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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

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The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’)

Prompt: Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

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You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.

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karimac · 3 years

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...in the details, part 1

A/N: Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: 1,198

“A sorcerer is a wizard without a hat.”

Sam Wilson said it. You heard it. Damn, you felt it. And it hurt. He knew it was more than that, and that joke was just not funny. And you’d tell him that. If you could.

The problem was that Sam was nowhere near where you were at the moment. By all rights, anything that even smacked of The Avengers was now marked on a page in the latest tome about your life with a very definitive “The End” written in swirling calligraphic script at the bottom of the page, followed closely by the same words written in Ogham. That was an alphabet not seen much these days beyond necklace pendants or old rock formations found in farmer’s fields on the road to one Irish town or another. That in and of itself still seemed weird.

If this had ended when you were working at The Daily Bugle, then it would have closed with a -30- before you logged off your screen. But this was not your ill-fated stint at The Bugle. Jameson was such a pompous twit, and he never took a moment to even try to understand why the world needed a friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man, let alone how a teen had been left to carry that mantle and had to now lift an even greater burden since his mentor was gone. That poor kid was going to need help, but you knew anything you had to offer would likely be more curse than boon.

But this nonsense with Sam? This was something you really couldn’t put your finger on yet.

Weeks ago, wait, it was months ago now, The Avengers saved the world one more time. You were there, right in the middle of the insanity before Tony Stark snapped his fingers and turned Thanos and his army into nothing more than dust.

As deaths for wannabe gods go, that one was justified, lame and incredibly sad all at the same time. And you should know. You’d seen almost every manner of death in the 1,500 years, give or take a day, which you had walked the Earth. It was not a warrior’s end.

The warrior’s end was saved for Stark. He reminded you so much of his father at that point. Supremely intelligent. Unflinching. Loyal.

When Howard Stark and Peggy Carter met you, you went by your birth name of Kari MacOrish. At least that was the Anglicized spelling of it. The true Irish spelling was a bit hard for others to wrap their heads around at times.

Your name is, was and always would be Kari MacOrish. You had gone by hundreds of others as time ebbed and flowed around you, but this was you. You had been, since your birth on a battlefield in what was now called County Kildare, Ireland, the earthly avatar of the Celtic battle goddess The Morrigan, and that was a lot less fun at times than it sounded.

But back to Sam.

You could now see the person he was talking to. Bucky Barnes. And Bucky was bringing up Gandalf? Why in the name of Heaven were they talking about fictional magic wielders? It was too bad Barnes had not started reading those Potter novels he had been gifted in Wakanda during his deprogramming and rehabilitation. Thank Thanos for that one. You were sure that Shuri had left them for him, and you were pleased he’d have one more thing to take his mind off the parts of his past that likely still dogged him.

But why in the world were you even thinking about that? You never were really an Avenger. Or more correctly, you had never let yourself fully embrace the title.

You would likely never have known if Barnes read those books or not anyway. He was a nerd. A kindred spirit. That was why that little detail mattered.

This, on the other hand, was just not making any sense.

Or maybe you just weren’t used to this new sense of not being a part of their lives just yet?

Getting up and leaving places much too soon had become a habit. You hated explaining to people about your secret, so you usually left Dodge before anyone caught on to the fact you were an immortal.

This should have been different. Thor knew you and called you a friend. You joked once that you and Thor would have been in the same year of high school if gods and avatars of goddesses shared such mundane things.

Hell, Loki even called you an ally at times. You had always hoped he would use the word “friend,” but that level of trust needed to be earned. And now the chance was lost.

Steve Rogers knew you, and so did Bucky, back from those days in the camp where they were sent out on those missions to hunt down The Red Skull and his Hydra minions. You had had to explain that you looked a bit different back then. Explaining glamours to those not versed in magic was a pain, but in this case, it had to be done. You also had to pour them drinks like you did in the old days and sing a few bars of “Taking a Chance on Love,” that Benny Goodman tune that Helen Forrest sang so well. Dum Dum Dugan loved that damned song. That sealed the deal.

Was it possible that the spell you had so painstakingly crafted to make them all not care about you once Steve had gone back to the past was actually working? That the only forms of magic they registered in their minds were brought about by books, movies and TV shows and, when they were part of the fight, Thor, Stephen Strange and Wong? No red haired wild woman with a sword? No bit of Irish sparkle in their days?

But that didn’t explain whatever this was. If the spell had worked, why were you able to be an eavesdropper on this conversation, wherever it was happening? It looked like an airport hangar, but there was no way you could be sure of it unless Sam turned around.

And why Sam? The brief time you were last with The Avengers—sitting in the middle of that fight at the compound as Thanos’ forces brought hell to Earth once more—you had been closer to Bucky during the fighting. It just worked out that way save for the few times you had to go skyward to keep some idiot from raining ordinance down on someone’s head. Wong’s wizard corps was very good at putting shields up as needed, but sometimes you had to get in an opponent’s face to take care of business.

Power stunts like that bugged some of The Avengers a lot. Then you reminded them that you were damned hard to kill, and that, if you did die, you had been around the track a lot more than any of them had been except for Thor.

But Asgard and a bloody battlefield in County Kildare were worlds apart from this place. The large sign told you that right off the bat.

Welcome to Westview!

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thoughtsaboutshows · 3 years

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A Different WIP Wednesday: Behind Closed Doors

This isn’t exactly a WIP but it is a completed scene from an abandoned (for now) collection of Nabrina missing/extended scenes from the show. This one is from the end of Part 2!

The dress was uncomfortable. It was beautiful and while she didn’t mind a collar or a plunging neckline, the gold threaded dress she was currently wearing was itchy. And the fact that Lucifer had picked it out for her made her want to rip it off even more. She knew she couldn’t though, the literal world was depending on her to pull this off.

So she slipped on the gold shoes as well and played with the mask, contemplating waiting to put it on until she got there. They were all waiting for her downstairs and she knew Lucifer was waiting for her too at the Academy. She could picture his smug smile while sitting atop his throne of skulls, believing he’d won. But he hadn’t, not yet at least.

She’d attempted a Hail Malphus pass in trying to stop her Aunt’s wedding. She and Nick had worn another glamour and it had gotten them both expelled. But this was even more of a risk, more of a last ditch effort to keep Satan himself from destroying the Earth. From keeping herself from becoming the Queen at his side, and his child bride? Her stomach churned at the thought. His face had been dripping with victory when she’d tried to defeat him at the stone altar. Heaven, his bragging eyes had even been present when she showed up at Dorian’s and he revealed his master plan. He’d nearly jumped with glee when Nick appeared from behind the curtain, finding joy in the tears that were running down both their cheeks and enjoying that their relationship was in ruins. In Lucifer’s mind, it was one less tie his daughter had to the world she loved so much.

Nick hadn’t given up there though, showing up in her room hours later begging for forgiveness, for her to see his love for her had been true despite what the Dark Lord had tasked him to do.

Fix the Acheron and maybe I won’t hate you for the rest of my life.

That’s what she had said to him. But it couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Hate him? She couldn’t. That’s why his betrayal had hurt so much. It had cut a deep gash in her heart that he had mended after her breakup with Harvey. It had made her question everything since he’d sat with her at lunch, which Nick claimed he’d done out of his own volition and sheer awestruck reaction to seeing her for the first time. She wanted to believe that, and she guessed a part of her did or she wouldn’t have let him help. Her trust in him was shaky at best. She was unwilling to allow him to be the one to help her zip up that uncomfortable dress or clasp her shoes. But she could trust that he was smart, and a damn good warlock. So she handed over the Acheron and sent him away to work on it.

He’d taken it in stride, accepted it as the tiniest of olive branches. If he couldn’t hold her hand at least he could work on something to hold the Dark Lord. He found a quiet room in the Mortuary and went to work immediately, putting all he had into it. His heart had plummeted into his stomach, making him nearly lose his lunch when the Dark Lord told Sabrina of his plans. It was nothing he’d expected, and thought his devotion had to do with guiding a wayward witch to sign the book of the beast. Now he knew he played a role in the end of the world. He didn’t care much about that, meaning what he said to Sabrina in her kitchen. He only cared about her and it was Lucifer’s statements about her ruling by his side that had Nick fuming the most. That’s what had kept him working furiously on the Acheron, hands shaking and mind racing as he said all of his spells.

As the time drew nearer, and really it wasn’t enough time but it had to do, they all met in the Mortuary foyer before walking over to the Academy. Sabrina was in her gold dress and everyone else wore their demon glamours; it would be quite the show. Nick kept his distance from her, his entire focus trained on the Acheron still in his hands as he continued to mutter spells despite the fact that they were nearly leaving. She took note of how he looked at it, eyes almost begging for it to work. His entire face was furrowed in concentration, but it wasn’t the cute kind she’d admired when he’d perch on her bed studying or they’d research in the Sanctum. Back then she could swoop in and kiss his lips or his jaw and it’d draw a chuckle from him and he’d be willing to take a break. This concentration was desperate, and Sabrina knew without a doubt that desperation was for her.

She also knew that she could try and kiss him all she wanted, and he’d still be working on that damn Acheron. Because that is what would save them all.

Save her.

Still her feet that wore the uncomfortable heels couldn’t move in her uncomfortable dress to go to him. It seemed too big a task in that moment, like facing down Nick was scarier than facing down the Dark Lord.

Yet when they finally started the journey to the Academy, her mask in hand because she couldn’t bring herself to add another uncomfortable gold item to her outfit just yet. She found her gazes darting to him and her footfalls falling into step with his. Even when it seemed they were miles apart, they were in sync. He caught her looking nearly every time, having stolen some looks of his own. He could sense she was a little scared, his fearless girl.

Except she wasn’t his anymore, he’d lost her. She didn’t lose him though, she never would. He’d tied himself to her long before Lucifer came calling. She didn’t believe that right now but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered to Nick was that she got through this, that she wasn’t forced into a role she didn’t want and that she survived. And if his tie to her tethered him to a sinking ship or disaster, he’d hold on tight because it’d be worth it. Because she’d be above the surface breathing another day.

Her heart tugged to walk by him, take the Acheron out of his shaking hand and so it could hold hers instead. But her head kept her in between her Aunts with her eyes forward, avoiding his dark eyes for the rest of the trip. She knew how easily she got lost in them.

Her eyes stayed ahead but her thoughts continued to drift to him. She kicked herself for using the time she should be preparing to dwell on her boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend? She wasn’t sure what they were anymore, but what she did know was that the story of them wouldn’t stop replaying in her mind. She begged and prayed anyone left out there that it wasn’t all a lie. She didn’t think it was even possible to fake the glint he’d had in his eye when he asked her to the Valentine’s Dance. Or how his smile emphasized the curl of his tongue against hers when he’d kissed her properly for the first time. Not that their stage kiss hadn’t felt real all on its own. She hoped that he’d meant it when he toasted to her future as a High Priestess of the Church of Night. And they hadn’t spoken of it, but what business would he have had lying to his familiar when he yelled out that he loved her, trying to get Amalia to spare Sabrina. The same broken pleading was in his voice when he kneeled in front of her and told her he really did fall in love with her.

And in return she spat in his face.

It seemed deserved at the time, and it might have been. But as her footsteps brought her closer to the Academy, she’d wished she’d have told him she loved him too, thrown the Dark Lord’s devotion right back in his face with a grab of Nick’s hand.

Because she was pretty sure she had fallen in love with him right back.

Nobody wasted any time when they climbed the steps to the Academy. Zelda led the charge in search of Lilith and next steps. Nick passed the Acheron to Ambrose as he walked by, shooting it one last inspecting look.

Nick and Sabrina somehow found themselves alone on the steps in the back of the line, and he stopped her from going in with two gentle fingers on her arm. If she was surprised she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked almost relieved he had done it.

“Sabrina.” Nick started. His voice sounded like gravel, rough and painful. He reached out and his fingertips grazed the gold fabric of her dress. She let him do it, which surprised both of them. “I know this is all messed up and I hate the reason we’re all here...but you look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Nick.” She answered him, using his shortened name. It made him visibly calmer, though being alone with her right now still made him nervous. He couldn’t help commenting on her beauty. He should have told her more just how stunning he found her, more exquisite than anyone else he’d ever seen. So just in case, he’d told her now.

“I’m so sorry, Sabrina.” Nick apologized as he changed the subject. He couldn’t help apologizing one last time either. He hadn’t known what he was going to say when he stopped her, and the pressure of it all had obviously turned his brain to mush. In reality there was nothing to say, he just wanted to be by her one last time.

She squeezed her eyes shut to try to keep the tears at bay. She didn’t think they could really haven’t this conversation now, despite not wanting to go into this with things left unsaid. She took a deep breath when he struggled to find more words. She grabbed the hand that was playing with her dress and intertwined their fingers. His hands were warm and soft, just as she’d remembered.

“Nick…”. She said his name again and took a step closer. They were outside in the open but somehow it had felt like the air had been sucked away. The only life giving source left was each other and it seemed nothing could tear their eyes apart. She saw the worry in his, muddled with something else she could only describe as love. She figured hers looked the same and she cursed Lucifer all over again for playing with both of their hearts. She leaned in a little bit more, and he memorized the scent of her, just in case. As she breathed him in she thought she might have kissed him, might have folded herself in his arms, or at least told him she’d forgiven him.

But she didn’t do any of those things because Lilith slammed the door open and demanded Sabrina come with her. They couldn’t keep the Dark Lord waiting any longer.

With one more lingering and longing look Nick gave a supportive nod.

“We’ll talk after?” He asked with hope and lifted his and to gently graze her cheek. She leaned into it slightly and nodded quickly in response. With a deep breath he went inside the door and looked back at her once before disappearing down a hallway in search of the others.

Lilith rolled her eyes and dragged Sabrina inside, giving her one last recap as to the plan as Sabrina out on her mask. Sabrina had the plan down and was filled with a hopefully well placed confidence that this would all work. The sooner they started the ruse the sooner the dress could come off and her comfy PJ’s could go on. The sooner she could she have a real conversation with Nick. One without the end of the world looming or hiding behind curtains.

She couldn’t wait until she could.

Because she wasn’t pretty sure anymore.

She loved him.

And when this was all over, when the Dark Lord was trapped in the Acheron, she’d tell him.

But she’d be too late.

#nabrina #WIP Wednesday #kind of #fic: behind closed doors #nicholas scratch #sabrina spellman #chilliing adventures of sabrina #part 2

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braindeacl · 3 years

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Splinter | Solomon & Eilidh

SETTING: The woods. TIMING: Current, early morning. PARTIES: @shroomsbysolomon & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh means to put an end to Solomon’s trail of death, permanently, but ideologies get in the way. WARNINGS: Drug use

Anger had driven him from his home. Rage had fueled the destruction he’d left in his wake all those miles from here. But it was fear that brought him back; heavy in his gait and thick in his throat. It was fear that coaxed him toward the coast, that sent sharp aches through his body and violent shivers up his spine. He’d been gone too long. What might have happened in his absence? No, no, he couldn’t rationalize it that way, he—

How was he to reconcile this?

It had taken several centuries to forget the first time, and he wasn’t sure how many more centuries he had to spare.

Lumbering through familiar forests, a sense of calm began to worm its way into his anxious mind. Perhaps he had strayed too far—this was his home, after all. His roots were here, in more ways than one. His thoughts drifted to soft lips, the snarling curl of a scar amidst a warm smile… sunlight streaming in through the window, all golden and peaceful. For a moment, blissful memory overtook the hate that had inspired his trip out west, cleansing his conscience of all the horrible things he’d done to those people—

As with all things, it was not meant to last. A sound snapped Solomon from his reverie, golden eyes darting to his left, where they fell upon a most peculiar figure in the distance. A beat of silence passed between them: the human-shaped silhouette, half hidden by foliage, stood small before the towering fae, all bark and thorns and lichen and antlers.

An uncharacteristic vocalization bloomed in the leshy’s throat, deep and growling. He recognized this one. He’d seen them out in his woods before, coming upon the bodies of the unfortunate souls he’d turned into hedge hounds… as well as the ones that the vines had refused to make hosts out of. Even after the first failed attempt, Solomon had persisted, not having any better explanation for his own existence and hoping that perhaps one would work out.

