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mintyminyoongi · 3 years

Text

Idiots

Pairing: Min Yoongi x ReaderRating: T

Word Count: 7.8k

Trigger warnings: None

Summary: Imagine you love Yoongi and Yoongi loves you but you’re both idiots and can’t say it. Or better yet, read about it.

Normally, when your phone starts ringing at 2:00 AM, you would curse the living daylights out of the person on the other end of the line. Maybe ask them if they were raised by barbarians or looking to get fully throttled.

But when you finish grumbling curses under your breath and crack an eye open to look at your screen, you can’t help the way your heart flops over a little. Yoongi. You swipe your thumb across the screen to answer before it goes to voicemail.

“You better be dead or dying,” you groan into the receiver.

You hear him curse under his breath and some fumbling around. “I, um, am not dying. Coincidentally. I forgot to check the time again.”

His low, drawling voice sends a shiver down your spine, as always. “Yeah, you did.” You find yourself chuckling, despite your initial anger.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You were sleeping?”

You laugh fully this time. “Yeah Yoongi, I was sleeping. Like most people do at two in the morning on a Wednesday.”

“Ugh, sorry Y/N.” He sighs into the phone.

You frown and roll in your sheets, sitting up fully. “Hey, you okay? It’s been a while since you’ve spaced on time like this.”

About three years ago, you met Yoongi. You’d just graduated from university and had been able to get an internship at a tech start up in Seoul. It was shit pay and crazy hours but you loved the work.

You had met Yoongi in a cafe, late one night. Officially, you were off the clock but you had taken your laptop with you to try and catch up on some of your assignments. The cafe was close to your apartment, open late and had cheap, strong coffee.

Yoongi had been set up at one of the far tables, feline eyes droopy despite the numerous coffee cups littering his table. He had a fancy set of headphones on and his bleached blonde hair had dark roots growing in.

The cafe was busy, even during this time of night so you took one of the last empty tables near him. You tried to get work done, honestly. But between your sleep deprivation, over caffeination and this gorgeous boy sitting a table away, it was difficult.

So he naturally caught you staring at him. And your best way to save face was to point dumbly at your own ear. His brow furrowed but he pushed one headphone off his ear anyway.

“Sorry, just... I could hear your music through the headphones. It’s a little distracting.” It wasn’t, you could barely hear it over the other cafe noises. “Also, it’s bad for your hearing. To play music that loud.”

You wanted to disappear. Like wholly, from this plane of existence and any others that were out there.

But he just looks at you with an amused, crooked smile.

You didn’t know at the time that Yoongi was a successful rapper. He went by the name Agust D, and had just gotten back from his first tour after the release of his mixtape.

And the formation of your friendship went just like that. He needed a friend that didn’t care about his fame or his reputation. And you just needed a friend.

So what if you thought he was incredibly hot and talented and funny… Yoongi had never shown you any interest, romantically. And that was fine with you. His friendship meant the world to you.

Anyway, Yoongi wasn’t the best at taking care of himself. So when he calls you in the middle of the night, it’s almost always because he’s been locked in his studio all day and has lost all sense of time.

He sighs, not answering you right away. “I’m okay. Just- stuck on a song.”

You furrow your brow. “When did you eat last?”

A beat of silence. “Um.”

“Yoongi.” You bite your tongue to hold back the full lecture. “How about sleep?”

An even longer pause. “I took a nap this afternoon,” he says. “Or wait. What day is it?”

“Alright, that’s enough. Go home. Take a shower, sleep in an actual bed. You’re not doing yourself any favors running on fumes.”

“I know.”

“Nope, not buying it. I wanna hear you leave the studio.”

“Woman,” he sighs under his breath. “Fine.”

You can hear him shutting down the programs on his computer, almost feeling the way he’s making mental notes of where to pick up in the morning.

“So, which song is giving you trouble?”

Yoongi starts to describe the track, how he wants a syncopated rhythm but it’s not hitting right. He muses all the way during his walk home about different things he can try.

You curl back up into bed, just listening to him and giving what little insight you could. It kind of pained you to admit how much just the sound of his voice affected you.

Before long, you hear his front chime open. “Okay, I’m home.” You hope you were imagining just how exhausted he was. Even though you know you weren’t.

“Good. Please take care of yourself, Yoongi. You’re starting to give me gray hairs.”

