

As it turns out, Luxu’s fear is stronger than that of the man he’s possessing.

Resistance suddenly stops. Slowly, the presence of the other heart begins to fade, allowing Luxu’s heart to fill the hole left behind. The pain begins to ebb at an unbearably slow rate, but there is solace in the fact that it is fading.

His consciousness begins unfurling within his brain as he lies on the ground gasping. Comprehension begins weaving through the unpacking, bringing attention to what exactly just happened. He hadn’t been prepared for resistance; he didn’t know he could still lose after disarming his target. There was no warning for that. If Luxu’s heart had lost the struggle, he would’ve been expunged, become a heartless, and failed his task; he would have failed his loved ones. And this is only his first time.

It takes an eternity for the agony to fade enough and allow him to assess the body. It’s all still sensitive, like a limb falling asleep and waking back up, only far more intense. Nevertheless, he manages to open his eyes. Even they feel the stinging, giving him blurry vision. Nerves feel like fire as he struggles to raise a hand. The trembling extremities are different: the skin tone is a shade off, fingers are slightly longer, and there’s no sign of a mole he used to have on his wrist. It’s strange to feel and control the hand of a stranger.

It takes some time for all the nerves to properly connect. Small repetitions get the muscles moving as they should, and after a few hours, he is able to stand. Weak legs hold him up while he tries to regain his bearings. Palms press against his eyes, struggling to get rid of that remnant sting.

When his hands drop, he finds nothing. The expelled heart is gone and so is the body he left behind. There is no going back.

The old paper flutters, threatening to fly away. However, this is only the first of many stolen bodies and he will need those instructions to repeat the move in the future.

Reaching down, he scoops up the paper. The action nearly topples him. Despite his careful decision for this particular individual, he couldn’t find someone exactly like himself. There are still differences that will take some getting used to, driving home one very important, horrendous fact.

He is no longer Luxu.

He is no longer himself.

The reality finally kicks him in the gut, bringing him back to the ground where a foreign scream tears from his mouth.

~~~~~

“You’re crazy! Stay away from me!”

The cry drags the man back from age-old memories. Braig is the latest of his numerous casualties.

Luxu could’ve stopped long ago, given up his master’s orders and spared so many ignorant hearts—innocent people didn’t have to die for this. However, sacrifices must be made for sins, and Luxu’s been paying his due. With every bit of himself left behind, the rest naturally tries to fill in that hole, but it’s not the same. The new pieces become influenced by the suffering and bitterness Luxu endures with each move, filling him with more and more darkness. That’s not to say darkness is a bad thing, but it fuels the apathy born from repeated trauma.

Luxu’s views on humanity have deteriorated; each passerby could die at his feet and he would simply step over them. Those chosen as new vessels hold some interest, but he no longer has any qualms putting them down. Only the people he started this journey for mean anything to him now; they are the only light left in his unrecognizable life. They would likely look down on him with disappointment, scold and abhor him, but he would burn every world in existence for their fates. But the end is near. The scapegoat has finally shown himself and soon Luxu will be free of this burden—his family will return to him. No matter what wrath he may incur from them, the relief of the end is just too tempting to spare this last victim.

Luxu shrugs. “You might be right about that; repeatedly losing part of your mind does that to a guy. Unfortunately for you, there’s nothing more dangerous than an insane person with a goal. You were simply the poor soul that caught my eye this time.”

“N-No! Please!”

Having done this so many times, Luxu doesn’t even need the instructions, so he burnt them long ago. His mind already begins to pack away the things he wishes to carry forward and the chill starts in his fingers.

“Sorry, but everything I’ve dedicated my life to hangs in the balance. Neither of us have a choice here. But don’t worry—this isn’t my first time and I’ll ensure it’s as painless as possible.”

As he strides closer, the man scrambles closer to the wall. Fear shines brightly in his eyes, but it doesn’t faze a man who’s seen it so many times before—who’s endured it so many times before.

“Take a deep breath, Braig. It’ll all be over soon.”

#kh luxu #zine feat nova #luxu

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mmvalentine · 3 years

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Home is Where You Are pt 2 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. Part 1 Part 3

Of course she had a fiancé. Feyre was talented, sweet, gorgeous, and did this really cool thing with the mud pies where she sprinkled dry dirt on top like cocoa. Okay, that last one was a childhood memory but Rhys hadn't seen her since they were kids. It was a very confusing moment for him.

"Nice to meet you," he said smoothly, extending a hand. He pushed down on the swell of jealousy that rose through him. It was ridiculous really, he hadn't seen the girl in a decade and some part of his animal brain thought it was allowed to be jealous. Surely he was better than that.

"Still live on Velaris street, do you?" Tamlin asked. His had was clammy when he shook Rhys'. "No, I moved out to the city some years ago," Rhys replied. He put his hands in his pockets. "Feyre invited me back."

"Rhys was always over," Feyre explained. She looked at him now, and the affection shining in her eyes made him forget to wonder why she had never told her fiancé about him. "His dad... wasn't great so he practically lived with us. I thought he might want to be here before we sold off the old place. Rhys is my oldest friend."

"Daddy issues, huh?" Tamlin said, in what Rhys had to imagine was an attempt at a sympathetic look. This did nothing for his first impression of the man. Feyre frowned at him, but Rhys just tilted his head to one side. "Do you know," Rhys mused, "I think even as a child Feyre had such a protective side to her, and I think that's why she loved me extra hard."

Tamlin glowered, and Rhys gave him a winning smile. Even as all the while the voice in his head whispered play nice, play nice.

"Why don't we go for lunch?" Feyre suggested. "I'm starving." "You're always starving," Tamlin said, rolling his eyes. "Lunch would be perfect," Rhys said. "We drove in, do you want a lift?" "Sure, thanks."

The three of them climbed into Tamlin's irritatingly red car to a diner not far from the old house. The neighbourhood wasn't bad, actually, it was just Rhys' attached memories that made it seem decrepit. He reminded himself that he had rather liked this diner, that Feyre's family had eaten here often and sometimes brought him with them. Particularly when Feyre's parents noticed he hadn't been eating very much.

A waitress came to take their order, and Rhys ordered a club sandwich. He looked at Feyre through one eye.

"Cheeseburger, no pickles, right?" He remembered this, because he had always been the one that ate said pickles after she picked them off. The sweetest grin started to spread over Feyre's face. But then Tamlin cut in.

"Actually," he said, "we adhere to a strict paleo diet. Well, some of us more strict than others." He nudged Feyre in the ribs, and turned to the waitress.

"We'll have two of the chicken caesar salad, with no dressing, and no cheese. Oh and no croutons."

Rhys stared. Feyre's face seemed to fall a little, but then she smiled at the waitress and handed back her menu.

The food came quickly, and Rhys' sandwich came with a side order of fries. Feyre's and Tamlin's meals looked, unsurprisingly, disappointing. Half way through, Tamlin asked for extra grilled chicken to add to his meal, and didn't offer any to Feyre. Rhys watched Feyre out of the corner of his eye. She had said she was starving.

"Hey," he said to her. "Can you help me with these fries? I'm full and I hate wasting food." "Sure," Feyre said brightly, and he shuffled them onto her plate where she practically inhaled them. "Babe," Tamlin said, aghast. "Come on, you had fries last week." He leaned in and spoke quietly to Feyre- but not so quietly that Rhys couldn't hear him. "Lay off the fried foods for a bit, huh?"

Feyre pushed him off. "Leave me alone, Tamlin," she said. "I'm selling my dead father's house. And I'm hungry."

Rhys concentrated on the remains of his sandwich. Good, he thought. That was more like the Feyre he knew. Had known.

After they were done, Tamlin got up to use the restroom, leaving Feyre and Rhys alone. Rhys couldn't help himself.

"That guy?" he barked with a laugh. "That's your fiancé? What are you doing with him Feyre?" "Hey don't be a dick," Feyre said, surprised. "You only just met him." "Yeah and I already know him. 'You had fries last week'? That sounds familar." Feyre's face twisted in anger. "Tamlin is not your father," she hissed. "He was my personal trainer when we met, I said I wanted to lose a few pounds, he's helping me keep on track." Rhys leaned back in the booth. "Oh so he met you as a professional, started a relationship with a client, and is still commenting on your eating as your partner. Yeah, that's much better."

Feyre opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. "You know what," she said. "It's been a very long time since we were friends." "Best friends. If I recall." "That's a childish term. I am not a child, and I certainly don't need you to come rescue me."

At that moment, Tamlin reappeared. "Are we ready to go?" he said. "Yes," Feyre replied curtly, and slid out from the bench. "You two go ahead," Rhys said, toying with his water glass. "I'll walk. It'll be good to revisit the old neighbourhood." "Fine," Feyre said. "Alright," Tamlin said, "how should we split the bill?" "I've got it," Rhys replied. "Fine," Feyre said again, and towed Tamlin out the door.