“What do you want?” he snarled, his ancient, unnatural voice pouring forth from the skull that adorned his head.

It started as an attempt to find answers. Searching for potential leads on the gateways that kept sprouting about White Crest. But the trail led nowhere. Might as well have fun heading back. Eilidh took to the forests, exploring what they had to offer. When Eilidh came upon the first body, she was a mixture of disturbed and intrigued. Just as the corpse was a mixture of flesh and plant. It had been hard to distinguish at first, the protruding vines blending in with the surrounding vegetation. But something felt off. On closer inspection, she noted the way the vines curled and twisted into a familiar shape. A human shape. Unlike most of the hedges she’d see in town, which were forced into poses by the cut of a blade, what lay before lacked any sort of obvious manipulation. This was simply how it grew to be. Out in the middle of the woods. Interesting. Further inspection confirmed a suspicion. Someone had been snipped of their true form, forced by powerful magic into this construction. Part of her wondered if this had been the fate of all the hedges she had seen moving about town. But unlike those, this was still. More plant than creature. Is this how all the hedges will end? One side winning out?

What started as a fascinating oddity became a repeated occurrence. Again and again. Sometimes it was like the forest floor was made of those bodies, for they looked one and the same. In perfect tandem. The harmony was almost beautiful. But the amount was becoming concerning. Whoever was the cause clearly had no plans on slowing down. How long until the forest was only corpses? She began to take the inspection seriously. Time was taken to observe the area, face obscured so she may not be observed as well. A plan began to formulate. She suspected fae, perhaps a nymph. An angry one. Her iron dagger was close at hand.

Over time, she noticed a pattern. Realization brought forth a path in her mind; a path that hopefully led her to the source. Following that trail of death, it brought her to the being before her. Massive in form. Something powerful. Maybe even ancient. She had seen such a sight before, lingering near the bodies, but for her was from a safe distance. Only a vague idea of what she would face. That luxury was lost as the being placed their sights on her, and she was able to fully behold what she had gotten herself into. Her hand immediately went to grab at the syringe of Bliss nestled near her chest. No more close calls, it was time to do this right. James was saying something, probably an attempt to stop her. She couldn’t hear. Didn’t want to hear. Fuck the consequences. Temptation gnawed at her hands and throat as she gripped the needle. The cravings willed it.

She stabbed it into her neck.

Only enough for one hit remained. Her lucky charm. Pressing down, the contents filled her, worming its way through her body. Too soon to fully take over, she waited. Staring. Something sent a shiver down her spine as she fully studied her target. Ancient knowledge banged in her head, wanting to be realized. Details previously lost came into focus: head replaced with skull, towering like a tree, horns outstretched like branches. Horns like branches. Horns. Familiarity caused her to gasp. This didn’t seem right; part of her was skeptical. But before that side could win, the other part willed her to proclaim, voice in awe, “Adharcach aon… Carson a tha thu…”

Staring the stranger down, Solomon could tell by the tone of her voice that she was overwhelmed by his appearance—not an uncommon reaction, truth be told, but something was different about it, this time. Something that reminded him of the way the humans used to react to seeing him many hundreds of years ago… shortly before they would begin to treat him like one of their gods.

He didn’t know the language that she spoke, but it sounded old, like the one he’d been taught growing up. Taking a step toward her, the leshy growled out a warning, though it was in the tongue of long-dead vikings. “Get out of my forest,” he commanded, “and do not return.” Not caring if she understood the language, he took another threatening step toward her. His long digits splayed out in a way that made them seem ready to attack, antlers angling down toward her.

“You are not welcome here,” he added in English, just for good measure.

Eilidh’s thoughts were still swimming in a pool of questions. Why had The Horned One taken on this form? Should she offer him something? Was this even real? An illusion? Did she get hit with something again and was seeing things? The being that stood before her was exactly as she had imagined him all these years, these centuries. The Horned God. She’d never thought she’d see him like this. Usually he could only be felt—in the leaves, the bark, the grass below—his presence permeating everywhere, everything. Her body was electrified at the sight.

She did not understand him. And he did not seem to understand her, which casted a heavy shadow of doubt above them all. But the way he spoke brought upon a memory she had thought was long lost. Momentarily transported back centuries ago, she recalled a man. A vampire. His voice carried the same rhythm, the same flow and pitch. The same forgotten song. Even then, in the encounter so long ago, it was understood what he spoke was old and long gone. How much older it has grown since. Whoever stood before her was very ancient, or was very good at pretending to be.

His image, who he appeared to be, was still causing confliction, contradictions, in her mind. Awe? Confusion? Anger? She wasn’t even sure whether to move, leave, or remain frozen. But in her pause, the drug was able to finally make its nest. It stole all those questions. Quieted her mind for a moment. Until the anger, no longer having competitors, was able to move to the forefront. Her body felt electrified for a different reason. Power.

Glamour activated, it was like her form suddenly struggled to retain its shape. It shifted and lurched this way and that. Fighting to be free from this humanoid container. Nothing about her looked the same for long. “ToUGh shIt.” Even her voice fought against her. “I’vE seeN wHat you’VE doNe, FUcker.” Her iron dagger was drawn, preparing for an attack. Fast clicking emanated from her. Teeth chattering. Too fast to be human. Then she was on the move. Not directly at the other being, but in the general vicinity. Here, then there, back again. Maneuvering through the trees as if she had ran through the area many times.

That spark of anger ignited, and it was fueled by something Solomon did not fully comprehend. There was a voice in his head that demanded sacrifice, that demanded he protect it, no matter the cost. He was compelled by something unseen, a phantom that haunted him—draped over him like a blanket made of shadow. It was warm, though, that wispy embrace… inviting. Solomon was beginning to lose himself in it. The heat bloomed and rose in his chest, the flame licked higher and burned brighter until it was white-hot, blinding him to reality.

All he knew was that he had to defend.

Golden orbs tucked away in black pits struggled to keep up with the rapid, erratic movements of his enemy, his large head jerking this way and that as he took a wary step back.

“I did what had to be done!” he bellowed, heart racing as she drew near. With a furious stomp, the leshy dug his trunk-like feet into the earth as roots erupted from them, racing through the soil in all directions, trying to create a protective circle around him. They lashed out of the ground wherever the stranger flicked into existence, reaching with the intent to strangle, but never quite quick enough. The glint of metal in his attacker’s hand sent a shiver of fear up his spine: he might have had very little understanding of what he was, but as a fae, he had discovered at a young age that iron was something he did not want to be injured with.

“This does not concern you!” the leshy tried again, focusing his attempts to get a handle on her to hold her still.

As Eilidh’s feet struck down, the ground below awoke. Roots shot out, cracking the soil, like nightcrawlers returning from a winter’s nap—wriggling, writhing, grasping—with only one goal. Stop her. But they only touched her shadow. Their attempts grew more powerful, more desperate, the closer she came to where the being stood, hidden behind a barricade. Coward. The sight alone would’ve culled any lingering wonder as to who the being was. This was no god. This could be killed.

This could be a meal.

Her teeth snapped in anticipation. Hard click of canines that wanted to bury into the other’s head. The thought was distracting enough to allow a root to knock on her heel. Almost enough to lose balance. Almost. Onward it went, the eternal game of cat and mouse—but who was which? In the repetition of actions, her mind wandered to the previous words. What had to be done. When humans uttered that phrase, a weak attempt at justification, it made her want to rip their throats. And they ironically would want to do the same to those who simply did what had to be done in order to survive, gore and all. Was the latter true in this case? Ever the curious soul, even with a tampered mind, she barked out. “FeEl FRee to eXplAIn yoUrseLf bEforeee I eAT yOu.” The chase continued, continued, continued; her energy seemingly never ending, the roots seemingly ever growing. Her patience, however, had a limit. Erratic feet found a singular goal, and she grew closer. When the roots became frantic, instead of retreating, allowing the stalemate to carry on, she pressed onward. Switching to the defense, her blade was in motion, aiming a slash at any root that dared to come near.

That rage was returning as Solomon failed again and again to catch her, to stop her—it was burning white hot in his skull, bleeding out to his chest and stomach, smothering him. He felt something catch, but just as quickly as it had made contact, it was gone. The leshy let out an infuriated wail that made the branches of the trees around them shiver in response, and doubled down on his efforts. Only now… now something was hurting him. Cutting into his roots, burning like the anger that was making him lightheaded.

Fear escalated to panic, threatening to overtake him until finally—there! Got her.

“The humans,” he moaned, the root that had managed to catch his attacker’s foot snaking around her ankle and working up her leg, “they hurt us. They come into my woods and cut them down—” The barrier fell away as Solomon emerged to face whoever this person was, his lithe body trembling with emotion. “—they kill the creatures I call my family, they burn our home to the ground!” One root had become many, each grasping at her and trying to hold her in place, recoiling in pain with each slash of her weapon. And yet Solomon still lamented, the anguish laced in his tone only fueled by her attempts to break free. “I must take back what they have claimed, I must show them—listen!—I must show them that they are not the center of all creation! Can you not understand that?”

Eilidh continued to slash—the resulting wails only fueling her frenzy. But it was her against an army; she could only hold them off for so long. The distinction between ground and root was lost. All below writhed: reaching, reaching, reaching. She would not back down. Until something forced her to. Attention could only be divided so many ways; a hand can only be in so many places. One of the roots darted out from such a place. Ensnared its prey. To the ground, she fell.

Is he… monologuing? She did technically ask for this. Nevertheless, she preoccupied herself with repeatedly stabbing the root snaked around her leg. More quickly followed. One replaced the battered root that had been encircling her shin. Others gripped her attacking arms, trying to slow her movements into less offensive blows. She bit into the barked flesh, ripping off pieces with her canines. Their hold diminished until her hand was free to send another flurry of stab, stab, stab, stab. Discarded bark littered the forest floor, revealing wooden innards. Weakened by her ambush, or discouraged by her hostility, the roots peeled away by the will of her hands. Freedom at last. She rolled, and when feet struck ground, she returned to a sprint. Intent on continuing the chase, waiting for the next opportunity to arise.

But with her predicament solved, his words started worming into her brain. Just as the roots had done to her body. Encircling. Ensnaring. Contorting her to a new position, a new viewpoint. What he said struck a chord with her. It did make sense. If Bliss had been stripped from within, she might have even felt sympathy. Or she might have discarded his words as bullshit. She wasn’t sure. The drug wiggled its way through her mind all the same, dancing with his words. James saw the look on her face; tried to remind her about something. Something she couldn’t bring herself to care about now. “Ya gOt A poINt.” She readily admitted, musing out loud. Sprint turned into a brisk jog as her legs lost some of their fire. “So tHOse bODiees ouT thErE. THat’s tHeem?”

Seeing her break free, Solomon fell into retreat. She was by far the toughest thing he’d encountered in quite some time, and he had apparently grown weak with such easy domination of his foes. Roots slithered back toward him, reforming into his body as he took a few steps back, waiting to see if she would come running at him again.

She did, and he continued to move back, lashing out again and again with the extensions of himself, paralytic thorns whizzing through the air as he tried to put her down a second time.

It wasn’t until he noticed the change in her body language and how her pace had slowed that he too allowed a moment of respite, grasping at a tree trunk as he passed it by, worn down from the constant effort of defending himself.

“Some of them,” he answered with a growl, pushing off of the tree to keep moving away from her, though it was certainly less energetic at this point. “Others are retaliation… for the centuries of destruction.” The wounds she had left him with were sapping his strength, and after a few more steps, the leshy dropped to one knee and leaned forward, a shudder running down his spine. “Please,” he groaned, “please, don’t… I have to care for this place.”

The tides were turning in Eilidh’s favor, and the cravings enjoyed that very much. Seeing him relent under the weight of his injuries, his actions. The excitement tingled down her arm, her fingers, shaking against the handle of her blade. But she did have standards. It seemed his soul was not as ripe for the picking as she hoped. Virtue could be found in his actions, at least from her type of sensibilities. Disappointing. She had been so close to finishing. He was practically on his knees, waiting to be eaten! She could still continue, just for sustenance instead of satisfying that side of her nature. But as he brought up the need to protect, to provide for the surrounding habitat, Eilidh remembered his own nature. Killing him would remove this forest its guardian.

She looked to James, her source of moral direction when in this state. He was cautiously eyeing the being, anger clear on his face, but the wink of sympathy in his eyes betrayed him. She recognized it easily, an expression he wore frequently. Always such a gentle soul. But his fleeting moment of empathy sealed the being’s fate. If Eilidh had watched longer, the two would have locked eyes. He would have motioned for her to carry on, frustration and anger and sadness at the other’s cruelty urging his damning hands. He would have sentenced his death. But instead, Eilidh looked away. Considered his importance to the flow of this environment. Considered further still the unreadiness of his soul. Perhaps in another time, another place, it would become much riper. Richer. Delicious.

“KeEP tHaat shIt ConTained to thOSe wHo HUrt tHiis PLace, or I’lL fiiiND yoU AGain.” Though some of her wished he would go against her words. Ripen his soul. Give her something to truly feast on. With that she started to leave. Footfalls as silent as James’ protest might as well have been, falling on deaf ears.

#splinter #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. solomon h.#glitch tag #drug use tw

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lololova · 3 years

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Gold rush

A/N: Sooooo, this prompt was sent to me by @/jin589 and can be read at the bottom. Thank you so much Jinette and I really hope you enjoy the story your prompt inspired! Until next time, xxxx

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Kate rolls her eyes as she sees women throwing themselves at the shadow she can’t seem to get rid off. She’s not even sure why she’s here, at a book-party, in the first place. Then again so is Esposito, Ryan, Montgomery and Lanie. Which reminds her Lane is the biggest reason why she’s actually here. If it had been her own decision she wouldn’t have been here.

“Urgh,” she groans as silently as she possibly can as she walks to the bar.

She orders a drink, thinking if she drinks it somewhat slowly she can leave right after and still have been there enough time in order for it to be ok to leave. She sits down and accepts the drink, gazing around the room. She finds Castle almost immediately, talking to another woman who seemingly is asking for him to sign her chest. Which of course he does. Along with that smirk of his. Urgh. She wishes she could wash… no, smack it off his stupid face. He’s so full of himself and thinks everyone wants him. His first words to her had been about her spanking him and if she hadn’t been trying to solve a case she would’ve loved to arrest him. Which she’d done later in that case but apparently that hadn’t helped at all. Because she’s sitting here, at a book party invited by him, and even though he has plenty of women throwing themselves all over him she can’t seem to get him to stop following her around. No matter how many times she’s shown she’s not interested in him or his glamour.

“Isn’t he handsome?” a woman says beside her and Kate almost chokes on her sip.

“What?” she asks when she realizes the woman is talking to her.

“Richard Castle, isn’t he absolutely amazing,” she more says than asks and Kate rolls her eyes.

“He’s not,” Kate says without thinking and feels the woman’s eyes bore into her skull.

“What? Of course he is! He’s handsome, kind, wealthy and…”

“Self-centered, egotistical,” Kate murmurs as she takes another sip.

“What? No!” the woman suddenly bursts into a lecture telling her all about how amazing he is and why he would be the perfect husband, to which Kate just states he’s already had two failed marriages. To which the woman had gone nuts, saying that had been because they hadn’t been “the one”. Kate just managed not to say “and you think you are” and stayed quiet while she continued sipping her drink.

Once her drink is finally finished she turns to the woman beside her and holds up her hand for her to stop talking.

“You’re right. He’s a real catch. A real… gold rush,” she states sarcastically before she stands up and walks away.

She quickly finds her friends and bids them a good night before she goes to get her coat. She’s been her long enough, at least in her opinion, and she’s more than ready to go home and take a long nice bath. As soon as she’s gotten her coat she turns to leave only to jerk back when he’s standing right there in front of her.

“Wait, you leaving?” Castle asks and she groans.

“Yes, I am and you can’t stop me,” she fixes her coat and starts buttoning it.

“But, I haven’t… I… could I get you a drink?” She gives him a tired look. “Please?”