Yoongi just huffs into the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. I am sorry for waking you up. Tomorrow’s your big presentation right?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Yeah, it's at nine. So like,” you wince as you look at your screen. “Six hours.”

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Yoongi. Honestly. I’m used to running on no energy and all coffee.”

You could tell he didn’t feel better with that answer. “We're still on for movie night on Friday?”

“Yes please. I’ve been killing myself trying to avoid spoiler alerts.”

“Okay, great. I’ll bring snacks to make it up to you.”

You thought about protesting but knew it would be pointless. “That sounds like a fabulous idea. Now go get some sleep! And when you eat in the morning, it needs to be something that doesn’t come out of a plastic package, you hear me?”

“Aish, woman, let me live,” he gripes but you know him well enough that you can practically picture the smile on his face. “See you Friday. Good luck with the presentation, you’re gonna kill it.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You hang up and have to force yourself back to sleep, always getting a bit of a high from talking to him.

On Friday night, you were running around your apartment like a mad woman, trying to get it clean before Yoongi shows up. Even though he was terrible with the concept of time, he was never late to your movie nights.

You had stayed late at work talking to your boss about your presentation from the day before. So when Yoongi showed up at your door right on time you were still in your work clothes, hair a mess.

“Hi, come in. What the-” Your eyes practically bulge out of your head when you see how many bags he’s carrying.

“I said I would bring snacks,” he says sheepishly, cheeks tinted a dusty pink.

“Yoongi, this is like a whole store.”

He sets the bags down on your kitchen counter. “I felt bad about waking you up.”

You shove his arm, eyes widening further as he starts unbagging everything. “I told you it was fine, you dope! This is way too much food.”

Just as he opens his mouth your doorbell rings. Yoongi looks at you guiltily, a bag of your favorite chips in his hand.

“I may have also ordered pizza from that place you like.”

You wanted to smack him and kiss him in the same instant. That pizza was the perfect way to end a long, stressful week. “Well, you answer the door. I’m going to change clothes.”

In your room, you quickly change into sweats and a t-shirt. You fix your hair into a normal, less insane ponytail and make your way back into the kitchen.

You find Yoongi staring at you as you drop your hands from your hair. “What?”

He coughs, looking down. “Nothing. The food’s all ready.”

You frown a little but leave it. Then you see the three pizza boxes sitting on the counter. “Min Yoongi you did not order three pizzas and buy all these snacks.”

He squawks a little, unable to form words for a second. “Will you just take my apology already?”

Your heart seizes a little at his sincerity and you try not to read into it. “Fine. Apology accepted.” You cross your way into the kitchen, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet.

“How did your presentation go, by the way?”

“Oh my god it went great, Yoongi! My boss loved the idea of an integrated software, and he gave me the lead on it.” You turn to see him watching you attentively, a proud smile on his face.

“And this is the first time you’ve been the lead, right?”

“Yeah, at least one of this size. It’s gonna be a lot of work but I’m really excited.”

Once again, Yoongi gives you this unreadable look. His gaze makes you feel squirmy so you hand him a plate. “Well I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’ve really made a name for yourself at that company.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You cracked open the first pizza box and could’ve started drooling. “Oh my god, this smells amazing.”

When you’re thoroughly surrounded on the couch with more pizza, snacks and wine than any two people could need, you start the movie.

You and Yoongi had started making movie nights a habit about a year ago. Every month you both find time to make it work. It was kind of your favorite thing but you wouldn’t tell him that.

You really were trying to reign in your feelings for him. It didn’t seem fair, when Yoongi was only looking for platonic companionship. So you keep respectable inches between the two of you as you queued up the movie.

Yoongi gave you a judgy look at the moan you let out around your first bite of pizza but a swift elbow to the ribs made him look away.

The movie was pretty good, it was a slasher movie that came out earlier in the year. You watched with your mouth hung open in disbelief as the killer rose from the dead for the third time and snuck up on the lead actress.

“Oh, come on, they can’t be serious.” You lean forward on the couch cushion, thoroughly enveloped in the plotline. As the killer brandishes a kitchen knife and raises it above his head, your reflex is to smack Yoongi in the arm.

“Why doesn’t she just turn around?” you demand. “The house is like 800 years old the floorboards are creaking louder than your snoring.”

You can feel Yoongi look at you in offense. “First you hit me then you insult me?”