When they were gone, Rhys let his head drop back against the back of the seat, and closed his eyes. Idiot, idiot, idiot, he chanted to himself. He stood, paid for the food, and began the walk back to the house.

By the time Rhys reached their old address, he had calmed down enough to feel ashamed. He had not meant to sound so condescending, he had just been shocked that Tamlin was who Feyre had ended up with.

When he walked up to the house, the red car was nowhere to be seen. He opened the door, still unlocked.

"Feyre?" he called. "Here," her voice returned. Rhys walked through the house, gazing around himself as he did. It looked smaller than he remembered- although that was likely because he was taller. The Archerons had left so quickly that they hadn't bothered to take everything with them. The old furniture still remained, under now grey drop sheets.

Feyre was standing in the kitchen, with her hands braced on the island countertop. "Tamlin was called back to town for a work thing," she said. "Ah," Rhys said. "We were supposed to stay a few days and get things checked off before the funeral... but I can do it myself, I guess." She suddenly sounded very tired.

"Hey," Rhys said gently. She looked up at him, with those heart-stopping, stormy eyes. "I'm sorry about earlier." Feyre sighed. "It's okay." "It's not," Rhys said. "You were right. I don't know him, and I don't know you, really. I had no right to come in and make comments about your relationship." "No," Feyre said slowly. "You didn't." "I won't do it again," Rhys said. "And, I would love to get to know you. You know, as adults."

Feyre smiled. "I would like that too." She leaned her elbows against the counter top. "You're forgiven." She flashed a wicked grin. "Prick."

Rhys smiled. She had called him that when they were young- it was one of the first grown-up insults she had learned and took great delight in hurling it at him.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked. "I guess, we go through the house and find out what's in here." She wrinkled her nose. "I almost want a HAZMAT suit." Rhys laughed. "Let's open some windows," he said.

For the rest of the afternoon, they uncovered the Archeron's abandoned belongings. Some things were completely unrecognisable. Many of the things brought back memories, funny or happy or sad, and Rhys was warmed by the realisation that he had just as many memories here as Feyre did. Eventually, the sun started to go down, and of course there was no electricity in the house. They had been drinking water out of a tap in the neighbour's garden.

"Where are you staying?" Rhys asked her. "Well, here I guess." Rhys looked around himself, at ten years of dust and debris. "Is this... liveable?" "Probably not," Feyre said. "I think we might suffocate to death in our sleep. I thought about going back into town, but Tamlin's rushed off with the car. Where are you staying?" "Do you know, I never quite got that far." Rhys gave her a lopsided grin, embarrassed. The truth was, he had been so focused on making his way back to her that he hadn't even considered logistics like where he might sleep that night.

Feyre straightened up, and her eyes twinkled. "I've got an idea," she said.

An hour later, as it got dark in earnest, Rhys stomped down the last tent peg. The had muddled through the garage until they found the old camping gear, in surprisingly good nick.

Feyre lay down, and Rhys squeezed his broad frame in beside her. "Does it horrify you a bit that after ten years, these plastic nylon sleeping bags haven't degraded at all?' Rhys asked. "It does," Feyre agreed, "although I'm also thankful we have the option. That house is not fit for the living." "Well," said Rhys, "tomorrow we can spend the day cleaning. It'll be good as new." "Okay, deal!" Feyre said happily. They lay in silence for a moment.

"Do you know," Rhys said. "I'm pretty sure the last time we saw each other was in this very tent." Feyre laughed a husky, gorgeous laugh. "Oh I'm very aware. We were each others' first kiss."

Rhys rolled onto his side to look at her. "What's happened since then?" he asked. "What have you been doing for the last ten years?"

Feyre gave him an odd look, taken aback a little by the sudden intensity in his voice. Rhys didn't care. He had thought of her so many times through the years, but she had become some sort of distant, nostalgic memory.

Now she was here, he had to know. Everything.

Feyre rolled slowly to face him, and became serious. "What happened is my mom died," she said. "And my dad, he couldn't cope with it. He never recovered, and so I didn't know it at the time but I lost both my parents that day. We moved into some shitty rental, and then something would remind him of her and we moved again. He couldn't hold down a job, couldn't stay in one place. I think I haven't had a real home since I left here."

Her lovely eyes were filled with such sadness, it was all Rhys could do not to reach out and touch her face.

"Me neither," he said quietly. "Next door was never home for me, you know that. And after you guys left... after you were gone..." "Where's your father now?" Feyre asked. "Dead," Rhys said. "I'm sorry." "I'm not."

Feyre didn't respond. Rhys sighed. "I shouldn't say that about him." "He was a bastard," Feyre said. "He was, at that." Rhys said. Feyre rolled back to stare at the ceiling of the tent, and Rhys wanted so much to pull her back. But instead, he rolled over, too. He listened to her breathing in the dark, and for a moment, they could have been thirteen again. For a moment, it was as if no time at all had passed and he had his best friend back and they were home.

Then Feyre spoke.

"At least I've got Tamlin now," she said. “We just rent our apartment right now but in a few years we’ll buy a house, and then I’ll have a home again.”

And with that the moment was over.

****

Mm. This is not quite where I thought this would go, but let's embrace the angst for a hot minute and see where it goes.

Keep reading: Part 3

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #mine #angst

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buffaluff · 2 years

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taking a moment to reflect on the past year!

buff’s 2021 in review:

yet another pandemic year, and it seems like it’s getting scarier by the minute. i miss going to concerts, i miss traveling to conventions near and far, i miss just getting out there. the cabin fever really sucks. we all got vaccinated which is great, and we’re on our way to getting fully boosted as well and so far, thankfully no one in my immediate family has gotten sick 🙏

this was my first full year without working retail, and the change has been scary but good overall! adjusting to working from home and the entire 8-5 sitting-at-a-computer office life has been a challenge, but the pros totally outweigh the cons. i’m making a living wage and i’m not breaking my back or dealing with the public to do it (although i do miss reading a million books and even hauling boxes sometimes…my biceps have suffered 😂). but i’m doing really well at my new job—everyone says i’ve been doing great, and even earned bonuses and a big raise this year already!

we got to go on our yearly beach trip to montauk this year, thankfully! my sister and our friends have gone every year without fail, since 2006. it’s a fantastic tradition that i look forward to every year.

i went to 2 different friends weddings this year! i had an amazing time at both getting to celebrate (carefully) with many of my closest pals. and i won’t even deny that i enjoyed getting dressed up 🤫

i did unexpectedly come back here to tumblr after a 5-ish year absence! after drawing a few s&b fanarts and posting to insta, i was encouraged to post on tumblr to reach more people. And after dusting off this decrepit old place, reach more i did! i honestly can’t believe the community i re-found here (special mention to the heartrender husbands discord! i love all you crazy kids!), encouraging me to draw more than i have in years! still not as much as i’d like to be, but hopefully the ball will keep rolling this year ☺️

special embarrassingly gay shout-out time: i do have the community to thank for putting @qqueenofhades in my path…for jokingly internet-marrying us for being the fandom Olds which slowly turned into “wanna be friends? we actually have so much in common” and morphed to “ummm i might have a crush on you?” “weird because i have a crush on you?” and now she’s stuck with me, neener neener. (and as luck would have it, one of my weddings i attended this year was in the same exact microscopic one horse town on the other side of the country that they live in??? talk about serendipity) we had a very nice weekend of very nice dates in the middle of nowhere. there were alpacas. looking forward to more! (dates, not alpacas.) 💖

on the flip side, there were definitely plenty of downsides to this year as well. in the first week of the year, my younger sister was diagnosed with cancer and had to undergo chemo, surgery, and radiation for 9 months. while it was a terrifying time for all of us, she took it all like a champ and was declared cancer-free at the end of september.

unfortunately, as you know, that wasn’t the end of the saga. second week of october was her accident which lead to 7 weeks in the hospital, most of which she was in a coma which they gave her a 0.1% chance of waking up from. but despite those odds, she woke up (on her birthday!) and has been slowly yet confidently making strides every single day. she’s now had nearly 4 weeks in a rehab hospital close to home to get her back to her old self, and another 4 ahead of her. it’s great visiting her and seeing her progress and just hanging out cracking jokes with her again. we were so so sure for a while that she wasn’t going to make it so i’m grateful to have her back, and i’ll be even more excited to have her home again. our pets miss her so much! plus, we have 2 years of rescheduled conventions to work on 😂

i did have a major loss to deal with in the middle of all of this. on the week of thanksgiving, i had to make the impossible decision to put down my beloved 15 year old soulmate of a cat, starsky. i think about him every day and i miss him like a limb, he was so so special. i’m grateful he gave me, and everyone he met, 15 years of laughs and the happiest of memories.