His eyes search hers and she gives him her look. His blue eyes softens and she feels her muscles soften along with them until she catches herself and stiffens her body again.

“No, thank you. I’m done for the evening.” She picks up her phone to check for trains.

Just like always he invades her space and looks at her phone. “No, let me call you a car.”

“Absolutely not. Castle, I can take care of myself. I don’t need your money or rivalry,” she says, the last part not meant to come out but guess the drink did have a little more alcohol in it than she had expected.

His ocean blues widens in shock before he gets confused. “I know you don’t need it, you’re extraordinary. And generous enough to let me see it, so I just wanted to pay back some of it.”

Her heart clenches, his blues are so sincere and she finds herself drowning in them. Damnit. She shakes her head, and looks around to try and look at anything but him. She doesn’t like a gold rush. She doesn’t want him like everyone else. She’s not falling for her shadow.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Please? I hate these parties,” he only just whispers the last part and she’s surprised because he actually looks like he’s telling the truth.

She sighs and shakes her head again. “I don’t want to stay here, Castle. It’s giving me a headache just being here.”

He looks around before quickly grabbing her hand and pulling her with him as he quickly makes for the exit.

“What are you doing?” she questions and he smiles at her.

“Taking you out of there so we can cure your headache,” he says and she rolls her eyes.

She thinks about pulling away and going home but something about his behavior makes her curious, and so she just follows. Before she knows it she’s accepting a warm cup of coffee as they continue walking down the street.

“So, you don’t like book parties?” Kate asks after a long time of silence.

“Yeah, no, I don’t,” he says and she gives him a questioning look. “It’s not like I can be myself around all those people. You saw how they were like, ‘sign this’,” he gestures with his hands, “‘sign that’-”

“‘Sign my chest’,” she teases and he makes a face.

“I don’t mind that one so much,” he says and she rolls her eyes. “I’m joking.”

She takes another sip of the hot coffee and moans at the taste.

“Good?” he asks and she hums. “Thanks for being my escape out of the party.”

She chuckles. “Not like I had a choice.”

“Oh,” he looks down and she bumps her shoulder with his.

“At least I got coffee,” she says and he looks at her and smiles. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They look at each other and she gets stuck in his blues again. She feels this pull against him and she’s not sure how to stop it, she hates everything that is his “famous persona”, but him as himself, like this, when they’re alone… this him… this him she likes. Before she knows it they’ve stopped in their tracks, just staring at each other. There’s a depth to his blue eyes that she hasn’t noticed before and she can’t help but lean in closer to look deeper. Drowning. She’s not realizing how close she is until their noses are touching and she feels this tension increasing between them and she starts breathing harder. She can feel his breath on her and it’s as strained as hers is.

“You won’t shoot me?” he breathes and she reads his blues like a book before she shakes her head so slightly it doesn’t disturb their noses still being in contact.

“No,” she exhales and then he doesn’t hesitate anymore.

His lips catch hers in a slow kiss, which she immediately reciprocates. And, god, there’s a lot more tingles and tension than she’s ever felt before. His hands land on her hips, pulling her closer as her hands slowly travel up to reach into his hair. One hand stays in his hair, tangling, and the other caresses his cheek. The slow kiss slowly grows hotter and stronger. They’re not pulling apart until they both need air.

“Wow,” she breathes out and he hums.

“Yeah.”

She pulls away a little bit, bites her lip as she looks up at him. “No one can know.”

He gives her a face showing him he’s thinking about it. “On one condition,” he eventually says and she narrows her eyebrows. “You agree to go on a date with me, a real date, and see where this could take us.”

She bites her inside cheek. His hand seeks hers and his fingers play with hers, sending electric shocks into her skin. Fuck.

“Okay,” she agrees before stepping onto her toes and kissing his lips again.

“Mm, good,” he says kissing her back.

This time, when they part, they start walking towards her apartment again. This time while holding hands, their fingers tangled.

THE END

Prompt: “Gold Rush” by Taylor Swift. Brought to life Caskett style.

#Castle #Caskett #Beckett

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Sharp Spikes and Glamour - Fusion AU

Ao3, MasterPost, More of This AU

Relationships: Romantic Dukeceit, mentioned Romantic Royality and Analogical.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex/sexual innuendo, violence against inanimate objects, mentions of injury- for perspective this is Remus-centric, and he’s just like that. Also mild arguing, some self-deprecating thoughts. The Dukeceit fusion uses it/its pronouns (as do I, so no clowning).

Word Count: 3,992

Remus let himself fall backwards onto the hardwood floor, huffing. A satisfying thump echoed through the empty room, but the dull pain at the base of his skull stopped him from slamming his head down again. If Remus kept tripping over himself when his body was in top condition, he probably wouldn’t do any better with a cracked open skull and shattered vertebrae all the way down his back (however fun that might be).

Schmaltzy music lingered in the room still, and with a snap Remus willed it into silence. Now, Remus hated silence, but in that moment it felt like a blessed mercy in the wake of fucking classical fucking ‘music’. He laid flat on the floor, enjoying the quiet and wallowing in his aching muscles. As disgusted as he was by the orchestral garbage, he liked the dancing that went along with it even less- maybe for the simple fact that he was so very bad at it.

So, the big question was why he was doing this to himself. Why had he gone through the trouble of making a dance studio in his side of the Mindpalace? Why the hell was he using it to learn waltzes, rather than his usual style of fast-paced and very suggestive movement?

The answer was simple enough: Janus.

Now, just a month ago, Remus could very confidently say that his and Janus’ relationship was perfect. And it still was, really, but back then he’d been safe in the knowledge that they were also as affectionate and intimate as they could be! Which is to say, very very intimate. Wink, wink, if you catch his meaning. That was the way he liked it; Remus didn’t want there to be a step he hadn’t taken in any situation, but especially a relationship like that!

But then, that month or so prior, a very weird and crazy and impossible and fucking awesome thing happened right in the middle of the goddamn living room, proving Remus unfortunately and/or fortunately wrong about his boyfriend. His brother and his best friend had fused. Like, actually, Roman and Patton had pulled some cartoon bullshit that none of them had ever known they could even do before!

Obviously Remus was floored; everything there was to know about his (and other people’s) physical forms, he knew it and he’d pushed it to the limit before! Except for now, with something he had somehow never found out about that his brother got to first. That was the kicker, that was what made it both shocking and anger-inducing.

There was no question. Remus was going to learn to do that.

So, here he was, trying to learn, but he was not good at like, actually dancing. Which would’ve been fine, if he was dating anyone other than Janus- the most elegant, classy, coordinated side of them all! And Remus knew, somewhere in his sick-and-twisted guts, that Janus deserved to have something special, something that wasn’t more fitting in a sleazy nightclub. He wanted to give him that, no matter how hard it was.

Which was much harder than he’d originally assumed, actually. Before Remus knew it, Virgil and Logan had also managed to form a fusion before he had even gotten the hang of a waltz. And those two hadn’t even danced to get it! Wasn’t that just cementing his confidence?

Remus shook his thoughts away with a frustrated growl. He sat up on his knees braced against the ground, scraping his talons down the shiny wooden floor of his horrible, horrible dance studio. He was gonna get this right, because if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a fucking quitter.

Swinging up to his feet, Remus pushed his hair back from his face and fixed it into a tangled mass of ponytail. He brought his arms down, and then back up again, shaking them wildly. When he deemed that job done, he kicked his legs out in much the same way. Seeing as he was the embodiment of energy, he never managed to get rid of all of it, but the wiggling definitely helped his focus. With a huff of finality, Remus settled, stared at nothing, and snapped his fingers. Shitty ballroom music filled the room again, and it took all of Remus’ effort to count his steps instead of willfully vomiting onto the floor.

But he did restrain himself, he kept his focus for once and propped his arms up on the empty air. Under his hold, the very absence of material wavered, shaping itself into something like a person. And so he laid his hands on that, in relatively respectful places, and began to lead the mannequin around the room in choppy movements. It matched him beat for beat, but it could not offer its own, organic responses like an actual dancing partner might- and that was by design.

It was boring, that was the real problem. How was he supposed to get invested if it was the same four movements, over and over! Each new attempt, he got maybe five minutes in before the fatigue hit, the need to do anything more interesting. What was just a couple of twirls, maybe a dip? Janus would still probably appreciate those additions anyway!

None of the flair attempts went well. He stumbled, hit the wall, tripped, all of it. By the end of twenty minutes Remus was waving the mannequin out of existence, feeling frustration pricking the corners of his eyes. What was he thinking, he wasn’t Roman, this was so stupid!

Remus straightened up (ha, ha) and spun around. He made his way to the corner of the room, fell into a crouch, and sunk his claws into the edges of the glossy wooden floor. Splinters bit his fingers, but he barely noticed them as he began to peel back the panels. They came free in a series of crunches and snaps, spitting shards of wood out and revealing the void beneath the ground. Remus held the chunks of flooring, feeling sharp edges digging into his palms, and he shredded them to pieces. When they weren’t much bigger than pencils, he let them fall into the newly made hole. Once done, Remus set his hands on the new edge, and he did it again.

But, like almost everything he did, the destruction was loud. Shrieking, splitting, crunching kinds of loud. The kind of loud that didn’t go unnoticed.

And the mindscape was as infinitely big as it was claustrophobically small.

Within minutes there was a sharp knock against the doorframe. Remus jolted upright, spitting out the hunks of plank that had one way or another found their way to his mouth. As he turned, he grinned manically, tucking his hands behind his back.

Janus lifted a brow at him from across the room. The side stood with one hand propped on his hip, the other raised above his head so that he leaned on the doorway. His mouth was a thin, quietly concerned line, his eyes flicking around in tiny movements as he assessed the situation.

“This is quite unlike the other rooms you've created,” He observed, clicking the back of his heel on the floor. Remus turned his gaze to the wall just above Janus’ shoulder, discreetly picking the splinters from his hands. In all honesty, this situation wasn’t unexpected- Janus was known to wander around in Remus’ new creations, whenever he wanted to catch his attention- but Remus had been under the impression that when that happened, he wouldn’t be right in the middle of tearing it all down.

Which had clearly been a stupid assumption from the start, because he was. Himself.

“Hey, J.D.!” he chirped, scraping the last of the rubble from his fingertips, “Thought I might try out something new!”

Janus’ eyebrows arched up, a bemused smirk gracing his lips.

“An empty room?”

“Yeah, but obviously it got boring, so-” he gestured at the corner he’d torn into non-existence. “Time to get rid of it! It was probably a dumb idea, anyway.”

Even to his own ears, his cheery tone sounded forced. He threw in a gargled giggle to make up for it, but that came out even worse. Janus narrowed his eyes in that knowing way of his, then, and Remus knew he’d have to explain himself properly.

“Darling,” Janus slipped into the room with long strides, “What is so wrong that you’re using half-truths to talk to me?”

He wasn’t embarrassed that he’d been learning to dance- he was 99% sure he wasn’t able to feel shame (which was very sexy of him, in his opinion)- but he was upset that he was so disappointed at it.

He didn’t need anyone’s approval… but he certainly wanted Janus’.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Remus’ statement rang with honesty. He met Deceit in the middle of the room, his smile challenging, only to be met with calm and patience.

“I don’t care if it doesn’t ‘really’ matter. I just want to know why my partner was angrily devouring housing material in a brand-new corner of the mindscape.”

“It’s not that weird, I’ve eaten a lot worse than plywood!”

Janus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re clearly frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated all the time,” Remus argued, “There are so many stupid things to be frustrated about, you know that. It’s a very easy feeling to have, you get it without even noticing! Like, if it were an injury, it’d be a papercut; everyone has a papercut somewhere on their body most of the time.”

“What?”

“It’s an analogy, I think!”

Janus gave a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Remus felt a small bit of pride at how annoyed he looked, despite the uncomfortable situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Whatever, if you’re really doing so well I suppose I should spare my worry and save us both the headache.”

“Exactly! See, just because I’m feeling a bit manic-panic doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you, scaleface.”

And that was his mistake.

Janus stopped turning away as soon as he’d started, his mouth curving into a deep frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he almost seemed to be offended.

“You just lied.”

Remus, internally, screamed. He hadn’t even fuckin’ lied on purpose! That couldn’t be fair!

“So it is about me, then,” Janus went on slowly. “Are you angry with me?”

Remus blinked, falling untense oh-so quickly at what he now saw was Janus’ nervous face.

“Wha- no! That’s not what this is about!”

Janus only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Remus grabbed the snake’s hands with his own scarred ones, pulling him near. He felt his hesitation leave as soon as it had arrived, replaced by his usual affinity for just spitting out whatever he had to say. It wouldn’t turn out any worse than having to see his baby hurt or worried.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. For you.”

The suspicion melted off of Janus' face in increments, leaving him with a confused little half-smile.

“For me?” He echoed, “What was it?’

Remus huffed, snapping his fingers. The lyricless music returned to the desecrated room, and he gestured around with both hands.

“It didn’t really work out the way I planned, so,” he rolled his eyes and huffed. “I was teaching myself to dance all proper.”

Remus could basically see Janus’ thinking, and for some reason it was grating him.

“You want to dance with me? Dear, you know you don’t need to give me traditional romantic gestures like that-”

“It was to fuse!” Remus blurted, “I wanted to fuse with you. Like, properly.”

Janus made a soft sound of realization, his eyes going wide. He was silent for a long moment, holding too-tight onto Remus’ hands. But he had yet to let go, which the creative trait counted as a good sign.

“Oh, Love,” he whispered at last, “You’re really serious.”

Remus would’ve winced, if not for the fact that Janus' face was split in a smile, open and sincere in a way that showed he'd really been caught off-guard. His face was warm, and he looked pleased for all the world. He wasn’t judgmental, then, only surprised.

“Um… yes? I wanna fuse with you?”

Janus shook his head musingly, laughing almost exasperatedly.

“No, no, I understood that bit, but-” he waved a hand at the barren room, smirk growing wider, “Ballroom dancing? You? Really?”

He had a point. The walls were a pristine white, shot through with neat marbled patterns. There were mirrors stretching the surface of either wall, reflecting onto each other with clean clarity. There was no clutter, no objects, nothing but the little box itself. And Remus felt no more frustration as he burst out laughing. He tipped his head back and cackled, tugging Janus’ arms until they were pressed together.

“I don’t know why I thought this would work!” He cackled.

“I never know why you think anything that you do,” Janus’s nose wrinkled as his own resolve cracked, leaving shrill giggling behind. Remus snorted, holding onto his partner just to keep himself upright.

“Sorry, Jay,” he almost wheezed, “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to fuse like this, I’m horrible at it.”

Janus’ giggles tapered to a stop sharply, turning to trills of confusion before cutting off completely. Remus met his eyes, and was surprised to find renewed concern.

“Now, that’s entirely what I meant by that remark, you aren’t misinterpreting at all.”

Remus squinted at him, at the sudden spout of backwards talk.

“...What?”

Janus scoffed.

“Of course I don’t want to fuse with you, it’s not like we’re in a committed relationship, or anything.”

Janus got very lie-ey when he was heated; the ferocity had Remus taken aback.

“Soooo, you… do want to try it with me?”

Janus glared in a very duh-obviously--you-idiot kind of way. Remus might have been annoyed with his little tsundere, but the snake’s grumpy face edged just too much on the endearing side for it to spark any of that. It wasn’t too much of a shocking revelation, he supposed, but when he admitted to failing before it felt pretty final, in his opinion.

“Uh, Okay! You have to lead, though, and I’m at least 60% sure it won’t work, because like I said I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Janus hummed in satisfaction, his grimace curving up into a smirk.

“To start, we’ll need a change of scenery.”

Remus nodded agreeably. They couldn’t risk falling into the nothingness pit he’d made, after all- those were very difficult to get back out of and not a whole lot of fun in general. So when Janus held his hand out invitingly, Remus took it, letting the trait transport them to wherever he had in mind.

But that place was no better than the destroyed dance studio at all. The room they ended up in was also very much destroyed, and cluttered, and generally very slimy.

Remus’ room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Janus’ lips twitch in amusement.