The girl on the screen eventually turns around and a chase ensues. You turn to Yoongi. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you. I just get so wound up at these movies.”

“Oh, but you meant to insult me?” He says, an eyebrow raised.

Damn, he looks good sprawled out on your couch. The thought comes unbidden. You bring yourself back to the present, to the sound of screaming and shrill horror music in the background. The present with Yoongi sitting on your couch.

“Yeah, I mean have you heard your snoring?”

“When have you heard me snore?” he demands.

You turn to face him on the couch, the movie forgotten for the moment. “Like three months ago, when you showed up at my door, completely wasted. You stumbled around my apartment for twenty minutes and then you passed out on the couch. You snored. All night.”

Yoongi looks at you with his mouth hung open, speechless. He shakes his head, seeming to snap out of it. “I completely forgot about that night.”

“Yeah, it was after some event at your label. You showed up smelling like cheap perfume and whiskey, barely able to stand up straight. I gave Namjoon an earful the next day for letting you get that drunk.”

Yoongi scoffs, suddenly finding the hole in the knee of his jeans very interesting. “He didn’t let me do anything. I can be pretty stubborn when it comes to that stuff.”

You nod, not understanding where the uneasy mood came from. “That’s pretty much what he told me. He said that you showed up to the event pissed off, that you were an asshole the whole night and he couldn’t keep you in check.”

“Yeah I wasn’t myself that night.”

He still wouldn’t look at you.

“I remember,” you say. “I’d never seen you that far gone before. Namjoon said he hadn’t either.”

Yoongi stays silent. For long enough that you started to turn back to the TV screen, not wanting to push him.

Truthfully, that night had kind of scared you. He had been almost incoherent when you let him in. Yoongi was a fan of a good whiskey but he usually didn’t get that drunk, let alone wasted like that. You hadn’t known what to do so you kind of just stood back as Yoongi mumbled to himself, shucking his jacket and boots before falling onto the couch and passing out.

He says something under his breath and even though you were right next to him you didn’t catch it. You wince as a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV screen. He doesn’t even seem to notice it.

“What did you say?” You ask him, scooting a little closer.

Again, he stays quiet. At which point you’re starting to get annoyed, so you let out a huff and flop back against the couch cushion.

“You had a date that night.”

You stare uncomprehendingly at the gory scene on the TV before looking at him. “What?”

He had turned his gaze to you, but not in your eyes. He’s looking somewhere around your shoulder, you think.

Yoongi runs his tongue over his teeth before answering you. “That night, you had a date with some guy from your office.”

You think back, remember that you’d had a date with Minho. He was in the advertising department of your company. He had a really cute smile and loved cats so you thought you’d give him a chance.

You thought if you just actively started dating that you would get over your stupid crush on Yoongi faster.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

Even though Minho was attractive, and he had really funny stories you only found yourself thinking about Yoongi all night. The date had ended when he walked you to your door, and kissed your cheek. You told him it had been a nice night but you didn’t think you saw him as more than a friend. Things had been awkward around the office for a few days but he took it graciously and you two are friends now.

Yoongi had shown up not long after you’d gotten back. You were still in your dress, heels kicked off by the door. You remember now, he had given you a once over and scoffed before stepping past you into the apartment. Before you’d gone on the date, you’d told Yoongi about it. You thought maybe if he hyped you up it would help you be more excited for it.

Instead, he just said “have fun” and didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. Until he showed up at your door, so drunk he couldn’t stand straight.

He never asked about the date, you didn’t think he even remembered it. He certainly didn’t seem like he cared about it at the time.

Belatedly, you realize the end credits are rolling on the screen.

And Yoongi is staring at you. Not at your shoulder or somewhere in the vicinity. Right at you.

“Yoongi…” You say, because you didn’t know what else to say.

He gulps down the rest of his wine and turns to face you fully. “I-I didn’t have the right to be jealous but I was. Of him. So I went to that stupid fundraising event and focused on the free drinks and the easy women. And ended up here anyway.”

You swallowed thickly, trying not to overthink what he was saying. “You were jealous?” The words are strained as you say them. Your hands curled into fists because the bite of your nails in your palms helps to ground you.

Yoongi leans in a little, sucks in a quick breath. He opens his mouth to speak just as the movie kicks back to the main menu, the title music blaring through the speakers.