alright, that must be enough sadness for one year right? cautiously optimistic that 2022 will be better and brighter for me and for all of you!

things to look forward to in 2022:

+ hilary is coming here to visit me for like 10 whole days at the end of january! we have lots of handholding to catch up on 😉 i’m sure she has much more planned for her time in new york but my shortlist is…short and mostly involves being ridiculously cuddly.

+ michelle is also supposed to be out of rehab around the same time so that’s exciting! she has a long road ahead but will be great to have her home again.

+ tentative return of conventions…? we had a tiny taste at nycc last year which was great but we have had Star Wars Celebration plans since 2019 and it keeps getting pushed back…can’t wait to get back out there! we also tentatively have star trek missions in chicago in april (birth…day…con) and fwa in may! fingers crossed we don’t have a 3rd year of cancelled cons 😭

+ more artwork! my sister’s medical crises sort of put a damper on productivity but now that she’s on the mend, i can hopefully train my brain to focus on me. just a little bit, as a treat.

+ getting out there! my goal for 2022 is to finally get my license (i know) and also make use of my newly-minted passport maybe finally?

#about a buff #long post #feel free to ignore

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

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Don’t Look (FebuWhump 23)

Fandom: Supernatural Summary: Sam and Dean are ambushed and captured by a powerful demon with an ancient lineage. Help is on the way...if they can survive.

(CW for some body horror/sores. Basically, skip if something like rashes and sores would upset you. It’s not terribly graphic, but I know this can be a real phobia for some people).

* * *

“This is obviously a trap, Dean!”

Dean rolled his eyes and sandwiched his phone between his head and shoulder, flapping his fingers at Sam in the universal “won't stop talking” gesture. Sam didn't look impressed.

“Look, man, it's just a bunch of demons,” Dean replied. He checked the clip in his gun, tucked a couple spares into his belt, and reached for an angel blade. “Don't see what has you so worked up.”

“Will you please just wait for me?” Cas's voice was strained, and Dean could practically see the impatience in every line of the angel's face. “I'm less than two hours away.”

“Are you talking while driving?” Dean smirked at Sam, though Sam just shook his head and started double-checking his own gear. “Always the little rebel, ain't ya?”

He waited while Cas spluttered in outrage. “We'll be done before you even get here,” he said, talking right over whatever point Cas was about to make. “And, hey, they've got a drive-in movie theater in this town. We can make a field trip, I think they're playing one of the new Star Wars movies.”

Cas was still talking when Dean hung up the call. He shoved the phone into his pocket with a chuckle, then caught Sam staring at him. “What?”

Sam shook his head again and shoved the trunk of the car closed. “Would it kill you to wait for him anyway?”

“And miss all the fun?” Dean slapped his brother on the arm. “Dude. It's demons. Practically kindergarten stuff for us.” Anyway all the big players were downstairs—or dead—so it wasn't like they had anything to worry about.

His brother was still bitch-facing about it when Dean shoved him down the path toward the abandoned hotel. “All right, I'll buy him a root beer float or something, and he'll get over it by the time that little rolling droid he loves so much shows up on screen.”

“BB-8?”

“Dude, I'm getting second-hand embarrassment just knowing you know that.”

Sam turned around and spread his arms out, walking backward down the path. “At least I don't know all the Starfleet captains by first name.”

“Hey, Star Trek is an important part of our cultural history,” Dean retorted, shoving his brother in the chest to keep him moving. “Star Wars is for nerds.”

* * *

The old hotel was empty, apart from the faint dusty of sulfur on some of the decrepit furniture. There were some tracks in the dust, which was a little weird for a bunch of demons, Dean had to admit, but the tracks were recent enough to prove there was demonic activity here.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Dean pulled it out and made a face at it, swiping over the icon to ignore the call.

“Dude, he's probably worried,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, he does that,” Dean shot back. He turned his phone off and shoved it back into his pocket. “He does that too damn much. We can handle one little nest of demons.”

Predictably...at least for Cas and Sam...and Dean, too, though he was loathed to admit it...they could not handle the “little” nest of demons.

The tracks lead them down to the old pool house, but before they'd even crossed the yard they'd been swarmed. The brothers had fought valiantly, back-to-back, and taken out a handful of the attacking demons but there were just too many. They were overwhelmed, hauled into the pool house, and tied to a couple of rusty old poolside chairs.

Dean jerked against his bonds—he could probably work himself free, given enough time. One side of his face had swollen up and his lip was busted up. Sam wasn't much better off, between the gash on his forehead bleeding enough to cover most of his face and the obvious dislocation to his left shoulder.

Well. Now he was gonna have to apologize to Cas for going in without him AND for getting himself and his brother captured. And injured. It would have to be a root beer float and popcorn and downloading the rest of the Star Wars movies for the weekend.

The demons were lined up along the sides of the pool now. They'd put Sam and Dean on the side nearest the shallow end, looking down the length of murky, stagnant water. Dean exchanged a look with his brother—what now? They'd been captured and beat up and tied up for, what, the world's worst diving contest?

The water rippled. Dean stared down at it in shock when a woman's head appeared at the deep end of the pool. But she wasn't swimming, she was...walking? And each step brought her further and further out of the water, the algae and slime cascading off of her body without leaving a trace behind. She was tall, with long, wavy blonde hair that fell almost to her hips. Her body was wrapped in a flowing green dress with a plunging neckline that showed off her...er, other features.

And she was walking on the water now. Because of course. Dean rolled his eyes so hard he almost sprained something. While there was something otherwordly about this whole thing, it was so obviously some demon princess bitch pretending to be a minor goddess or something.

She reached the shallow end of the pool and just stood there, looking at them. Dean glanced down at her bare feet, which were resting on the rippling water as easily as though she was standing on solid ground. “Nice trick,” he commented, smirking up at her. “Special power or just full of hot air?”

The demon in the green dress tilted her head to study him—nice try, bitch, that's Cas's thing—and blinked, her eyes clicking to beetle-black. “I am Vephar. Lord of the waters.”

“I'm Dean,” Dean replied, ignoring Sam's hissed warning. “Lord of the highway.”

Vephar studied for a moment, then raised one arm to point at his face. Pain erupted from his forehead to his chin and his brother called his name in a panicked voice. Vephar turned to face Sam next. “Who are you?”

Gritting his teeth, Dean rolled his head back enough to make eye contact with his brother. Sammy was shooting him a panicked look, obviously concerned by whatever the bitch had done. God, it still hurt. Most of the time when these bastards attacked telepathically it was like a cut from a razor, or a punch that somehow bypassed your muscle to hit you right in the organs. This was just...this was wrong. It ached and burned and felt wet somehow.

“I'm Sam,” his brother finally said, when Vephar took a step toward him. “Just Sam.”

“And why are you here, 'Just Sam'?”

Sam shot a look at Dean, who tried to shake his head subtly. “We were just looking around,” Sam finally stammered out. “The-the hotel. It's abandoned, we thought we could find something to sell in it. You know, the market for copper wire is pretty high right now.”

Vephar tilted her head to the other side. “No,” she intoned after a few seconds. “You're lying.” She raised her hand again and Sam jerked back with a cry of pain. Now Dean could see why his brother had looked so horrified. Instead of cutting or bruising, Vephar had raised an angry-looking line of oozing sores on his brother's face. It reminded him of nothing so much as Nick's face when Lucifer was burning through him...or Cas when he'd taken the souls from Purgatory.

“I was once a grand duke of hell,” Vephar explained, walking back down the length of the pool. “I commanded my legions and churned the mighty waters. I rode the seas in glorious battle, until I was betrayed and bound in this place.”

Dean grunted, tugging at the bonds on his wrists as the urge to dig his fingers into his face became nearly unbearable. “Sucks to be you.”

Vephar turned back to face him and raised one delicate eyebrow. “Indeed.”

Then she raised her hand and Dean threw his head back with a scream as another line of pain lanced up the other side of his face.

“What's binding you here?” Sam asked. “Maybe we can break it? Set you free?”

She tilted her head again, her black gaze boring into Sam's. “You're lying again.”

“Sammy, no!” Dean surged against the ropes uselessly as sores burst into existence around his brother's neck. “You bitch!”

“Temper,” Vephar replied calmly, and then the horrible, burning, wet pain was streaking down his chest under his shirt. Every shift in position made the fabric of his clothing rub against the sores, until it felt like he'd covered himself in sandpaper instead of a t-shirt.

“I don't get much to play with here,” the demon bitch said. She had that damn hand up in the air again, her index finger extended, and she waved it back and forth between the brothers as though trying to choose which one to torture. “I hope you last longer than the last ones.”

Dean was steeling himself to shout—distract the bitch, insult her, make her focus all her anger on him to give Sammy a chance to escape—when the door to the pool house exploded inward.