“Dear, let me explain,” he tilted his head back just so, making eye-contact with his boyfriend. “We’re going to fuse. It could be in here, for all I care, or somewhere bigger for our needs, but whatever it is most certainly will be a dancefloor. Because we’re not doing this your way.”

Remus made a startled chuckling noise, almost convincing himself that the doublespeak was somehow triplespeak- which just looped back around to ‘speak’, come to think of it.

“You- that’s a really bad idea.”

Something teasing glinted in Janus’ eyes.

“Aren’t bad ideas your specialty?”

“Yes,” Remus ground his teeth together, “But not yours!”

“Your point?”

Remus breathed exhaled, loud and puffing, as he tried to explain. He wasn’t going to deny the excitement this was all bringing him, but it was hysterical, an almost negative side to enthusiasm. There were so many things that felt needed to be said. To be warned, before Janus made a horribly bad decision for himself.

“My point,” he managed, words heavy in his throat, “Is I don’t think about things, so one of us has to. I want to do this the right way, Jan, this is like the one thing I don’t want to fuck up.”

Janus narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching down.

“You think it won’t work this way.”

“You like doing things so fancy and dramatically!”

“You called it the ‘right way’,” it was hardly above a whisper, he looked surprised at his own words as he said them. Remus could only scoff.

“Well, yeah! If we do it how I would, then you probably won’t wanna be part of the creature that comes out of that!”

Janus’ pupils went from circles to slivers in no time at all, pain washing over his expression. Remus held his hands tighter and leaned in, ready to apologize for whatever he’d said to hurt him, but he couldn’t get a word in.

“It’s going to end up more of you than me. That’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t a question. Remus felt some of his usually infinite energy slip away from him. It left a hole behind.

“I know you, baby,” he was tired, maybe desperate, “You won’t want that.”

“Why shouldn’t I want it?” Janus snapped suddenly, “I’ve already made it clear that I want you. Clearly I must find some of your qualities desirable, why else would I spend nearly all my time with you, around you, thinking of you?”

There was a fragile kind of quietness, broken only by Janus’ hitching breath. Remus found himself blinking and blinking, his eyes stinging like someone was pushing needles into his tear ducts, agonizingly slow. He pulled Janus to his chest, propping his chin on the side’s hat and shivering.

And Remus, to his own shock, had no words. He didn’t have much on his mind at all, knowing only that he felt so much in the moment, so much and so powerful and all serving to remind him why he loved Janus as much as he did.

He wanted to ask more questions, to make sure that Janus was as sure as he said he was, but he couldn’t. His snake was stubborn, would stick to his words no matter how much Remus badgered him, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He pressed a kiss to the top of Janus head, closed his eyes, and let the emotions wash over him.

He breathed in, out, and suddenly the second wave hit him in the chest, his eyes forced open.

Or…

It. Its eyes were forced open. Yes, that sounded right.

It stood in the middle of a room- a familiar room, but certainly not Remus’. It was much bigger, the ceiling higher to accommodate the inhabitants height, and much more organized. There was still plenty of clutter, plenty of skulls and bones and preserved creatures, but all in neat little rows on pretty rustic shelves. The place had the distinct vibe of a house belonging to a very ominous, eccentric, wealthy old murderer. Perfect.

The new creature turned its attention to itself, stretching out its limbs curiously. All nine of them, it turned out; seven arms stacked on their torso, four on the left and three on the right, all of which ending in sharp talons covered by gloves. A wicked grin split its face, and it wasted barely a moment before dashing out of the new room and down the hall. It came to the bathroom door, threw it open, and leapt inside. Two hands gripping the basin, it peered at its reflection. Two piercing, yellow eyes peered back, the pupils mismatched in shape and size. Lime-green scales covered its face and neck in splotches, smooth and diamond-shaped.

As its gaze traveled downwards, it appreciated the too-wide mouth filled with dangerous fangs, those snake-like slits up both sides of the face. Its hair was kept pinned back from its face, partially hidden beneath a black, metal crown. It was clearly messy- probably greasy- colored very dark with shocks of silver running through.

The collar of its shirt rose to nearly past its jaw, then plunged down to reveal a lot more of its chest than necessary. Its clothes were almost entirely black, broken up by the lemon/lime embellishments travelling up its arms and around the clasps in the front. The overcoat had long coattails and striped sleeves, ending in cuffs of fabric about the wrists. Moving lower it had very tight pants that did not leave much to the imagination, and boots that were more than a little over-the-top. Finally, there was the cape, hung around its shoulders and reaching floor length. It billowed when it moved even as much as an inch, looking at first like more black. Then the material caught the light, showing a dazzling display of green and yellow, glittering like a perfectly formed geode.

A laugh sprouted from it, giddy and exuberant. It twirled in the small space, its many hands twisting and toying with its outfit, hair, anything it could reach. From its hazy mind came then came its first intelligible thought, just from its appearance: it was called Rennet.

It stilled, hands hovering in scattered positions. The sharp laughs were quieting, but it still shook like it was laughing. Just shaking in general, probably. The worries of its more excitable half weren’t all gone, not that easily, and it knew it wasn’t yet stable.

Rennet took a breath, but its head didn’t clear, if anything it grew fuzzier. It was two creatures, two creatures that spent hours and hours inside their own heads as it was, and now both of those over-stuffed brains were in one too-small skull. It could almost feel the weight, leaning heavily on the wall just to keep upright.

“Should we stop?” Rennet verbalized the question in a thickly accented voice, knowing that otherwise it would never be able to understand the words through the mess of its mind.

“I don’t know,” it’s tone dropped in pitch, the sharp edges smoother, “Is that what you want?”

But it had barely gotten a chance to be. It couldn’t give up already.

So what was wrong with it?

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything?” Rennet threw its head back, because of course the worst thought was the only one that ended up audible. It sighed, dragged a hand down its face, shook its head. “Just remember the saying- two wrongs don’t make a right!”

Rennet’s mouth shut with a snap, and it felt quite angry with itself. On behalf of itself. It wasn’t sure, really- the indignation was much like something felt when a loved one was insulted, not when one’s self was insulted. That somehow made the sting worse.

“You think you’re wrong?” It said in a whisper, clutching its own wrists tight. Rennet knew the answer, though, knew it as it was ingrained into them.

And with that, its resolve sharpened. It was not going to come apart so easily, it would not accept either bits of it thinking anything so bad about himself, and…

Rennet was going to be the sexiest, baddest bitch the Mindpalace had ever seen. That was for damn certain.

It stood straight up, clapping three pairs of hands together and snapping its fingers with the seventh. It had to bear in mind that it was, for the time being, a giant sparkly monster babe. Now, being sad under those conditions just wouldn’t make any sense, and it intended to keep that thought at the forefront of its newly formed mind. Because Rennet was smart, it’d certainly retained that part of Janus, and it was peppy, if Remus had any part in it at all.

And, it mused, as it walked through the hall and down into the living room- it was undoubtedly very mischievous.

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #dukeceit #fusion #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #fanfic #janus #remus #WijjFusionAU #I kin rennet and also i want it to maul me so it was a very fun character to write

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tonystarktogo · 4 years

Text

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story -- KHR remix

[this fic is my first attempt to write in the KHR fandom. i apologize in advance.]

II.

The first time it happens, Tsuna doesn’t see it coming at all. It’s not the kind of thing one sees coming.

He’s following up on one of the many, many anonymous tips they receive daily, about villain movements, suspicious sightings, potential collaborations, the works. Nowhere in the official Vongola Inc. recruitement speech do they tell you that working for the world’s largest superhero organization mostly means digging through trash and interviewing witnesses, rather than bashing a supervillain’s head in.

Granted, most teams go out and get at least some action and technically Tsuna’s team is no exception. Tsuna is, though.

“You’re more likely to get one of us killed than be of any help!” Mochida had snapped when he’d seen Tsuna trott after the others on their way to the briefing room. “Make yourself useful for once and stay out of the way.”

[continues under the cut]

[In all honesty, Tsuna can’t blame his squad leader. He never thought he, Dame-Tsuna, always too slow, too clumsy, too useless, would get recruited by Vongola Inc. The best, most powerful, most feared superhero organization the world has to offer and they wanted Tsuna.

Of course that turned out to be bullshit. Tsuna should’ve expected nothing less. Should’ve seen it coming. Why doesn’t he ever learn? But he’d been so shocked, so gratefulrelievedelated to know that someone saw something in him. That someone wanted him.

If he’d known all Vongola wanted was Sawada Iemitsu’s son -- his bloodline -- well. Tsuna knows himself well enough to realize that it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing.

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing it had.]

Mochida is cold and cutting and often cruel, but he’s not a terrible team leader. He takes his responsibilities seriously. And even though Tsuna knows the man doesn’t like him, sees being saddled with Tsuna as some kind of creative punishment by his superiors, Mochida doesn’t let Tsuna’s inability to walk a straight line without running into a a door and his utter lack of super abilities get in the way of their job. It usually ends with Tsuna being sidelined and manning the coffee maschine or the phonelines -- wherever he can cause the least damage -- but Tsuna doesn’t mind much.

Sure, it’s not glamourous, but it’s still little things that need to be done and Tsuna is glad he can be of help, even if his co-workers rarely appreciate it. Mochida doesn’t expect much of anything from him and sometimes that hurts, but he never sets Tsuna up for failure just to have something to laugh at either -- and that means more to Tsuna than it probably should.

Besides it’s not like spending yet another endless day at work, following up on various anonymous tips, 98 percent of which always turn out to be a useless waste of time, is a bad price to pay for a steady job in a respected profession.

It’s only in retrospect that it occurs to Tsuna that what happens next is not at all surprising. That it is almost inevitable. Because no matter how many crazy, paranoid or joking people call the Vongola Emergency line, sooner or later Tsuna was bound to stumble over a nugget of valuable information. That this was why they kept a tip line in the first place -- because it occasionally proves to be useful.

In Tsuna’s defense, he’s pretty sure none of the others expected today’s calls to be real either. They sure wouldn’t have sent him out otherwise.

But here he is. Searching -- read: stumbling through -- a long abandoned warehouse that Tsuna just knows would have Hana sniff in disgust at the utter cliché of it all. Without back-up or any particularly useful weapon.

[His team learned in their first month together not to arm Tsuna with anything he could use to hurt himself with. Or them.]

Staring in horror at the supervillain staring at Tsuna with equal surprise.

At least I’m not the only one caught off-guard, Tsuna thinks hysterically. And he’s allowed to be hysterical when he finds himself trapped alone and unarmed in an abandoned warehouse with Skull De Mort of all people.

[Tsuna doesn’t have many hero-like qualities, but he’s got a lot of free time on his hands when manning the phone lines and pulling graveyard shifts on days where even villains prefer to catch a break and sleep in. Tsuna also, by virtue of his heritage, has access to the kind of high-level intel most field agents can only dream of.

As such, Tsuna has a better understanding on the recently active and inactive supervillains than most.

Whereas the average newsreporter likes to scoff and sniff derisively when Skull De Mort pulls one of his outrageous attacks that always mean impressive amounts of property damage and no civilian deaths because Skull is just an ambitious, loud-mouthed thug with ideas above his station as far as the general public is concerned, Tsuna knows better.

Skull De Mort is an Arcobaleno. As in one of the seven most powerful villains in the entire world. He might not drown the city in blood, but it’s sure as hell not because he can’t do it.

Sure, Skull baffles Vongola Inc. regularly with his antics, but his name is spoken in the same breath as Reborn, Fon or Viper and the point is oh god, Tsuna is gonna die here.]

With perfectly reasonable, if unhealthy amounts of panic and horror fighting for dominance within him, it takes Tsuna several long seconds to realize that Skull isn’t launching into one of his infamous supervillain speeches. Isn’t even throwing glitter bombs at Tsuna -- and those glitter bombs might not kill anyone, but walking into Vongola HQ and leaving a trail of glitter everywhere just might.

Hibari-senpai -- who isn’t even Vongola, is the definition of unaffiliated asset everyone is too afraid to alienate -- hates glitter.

Tsuna is so dead.

Except he still isn’t. He’s been standing here, gaping and panicking for close to five minutes and Skull still hasn’t made his move. In fact, now that Tsuna pays attention, it’s not just his breathing that’s unnaturally loud and heavy in the empty hall. And-- Tsuna squints. Skull doesn’t seem to be leaning against the wall so much as clinging to it and he’s watching Tsuna with a look that no one has ever directed at Tsuna in his life, something that almost looks like, like wariness and--

“Are you okay?” Tsuna blurts out before he can think of all the reasons why starting a conversation with an Arcobaleno is a terrible idea.

It’s just— this is a supervillain and that’s terrifying and Tsuna should probably call someone more qualified to deal with this situation, but also this is an injured supervillain and somehow that makes all the difference.

Skull scoffs, ironically putting Tsuna a little more at ease. People always scoff or scowl when he reminds them of his existence, this is no different. Besides it’s hard to take the villain’s derision seriously when he promptly sways on his feet. He’s not wearing his helmet, either, and despite being dressed in the usual black motorcycle suit, Tsuna is pretty sure his violett hair is matted with blood.

“You’re hurt!” he exclaims, horrified. Promptly drops the taser he’s been trying to pull out of his overstuffed bag with shaking hands and rushes towards the villain’s side, who’s eyes widen in alarm as Tsuna approaches.

Somehow that makes it easier to breathe, but it’s not enough to distract Tsuna from the long cut along the man’s temple and the dark bruises on his jaw.

“The Great Skull-sama is fine!” Skull protests frantically.

He’s clearly not, considering he promptly loses his balance when he tries to take a step back. Instinctively, Tsuna reaches out to catch him, realizing a second too late that one, he doesn’t have the strenth to keep the taller man upright and two, Tusna is a walking, talking disaster who inevitably trips and brings Skull down with him. They hit the ground hard enough to knock all the air out of his lungs and land in a graceless heap on the floor.

“Sorry!” Tsuna squeaks, breathless from where his face is smushed against Skull’s padded shoulder. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Skull-sama!”

Kami-sama, he’s knocked the poor, already injured man over! Trying to untangle them immediately, Tsuna accidentally rams his elbow into Skull’s side, which earns him a pained groan and Skull another flustered apology.

This is why his team doesn’t take Tsuna on missions. He’s a hazard not just for himself but everyone around him.

Scrambling away from Skull before he manages to kill the guy through sheer clumsiness, Tsuna forces himself to take one deep, steady breath — only one, though, else he’ll have time to think about how stupid what he’s gonna do in a moment really is — and starts to unpack his bag. Tsuna might not carry as many weapons as a Vongola Superhero on duty technically should, but his emergency kit would make any aspiring doctor proud. And Nana too, but that’s because Tsuna’s mom thinks he’s healing the innocent bystanders — "My Tsu-kun has such a gentle heart!" — not himself.

"What are you doing?!" Skull asks while slowly pushing himself off the floor and into a sitting position.

"I’m just looking for the— there!" Tsuna knew he still has one of Irie’s newest ice packs. He kneads the white package for a few moments to activate it, then holds it out to Skull. "Here. Hold this to your jaw for at least ten minutes, but no longer than thirty. Ichi’s still working on some issues long-term use has on human skin."

Tsuna babbles like he always does when he’s scared. [It drives Mochida crazy sometimes because Tsuna is scared most of the time and Mochida hates babbling.] It doesn’t stop him from noticing the odd look Skull shoots him, a bit like he’s measuring Tsuna’s worth. Except that’s a look he’s intimately familiar with and would recognize anyone, so it’s something close, but not exactly that.

"Please take it, Skull-sama." Tsuna shakes the ice pack lightly, pretends like his hands aren’t trembling when those bright, violett eyes fixate on him. "That looks like it really hurts."

[He’s not sure if all Arcobaleno carry their superpowers on the outside. If it’s part of the costume, colored contacts and all, or if their bodies are brimming with power to the point where they’re overflowing, where it pours out of them in any shape it can.]

Slowly Skull takes the ice pack. Looks at it as though he doesn’t know what to do with it.

"H-Hold it against your chin, please, Skull-sama." Tsuna busies himself with sorting through his various bandages and tries very hard to pretend his voice isn’t shaking and squeaky like a frightened mouse. "It’ll help keep the swelling down."