You jump reflexively. You didn’t realize how close you’d gotten to him, your face barely a few inches from his. So close you can see his pupils dilate, can smell the sweet red wine on his breath.

And just like that, Yoongi seems to snap out of something. He stands from the couch and picks up your dirty plates and wine glasses. He’s already in the kitchen, loading the dishes in the washer when you feel yourself snap back into reality.

What the hell was that?

You were pretty sure you weren’t misreading things. He was jealous that you were dating other people. Well, had dated other people. Honestly you were tired of the whole song and dance. You hadn’t been on a date since Minho. When the right guy came along, you would try again. But you hadn’t found anyone that could hold a candle to Yoongi. And you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time.

But… why was Yoongi jealous? He was famous, had tons of beautiful idols and models and actresses he could pick from. Maybe he was just jealous of having a normal dating life.

Either way when you shuffle into the kitchen with the bowls of snacks, you couldn’t ignore the tension in Yoongi’s shoulders. The dishes were all loaded but he stood at the sink, clutching the edge of the counter.

“Yoongi.” This was new for you. You’d never felt uncertain around him before. Maybe shy, when you caught yourself thinking about his adorable smile or strong hands. But never uncertain.

He cleared his throat and turned abruptly. “I forgot I have an early morning tomorrow. I should get going.”

You frown, not wanting to leave things in this weird state. You follow him to the door where he’s pulling on his coat. “Yoongi,” you try again.

He falters, head hanging low.

“Will you just tell me what’s bothering you?” You finally demand.

Yoongi turns swiftly, pulling you close to him by your waist. He leans his forehead against yours and you suck in a breath, gasping it out at his proximity. Usually you’re the one initiating the contact, little side hugs or poking his cheeks when he’s grumpy. You always tease him about his fear of intimacy.

He huffs out a breath and closes his eyes. His hands tighten their grip on your waist.

You let him hold you. Part of you can tell he somehow needs this. You wonder if he can feel how heavily your heart is beating inside your chest. It feels thunderous to you.

Yoongi shifts, turning his face into your neck. You feel yourself relax a bit. This feels more familiar, closer to the hugs you’ve shared before. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around him, hoping to bring him some comfort.

“Don’t date anyone else.”

The words are soft, spoken against the skin of your neck. But you hear them perfectly. And your heart skips a beat all the same. “Yoongi-”

He moves, pulling his face from the crook of your neck. It takes him a minute to bring his eyes up to meet yours. And it almost seems to pain him when he croaks out “Please, Y/N.”

One of your hands seems to have its own mind as it combs through the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes close a little as he waits for your answer. “Okay,” you whisper.

His sharp gaze snaps up to yours and it takes you aback. Your hormone addled brain thinks that he’s going to kiss you. And it really seems like he’s going to. He moves one of his hands from your waist to cradle your face in his palm.

You lick your lips subconsciously and Yoongi’s eyes dart down to watch the action. And then something happens in his brain because he’s letting you go and backing away. “I should go,” he mutters as he pulls a mask from his coat.

Something about his tone is final. You don’t want to push it or question him. He turns back to you when he’s out in the hallway. “I’ll call you later.”

You nod, thoroughly overwhelmed and incapable of forming a response. And then he’s gone. And you close the door and have to ask yourself if you didn’t just dream the whole thing.

You were slammed at work the next week, trying to get the initial details of your new project hammered out. And maybe the lack of communication from Yoongi encouraged you to throw yourself headfirst into the work. Because you really didn’t want to stop and think about what your conversation that night had meant.

‘Don’t date anyone else’? That could really only mean one thing, right? If he didn’t want you dating anyone else it was so you could be with him. Right?

Or maybe he just meant he didn’t want you dating the wrong guys, to protect you or whatever. As if he could know that Minho or any of the other guys you’d dated were “wrong”.

And this whirling blackhole of a thought process is exactly why you’d been staying late every night this week.

The sun had been down for hours when you finally left your office building. You’re on the subway home when Yoongi calls you. Your eyes widen and you feel your heart stutter a bit when you see his name on the screen.

When you answer the phone you immediately hold the receiver away from your ear, the speaker blasting music and overlapping chatter from a crowd. “Yoongi?”

You think you can hear him saying something in the background. After a few moments you hang up. He must’ve called accidentally. And you have to kick yourself for getting so excited.