“Cas!” Sam's voice was thick with warning as the demons that had been lining the sides of the pool turned to swarm the angel. Dean grit his teeth and refocused his efforts on freeing himself. Cas was good—damn good—but there were well over a dozen demons, and heaven wasn't exactly running on full power these days.

He saw Cas go down. Dean threw himself backward with a jerk, finally crashing the chair into the stained tile of the pool deck. Something in the chair had cracked and his ropes were a little looser, and he fought to break himself free.

“Close your eyes!”

Dean swore and tucked his head toward his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. Even then the burst of grace was almost enough to blind him. Damn, Cas hadn't done that in a long time. He hoped his friend still had the juice to recover from an attack like that.

Blinking back the sparks in his vision, Dean rolled onto his side and tried to push himself to his feet. He could see the smoking, empty meatsuits of the demons scattered in a half-circle around Cas, but Cas wasn't looking so good. He had sunk to one knee, and several bloody tears in his trench coat showed where the demons had gotten a few hits in before he'd smited them. Smote them. Whatever.

“Angel!”

Dean threw himself forward and tried to grab Vephar around the ankles as she stalked out of the water toward Cas. The smiting hadn't been enough to end her, though she seemed to be staggering a little and there was black sludge trickling out of her nose.

Cas struggled to his feet, but he was empty-handed—Dean could see a glint of silver just a few feet away, but Cas couldn't reach it before Vephar had a hand around his throat, backing him into the wall.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” the demon bitch sneered. “Angels are so much more...resilient...than humans. Don't you agree, 'lord of the highway'?”

Dean let out a cry as more pain tore through the side of his face. It felt like the sores were swelling, and his stomach nearly revolted when he felt liquid oozing down his neck.

“Hey! Bitch!”

Vephar whirled around, just in time to catch Sam's knife in her throat. Damn, but the kid had good aim. They'd been trying to copy Ruby's blade for years now, and while Sam had never come up with something to match it in power, the runes he'd started carving into the knife he tucked into his boot still did some damage.

The demon released Cas to tug uselessly at the knife in her throat. She glowered at Sam and started to raised her hand, but Cas tackled her from behind.

He'd gotten his angel blade back, during her moment of distraction, and drove it deep into her back, giving it a vicious twist as she screamed out her dying breath.

Dean collapsed in relief. It felt like the sores were still on his face, but the pain had faded significantly. It no longer felt like his skin was going to erupt and peel away from his bone—more like he had a bad case of road rash.

He rolled himself over to check on Sammy. The kid had only worked his right arm free and thrown his knife from there. He sagged in his ropes, panting for breath, but gave Dean a thumb's up when he realized his brother was looking.

Before he could roll back to check on Cas, a firm hand gripped him by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Dean found himself staring up at the angel's bruised, angry face. “Next time I tell you it's a trap,” Cas ground out, even as his fingers brushed feather-light over Dean's forehead to heal his wounds, “do me a favor and wait for me.”

Okay. Root beer float, popcorn, the rest of the Star Wars movies, AND another couple pairs of those novelty socks Cas liked so much. The angel had definitely earned it today.

* * *

You guessed it, Vephar is from the Key of Solomon. They’re described as being able to make the seas rough or calm, guiding ships to their destination, and killing by putrefying wounds and sores (fun!). They take the form of a mermaid, so I gave them a female meatsuit and the power to walk on water.

(For those of you who don’t know, the Key of Solomon is my favorite resource for extra-powerful demons. Vephar is the third I’ve used so far, so there’s just 69 to go!)

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday23 #supernatural #fic #fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #don't look #captured #demons #cw body horror #cw sores #more like BADASStiel am i right?#I'm right aren't i #hurt dean #hurt sam

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nanakyun0j0 · 3 years

Text

Cinema Rose

Hello! This is Nana here with my secret santa gift for @softsungchan! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and this is not proof read ;-; but I really hope you enjoy this. Have a super merry Christmas and a happy new year! I’d also like to wish @lucaswithnoshirt and @bumblebeenct a really wonderful Christmas and say thank you for organising this awesome event :D.

Genres: Fluff, comedy (I really tried)

Word count: 2024

Warnings: A few swear words, mentions of a heart attack, and old cinemas? (I am not very good at these, if you find anything else I should add,

lease let me know and I’ll put them in ^^).

————————————————————————————————————————————————

Remixes of old christmas songs blasted from the speakers around him, and Taeil sang along quietly while he made his way to the old cinema at the end of the shopping district.

It hadn’t been long since school had ended and he’d been too bored to stay at home and too tired from the school year to make plans with others.

So, he decided to walk around the places he always went to, but never paid any attention to. Like the shopping district he walked through on his way to school.

He’d heard from Taeyong, a junior he knew from middle school, about an old cinema that played christmas movies during the holidays for free. Taeil was skeptical at first. Playing movies for the whole month of December for free?

After some reconnaissance (read: asking his parents), he’d found that the place was apparently so old that the carpets smelled like caramel popcorn and old socks, and the lights flickered if you stayed after 7pm. They were surprised that it was even still open because of how decrepit the outside looks.

So, his initial impression of the old cinema hadn’t been the best, and he’d shrugged away any thoughts of visiting it.

Until today, that is.

His parents were out on a gift buying spree for their relatives, and his younger sister had been dragged along, which she wasn’t happy about, judging by her fierce grumbling as she slammed the car door shut when they were leaving.

So that meant that he had escaped the drudgery that was Christmas shopping, but he’d also been left at home alone with effectively nothing to do.

He’d finished playing all his games during the school year, instead of studying of course. There was also no way he’d actually be responsible and look over material for next year so he could get ahead of his classes. Which left him with only a few options:

He could go back to sleep, or restart some random game and play it all over again, or he could just wander around outside and find something to do.

‘Right.’ He thought to himself as he grabbed a jacket, his phone and house keys,

‘Guess I’ll just walk around.’

—————————————————————-

He’d walked around most of his neighbourhood, and without realising it, his feet lead him on the familiar path of the local shopping district. It was usually a bustling place, full of loud voices calling out to customers, and children playing around.

Today was no different and Taeil, who’d spent his whole holidays so far inside, found the change of pace refreshing. Despite the chilly weather and the fact that he really wasn’t wearing nearly enough layers for how cold he felt, he was enjoying the vibrant atmosphere of the street.

Shutting his mind off, he was content to explore the streets around him.

——————————————————————————————————

You stood slouched at the counter, face blank and head rested in your hands. You drummed your fingers against your cheeks and let out a long sigh.

Burying your head into your hands and groaning softly, you wondered to yourself why you got yourself into this in the first place.

When your uncle had asked you to work at the old cinema for the holidays, you’d initially been okay with it.

After all, it was quick money and, knowing how bad the sales were, you wouldn’t need to interact with people that much.

You valued your space after all, and serving customers was never really something you felt happy doing. Plus, it was fun to have the place to yourself for most of the day, and you were never low on snacks to eat.

In hindsight, you should have predicted the boredom that would come with standing around for the whole day. Even with your phone, there were only so many times you could refresh Twitter and Instagram and find something interesting to look at.

Day in and day out, you were stuck in the dark cinema with flickering lights and musty carpets, and it was slowly driving you insane.

You bit your lip and creased your eyebrows, mulling over if it would be that big of a deal to just leave the counter and go home. It was nearly closing time anyway, and you couldn’t imagine what poor fool would come to this dusty cinema when it was almost Christmas.

‘Everyone’s busy with decorating and gift buying, no one’s even gonna come here.’

You told yourself.

With your conscience cleared and stomach empty, you gathered as much popcorn as you could fit in the largest container, locked the counter and headed outside.

——————————————————————————————————

Taeil stared at the sign in front of him.

‘Cinema Rose’s Merry Christmas special event! For the whole month of December, watch a movie for free!’

It read.

He wondered how he managed to end up here, of all places. Especially after he’d promised himself so many times that he wouldn’t bother. Then he wondered if he even remembered the way he came.

‘Shit,’ he thought to himself

‘How am I gonna get home?’

He took a deep breath and looked around frantically, trying to find a familiar looking path. All of the streets looked new to him.

Finding nothing he recognised, he was about to pull out his phone when he heard the entrance to the cinema open.

His head whipped to face the doors and he saw a girl around his age in a baggy uniform carrying an obscene amount of popcorn in her hands. Her back was facing him and she looked like she was trying to lock the door.

‘She must work here! Nice, I can ask her for directions!’

So he mustered up his courage and cleared his throat and called out to the girl.

“E-excuse me, I’m a bit lost, could you please help me?” He cursed himself for his shaking voice.

The girl turned around and stared at him for bit with a confused expression, then blinked and replied,

“O-oh, yeah, sure! Where did you want directions to?” Her soft voice was gentle when she spoke to him, and Taeil was a bit flustered. She wasn’t only pretty, but had a cute voice too?