"…The immortal Skull-sama heals fast." Skull says the words like a question. Tsuna doesn’t look up, but he can feel the weight of the man’s stare.

Hunching his shoulders, Tsuna pulls what little courage he has together, and stutters, "That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Skull-sama. Please, can you just take it? I— I don’t like seeing people hurt."

Skull is still staring, Tsuna can tell, but it feels less like he wants to lean over and rip Tsuna open to figure out what’s inside, and more like he’s just watching Tsuna drop the disinfect spray for the third time. After a moment, he presses the ice pack to his face and even though Tsuna’s still trembling a bit, he smiles.

"Thank you."

Skull doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t protest when Tsuna tells him to disinfect the gash above his eyebrow — not deep enough to need stitches, thankfully. He draws the line at more bandages, though, which is worrisome. Tsuna is pretty sure the man has at the very least bruised his rips, but Skull is a supervillain, not runaway kitten, and maybe that means he knows what he’s doing.

That would at least make one of them.

Finally convinced that there’s no other injury Skull will let him help with, Tsuna carefully packs up his things again and bids the villain a hesitant goodbye. Which brings up a somewhat awkward point.

"I have to go back to work now and someone might ask where I’ve been." Eventually. Maybe. Tsuna rocks back on his heels, not sure how to put this. "If they ask, they might come here. And you— might not want to be there when they come," is what he settles on.

Skull’s watching him with another strange expression, both eyebrows raised as he watches Tsuna make a fool of himself. "Why?"

Tsuna eeps. [It’s not a full-on shriek, thankfully, but it’s far too close for his comfort.] There’s an intensity to Skull just now that has the hairs of the back of his neck stand up and reminds Tsuna rather violently that he’s talking to an Arcobaleno. That he’s been treating an Arcobaleno’s wounds. For a moment, Tsuna sways on his feet, as though his body wonders whether it should just give up on him completely.

"Ireallyneedtogonow!" Tsuna rushes the words out so fast, they trip over themselves, grabs his bag and high-tails it out of there. "Please take care of yourself, Skull-sama!" he adds over his shoulder, almost walking into the door as he does so.

It’s not until Tsuna is sitting in his comfortingly safe work chair that it occurs to him that not once during the entire, surreal encounter [he still can’t believe he was in the same room as an Arcobaleno and survived] did it occur to him to call Vongola. Even now Tsuna is hesitating to speak up, to tell one of his co-workers. Because while his gut feeling tells him that Skull got out of that warehouse as soon as Tsuna turned his back on him, he isn’t one hundred percent sure and what if they catch Skull because of him?

Tsuna resolves to spill the whole story as soon as someone asks — he’s a terrible liar and he never promised Skull he wouldn’t tell, not that the man asked himto — and tries not to think too much about the many crimes he committed by letting the chance of catching a supervillain of Skull’s calibre go to waste. Not that anyone would expect Tsuna to catch a supervillain, but still.

[His team returns two hours later, bright-eyed, bruised and breathless with the enthusiasm of a successful mission tangible in the air around them. Mochida even greets Tsuna with a smile and doesn’t scold him when Tsuna drops his tea cup in response and Haru tells him all about the exciting and ultimately successful arrest they’ve pulled off.

No one asks Tsuna where he’s been or if anything interesting happened while they were gone.

Tsuna tells himself he’s relieved, for Skull’s sake if nothing else, because the pang he feels at the thought that no one would miss me if I was gone has gone beyond pathetic a long time ago.]

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ayankun · 3 years

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WandaVision episode 6

FIRST OFF

Whenever I go back to pause things for clues, and find exactly what I’m looking for, I don’t feel justified, I feel that much more insane:

It’s really hard to make out, but I had an alright look at it on my folks’ QLED, and it’s definitely a flying saucer doing an alien abduction on what looks to be a person inside an old CRT TV (with some kind of robot head/boombox on top???) There are secret aliens in this show, you guys, the facts don’t lie.

HmmmMMMM I wonder if Agnes is as innocent as she looks:

Also, I didn’t see that she was wearing the brooch in this ep, and I was majorly disappointed in that.

Two things here:

No, that’s not a twins joke.

Another Moonmen Confirmed

I know green is his color or whatever, but that hat is literally 10 years ahead of its time

Also, I took the playing-DDR-at-home scenario at face value, and only on the first rewatch did I realize it was a very pointed turn-of-the-century reference. I am an Old.

There’s a good, subtle Rule of Threes in this ep. The Setup:

The Sokovian Halloween flashback works on so many levels. It’s so funny:

The fact that they went trick-or-treating at all

The “speaking Sokovian”

The treat being a fish

They have to share the fish

The concept that this event gave them an infectious disease

“You probably suppressed a lot of the trauma” -- it’s a good sitcom joke but. the trauma is the joke. The joke IS THE TRAUMA!!!

Elizabeth Olson is a dream with all her wonderful faces she has this ep.

Vision’s unsettling passive-aggression-sitcom-cooperation whiplash is WOW, consider me unsettled!!!!!! “Be. Good.” UGH.

(Just noticed one here, but there are a number of continuity errors in this episode, enough to be distracting later on, and is this a deliberate choice? Please let it be deliberate. I didn’t watch a whole lot of Malcolm in the Middle, is it known for its continuity errors?

)

“It’s their first Halloween.” LOLOLOL they are TEN YEARS OLD and this is their FIRST halloween I LOVE IT

DOUBLE RED HERRING CONFIRRRRRRRRMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Agent Jimmy Woo accidentally identifying himself as the sassy best friend added 20 years to my life.

Found. FOUND. Not “created,” “manifested,” “willed into being using my insane witch powers.” Third Party Confirmed.

I like that it’s the 90s and we can swear on TV now. “Hell” “kick-ass” “damn it” “fu---dge”

I think the most biting part of Vision finding the whacked out folks is that the soundtrack just kind of ... ignores that anything’s wrong. Yeah, it’s kinda-spooky Halloween music, but it’s still 100% in-world kinda-spooky-sitcom-Halloween-episode music.

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE AD:

As a 90s child, let me tell you, this is a blisteringly accurate representation of children’s marketing from the period. The shark is wearing sunglasses AND he has a surfboard!!! And he’s selling you yogurt of all things!!!!! This is the supreme distillation of what being a child in the 90s was like.

How disappointed I am that they went with crab instead of lobster.

Heard it through the grapevine that this is a representative of Wanda’s imprisonment on the Raft. That happened in Civil War, right? So the next ad is The Snap? We’re running out of iconic decades, too. so, hold on, new thought.

90s: Civil War

00s: Infinity War

10s?????: Endgame???? or?????????

??: Whatever happened between Endgame and WandaVision, given that the ads are stepping forward through Wanda’s IRL life events!!

I don’t want to know how many episodes are planned/announced, but I don’t know what to expect from the format after they run out of decades from which to draw. Maybe there are only one or possibly two “sitcom” episodes left. Maybe after that it just breaks down and they can pick and choose from the worlds/styles we’ve already established. That’d be p neat. A very unique kind of chaos.

god she’s so cute

Okay, somebody explain to me Pietro. I honestly walked away from last week thinking he was just some townsperson chump, but then I was reminded that this is the Quicksilver actor from all those X-Mans movies I never watched, soooo people are saying Multiverse Confirmed? But, if this is X-Mans’ Pietro, then why did he die the same as MCU Pietro? Or is he literally MCU!Pietro’s corpse, given that he looked all dead same as when she saw Vision’s corpse? If MCU!Pietro, then why different face???

????????????????

Also I found him highly suspicious, what with all the questions he was asking. But the only sort of person who would truly want to know the answers to those questions would be someone who already had them ... so I think he was just asking on behalf of the audience, and the delivery was all wonked out.

Rule of Threes - The Reference:

Ok, real talk, whenever computers/networks/data/encryption/servers/mainframes et al come up in mainstream media, I just look away. I don’t need the kind of psychic damage that comes with such egregious mishandling of the topic.

That being said, does Hayward having eyes through the barrier mean that he could possibly be involved in getting it set up? Because look. If Hayward-after-Hayward’s-Villianous-Ends is one antagonizing force, then is there really room for the Third Party (Confirmed) antagonizing force that’s lurking in the negative space silhouette of the Inciting Incident? With Wanda as the Red Herring antagonizing force, that’s just. There’s just too many villains, alright? We gotta start merging these plotlines.

(then again, when I just said “eyes” I realize probably understanding the true nature of his new secret “CATARACT” project will clear a lot of things up. I’ll wait for enlightenment)

Agnes’ license plate in this episode is 0A1-B2C, which I think is a reference to the way reality is getting pared down to bare bones at the edge of town. Note that this is not the same license plate number as seen last ep.

ALSO, I drove home behind a NJ plate just an hour ago, and was staring at it for a long time, trying to fit it into the puzzle before A) realizing that this was Real Life and not part of the show and B) WTF is a NJ plate doing in front of me in California. In any case, I can confirm that NJ plates do not appear to have this number-letter repeating format.

So let’s talk Agnes.

Demonstrated knowledge of the situation in ways others haven’t (”There’s the star of the show” “kids, you can’t control ‘em”)

Shows up when needed most (explained as being Wanda’s doing, but is it)

When Wanda was having her babies, though, who was trustworthy enough to be summoned? Was it Agnes?

Wanted to babysit REAL BAD

Was in the opening credits framed possessively with the twins

Doesn’t appear to have an IRL identity according to Jimmy’s crime board

Keeps talking about her husband but we’ve never seen him. Highly unlikely that he’s real

Was the one to find Sparky “dead” - internet thinks she was lying to Wanda about how or possibly if he was dead (I’m trying not to read the theories, so idk exactly what the angle is there)

In an episode where everyone is wearing their original comic outfits, Agnes is dressed as (and laughs like!) a witch

She name-drops Wanda as the one controlling everyone; Norm (or the guy playing Norm) only said “she” and “her” -- meaning Agnes?

Naughty

So we’re 99% sure Agnes is Agatha Harkness, right? I never read no comics, so I’m taking the internet’s word for it, but from what I can tell, I think we must be right. If that’s the case, then I’m thinking it’s not impossible for her to be pulling some strings around here (giving Wanda a justification for her “that wasn’t me” doorbell ring, for example, and pulling a double red herring on the fact that she shows up whenever the narrative Wanda her nefarious scheme calls for it).

To devil’s advocate myself, though, we also have Monica’s word that it was Wanda in her mind, lessening the impact of Agnes falsely confirming what Norm only implied. Also she’d have to be acting for Vision’s sake (and ours) and, if so, then what did Vision’s brain-touch really do, and how did she know he’d find her there, and what did she intend as the result of that interaction etc etc.

If Wanda’s (or Wanda + Third Party Confirmed (Agnes??)’s) powers aren’t enough to sustain the simulation of life on the edges of town, how much worse is it going to be now that there is even more area to try to control???

I don’t know if this is strictly an intended read, but the idea of Halloween as a fun, scares-for-entertainment’s sake type holiday, the rounding off the edges of concepts like “skeletons and ghosts are what people are after they die, let’s decorate the town with them and have a good time” kind of is a haunting parallel to the nature of Wanda (et al) covering up the horrible truth of the situation with this happy-go-lucky sitcom glamour.

How much does one hate seeing Vision giving his life for the greater good (the greater good) for the second time? In other news, I think I’m seeing some specifically Mind Stone type energy-colors coming off of him, and very little Wanda type energy-colors. Third Party Confirmed.

Also, I was thinking from last week that perhaps Hayward’s Villainous Ends included capturing the reanimated Vision to be one of those Sentient Weapons his organization is all about, but I Do Not Think his reaction to seeing that sought-after prize disintegrate in front of his eyes really matches up with that theory. Again, will be patiently waiting for Jimmy to check his email to see what CATARACT is all about!

Rule of Threes - The Payoff:

Also, anyone ID the movie playing in the background?

Ok, final thought. I watched this about four times today, and on the big-ass TV at my parents’ house finally paused and got up close to see what that white shape is in the reflection. Thought it might be a skull, but, it’s worse.

These caps do not contain enough data to verify my claim, but I PROMISE YOU it’s a TV

A square old thing with a round screen and antenna on top.

I SWEAR to you, when I looked into the TV, into Wanda’s eyes, only to see the reflection of a TV, of her looking at me looking at her I had a visceral fear reaction. Like. LEGIT nauseous skin crawl.

(All the other episodes have ended with our POV as the fourth wall, from the general (or exact!!!) position their household TV is known to be.)

This is my favorite show Of All Time.

#WandaVision #1x06 #All-New Halloween Spooktacular!

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wonderwomanfantasy · 5 years

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heart like mine

it’s big mental break down hours boys and I’m taking it out on Bakugou whoops.

Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 2,100(about)

Warnings: angst, gore, death, abuse, kidnapping, torture, this goes from 0 to 100 real quick,

Summary: Bakugou refused to belive in your supposed death, even though it’s been two months without any sign of you, even when they find the body. he knows you are alive, you have to be. he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if you aren’t.

Bakugou didn't trust people easily, but it had taken him longer than normal to come around to you. You were always so damn happy go lucky putting on a wide smile and offering to use your quirk on whoever even remotely needed it. Witch bakugou didn't. You had a healing quirk, you would take the injury before redirecting it into someone or something else. He felt weak when he needed your help, and he felt manipulated when you used his weakness as your strength. He almost always brushed off your offer, he wouldn't let you so much as help him off the ground. He didn't need you.

But he had started trusting you eventually. He would let you ease the pain in his muscles, or take away the ringing in his ears if, and only if, no one else was around, and you sent the damage into the wall or something. He would never let you use your quirk on him in battle- If he was going hurt someone he was going to do it directly.

You were always there when he needed you, your healing hands always ready to take some of the weight off his shoulders. He was more than ecstatic when you had gone to Best Jeanest for your internship with him, not that he showed it in any way.

Bakugou wasn't sure when exactly he fell in love with you, but he knew that he loved you. He loved your voice, and your laugh, he loved your eyes and your hair. He loved your kindness and your sense of humor. And he would be damned if he let anyone get to you before him. He asked you out on the first day of school in your third year. You rejected him. You liked Bakugou too but you weren't dating anyone until after you had made a name for yourself as a hero.

So he waited, watched as you climbed the ranks from a nobody, to in the top twenty to number seven where you staid. Then he asked you out again and this time you accepted.

Often, he found himself wondering what would come next, you had been his girlfriend for almost five years now had been living with him for three, marriage couldn't be far away, right? His mother hinted at it constantly while the fans speculated that you were already married but hid it from the public. He liked the thought of “Mrs. Bakugou (y/n)”. he had to snap himself out of daydreams of tall buttercream cakes and white dresses more often than he cared to admit.

So he bought a ring. It was sleek and glamours perfect for you. Bakugou had picked up a thing or two from his parents after all. He was planning to propose that night, the little velvet box burning a hole in his jacket pocket. But you weren't there to be proposed to. His home had been broken into, ransacked and vandalized. The villains had only taken one thing of value: you.

He couldn't sleep, he didn't eat. His life was consumed with trying to find you and the bastards who had taken you so he could cave in their skulls. Every clue he took note of, he followed every lead and looked everywhere for you. On nights where exhaustion overtook him, he slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares. The ring staid on his nightstands waiting for a day that might never come. He didn't want to think about it. If the chances of finding you alive were slim to none after two days. Then what were the odds after a month?

He didn’t lose hope, even after they found your body. well, they found a body, who was your exact hight weight and what little shreds of fabric had been left on the mangled burned corpse matched fibers from your hero suit. Bakugou didn’t believe for a second it was actually you. he couldn’t wrap his mind around that possibility. the body had been burned beyond recognition, there was a chance it wasn’t you, and the fibers on the body matched your hero suit, but you hadn’t been wearing your suit when you were taken his friends moved on, urged him to do the same. but he couldn’t not yet.

You didn't understand why they had taken you, at first. You woke up chained to a wall. Gagged and bruised. Your wrists were bound to the wall so you couldn't even heal your own wounds. As it turned out, there weren't a lot of villains with healing quirks, so they had to kidnap a pro hero just too heal the wounds they got trying to kill your friends.