He’s out at a club or a concert, judging by the noise. It could be for work or for pleasure. Either way, he’s out with people and probably other girls-

You have to stop yourself. He’s not yours.

You get through the train ride and the walk home with a set jaw. This was exhausting. This weird, in-between thing was way worse than just suppressing your feelings altogether.

It was a little after 10:00 when he started texting you. You’d just finished eating a bowl of instant noodles over the sink when you see it. And from the first text you could tell he was drunk.

10:11 Yoongi: I MISs you

10:15 Yoongi: Y/N

10:15 Yoongi: This palace sucks

10:19 Yoongi: wis

10:19 Yoongi: I wish

10:20 Yoongi: Wish yu were hr

10:23 Y/N: Yoongi, you’re drunk. Text me when you’re sober.

Not long after your message he tries calling again. It pains you to do it but you let it go to voicemail. Nothing he says right now is going to keep you from combusting.

So you try to occupy yourself with a few episodes of trashy reality TV until you think you’re tired enough to go to bed. Yoongi hadn’t texted or called again. You hoped it was because he went home. Your brain strayed to some other girl catching his attention at whatever club he was at. Imagined her taking his mind off of you and his phone.

You bite your lip to stem off the ridiculous tears that spring into your eyes at the thought. He’s not yours, you remind yourself again.

The incredibly overwhelming sense of deja vu hits you when your ringing phone wakes you in the early hours of the morning. Yoongi’s face is on your screen. Maybe it’s because your brain is more than half asleep or because part of you is desperate to know if he went home alone that you answer the call.

You were grateful that you didn’t immediately hear the noise of pounding bass and drunk people in the background. But you do hear traffic noise, lots of it.

“Yoongi?”

“Y/N, what time is it?” His voice is still heavy with alcohol and you wince.

“It’s like one in the morning, Yoongi. Where are you?”

“Fuck. I told you I wouldn’t call you like this again.” He mumbles and you can imagine his lips forming that adorable pout. You have to shake your head out of that thought process when you hear a car horn too close for comfort.

“Yoongi, listen to me. Where are you? Are you safe?”

There’s a moment of silence as you imagine him looking around. “I’m- near the um, that corner store where you spilled soda all over me that one time. ‘member?”

“Yeah, I remember. Yoongi, can you get yourself a ride? You should go home and sleep this off.”

He continues talking, as if he didn’t hear you. And maybe he didn’t. He sounded just like that night, months ago. Who knows how much he’s had to drink. “You were so… so flustered and I-I remember you asking me how much my shirt cost because you were worried you wouldn’t be able to pay me back. And I told you it was just a regular t-shirt but really it cost $300 and I never told you that. And you were so cute. You were stuttering, and your cheeks were so red.”

“You- you kept trying to clean me up and everyone in the store was staring. I kind of realized then that you were maybe the cutest girl I had ever seen. Like, the cutest. But I didn’t… I didn’t know how to say that. Because I don’t like people and there are very few that I choose to spend time around.”

While (a very large) part of you loved this confession, you know it didn’t count. He was so incredibly drunk and would probably not remember any of this in the morning. And since you couldn’t see him, all your brain can imagine is that he’s about to stumble into traffic at any moment.

“Yoongi please. I need you to put me on speaker while you get yourself a taxi. I need to know you’re safe.”

He cuts himself off. All of a sudden the traffic noise is much louder so he must’ve put you on speaker. He grumbles as he’s tapping through the app. “Y/N thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“You’re welcome, Yoongi.” Your voice comes out whisper-soft and he might not have heard you over the rushing cars,

He must take you off speaker because he’s easier to hear again. “Says it should be here in ten minutes.”

You exhale, not even realizing how worried you had been. “Okay, good.”

“You interrupted me, you know.” Again, you can picture the pout on his face so clearly.

You chuckle a little, leaning back against your headboard. “You’re right I did.”

“Where was I?” You notice his Daegu accent is slipping in the more he talks. You wish it didn’t affect you as much as it did. “Oh, that people suck. Not you though, Y/N. You don’t suck and I’ve been scared to tell you that because I love our friendship. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Your heart flutters. You try to keep reminding yourself not to read too much into this. He’s drunk and has never said anything along these lines when he’s sober. He’s had all the opportunity. But maybe you’re a masochist because you ask. “Fuck what up, Yoongi?”