The same could be said for you.

You hadn’t noticed him standing in front of the cinema at first, so you were a bit startled when he suddenly spoke to you.

You turned to see who it was, and nearly had a heart attack. A boy around your age you’d assume, with a large puffy jacket and kind looking eyes. He’d appeared so suddenly that you were surprised.

He was so pretty you were shocked stiff for a few seconds, but you snapped yourself out of it and hurried to reply.

You cursed yourself for stuttering and hoped he didn’t notice. His blank face at your reply made it seem like he didn’t. You thanked the heavens above and waited for him to continue speaking.

“R-right.” He cleared his throat and you stifled a snort. You both seemed to be nervous around each other.

“Do you know the shopping district near the local all-boys school? My neighbourhood is around there so I just wanted to know how I could get to that area?” He explained.

You nodded at his words.

Despite being a homebody, you did like to go on walks quite regularly, and you lived close to the cinema so you knew the area like the back of your hand. You were about to tell him the way when your brain stopped you.

‘Wait, _____,’ It said to you.

‘If you just give him directions, who knows when you’ll see him again! If you’ll see him again! Don’t lose this opportunity, you’re already lonely enough as it is!’

Your brain made a compelling last minute argument, and you couldn’t help but agree. Your family had been here for a long time, but you had grown up in a different city for most of your life.

You’d only come here to spend the holidays with your aunt and uncle because your parents were away on business. You hadn’t managed to make any friends, so all you could do was stay at home or walk around the cinema or your house.

You at least wanted to try to make friends before you left, then it wouldn’t be so hard to be in this town while you stayed until school started again.

Taeil was staring at you with a worried expression while you were going through your little crisis, and he tried calling out to you to get your attention. It didn’t work, so he stepped closer to you and waved a hand in front of your face, causing you to flinch and shout out in surprise.

“Woah! What the heck?”

“Sorry-“ Taeil said with wide eyes and a small frown on his face,

“I called out to you but you wouldn’t respond so I- sorry…” His voice was quiet and apologetic and you felt bad.

“No! No, not at all, it’s my fault! I just got distracted because I was trying to remember the way, sorry about that.” You told him. He seemed to believe your poorly thought out lie with the way his eyes brightened in understanding and his head nodded along.

You inwardly wiped the sweat off your forehead and tried to make the most friendly expression you could muster after a whole day of standing around with nothing to do.

“I’m not very good with explaining, so would it be ok if I just showed you the way? My house is nearby too, so it wouldn’t be out of my way.” You said to him cheerily. You hoped he’d buy this lie too.

He smiled widely at you, and you almost felt a bit bad about imposing your presence on this boy you’d just met.

‘But this is all for friendship! Maybe more, but don’t get so ahead of yourself!’

“That would be great, thanks! If you’re sure it won’t be a bother!” He chirped. You nearly melted inside at how polite he was being with you.

Returning his smile and asking him to follow you, you lead the way out of the cinema and made your way to the shopping district, trying your hardest to think of something to talk about. Which wasn’t as hard as you thought.

For every question you could ask, Taeil had an answer. You quickly learned that he was really easy to get along with, and he was great at carrying conversations. He was awkward at first, but you soon found a rhythm while talking and before you knew it you made your way to the shopping district near his house. Your footsteps slowed and you both halted at the entrance, a lull now forming when you both stopped talking.

You stayed silent, not knowing what to say, stuck in your head with worries that he might not want to talk anymore after this. That he only continued conversations with you because he was bored.

Taeil’s voice broke through your thoughts. His voice soft and nervous again as he asked you for your number.

Your face heated up at his straightforward request bit complied, albeit with shaky hands. After you both put your phones away, Taeil spoke again.

“Hey, ____. I had lots of fun with you today. So uh-“ He fumbled with the strings of his hood,

“Do you wanna meet tomorrow as well? I get that you have work, but I could go to the cinema and we could hang out there? O-only if you want to!”

His eyes looked anywhere but you and you could see in his smile that he was worried about you refusing.

You grinned and shook your head.

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, Taeil. I really had fun today too!”

You spoke in the most sincere tone you could and hoped he could sense it. With the way he beamed at you after you replied, you were sure he understood you.

With that you both parted ways, and walked home with smiles on your faces, and chests so warm no amount of snow could make you feel cold.

#taeil x reader #taeil #moon taeil #nct taeil #taeil fluff #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct #im really tired #i will go sleep now #good night lol #Merry Christmas!!

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concentratedbitterness · 3 years

Text

The Partnership

Hell: Late Neolithic Period

They’re laughing at her. This is the thought that echoes in the demon’s mind as she makes her way down the halls of Hell’s infamous Manufacturing Department. She is somebody now–freshly promoted just over every other shitstain in the Pit, perhaps, but rank is rank all the same–and by all rights these dungeon trolls should be groveling at her feet as they do for the other procurement personnel. Except that they do not fall to their knees, no, they slap them with laughter. She cannot blame them. They all know why she is here.

Nybbas has thrust her atop a burning hill of shit and bade her build a kingdom from the ashes while the flames still rage. It is a fools’ errand, and one he means for her to fail. Her superior has set her up only to take the fall for him. Given the insurmountable task, that is precisely what the entire Monarchia expects will happen–Quotas missed, contracts lost, and someone’s head must inevitably go on the chopping block–but Mara refuses to accept her likely fate without a fight. She always has felt some masochistic drive to find a silver lining, after all, and what sparkles through the coals is the large swath of Nybbas’ territory that she now, technically, controls. Mismanaged and neglected for countless millennia, it is a veritable desert of overgrown crossroads and yet…perhaps, with enough hard work and a healthy dose of ingenuity, there is a sliver of a chance.

But she cannot do it alone, she knows this. To hold fast to even the faintest hope she requires a lieutenant; a partner to watch her back, guard her meager territory, and facilitate her contracts. Given her circumstances, however, it is not a promising proposition–she has already been turned down by every capable soldier this side of the Pit. Hence, she has ventured here, to the racks, vying for some freshly carved scrap of a damned soul that is ignorant enough of the ways of Hell to sign their own death warrant. Most demons churned from the bowels of the Pit are quickly claimed for the legions of far more powerful commanders than she, but maybe she will stumble at last upon a stroke of luck. She’s about due for some.

“You there,” She says to the first torturer in the row as she draws to a halt, gaze settling upon his blade as he draws it down the belly of some poor fuck on his rack. “–Where do they keep the unclaimed? I…” Her words trail off, and suddenly Mara feels as small and lost as she must surely look.

Not often someone gets lost around the racks. Technically, no one much comes down here unless they’re strung up. It truly is a terrible place to be. That’s the point of it, after all. To one who has survived the Pit, of course, it feels half like home, but demons are made to be most comfortable in discomfort.

The old demon is up to his sleeves in metaphysical blood when he hears the voice behind him. Not that he appears bothered; he finishes his slice, blade tinged in red. “Y’don’t want them,” he says, attention on his work. “They’re all paranoid. Sadistic. More like hellhounds than competent soldiers.” The thing on the rack splutters and pleas. The noise is interrupting his conversation, so he sinks his blade into its lungs. Now, all it does is hiss, and he turns to look at Mara. “I’d know,” he adds. “I made them that way.”

The younger demon nods, swallowing thickly. She took her turn here years ago, just like the rest, forced to toil in the Pit after what remained of the human blight on her soul had been cut away. A distant past, perhaps, but it is not something easily forgotten. Leaving the racks behind had seemed a step up at the time, though servitude under Nybbas is not altogether incomparable. She was not made to be a soldier or a torturer–not in the sense that this demon was. Some were simply meant for sales. Hell is nothing if not a grand machine, and every cog has their part to play.

Her eyes settle not upon the poor, decrepit soul writhing in agony on the rack, but rather on the creature attached to the hand doling it out with such practiced ease that he almost seems bored. He’s old. Ancient, if the power wafting off of his true form is any indication–easily a relic from a time when Hell was not so crowded as it is now. Most of the demons who are old enough to remember such times sit comfortably atop the hierarchy–leaders; respected and feared–and yet this one seems content to do the same dirty work as the fresh grunts. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Mara admits, and then his words play again in her mind.

“–You made them that way?” The crossroads demon echoes absently, gaze shifting back to the thing wheezing and hissing on the rack. There is not exactly a standard protocol where torture in Hell is concerned–suffering is suffering and each soul requires a unique touch to divest it of human weakness–but in the end the goal of the Manufacturing Department is to produce as many viable demons from the souls procured as possible. “It seems a waste of raw material…”

And suddenly, something occurs to her. A spark, but it is enough.

“…A waste of your talent.” She looks up at the other demon–really looks at him–and she can see it as clearly as the discontentment written on a human soul come to call at the crossroads. He may be overqualified tenfold, but he is directionless; passing time waiting for something that will never find him here in the wretched squalor of the Pit.