It was hell. No matter how you thrashed and kicked and fought back the restraints held tight you refused to use your quirk for them. So they starved you and beat you until you were to weak and delirious to refuse them. If they were feeling particularly crewel, which they often where, they would wake you up at odd hours of the day and night. The lack of sleep made you feel like you were losing your mind. Somehow you held on to a small sliver of hope. It couldn't be long before you were rescued. But days slipped by with no one coming to your aid. Days turned to weeks. The weeks to months. It was hard to tell time, you weren't allowed near windows. You had long since given up on telling the difference from day and night, sleeping when you could.

Your faith was really only broken when you saw a Gossip imagine left beside you. A Rebound Already? Pro Hero Ground Zero spotted with hot new blonde two months after (Y/N) (L/N)'s tragic death.

Of course, no one would be looking for you if they thought you were dead, your own boyfriend had moved on for Christ's sake. You were broken after that. You no longer put up a fight when your captors used you for your quirk. You didn't even bother to send the wound off somewhere. You let the pain slide down your fingertips and down your arm letting the wounded land where ever they wanted on your body. Cuts opened on your stomach, bruises and scrapes that weren't yours materialized on your skin. You could only get away with it for so long, you were too valuable to let die. What you wouldn't give to just. Die.

Bakugou hated the press coverage. How fucking dare they imply that he could ever move on. He refused to lose hope. He would find you and he would find you alive and then everything could go back to normal. But every lead was nothing but a dead-end, and he was running out of straws to grasp at.

Then a miracle happened, he got kidnapped. Sure he didn't think it was a good thing when he woke up tied to a chair, a quirk nullification collar latched tightly around his neck. Tape had been stuck over his mouth so he couldn't even scream. That sure as hell didn't stop him from trying though. Slowly. A slender girl with choppy black hair who couldn't have been more than 19 came before him.

“you're Ground Zero, Bakugou Katsuki right?” she asked timidly. He thrashed wildly in his retrains, but they held. “shake your head yes or no” the girl tried but he continued to ignore her.

“I know where (y/n) (l/n) is and if you want to see her again you'll stop,” she boomed, it was surprising hearing such a loud noise from such a small frail looking thing. He froze instantly. “good, now Are you Bakugou Katsuki or did I kidnap the wrong blonde-haired son of a bitch?” she asked. He nodded. “good” “and you want to find (L/n)?” he nodded again. “she was kidnapped by the League of Villians about two mounts ago” she said nervously. Bakugou founded, he had already figured as much, it was more a question of why. They hadn't asked for ransom, they didn't kill you as some sort of message, and as of yet, they hadn't turned you to their side.

“they've been using her quirk, it's sick I can't stand it anymore,” the girl muttered. “do you still want to save her?” She asked picking at her lips nervously. he glared at her and nodded as angrily as he could. Of course, he wanted to find you.

“good,” she said nodding. Her eyes kept flicking back and forth as if she was expecting something to come crashing in on them. “It goes without saying that I shouldn't be doing this. But I- (Y/n) she was-Fuck it doesn't matter. I'm going to give you a tracking device, you come and find her, get her out okay.” she pulled out a small box from her pocket and placed it on the ground in front of him.

“bring back up or don't I don't care. And don't think this means I'm on your side or anything. I'll try to kill you when you show up and I expect you to do the same.” she added glaring. Bakugou wasn't sure what else to do, so he nodded. “okay good luck,” she said then turned to leave. Bakugou shouted and rocked in his chair. Her plan was all fine and good, assuming she wasn't lying and wasn't tricking him but how the fuck was he supposed to get out? “oh right, the collar will turn off after, ten minutes? I assume you can get out from there, see you soon then.” and with that, she was gone, literally disappearing in a puff of white smoke. Ten minutes later bakugou blew up the cuffs around his wrists and the chair beneath him.

It was probably a trap. It was almost certainly a trap, fuck somewhere deep inside he knew you wouldn’t be there but it was all he had and he was desperate. what was he supposed to do if you really were dead? he had given his heart and soul to you, was he just supposed to forget about all that and try again with someone new? He picked up the tracking device with shaky hands. There was a little red dot on a map labeled with your entails and a little blue dot with his entails. You were close, so close. He took a deep breath. He had to be smart about this call for help. there had to be someone at the agency must be able to figure out if it was real or not. He shouldn't go. He should get out of here.

He started running towards you.

It was a normal day. You hated the thought of a routine with these people. But what else were you supposed to do besides accept this reality? The villains laughed loudly and drank without a care in the world. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the wall. You would try and fail to sleep, then enviably someone would shatter glass and they would need your help. At least you were alone in your cell.

Then came the deafening blast. Then silence, or maybe there was noise, you couldn't really tell over the ringing in your ears. It didn't even cross your mind that it could have been bakugou. You looked around panicked, did you dare hope for a chance at escape?

The door to your room was knocked off its hinges into the opposite wall. You didn't believe your eyes as you watched bakugou stormed into the room. It couldn't be real it had to be a dream or a hallucination. It couldn't be his hands the ripped your chains out of the wall.

He brushed the hair gently out of your face as his crimson eyes scanned over your damaged body. “you look like shit babe,” he whispered to you in his grave voice. It had been so long since you had heard that voice. Tears sprung to your eyes as you clung to him. You barred your face in his neck taking him in with all your senses. If you could see his face you would see him crying too. He lifted you easily, you had lost a terrifying amount of weight since he had last seen you. “Don't cry on me you big baby It's okay,” he said in what might have been a comforting tone.

No one tried to stop him as he carried you out of that damned bar. He held you close to his chest listening to your sob into his shoulder. Even though you were crying and hurt he was ecstatic. Because you were alive and it was his turn to heal you.

#katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #reader x bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia head cannon #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines

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alirhi · 3 years

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writing sample, I guess?

So, there’s this series of books I’ve been trying (and mostly failing lol) to get done for...gods, going on 20 years, now. fuck, I’m old. Anyway, I still haven’t finished a single book, ever, in my life, but I’ve got a lot of random snippets of widely varying quality lol and I’m bored so I figured... fuck it. I’ll share some stuff and see if anyone likes it. I’m starting with a scene that was scrapped from the second book in the series. sorry if it’s a little confusing, and I’d be happy to provide context if anyone asks. I just don’t have a lot of good stuff that’s not getting kept if I ever actually finish and publish any of this crap lol and I don’t want to start off with something that’s actually being kept, if that makes sense? Anyway, here:

oh first... TRIGGER WARNING! death, blood, violence, mentions some other traumatic things like torture and rape.

and despite other characters calling her a child, main girl is NOT. she’s in her 20s. just to clarify XD

"Dad!" Choking back sobs, Rachel stumbled just inside the door and skidded the rest of the way on her knees, coming to rest beside the man she'd truly come to think of as her father. "Dad... dad... Daddy!" Tears blurred her vision as she pulled the bleeding and barely-conscious warrior's head into her lap; she tried to blink them away, but only made them roll in steady rivers down her cheeks.

Voice wavering, she stroked his unnaturally pale face and whimpered, "Daddy, please wake up!"

He stirred, ever so slightly, and the one eye that remained in his skull fluttered halfway open. It seemed at first that he couldn't see anything around him, but then that cold blue orb came to rest on the most welcome features he could possibly hope to see in his final moments, beautiful even twisted in grief as they now were.

"Rachel..." Amadeus rasped. With a wince, he swallowed past the dry lump in his throat and tried again: "Little Lady... You cannot be here..." Feebly, he tried to bring one hand up to cup her cheek, but couldn't muster the strength. His arm sort of twitched uselessly by his side and then dropped, limp and weak in the steadily growing pool of blood beneath him. The shattered stumps where his wings had once sat twitched as she pulled him closer, but they, too, would never be of use to him again.

For one desperate, foolish moment, the young queen felt relief wash through her. He was alive! Resolved to keep it that way, she squared her shoulders and gently shushed him. "Let me concentrate. I'll get you healed up and then-"

"No."

Startled, she nearly dropped him. "What?"

Throat still dry and choked, Amadeus had to fight to push every word out. "I'll not... see another dawn. You must... lead our people... home."

"You're my people!" she protested, fresh tears stinging her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, daddy, I'll get you heal-"

"Rachel." Her mouth snapped shut as he turned his head to press his pasty face into her hand. Blind hope aside, they both knew he could never be healed; severed wings were the one injury no angel could recover from, no matter how much energy she wasted trying. He closed his eye for a moment, and when it opened again, he put all the strength and dignity he could into his gaze; it pierced through his sobbing Queen, and she shivered. With the last of his waning strength, he insisted in a soft growl, "Be my daughter."

The blonde hated that she knew exactly what he meant. Cringing, but unable to look away or deny him the one thing she could actually do for him, she lifted her stolen dagger and took a deep breath.

"I love you, Daddy." Hardening her heart, she closed her eyes and plunged the shining golden blade through his.

As his lungs deflated for the last time, Rachel filled hers and let out the longest, loudest scream she could manage. A surge of power shot out of her at the same time, slamming into the walls hard enough to cause spiderweb cracks in all four sheer rock faces, and causing the glass to explode out of the tiny window near the ceiling. Vibrant sky blue eyes turned a faintly glowing silver as she set Amadeus' body on the floor and stood. Her lap and hands were soaked in his blood, but she paid no attention. Her tears dried and her grief retreated behind blind, ice-cold fury.

The cracks followed her through the halls, and only grew when the stones around her began to shake as she conjured music through their atoms. This was no low-volume hum to entertain herself; this was her war cry, and it reverberated through the dimly lit halls, announcing her approach to every living thing left in the castle. She was hardly even aware of what song she'd conjured until she heard Jonathan Davis' voice tear through the building screaming "ARE YOU READY?!"

Experience during their invasion of her home world had taught her one thing: The Fallen hated her taste in music, and the driving beat that spurred her on well past the point of exhaustion and kept her focused disoriented the enemy. It was perfect.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this is a very stupid idea." The blonde didn't even so much as twitch when Lazereth appeared out of the gloom and fell into step beside her. "You're letting everyone know exactly where you are."

"Do I look like I'm hiding?" she snarled, swirling silver irises flashing.

"Why aren't you on that transport, you foolish girl?"

In any other situation, her normally cool and collected friend's venom would have made Rachel pause, possibly reconsider her actions, but she was too far gone. Nothing penetrated the static that clouded her mind. No thought was given even the tiniest voice except one: Kill them all. Vengeance drove her forward, and as her rage built, the music grew louder and the cracks in the walls wider and deeper.

Lazereth blinked, taking note of the damage for the first time. "You're expending an awful lot of power, little one."

"I don't even feel it."

That was almost more concerning than the fiery hatred that radiated off of her tiny body. "Killian, child-"

"They killed my father." Rachel stopped dead in her tracks, finally turning to face her friend as she drew her borrowed sword with one hand; the other still kept a white-knuckle grip on the knife she'd driven into Amadeus' heart. The final strike had been hers, true, but that was mercy. He'd have died either way.

Lazereth growled, gripping both of the little blonde's shoulders and giving her a violent shake. "And your children need you! Your people need you!" At the young Queen's startled expression, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that! Of course I know who you are. And now Matthias will, as well!"

"I don't CARE!" She shook the older woman off, not wanting to find out the hard way if her strange nullifying power worked on her. "Imprison me, enslave me, torture me, rape me... Whatever. I'll live. But no one fucks with my family!"

Tears stung the noblewoman's eyes, blurring her vision with an icy gray haze as she whispered, "You still have family, my dear."

"And Emil's taking care of the last members of it still trapped on this rock," Rachel snapped, breaking into a run as the song switched from Korn's Blind to Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song.

She didn't notice, and was too wrapped up in her bloodlust to care, when Lazereth stood where she was, one hand hovering by her throat and tiny pink lips forming one nearly-silent word. "'Emil'?"

It was surprisingly easy to make her way through the palace to the throne room. Rachel met with some resistance, but it was minimal; by the time she reached the closed and barred doors, it finally dawned on her that most of the King's forces were out looking for her in the city. Good. She wanted her next fight to be one-on-one.

"MATTHIAS!" The heavy doors slammed open, the broken timber that had been bracing them shut launched to two separate corners of the room from the force of her rage. Finding her prey there, huge eyes narrowed in feigned anger to cover the very real fear behind them, she smirked. "Let's dance, you ugly fucker."

The room trembled and her ears ached from the volume as the song she conjured changed again and grew louder. Pantera's 5 Minutes Alone brought Matthias's two remaining guards to their knees, clutching their heads in pain. Matthias himself had too much pride to be seen flinching, much less cowering, and that was fine with her. If he shrank and cowered, she could simply lop his head off and walk away. She didn't want that; she wanted him to suffer.

"You wanted the Pallandre Queen," she bellowed over the music as she slowly closed the distance between them. He took an involuntary step back before he caught himself, and her smirk spread into an insidious, almost manic grin. "Well, here I am, Matty. Come and get me."

Never breaking eye contact with her, the newly crowned King called out to his guards. He tried to sound commanding, even a trifle impatient; Rachel only heard the tremor of unease that made his voice waver and crack. She smiled again. "They're busy. Anyway, this fight is all yours, Matt. You invaded my home, you enslaved my people, you killed my father... and now? Now is your moment of fucking reckoning. You're gonna learn today, boy; don't start a fight you don't have the balls to finish!"

Finally she was mere inches from him. It was too close for her sword to be of any use to her, but that was fine; she still had the knife coated in Amadeus's drying blood in her other hand. Staring up at the lanky monstrosity before her, she cut the music at last and grinned as she pulled her glamour back in around her. She delighted in watching those comically large eyes get even bigger with shock as her golden locks and bright sky blue eyes both faded to a deep brown and her pale pink skin turned a beautiful light caramel color. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

"You!"

The illusion dropped in an instant and she backed up a step, nodding. "Been here all along, baby." Quick as a striking snake, she pressed the flat of the knife blade against his bare arm and then danced back, cackling as he shrank away from her and howled in pain. "Not my fault you were too stupid to see it."

#my writing #fiction #fantasy #battle #snippet #original fiction #critiques welcome #i know i'm bad at death scenes #rough draft #scrapped

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

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The Forgotten - Chapter 27

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 , Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26

Rebekah clung to the arm of the chair, watching the coffee table with wary eyes as the firelight winked off the sharp knife.

“Are you still staring at that?” Elijah held the back of her chair.

“We’re stuck in here,” she gestured towards the windows, “and there’s nothing better to do – at least not while Hope is napping.”

She stretched forward to pick up the knife and spun the point on the tip of her finger; a small trickle of blood ran toward her palm.

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy,” he plucked the blade from her hands, circling around to sit beside her.

Rebekah glanced at him, struggling to recall the last time he had appeared so haggard, or the last time she had seen him in jeans. She supposed it made sense; trapped in the house there was nobody to intimidate or impress, and with her there was no reason to hide the weary set of his mouth.

“Better I lose my mind then Elena,” she sighed, sinking into her chair. “Between her sleepless nights, and searching for answers, she’s running herself ragged.”

“And you think Freya’s botched spell holds the answer?”

Klaus strode into the room where his siblings sat, blinking to bring some moisture back to his dry eyes.

“All that that knife holds is the ability to enrage me,” he grumbled, snatching it he drove the end down into the table.

“Was that necessary?” Rebekah rolled her eyes. She just managed to catch her glass before it tumbled to the floor; they were running dangerously low on dishes as it was. It wasn’t like they could replace the things they broke anymore.

Klaus scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly.

Elijah lifted a bunched cloth from his brother’s shoulder.

His head jerked up, tired eyes watching Elijah fold and line up the pink stripes.

“You’ve got a rabbit in your pocket,” he nodded.

“Feeling a little peckish, Nik?” Rebekah smirked, unable to resist teasing.

“Sod off,” he growled. Pulling the stuffed animal free, he cocked his head to the side, listening for any sign that his daughter was fussing without it. “What are you doing with that bloody knife anyway?”

“Lamenting the fact that it’s not bloody,” she spun her glass in her hand, watching her brother absentmindedly fiddle with the rabbit’s ear. “I don’t understand what went wrong.”

“Freya’s magic is subpar compared to our dear aunt?” Klaus shook his head.

“But the logic makes sense,” Rebekah shook her head. “Dahlia’s three greatest weaknesses should have rendered her mortal.”

“Perhaps the ingredients were wrong,” Elijah placed the blanket down on the table in line with the knife. “Misinterpreted, perhaps?”

“How do you misinterpret sacred Norwegian soil, Viking ash, and blood?” She sighed, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Was it the right blood?”

Rebekah jumped, twisting towards the door.

“Sorry,” Caroline shrugged, “didn’t mean to scare you. Although I did enjoy the result,” a small smile tugged at her lips.

“That’s the third time this week,” Rebekah’s eyes trailed over the baby vampire. “How do you move so quietly in heels?”

“I’m part cat,” she deadpanned, moving forward on silent feet. “You didn’t answer my question. Was it the right blood?”

“I don’t see how it could have been wrong,” Klaus sighed.

“Were there requirements for the blood?” Caroline perched on the coffee table, crossing her ankles. “Did it have to be a certain blood type?”

“In a way,” Rebekah finished the last of her drink. “It had to be the blood of the witch who broke Dahlia’s heart: Freya.”

“Freya?” Caroline’s brows knit together.

“Yes,” Klaus’ eyes flickered over her face.

“Freya,” Caroline repeated. “The beloved child your aunt stole away from her only sister?”

“That is who she is,” Klaus frowned. “Why is that important?”

“Well…” Caroline chewed her bottom lip, moving her hands as she spoke. “It’s just that stealing a child from her sobbing mother and younger brother sounds pretty heartless to me. And then she went on to make Freya’s life a living hell.”

“Somebody broke her heart long before Freya came into the picture,” Rebekah straightened up.

“That makes the blood open to interpretation,” Caroline glanced over her shoulder. “The only question is who did it?”

++++

“Elena, you need to sleep,” Kol ran a hand back through his hair.

“I can’t sleep,” she took the stairs down to the courtyard.

“Sure you can,” he skirted the fountain, barely sparing Finn and Sage a nod as he passed. “All you have to do is close your eyes.”

She whirled on him, stabbing his chest with her shaking finger. Muscles jumped under her skin. “How am I supposed to do that? How, Kol?”

“How am I supposed to sleep when every time I close my eyes I see her?” Her stomach twisted; bile rose in the back of her throat and tears shimmered in her red eyes. “How am I supposed to sleep when all I can see is her taking our baby?”

“How?” She shrieked.

He reached for her shoulders, pulling her closer as she struggled against his grip until she was encased in his arms. Her fingers curled around his jacket. He smoothed down her hair as she sobbed, kissing the top of her head. He could feel a gentle shifting where her stomach pressed tightly to his.

Her tears slowed, trailing off into the occasional hiccup as Kol lowered her to sit on the edge of the fountain.

“I will die before I let that bitch anywhere near our baby,” he swore, trailing his fingers down her arm.

She clung to his shirt, glancing up through wet lashes and whispering. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Nobody is dying Elena,” Finn moved some broken wood aside. The courtyard was slowly being cleaned up and resembling something semi-respectable – if in desperate need of repairs.

“I made sure of that,” Sage swept up some broken glass. “Remember?”

“How could I forget?” Elena made a sound between a groan and a laugh. “I hated you for that.”

“It all worked out,” she surveyed the courtyard, “you still found enough white oak for your spell.”

“And then promptly destroyed it,” Finn brushed some dust from his sleeves. “Right?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Right,” Elena whispered.

“Then you truly have nothing to worry about,” he nodded, gesturing towards the stairs. “So go and get some sleep because Kol is right, you need it. This isn’t healthy.”

“I still have plenty to worry about,” she lowered her eyes, staring at the ground. “She’s still coming back for her,” she smoothed a hand over her stomach, “and we can’t stop her.”

“We’ll find a way, darling,” he rubbed her upper arm.

A loud knock drew their attention up toward the front of the house. Elena used Kol’s arm to awkwardly get to her feet and then crossed her arms. She stared at the floor, walked around the remaining rubble and ducked into the hall leading to the door.

“I’m surprised you haven’t put her under with a spell, brother,” Finn watched Elena go.

“I could put her to sleep, but I can’t control her dreams.” Kol rubbed the knotted muscles in the back of his neck. “I’d be trapping her in her nightmares.”

“What about dreamless sleep?” Finn tilted his head. “Or peaceful dreams? There are spells for it.”

“The compound isn’t exactly equipped for magic,” Kol frowned.

++++

“Wow…” Elena lifted her head when she heard Marcel’s voice. “I haven’t seen you this distraught since that time you bumped into Elijah in Europe. Do you remember that?” He stood a foot away from the barrier.

She nodded, shivering at the vivid recollection. She could see Elijah in her mind’s eye as he drank himself into a stupor. He had been so far gone when she found him that he didn’t even recognize her glamour, and after learning why he was drowning his sorrows she had wanted to join him.

“This is a little different then finding out people I care about are at the bottom of the ocean,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“We brought you some stuff,” he tipped his head to the left.

Elena followed his gaze to where Davina and Thierry were pulling some bags from the trunk of his car.

“Hey,” Davina greeted. She pulled up the handle of a rolling suitcase and strode towards the door, nearly crossing the threshold before remembering at the last second.

“What’s all this?” Elena squinted. She recognized the bag; it was the same one she had dragged to Greece and back.

“I… we…” she amended, “thought you might like some of your own things. You must be longing for your stuff.”

“Davina packed your clothes,” Thierry lifted a cooler from the trunk, “I made sure she put your journal in as well.”

Warmth spread through her chest, momentarily chasing away the cold. Her eyes surveyed the bags as she curled her fingers around the handle Davina nudged through the open door; there was fresh blood, some groceries and several bags full of different things from the mansion.

“Thank you,” she rubbed a hand over her cheek, tucking hair behind her ear.

“You okay?” Marcel leaned against the gate. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. Her posture relaxed a fraction when she felt a warm hand on her back. She looked up over her shoulder. “Look, we got a care package.”

“Oh I’m thinking this was all for you,” Kol kissed her temple. He reached and took the cooler Thierry held out. He flipped the lid, chuckling at the contents. “AB negative?”

“That was not easy to find,” Marcel shook his head.

“I believe it,” Elena smiled.

“Sophie sent some gumbo too,” Davina waved her hand, “it’s in one of the bags. She felt really bad about Monique locking us in the cottage.”

“Did you ever figure out why she did that?” Elena leaned into Kol’s side.

Davina shuffled her feet, lowering her eyes. Guilt prickled the back of her skull. “She… she wanted to trap me like I trapped her. She said she was going to let you out after a few hours.”

“Personally I have a little trouble believing that,” Marcel rolled his eyes.

“Personally I don’t really care anymore,” Elena shut her eyes, inhaling sharply. “I just want to get out of this house so I can attempt to disappear.”

“You know that won��t work, my love,” Kol murmured. “You heard Freya: her magic will be like a beacon.”

“Let me dream, Kol. Let me dream,” she sighed. She let go of the suitcase and reached for the cooler. “I’m going to go put this away, and glare at Klaus if he goes for the AB negative.”

Kol nodded, watching her go for a moment before turning back to the guests.

“How is she really?” Thierry frowned. “She said she hadn’t slept.”

“She hasn’t,” he shook his head. “She’s terrified, and I don’t know what to do to calm her down.”

“Because you’re freaking out too?” Davina guessed, crossing her arms.

“I believe I have a right to ‘freak out’, little witch,” his jaw ticked. He cursed under his breath when she turned. “Wait.”

“Why?” She tapped her foot on the sidewalk.

“Because,” he gritted his teeth, “I need your help.”

“Why would I help you?” Her blue eyes hardened.

“You’ll help me, so I can help her,” he smirked, nodding to where Elena had disappeared.

She glanced over his shoulder. “Fine,” she uncrossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“Lavender, smoky quartz and parchment.”

“Where am I supposed to find smoky quartz?” She frowned.

“There’s some at the Jardin Gris,” Thierry cleared his throat. “I can take you.”

“I thought that place was shut down.”

“I have a key,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’ll be back in a half an hour.”

++++

“Where’d all of this come from?” Hayley slipped into the kitchen, surveying the multitude of bags. “People outside of this family actually like this family?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Hayley,” Kol unloaded a grocery bag; “people in this family don’t like this family. Elena is the only Original to inspire friendship wherever she goes.”

“I do not,” she stifled a yawn. Her tired eyes fell to Hope as Hayley moved towards the counter. “Hi,” she traced the baby’s tiny fist with her finger, “I thought you were napping.”

“She was,” Hayley carefully passed her daughter to Elena, “but then she woke up and decided she was hungry.”

A wrinkle appeared between Hope’s brows, and in that moment she was the image of her father; she made a displeased grunt and suckled at the pacifier.

“Do you get cranky when you’re hungry?” She cooed. “Thierry used to get really cranky when he was hungry.”

“She’s not a very cranky baby,” Hayley shook her head, reaching into the fridge for formula.

“Are you sure she’s Nik’s?” Kol flipped on the bottle warmer.

“I’m pretty sure,” Hayley rolled her eyes in the direction of the courtyard.

“Then she must get her temperament from you,” Elena managed a small smile for Hope.

Hayley’s loud laugh startled Hope into wiggling against Elena’s bump; the baby kicked up in response, to which Hope harrumphed and wiggled again.

“Okay,” amusement leaked through Elena’s weary voice, “somebody needs to take her; she’s started a shove off with her little cousin.”

“Ah,” Kol smirked, “so she is Nik’s.”

“Are you implying that I push people for no reason?” Klaus strode into the room and plucked Hope from Elena’s arms.

“I’m not implying anything,” Kol placed the last of the groceries in the fridge, “I’m saying it outright.”

Elena placed a hand on Kol’s chest, gently pushing him back a step and inserting herself between the brothers. She really wasn’t sure how they had survived the last two weeks in close quarters.

A piercing cry filled the kitchen, reminding her.

Hope was the reason the brothers had refrained from fighting and destroying the rest of the compound in the process. Hope and her; Klaus was busy taking care of his child and Kol had his hands full with her.

Hayley tested the bottle on her wrist and then passed it to Klaus.

Elena pulled a bag of blood from the fridge.

“Is that AB negative?” Klaus squinted at the label.

“Hands off,” she growled, opening the bag and taking a long pull.

“You’ll find my hands are full at the moment,” he looked down to where Hope suckled the bottle.

Elena was prepared with a smart retort, but the sudden arrival of the rest of the family held her tongue. She sipped her blood, tilting her head as Caroline gestured people towards the table.

Elena shrugged and sat in the chair Kol pulled out for her, knowing better than to ever argue with Caroline Forbes about anything; the woman could make a grown man cry before she possessed super strength.

“Was there something you wished to share, Caroline?” Finn leaned back in his chair. His brows lowered when she dropped the knife on the table.

“She developed a theory earlier,” Klaus shifted Hope onto his shoulder, rubbing her back.

“I think I know why this knife didn’t work,” Caroline leaned over the table, bracing her hands on the wood and turning toward Freya. “You used the wrong blood.”

“What are you talking about?” Freya frowned. “The spell required the blood of…”

“The witch who broke her heart,” Caroline finished. “Except, Dahlia’s heart was broken long before you came into the picture.”

Kol’s hand found Elena’s knee beneath the table.

“Who then?” His eyes flickered over his siblings faces. “How are we meant to solve a mystery from before we were born?”

“I believe that’s why she’s called us all here,” Rebekah rolled her eyes. “Go on, love.”

“I think the answer,” Caroline glanced towards Freya, “is in the rest of the spell.”

“Sacred soil?” Sage guessed, tilting her head.

“Ashes of her oppressors,” Caroline cocked an eyebrow.

“Viking ashes?” Finn’s eyes darted to his siblings.

“She was oppressed by Vikings, right?” Caroline tilted her head.

“She told me once that they murdered everyone in her village and made her use magic for them,” Freya nodded.

“Right,” she gestured with her hand to the witch. “Okay, so, she’s oppressed by Vikings to the point where their ashes become a weakness for her, and then her sister – arguably the last person she has left in the world – leaves her to marry a Viking – possibly one of the ones involved in the slaughter of her neighbors. Do any of you see where I’m going with this?”

“Mother?” Kol’s brows shot up. “To kill our aunt and save our children we need the blood of our mother?”

“Yes,” Caroline nodded.

“Our dead mother?” Kol’s heart slowed.

“Yes.”

“The woman we cremated?” Elena paled.

“Yes.”

“So there really is no hope,” Elijah glanced toward his niece as she was transferred to her mother’s embrace.

“Not necessarily,” Caroline folded her arms on the table.

“What do you mean ‘not necessarily’?” Freya threw up her hands. “It’s next to impossible to bring back the dead when they have earthly remains. There is no possible way we could get her blood now.”

Elena didn’t realize she was drinking the blood faster and faster until the bag was empty and she was sucking on air. She wanted to swear, scream and cry but there was a baby in the room; the bag crinkled in her hand.

“We are royally screwed,” she muttered.

“Wow,” Caroline snickered. “I honestly thought you’d catch on first.”

“What are you talking about?” Kol frowned.

Caroline shifted, watching the confused expressions of her fellow prisoners for a second before sighing.

“Seriously?” She shook her head. “Seriously, nobody? Nobody can think of a solution?” She waited a beat and then leaned over the table towards Elena. “I’m sure you remember how you two met… when you met…”

“When… oh…” Elena’s mouth popped open. “That’s…”

“Brilliant,” Kol finished. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

“I was gonna say dangerous,” Elena shook her head.

“Elena’s right,” Finn shook his head. “Mother lived a thousand years ago.”

“What about a few months?” Kol countered. “She was alive in Mystic Falls when I went in the coma.”

“We already manipulated time around that spot once,” she shook her head. “It was dangerous than and it would be a lot worse now. We can’t send someone back a few months; who knows what would happen to our present, or the fabric of reality for that matter, if someone is walking around with a perfect body double.”

“It’s one thing when it’s hours,” Finn added. “That’s what time manipulation spells were made for, but it’s another entirely when a longer span is in question.”

“Elena went back in time and everything was fine,” Elijah glanced at her.

“But I had nearly eighty years to work out a solution,” she shook her head. “I put myself in an enchanted sleep a few days before I was born so there was no chance of interfering with my human life.”

“Whoever went back would have to go to a time before they existed,” Freya pushed her hands through her hair. “And that leaves a very long stretch of time.”

“I could go,” Kol rubbed small circles on Elena’s thigh with his thumb.

“Are you crazy?” She grasped his wrist.

“That’s one of the many reasons you love me, darling,” he smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s a thousand years,” her nails dug into his skin. “You would be alone for a thousand years.”

“I did it once, I can survive it again,” he flipped his hand over, threading his fingers through hers. “I can make it through, as long as you’re both waiting here for me.”

“How were you planning on getting through those years, brother?” Finn cocked an eyebrow. “Elena had to put herself to sleep, but those spells won’t last more than twenty years – fifty if you’re lucky.”

“I’ll take a dagger…”

“The daggers that don’t work?” Klaus cocked an eyebrow. His eyes were glued on Hope’s waving arm.

“I can make one work, Nik,” he snapped.

“No, you can’t,” Elena crossed her arms, “because that kind of magic takes two witches and a diamond, and I’m not helping you do this.”

“Very well,” his expression darkened as he turned towards Freya.

“Don’t look at me,” she held up her hands. “Elena has that diamond locked up tight, and I’m honestly more afraid of her than I am of you.”

“Darling?” He turned back to Elena.

“No!”

“Do you see a better solution? Somebody has to go.”

“It’s a thousand years Kol,” she glared, “anything could happen! The dagger might not work. You could be lost. There is white oak back there; you could be killed!”

“There’s no other way. Do you think I want to go?”

“You volunteered fast enough,” her heart hammered.