It is as futile a notion as reaching for the stars, but she reminds herself that even if they remain firmly swirling through the Heavens one will get a nice view, a good stretch, and perhaps even a low-hanging apple for the effort. “I…I have a proposition for you,” She ventures, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips, “How do you feel about a challenge?”

He smirks, and Mara wonders if it’s not the first time someone so low in the hierarchy has dared so much as to speak to him, let alone offer him a proposition. “A challenge?” he says, throwing her words back at her with a mocking note. “Ain’t that a little above your paygrade?”

“Isn’t carving duty a little below yours?” Mara retorts without missing a beat. In truth, he is not wrong. It is practically unheard of for someone like her to have ever been promoted to command in the first place–she’s certain the other demon knows as well as she does that it is only a technical mantle, so that when the Monarchia rains down punishment for Nybbas’ failure he will have her to offer up as a scapegoat. Still, rank is rank, and as long as she’s got a slippery grip on this rung there is still half a chance to hold fast…perhaps one day to climb. Let go, and she will be lucky not to find herself strapped to one of these racks again. It is nothing if not tremendous motivation to succeed.

The old one rips the innards out of the thing on the racks, tosses them to the ground with a wet slap. The soul’s eyes go cold and blind and that’s his cue; he steps away. After all, breaking things is easy. Taking things to the very brink of collapse and then pulling away right before they shattered…that required a little more finesse. Task complete, he turns all of his attention to the demon in front of him now. “You’re Nybbas’s bitch, right?” No need to mince words down here. “I like your grit, but you don’t got anything to offer me.”

She takes a small step back as a tangle of entrails drops unceremoniously to the floor, blood and ichor splattering her toes. The gore does not perturb her, but she will need to shed this host before venturing back to the sales floor lest Nybbas’ hounds catch the scent of fresh meat upon her. It is of little consequence–the younger demon has never possessed one long enough to grow attached; that is a custom reserved for those who have achieved success.

“Best you not let Nybbas hear you call me that,” She warns, “–He will take the comparison as an insult to his dogs.” This is not news to any demon who knows of her superior or his two ferocious hellhounds. There is a flicker of defeat in her eyes when the older demon seems to turn her down, but there is too much riding on this chance and she wills it away quickly. “That was not a ‘no’,” She points out hopefully, clearly not ready to give up. “It is true, I haven’t much to offer. Yet. But I will. If you help me, I will. In the meantime, it costs you nothing to step away from this…” She waves a hand absently at the mutilated soul, “…The Damned will still be here. How many eons have you stood tethered to these same racks; trying to find some new way to hack on these same tired souls? If you pledge service to me I will have leave to take you Topside; to the mortal realm…to a territory that has not known what it is to fear a demon in over a thousand years. Yours could be the face in their nightmares. I won’t lie to you, the work will be long and grueling, but you are not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?” Her gaze flicks to the bloodsoaked hands in question, “Take a chance on me, that is all I ask. Let me show you what I can do. You have nothing to lose if I fail, but if I succeed you have everything to gain. We are not so different, you and I. We have nowhere to go but up.”

“Topside, huh?”

Clearly, she has his attention. “Topside,” She confirms with a nod. Short of a formal summons, the only way a Pit demon goes Topside is in the service of a salesman.

Mara can feel him sizing her up, deciding perhaps whether or not to devour her on the spot. She has no doubt that he could. He glances away, considers it for only a second, and then he finally says, casually, “Alright. I’ll pledge five years Topside to you. Then we’ll reconsider.”

Her eyes go wide when the old demon nonchalantly pledges five years to her. He’s teasing me, she thinks at first, but then it becomes obvious that he’s serious and it is all she can do to stand there dumbly before him. And then, before she even realizes it, she’s laughing. Five years is not much, but for her conundrum it is ironically more than necessary. “We only have three,” she tells him, any trace of amusement quickly fading.

Three years to turn around a territory that has not been quota compliant for centuries. The demon steps over the pile of entrails at her feet, poking a finger at the other demon’s chest as she peers up at him, “I make you this promise–It will not be easy; you are going to work harder than you have ever worked, we will struggle, we will not rest, and I don’t care if I have to suck every cock in the territory to do it, I am going to get the contracts I need…and in three years time you will stand by my side as I throw a sales report in Nybbas’ face that will make his head spin. I will not fail, I swear it. I won’t forget who helped me do it. And you–” She doesn’t even know his name, “–You will not regret taking a chance on me.” She rolls up onto her toes to press a chaste kiss to the old demon’s lips, sealing their business contract. “Get your things. We have so much work to do.”

#[muse tag :: mara]#[file :: drabble]#[file :: headcanon]#[relationship tag :: lucius]

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned (Part Eight)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: mentions of death

Context: (y/n) has to stay entertained at the cave, and so goes about setting up defences.

A/N: I think this chapter is a bit dull, but I promise it gets better soon!

Masterlist

Unsurprisingly, no light filters into my room when I wake again the next morning, my eyes having to swiftly adjust to the shadowy sight before them as I sit up, rubbing at my scalp. A pounding headache has set in, thanks to the lack of sleep and the sheer amount of over thinking I did last night, my skull feeling as if it's about to explode as I swing my legs out from under the covers, knowing that I have even more planning and preparing to do if I want to survive long enough to see the end of the year. Stretching out the dull ache in my muscles, I check the watch on my wrist briefly to get an idea of the time: 4:23. Whether that is AM or PM, I have no idea yet, but I aim to find out, quickly grabbing my rucksack and jacket as I stand and leave the room, heading out into the main hall where the boys usually spend their nights.

Bright light streams in from the outside, indicating that it is 4:23 PM, illuminating the decrepit lobby in a new clarity I've not seen it in before, every piece of scattered rubbish given a new appearance. In the daylight, the whole place looks less sinister, and more like an abandoned antiques shop, the dusty bits and pieces casting odd shaped shadows onto the floor as the sunlight hits them from a certain angle, every dull colour suddenly highlighted more than usual. I have to blink a few times to allow my eyes to adjust, but they quickly do so, my gaze swiftly flicking around the looming room so that I can take it all in, a plan springing to my mind as I observe it all.

Silently, I get to work, dropping my bag on the fountain ledge and rummaging around in it, pulling everything out to lay it out in front of me so that I can properly see what I have. It's not much, but it's enough to satisfy what needs doing. Picking up the lightweight chains we are required to own, I grab some dirty old cans lying a little way away, the litter most likely the remains of a meal from sometime before, their rusted forms almost perfect for what I need them for.

Eyeing the brightly lit entrance, I take up a ball of string, too, and go over to it, stepping out onto the rickety walkway, examining the rugged wood with a critical eye as I walk out a little way, putting some weight in my step. Under each step, the wood moves slightly, the material having a light spring to it thanks to its age and exposure to the elements, which makes me frown slightly, hoping my plan will still work even though this is the case. Kneeling down, I measure out a length of string that runs the width of the walkway and use my knife to cut it to size. Setting it aside, I get to work on the chains, making six separate lengths with cans attached to them, each one of them rattling loudly as I shake them out experimentally. Smiling to myself, I connect one chain to the end of the piece if string, doubling it over itself for a better result, quickly doing the same on the other end of the string, weighting it down perfectly. I find a pair of small rocks lodged into the cliffside beside me and place them at opposing ends of the walkway, but not before I've scraped a small groove into their surfaces, where the string rests once I've set it up, hanging the chains over the sides of the walkway. The string sits an inch or so above the surface of the walkway, meaning it is easily tripped over, setting off the rudimentary alarm.

I repeat this twice more, leaving them at alternating distances from each other to provide a crude trap to alert anyone inside the cave of approaching intruders: when someone trips the string, the cans and chains will rattle loudly, signifying their approach. Absentmindedly, I hear a small voice in my head telling me that any SRS soldiers will be expecting this, and won't fall for such an amateur trap, quickly deciding that I need to work on something inside the cave, too, something more hidden.

Going back inside, I wipe some sweat from my upper lip, surprised at the heat of the day despite it being mid-October, my clothes sticking to me as I go back to my rucksack, trying to figure something else out. My eyes are quickly drawn to the grenades I have left. They won't work very well on humans, but the loud noise and subsequent explosion of mist will throw anyone off if caught up in it, meaning they are somewhat effective for this purpose.

Grabbing them, I take the string again and go to the entrance, making sure to set up two of the conveniently placed barrels of charcoal the boys use as braziers, setting them up a little way apart around the front of the cave. Going a little way ahead of them again, I place a seemingly random cardboard box face down on the floor, checking the layout once more, before measuring pieces of string again. Cutting them all to size, I tie one end of each of the length to the ring of a grenade, which I carefully loosen, hiding the two explosives under the cardboard box as I loop the string around the two barrels, pulling it tightly enough that it creates another tripwire across the entrance.