Klaus glanced up as their voices rose, escalating to a full blown fight with the occasional input from one of the onlookers. He could understand why Finn wasn’t volunteering to take Kol’s place since he had spent so long under a dagger already. Freya would be the next best choice, but then they were back in the sleeping spell boat. Elijah and Rebekah were remaining quiet, likely trying to think of some other solution, and he stared at his gurgling daughter who despite everything remained oblivious to the chaos around her.

“I’ll go.”

The quiet settled over the room as disbelieving eyes settled on him.

“D… did I hear that right?” Caroline’s eyes were round.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he sighed, “I said I’ll go. There is a dagger that works on me, so there will be no need for magical experimentation, and I’m fairly certain not one of my siblings will object.”

Nobody did. He tried not to let that chafe.

“I’ll go back and retrieve mother’s blood, along with Viking ash and the sacred soil, and then put myself under the effects of the dagger. Is that acceptable Elena?” He turned toward the doppelganger.

She slowly unfolded her arms and rubbed a spot below her naval. After a moment she pressed her lips together and cleared her throat.

“It’s still a thousand years,” she ran her tongue over her teeth. “Anything could happen in a thousand years, and how would we get you back here?”

“What if he didn’t go alone?” Caroline’s fingers drummed over the table.

Elena’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious?”

“Why not?” She shrugged. “I can make sure he stays out of trouble, and remains not lost. It’s a lot easier to account for two decades then ten centuries.”

“You’re willing to journey a thousand years into the past and spend those years avoiding anyone you know and carting around a coffin?” Disbelief flashed in Elijah’s eyes.

“What is with this family and coffins?” Elena groaned. “Can we step away from the freaking coffins? It’s morbid.”

“Do you have a better method for transporting a body quickly?” Klaus leaned back in his chair. “Believe me love, you get strange looks when you’re lugging around grey bodies.”

“Well, you would know,” she said the words with false cheer.

“I’m not crazy about the idea of carrying around a coffin,” Caroline interrupted before they could get going, “but Klaus has a point. There’s not really another method, ‘Lena.”

“It’s heavy, and awkward and morbid.” She scrubbed her hand over her face, bracing her elbows on the table. Her nail caught the chain of her necklace. “And you don’t know the language.”

“I could actually teach her that,” Klaus interjected, “provided we were sent far enough into the past.”

“It’s still a thousand years,” Elena shook her head, staring at the table before dragging her eyes up to Caroline. “You would be alone for a thousand years.”

“Were you alone?” Caroline countered. “You made friends and had a life, Elena. If you want my opinion I don’t think you were at risk of harming your present until you were born. I’ll be fine and bonus…” she grinned. “I’d come back physically stronger than everyone in this room, well…” her eyes flickered to Klaus, “almost everyone. Kind of wish I could get around that coffin bit though.”

“What if you could?” Elena bit her bottom lip.

++++

3 Weeks Later

Mystic Falls

++++

“Where is it?” He muttered again and again under his breath, agitation growing with each passing second.

He tore through trunk after trunk. Scattered clothes and mementos from decades gone by. Shook every book on the shelf and flipped through each of his journals.

“Where is it?” He rifled through the contents of his desk.

“Where is it?” He flipped the mattress.

Smoke wafted up, over his balcony and through the door. He paused in the middle of kicking the bed post, spinning towards the open air and running to lean over the railing.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Damon’s face twisted. He took a long pull from the bottle of bourbon in his hand and gestured toward his little brother with a rectangle in his other hand. “What are you doing? It sounds like you’re tearing the house apart.”

“I’m looking for something,” he rolled his eyes. “Why are you burning silk?”

“It’s Katherine’s old dress,” Damon smirked tightly. “I’m getting rid of anything and everything that reminds me of Katherine Pierce and Elena Gilbert.”

“What did Elena ever do to you?” He could feel a headache coming on.

“Honestly, nothing,” Damon shrugged, “I’m just thinking it will be much better for my health if I’m not obsessed with her, and I don’t appear to be obsessed with her.”

“That’s an oddly smart choice for you,” Stefan frowned.

“I know right,” he smirked. “Just about to get rid of the last of it,” he lifted the thin object.

Stefan’s eyes widened, horror filling him from head to toe.

“Don’t,” he shouted, holding out his hand.

Damon froze with Katherine’s picture held over the fire, dangerously close to the flames. He looked from Stefan to the tintype and back.

“Don’t tell me you’ve still got a flame for Katherine,” Damon snickered. “Flame…” he laughed, waving the picture over the fire, “… get it.”

“Damon,” Stefan held out his hand. “It is very important that you move the tintype away from the fire right now.”

“This kind of behaviour’s not healthy, brother,” Damon smiled, warmed from the inside by the liquor.

“Damon,” Stefan groaned. “You are drunk, and not thinking straight.” He took a deep breath and slowly jumped over the rail, bending his knees to absorb the impact. “Give me the tintype,” he held out his hand, palm up.

“Why?” Damon frowned, leaning back on his heels.

“Because,” Stefan approached slowly, “twenty years ago I put a false back on it. There is something very important behind Katherine’s picture. Give me that and then you can burn the rest.”

Damon watched his brother for a moment and then abruptly pulled his arm to his body. He put his half empty bottle on the grass and opened the casing around the picture. Then he pried up the photograph from the false back, glancing up at Stefan as he did so. Inside he found a leather book just a little smaller than the picture, and so thin it couldn’t have held more than a page or two.

“You were tearing your room apart for this?” Damon held the book between his thumb and forefinger, tipping it back and forth over the fire for a good look. “What’s so special about it?”

“It’s a really long story,” Stefan beckoned with his fingers, “involving Caroline Forbes and Sheila Bennett.”

“Blondie?” Damon’s eyes shifted. “Isn’t she stuck in New Orleans with Elena?” He passed the book to Stefan.

“No,” he visibly relaxed with the leather in his hand. Flipping it open he sighed when he saw the pages. “She’s right here.”

Damon reclaimed his bourbon and took a healthy swig on the short walk to his brother’s side. His blue eyes clouded when he looked down into the book at the twin portraits. Caroline Forbes in high-waist jean shorts and a leather jacket stared back at him; mirroring her picture on the right was Klaus freaking Mikaelson with slightly longer curls that tumbled over his forehead and clothes straight out of a renaissance fair.

“What the heck is this?”

“Something Elena needs,” Stefan sighed.

“So this is actually them?” Damon spoke slowly, pointing to the pictures. “Elena did her freaky little witchy thing?”

“Yes.”

“I could have burned Klaus Mikaelson alive?” His eyes sparkled.

“Yes.”

“Can I still burn him alive?”

“No.”

“Come on, Stef,” Damon slung his arm around Stefan’s shoulders. “It’ll be fun. We can take Caroline out first.”

“No,” he sighed.

“Aw, come on,” he pouted, “it’s not like it would kill him.”

“No, Damon,” Stefan rolled his eyes. “The stuff Elena needs is with Klaus,” he slapped the small book shut and slipped it into his pocket. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they planned it that way in case you got a hold of it.”

He shrugged off his brother’s arm, turned and took off for his car.

“Where you going?”

“New Orleans,” he glanced back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“No thank you,” Damon shuddered. “I’d like to go at least a decade before running into a Mikaelson if I can help it.”

“Do I want to know what happened in New Orleans?” Stefan opened the car door.

“I got on the wrong end of a psychopath,” Damon shrugged. He dropped the portrait of Katherine in the flames and watched as the edges curled up. “Kol’s the jealous type.”

Stefan checked his pockets ensuring he had his phone and wallet before sliding into the car and turning over the ignition. He rolled down the window.

“At least you’re learning.”

“Mm,” Damon grinned. He pointed from the fire to the house. “Would burning anything Katherine ever touched be too much?”

“Considering that Katherine’s had her hands on everything in that house – including you – I’m going to say yes,” Stefan rolled his eyes. “Don’t burn our home Damon.”

He put the car in drive and peeled out of the yard, dialing Alaric as he went; he picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hey, it’s me. Can you do me a favor and come keep an eye on Damon? There is a small chance he might try to burn down the Boarding House.”

“Should I bother asking why?”

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms @xxbeckybeexx-blog

#Kolena #The Forgotten Fanfic #kol mikaelson #elena gilbert #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #hope mikaelson #hayley marshall #rebekah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #marcel gerard #thierry vanchure #davina claire #sage #finn mikaelson #freya mikaelson #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore

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soonyorita · 4 years

Note

I’d love an angst/fluff scenario with JooHeon! I’m a foreign big time singer that’s known for my catchy songs and more, but I’m hiding a secret. JooHeon is my secret boyfriend, we’re hiding our relationship because of our fans. During an award show in Korea, We have a fiery argument over the song I made with another rapper especially since it comes with a steamy kissing scene. After storming out, he comes out on the stage, taking over and literally remixing the song until the end where we kiss.

Being an idol has its fair share of perks.

The glamour of being a celebrity, getting lots of free items, the money that comes with it, meeting other famous people for free and having people that support you, what else could you ever ask for?

Ordinary people dream of having your life and you can easily understand why: appearing in a single commercial will give you hundreds and thousands of dollars already, and that's just for one commercial, how about your yearly salary? Just imagine the number of digits you'll be seeing in your bank account.

But of course, there's one visible downside to it and one that you hate the most.

The lack of freedom.

You can't go anywhere you'd like, can't express yourself as freely as other people, going somewhere and being followed by cameras or paps and the lack of freedom to date or love anyone without people hating and coming at you with threats.

Being a foreign idol, you've learned how to work your way with the camera, learned how to hide, learned how to pretend, it wasn't easy, but you have to. For your own safety and Jooheon's.

Yup, Monsta X's main rapper Jooheon and the foreign big time singer Y/N dating, imagine how much people would freak out if the news came out.

"You have all the time in the world and you're only telling me this now," Jooheon says through gritted teeth, hands clenched in a fist. "Are you serious, Y/N?"

This is the first time you've seen Jooheon this...pissed off. You understand where he's coming from, but you had your reasons too. And on top of that, you are stressed and tired and you just want to go home.

You are having a surprise collab work with another famous Korean rapper - the song is well received by your fans and non-fans alike when it was announced and this is your first time performing it to the public. The problem is, it comes with a kind-of-steamy-kissing-scene at the end, all for public attention but you may or may not have forgotten to tell Jooheon all about it.

"I thought you'd understand!" Trying to keep your voice down, you reason out with your boyfriend. You two rarely ever get in a fight and when you do, it's always serious, and this? This one probably tops the cake.

Face red and glare boring holes in your skull, your boyfriend chuckles darkly, "I'd probably understand if you've given me more time to actually process it, not dropping the bomb to me on the actual day of your supposed performance,"

"It's just a kiss, Jooheon! Why are you making it such a big deal? It's just for work, I thought you'd understand? You're an idol too," You cried out, frustration getting the most of you. "You act cute in front of girls all the damn time but did you ever see or heard me stopping you from doing that? No, because I know it's part of your job as an id-"

"Making out and acting cute are far more different, Y/N, don't fucking compare those two. I actually know my limits, you know why? I know I have someone waiting for me, this whole thing about us might be a secret but I'm sure as hell I don't make out with other people."

"It's for work!"

The sound of fans screaming can be still heard even in the farthest part of the backstage, where you two are exactly. Jooheon is looking down, fiddling with his fingers on his lap. It makes your heart break, really. This should've been a great night for you two, but instead, you're here in a dimly lit and dusty room, fighting.

"Oh? So you don't mind me kissing other girls without letting you know?" He asks, tapping his foot. The thought of Jooheon kissing other girls brings a bitter taste in your tongue and makes your heart twist in ways you'd never thought of about.

"Then," You start off weakly, "what do you want me to do? I can't cancel this performance or my management and I will be in trouble."

Jooheon stands up and heads for the door, but before he opens it, he faces you one last time, eyes dark, leaving after a few good seconds. He leaves you there with your thoughts, frustration and sadness creeping up through your mind. You want to cry, but your make up is all done and you don't want to mess it all up, you're the next performer after all.

Spending a good few minutes sorting your thoughts and calming yourself down, you left the room and headed to the booth where they put all the microphone and ear piece on you, the make up artist doing a few touch up on your makeup. All you have to wait for right now is for the lights to dim out and for the stage director to usher you beside the stage, a signal that you're about to start your collab performance.

You were tempted to peek inside Monsta X's dressing room when you passed by earlier, but you don't want to raise any more suspicion from people, so with a heavy heart, you hid the gnawing guilt and sadness in your chest.

That's it. It's your turn to go on stage now.

But before you go right to the stage, your manager whispered something to you, "you've got some explaining to do later, Y/N."

Shrugging it off, you headed for the stage, just the way you did during the rehearsals. Fake happiness, faux enthusiasm, you've practiced it all, smiling even if your limbs went numb from performing.

The crowd roared and it made you smile genuinely; this is why you perform for a living, to make people happy, and you're reminded of this everytime you go on stage. You sang your heart out, all swaggy and sassy and alluring, where you're known at.

To your surprise, a different voice started rapping instead of your supposed partner's voice for this collab. You turned around, mind swirling in confusion, the background music is different too, you noticed. Panic started rising in your chest, looking up at the platform where your partner is, you see your boyfriend, Jooheon, remixing the music, giving it a more different vibe.

The crowd screamed much more, you tried not to show your panic that much, not wanting the audience to notice anything strange; looking at the side of the stage, you looked for anyone, a stage director, manager, Jooheon's manager, someone, to explain what's happening because you're literally the embodiment of confusion right now.

You still sang your part, Jooheon doing some adlibs in the background and you admit that it's good, more than good compared to the original, but your management would kill the both of you, the fuck. Jooheon went down from the platform, rapping his way towards you, eyes never leaving your gaze. This is it...the kiss scene is coming...your heart starts pounding, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴--?

Jooheon gave you a smirk, taking in your appearance from head to toe, he continues rapping, until he wraps his hand around your waist, pulls you closer and the next thing you know, you two are kissing.

The crowd erupted like fireworks. Your mind went blank. Jooheon is kissing you with so much passion, all the pent up emotions he's tried hiding during your argument all coming up now. The only thing that you can feel is 𝘑𝘰𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘰𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘰𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯-

Before it got too heated, you broke off the kiss and simultaneously, the two of you looked at the camera and smiled, the lights turning off soon after. The both of you ran off the stage, away from your managers, away from people, away from everyone and just the two of you.

You ended up in a dark room, Jooheon's hand holding yours. He pulls you in for another kiss, this time, a much more gentle kiss. He holds the back of your neck, holding you closer to him as possible. Swiping his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you gasped, allowing his tongue for entrance. Jooheon is kissing you so passionately and you feel so, so alive, kissing him back with the same intensity.

A few moans and grunts later, you two broke off, gasping for air. Jooheon brushes the stray strands of hair in your face, "we're so gonna be all over the internet tomorrow,"

"Would you care to explain what happened?" You inquired. "I'm so confused."

Jooheon chuckled, "easy. I'm friends with your supposed partner for the collab and I asked him if I could replace him, it's a coincidence that he'd lost his voice today so," He shrugs. "I also told your manager about it, if you're wondering."

"What."

"Yep, it was that easy."

You stared at your boyfriend, heart growing more fonder, "I'm sorry for earlier, I should've told you what was about to happen."

Jooheon pulls you in for a hug, "don't worry, Y/N, I understand. I'm sorry I overreacted." He kisses the top of your head, "I think it's also time for people to know the truth about us. I'm sick and tired of hiding all the damn time. I just want to show you off because I'm so proud of you, Y/N."

To say that every headlines, news articles and social media posts are filled with news about you two dating is an understatement. You two broke the internet. You went to your social media to explain what happened and to confirm your relationship with Jooheon, and yes, it feels so good to finally be able to let the whole world know that you have the bestest person ever as your boyfriend.

Indeed, truly a power couple.

~~~~

this was so sooo late, sorry!!! this request has been on my inbox for quite a long time :< sorry to keep you waiting hun!

hope you liked this!

I wish for everyone to have a good day and always remember to be kind :")

I miss you, wonho ❤

#monsta x #monsta x jooheon #lee jooheon #monsta x request #monsta x imagines #monsta x blurbs #monsta x scenarios #monsta x ot7 #kpop requests #kpop scenarios #i miss you wonho

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