Sitting back, I look at my handiwork, noting that the string isn't too obvious and that the overall look isn't too bad. Cautiously, I pull the string taut again, knowing how tense it needs to be for this trap to actually work. Aware that this is now a near-fatal hazard for the four original residents of the cave, I make a mental note to warn them of the new trap before one of them accidentally trips it and gets a face-full of burning holy water.

Sighing, I go back to my rucksack and pick up the gun, checking the clip for rounds, annoyed to find it only about half-full, most of them having been used over the last few days, meaning it needs reloading. I check over the rest if my stuff, growling when I realise that I haven't got anymore bullets with me, leaving me with a pretty much useless weapon which will need reloading very quickly. Setting it down again, I quickly make a decision, going back out into the daylight and up to the cliff top, where I grab some of the random pieces of driftwood lying around, returning to the cave with an armfull of them. Tiredly, I drop them to the floor and sit down, pull in out my knife so I can start whittling them down - a skill every Hunter is taught is how to make wooden bullets, seeing as they are effective against both supernatural and natural creatures.

A small pile of bullets has steadily grown by the time the boys finally emerge from their sleep, the last rays of sunlight having dissipated an hour or so ago, my fingers sore from scratching the knife over the dry wood for so long, though it has paid off: I have enough to fill four or five clips, now. As they enter the room, I look up at them with a tired smile, glad to have some company now.

"Hey guys. Sleep well?" I greet them, waving slightly with the knife, my tone light despite the tension in my body.

"Mostly, yeah." Marko responds, coming over to me with the others, their brows furrowed as they see what I'm doing.

"What're you up to?" Dwayne questions, eyeing the bullets apprehensively.

"Making some more rounds for my gun. I didn't bring enough ammo, so I'm making my own." I explain, gesturing to the pile dismissively.

"Out of wood?" Paul interjects, looking genuinely curious.

"Yep. It's the only available material."

"That's...kinda cool, but also pretty worrying." The blonde vampire muses, dropping down beside me as he goes to pick one up.

"I'm not planning to use them in you guys, don't worry." I reassure them, rolling my eyes.

"Why do you need so many?" David asks, blue eyes appearing much darker in this light.

I shrug casually, finishing up the one I'm currently working on.

"In case the SRS comes knocking. Speaking of which, I've set up some traps by the entrance, so just be careful of them." I make eye contact with David, "One of them will be very painful if it's tripped."

He frowns a little, but nods in any case.

"Duly noted." The vampire licks his lips carefully, "I'm hungry, so I'm gonna head out and get something to eat. You boys coming?"

Marko and Paul eagerly agree, though Dwayne politely declines.

"I think it's a good idea if someone stays here with (Y/n), and I'm not that hungry so I'm happy to do that." The dark haired vampire explains, watching me for a reaction as I give him a confused look, surprised at the offer.

"You don't need to, Dwayne. I'm grateful for the offer, but I don't want to ruin your night..." I start, only to be cut off by him sitting down beside me.

"Don't worry about it, I'd rather stay here. Plus, maybe you can show me how to do that. It'd get the job done quicker with two people doing it."

"I guess. Thank you." I murmur, still surprised, trying to ignore the blush rising to my cheeks.

"No problem."

"Right, well, we'll be back in a few hours. Want us to bring you something back, Dwayne?" David cuts in, eyeing the two of us carefully.

"No, it's alright. I'll go out when you guys get back."

"Ok. See you two later." Without another word, the three vampires leave the room, the surrounding quickly lapsing into silence as Dwayne and I sit there.

"So, how do you carve these?" He finally asks, pulling a knife from the pocket of his jacket, his thumb running swiftly over the blade to test it's sharpness.

"Oh, it's pretty easy. Just copy me..." I run through the basic premise of what needs doing, the vampire easily picking it up, the two of us starting to produce a good amount of them between us.

Part Nine

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

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redevenir · 3 years

Text

lonely are the brave

wc : almost 3k

a/n : @exolssecretsanta here it is, my present for @mmmhs, as a part of the #exolssecretsanta2020 it’s me ! your secret santa ! hopefully you’ll have a good time reading this ! Also The plot is entirely based on the movie The Spy, which is about the life of Sonja Wigert, and I strongly encourage you to read about her after you read this fic (so you won’t get spoiled) because it is incredible and she deserves to be remembered. And the title is from the 1962 Kirk Douglas movie, based on Edward Abbey’s The Brave Cowboy. It’s an excellent movie, and probably a very, very good book. The settings are very different but the title fitted too well. Merry Christmas, I wish you the very best. More importantly I think I wish for 2021 to be exactly what you need it to be.

As the entire theater bursts into applaudes, Kyungsoo thinks you might just be what he needs. Even in shades of gray on the big screen, your magnetism is undeniable. He claps a few times as you deserve it, and since his every move are being watched, it’s a quick way of expressing his satisfaction. He leaves the movie room before anyone else has stopped cheering.

***

You can’t keep your eyes off the newspaper. The head of the new Governor occupies two thirds of the front page. You sigh. It is still hard to believe the Empire has won, once again, and this war they won in two days. It’s humiliating even for you, and they haven’t reached your country yet. They didn’t defeat you. You are no soldier, you are not general. You’re not even in the war force, and the kingdom isn’t yet at war. But there is something excrutiatingly mortifying to read the news every morning, nails painted of red, and contemplating the fall of this world as a bystander. You wonder how fast they’ll take the kingdom next. Of course, it has to be their next move. Maybe they won’t even pretend to wage a war. Maybe the Queen will just bend the knee. Your hear a soft pshh when the ash of your cigar falls into your cup of tea. You hear your name, and a croissant is thrown your way.

« So ? What do you think ? He looks weird, right ? I mean, weird for the job ? Chanyeol gently taps the face of the Governor with his own croissant. I mean, he looks all… He gesture vaguely, throwing crumbles your way. It’s always harder for him to find his words in the morning. You guess it’s because it takes him some time to be properly awake.

Intellectual ?

Yes ! He smiles but his eyes are cold and mocking. They usually come all… He tries to sit straighter and extand his shoulders to show you what he means.

Bulked up and ready to kill you with their bare hands ? His mouth full, he nods and claps his hands once in agreement. You look back at the photography. Governor Do has a stern face. Eyebrows heavy, black hair cut short, thick glasses. He does not seem very large, even in his uniform. This one, you begin, as Chanyeol stands up to empty your ruined cup of tea and fix you a new one, this one is going to make fool of us all. You drink one to that. That’s why they didn’t send an obvious brute. They think he’s going to seduce us, and win us without a kill. You put your cup down a little too hard. Fuck him.

So, what’s your plan for today ? He properly buttons up his shirt, and you eye the disappearing skin all the way. The look you send him is full of fire and decadent promises. Ah, don’t look at me like that now, I must go ! You avert you gaze, back to your newspaper. He catches your smile as he puts his jacket on.

I know, I know, so do I. I have an appointment with Junmyeon, I’m assuming a new movie, the musical is really exhausting, at least with movies I can have normal workdays, you dramatically sigh, the back of your hand on your forehand, as if about to die.

That’s the price of success, my dear. He bends over to kiss you as you stand up to kiss him, leaning against him. I’ll give you a reward of my own tonight if you will, he adds, and payfully smacks your butt before heading out. I love you, good luck !

***

Luck is indeed what you need when you read the invitation Junmyeon hands you. Handwritten, neat, efficient. Both personal and artificial as can be, like any good performance. The twist your stomach makes is almost enough for you to throw up. You remain silent while he scans your face. It has always been clear where Junmyeon stands : where the money lies.

So ?

What ?

Will you go ? You weigh your words carefully. When your eyes meet his, you realize Junmyeon hasn’t set his mind himself.

Why would I ? It’s just an invitation to dinner. I have no reason to go.

***

It’s exactly why you have to go. We might be at war soon, milady. It is an opportunity for us to find out more about their plans. We need you to go to Governor Do.

You keep your eyes on your reflection as you wipe your make-up off. It is only the two of you in the changing room. Most of the lights are off, except for the fairy lights. You like it better that way. It’s more intimate and peaceful. You like how the little glitters in the Christmas tinsels reflect the light, like fireflies of many colors. But what the minister is telling you is shattering you from inside, like a very slow explosion – or maybe you are about to implode and collapse on yourself. He leaves you no choice but to become a huntress in the shadows.

***

You don’t tell Chanyeol about it. You don’t know where Chanyeol stands. Him, who sleeps in your sheets, who praises you like it would save his life, who loves making romantic gestures in a most bombastic way. You don’t know where Secretary Park, from a little ambassy stands. After all, the country he comes from has already signed a pact with the Empire. They pledged immediately and before any other nation. You assume, from the way he talks about them, that he is not fond of his leaders. But what do you know. You lie awake on your bed for hours, letting your body cool down, staring at the ceiling like it might hold all the answers. You shiver, and don’t even bother to sit up to smoke. You don’t need answers, you just wish for peace of mind – it is a luxury of the past now. When Chanyeol enters, a few hours before sunset, he thinks you look worse than he does, and he joins you wordlessly, looking for the comfort in the touch of your tender skin. He doesn’t tell you about his problems, and lets the both of you zone out, bodies intertwined as one. Later, when you both wake up, he smoothers you with kisses, and the fire in your head blinds your worries away.

You don’t talk about it.

***

Chanyeol doesn’t ask you anything when you come back from your work trip. He just wonders if it went well. When you shrug and sigh in answer, he takes it upon himself to make you feel better, and his kisses have never been more delicate on your skin, and he feels like a sun, radiating warmth and life and feeding it to your tired skin. When he nibs lightly on your ribs and you ruffle his hair, you feel his smile against you. Eyes closed, you feel him moving up to your face. His voice his only a whisper, but it deep and stable when he calls your name and asks what is wrong. You keep your eyes closed but he watches your face from the side, how harshly you bite your lower lip before licking it.

I don’t think I should say it. You feel too bad to notice the restrained sigh against your ear. He pulls you closer to him, until you lie on top of him, forehead against his chest, determined to avoid his gaze. His right hand finds its way through your hair to cup the back of your head, and he assures you he understands.

I just wish I could fix it for you. He feels the shadow of your smile against his skin.

You’re doing all right, Chan.

You don’t tell him about the dinner. You don’t tell him about the indecent dress you wore, about the most light fabric it was made of. How it looked like you were naked under a waterfall. How all eyes were on you the minute you walked in, except those of the new Governor. You keep to yourself the way they pierced right through you, and how enthousiastic he was to talk with you. You don’t tell him about the evening you spent discussing movie and literature with a war lord, and you try to forget his lingering hand on the small of your back when you left, and his offer to do this again, since having you among the company was a delight. You push down the half hidden threats whispered in your ear during the dance and pretend it was all a dream.

It doesn’t work.

You stop dreaming.

***

It becomes regular. Every few weeks you’re invited west of the border. First for evenings. Then for several days. Kyungsoo, as he insists you call him, lets you an entire wing of his mansion, to use as you please. You have no use to it. You don’t dare to ask him who were the previous owners of the place. Or where they are now.

It is lovely though. Decorated with a keen eye, even if it is a bit old fashioned. Lots of floral patterns on the walls, as to reflect the exuberance of the gardens around the residence. He offers you all sorts of pretty things, dresses and night gowns and shawls of the finest fabric. You spend hours discussing every matter that catches your attention. He inquires your opinion about everything, and sometimes you believe it is genuine interest and not a test anymore. He takes you to walks in the woods and teaches you how to shoot – just in case. When you ask him who might threaten you, he puts his hand on you cashmere-covered waist and through it you feel his warmth. His eyes are on the same level as yours when he confesses, as he’d believe you might be his equal. You let him kiss you, a whole in the chest and your heart in the throat.

The minister of home intelligence is satisfied when you tell him the news. A sympathetic look in the eyes, he pats you on the shoulder, thanking you for your sacrifice, and urging you to keep up the good work.

***

Chanyeol watches you decrepit. He wonders why you don’t ask him about his absences. He tries to bring life back into you. He dances with you and reads with you. He makes love to you like he’s offering you his soul – he is. Since you don’t want to talk about what’s troubling you, he shares everything instead. Almost. He tells you about his childhood, about his home. About his college years and about his first love stories. He tells you about some of his colleagues, and how he hates the war. He tells you he wants to go away, when all of this will be over. To where there is music and joy. He lies naked before you, exposing himself more than ever before. Everything is yours to see, every last bit of his soul. Only one secret he keeps for himself.

***

Shades of grey don’t do you any justice, Kyungsoo decides. He dreams of glitter and colours to project, to have a more accurate image of you when you’re leagues away. For a few weeks, he toys with the idea of making you the face of Hope. You could be the Empire’s most glamorous face. When he mentions it to minister Byun, the response is thrilled, and Baekhyun assures him he’ll find the crème de la crème to work on this most ambitious project. What Kyungsoo doesn’t expect is your reluctant answer. He watches it all happen silently on your face. Conversations between the two of you often take time. You don’t think in the same langage. You rarely talk in either of your mother tongues. And you’re both quite cautious around each other. He really doesn’t want to mess this up. There is a fire in you he wants to stir up, not to put it out. There is not taming you in his mind.

When you tell him you’re not sure about meddling you’re career and your personal life, he knows he has to put a ring on it.

***

Every night you sleep at the mansion, you allow yourself one hour of rummaging in Kyungsoo’s office. The rest of it is spent imagining the face of the traitors. Or you think about the wonders of self control you’ve unfolded the day he proposed. You are a terrific actress indeed.

***

When the newspapers of both countries announce you are engaged, you understand what sacrifice you have made. You never see Chanyeol again.

***

The night you find the pictures is a relief. Even you know they’re dangerous. Every little rock on the shores of your country is there, carefully spotted. The map stored with them identifies them all. You know the next time you leave Kyungsoo will be the last.

When you give them to the Minister, you ask for a new passport. And a way out. He asks if you have any idea of who the contact might be. You say it’s someone in an ambassy. You say there’s not just one person. You say they’re everywhere. You say it’s over. You don’t mention the fact that everyone has turn their back on you. Because you’re the face of national complacency.

Maybe that’s why they come to you directly. For the first time, they come knocking to your door. You recognize them as Chanyeol’s coworkers. Jongin, Minseok. They say Kyungsoo asked them to drop by – see if you were all right. You know that’s not what he said. If there is one thing Kyungsoo values about you, and takes pride in, it’s precisely the fact that you don’t need nor want to be babied. When they see your smile, and the absence of light your eyes, they both shift their balance. Your face remain unreadable when they ask you about your former lover, and Jongin realizes why Governor Do has set his mind on you. You’re stronger than most of the people he has met – including the governor. There is no point trying to fool you, so he goes straight to the point.

Where’s Chanyeol ? So he was a traitor. Good riddance – your heart climbs his way up your throat – it’s been a long time.

I don’t know.

Are you sure, presses Minseok. Jongin’s glad the disgusted twist on your lips isn’t adressed to him. It is humilating, even in second-hand.

In case you haven’t noticed, I got engaged. I don’t know to who’s shoulder Chanyeol went crying. Jongin wonders if his past lovers speak as lowly of him as you do now. Chanyeol might be a deceiving bastard, but he was a nice guy to be around otherwise. He clears his throat.

Is there any place he might have told you of ? Where he could be now ? You hum slowly.

The lonely islands. He has a cabin there. Likes to be alone to meditate or whatever.

Could you take us there. One, two, three, you have nothing left to loose.

All right.

***

Nothing has changed. The island is still exactly the same. Every rock, every sprig of lichen. The gentle howling of the wind, caressing your cold ears, caressing your eyelids, caressing your lips as if saying, just this one more time. You bit the inside of your lower lip hard and don’t let go. You have no word to tell them. You watch them climb their way out the small boat, and head toward the wood cabin. You don’t mention there is no other boat tied up to the rocks – their time is worthless.

You come inside right after them. The amount of dust on every surface is the same as the last time you came here, only weeks ago. It feels like years and years have passed by, but it is merely an illusion of your stretched heart. You let your gaze brush over the scarce furniture, trying to put your attention on attention itself, blocking any harmful thoughts. You feel the cracks in your armour. Of what could have been. Of what you let go. Of what you gave up.

You notice the guitar, and a rush of adrenaline blows away your attemps at meditation.

He’s here.

You leave the room, aiming for the water closet. You close the door, sit down and bite your fist as hard as you can.

***

It’s you. It can only be you. Chanyeol watches you enter the room through the floor slits. You’re having a mental break down, he can tell. But he cannot make it to why you are here in the first place. You’ve never tried to talk to him since he stopped coming to you. The Governor’s fiancee. His jaw tenses. No wonder you couldn’t tell him what was wrong. How could you hide it from him he understands. How you were probably used for it by your own government tears his heart apart. If only he had told you what his business was. What he was working for – the very same thing you were fighting for. The wooden floor is only a couple centimeters’ thick, but it is far enough to keep him from touching you. How he wished he could console you know. Tell you everything will be repaired. Take you to dance and fireworks. Oh, to hesitate between the prettiest of flowers at the shop and settle for all of them. To fix you cups of tea and quick meals.

***

In the kitchen, Minseok abruptly opens a drawer.

***

For miles around, every submarine reports the explosion.

#exolssecretsanta20 #exo imagines #exo scenarios #chanyeol #d.o #pcy #dks #my writings

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