He sighs. “I hate that I’ve never had the guts to say any of this to you sober. I’m such a coward, Y/N.”

As if you somehow know what he’s going to say, you try to stop him. “Yoongi, wait.”

“I love you, Y/N. I’m fucking stupid because I love you and I can’t even say it to your face.”

Tears sting into your eyes because this feels so surreal and it almost physically pains you to hear the words you’ve been dreaming about for so long.

You think you hear him getting into the cab when a car door slams shut and the traffic noise is much more muffled. “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he sighs happily, like he’s glad to have it off his chest.

You have to steel yourself because you can feel your brain slipping into La La Land. “Yoongi, you are drunk. Hang up and call me when you’re sober.”

He chuckles a little. “So bossy. Just because I’m hanging up, doesn’t mean I’ll forget that I love you,” he croons.

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath and hang up.

You flop against your pillows and try to calm your racing heart. What. The. Fuck.

In all of your fantasies about Yoongi you had never let yourself imagine he would say those words to you. It was too painful.

It was painful even now. Until you could talk to Yoongi face to face, you couldn’t know what he meant, if he meant any of it at all. So you were reminding yourself of this, to keep yourself sane as you lay spread eagle on your bed. Wondering what you did in your past life to deserve this kind of emotional turmoil.

When there’s a knock on your door. And a very drunk Yoongi calling your name through the cheap wood.

You run to the door to let him in before he wakes up any of your nosy neighbors. When you open the door, Yoongi almost falls across the threshold. You reach out on instinct to steady him and close the door promptly behind him.

“Would you shut up?” you hiss.

As he straightens and sees you, he gets this lazy smile on his face.

You decide to speak first and cut off whatever thought process he had. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi pouts and rubs a thumb across your cheek. “I missed you.”

“You were supposed to go home Yoongi.”

“Didn’t want to,” he shrugs.

You sigh, knowing you didn’t have the heart to kick him out when he was like this. “Fine. Will you at least take a shower before you crash? You stink.”

“You just want me naked,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at you.

Instead of answering him, you turn to your room to get him a change of clothes. If he were anyone else, if he hadn’t just told he loved you- this would be hilarious. You would never let Yoongi live this down.

But it wasn’t someone else. It was Yoongi. And not only had he told you he loved you, it seems like he already forgot about it. He was so unaware of the spiral you were in it was painful.

He was struggling with his boots when you made your way back into the living room. You swallow back the lump in your throat as you kneel in front of him.

You nudge his hands away and make quick work of the laces.

“Y/N.” When you look up, you’re struck with the clarity in his gaze. You’re not sure what changed in the time it took you to get him some clothes but the flirty Yoongi was gone.

His eyes were still dropping and he was a little sideways on your couch but he seemed more like Yoongi again.

“What?” you ask and wince when your voice cracks.

“I meant it.”

Your eyes close and you sit back on your heels to give yourself some distance. “Yoongi, please.”

He doesn’t say anything more and when you finally open your eyes again, he’s running a hand over his face. “Okay,” he sighs. Then he grabs the clothes from off the floor and disappears into the bathroom.

How did things get so complicated so quickly?

This was exactly the kind of situation you were hoping to avoid all these years. You roughly wipe your eyes to stop any tears from falling before getting to your feet.

You hear the shower turn on as you make up the couch, tucking sheets into the cushion and bringing out extra pillows. And then you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your first instinct is to go close yourself in your room and not come out until he’s gone in the morning.

You knew you could never do that though. You’d never been good at ignoring Yoongi. It was unclear if other people experienced this kind of magnetism towards him, but you were hopeless.

Because of the war going on in your brain, you were still sitting on the couch when Yoongi walked back down the hallway. And - in a word - oof.

The clothes were his, some you’d stolen a long time ago but he’d put on a muscle since then so the shirt was a little tight. His damp hair hung a little longer, hanging into his eyes a little bit.

The shower seemed to do him some good, he looked a little more alert. More himself.

You watch him warily and tuck your knees into your chest. He takes a seat opposite you on the coffee table. Then you two sit there, not looking at and not talking to each other.

Then Yoongi heaves a heavy sigh and you dare to look at him. “Y/N…” He doesn’t seem to have more to say than that.

You turn to look at him. “Yoongi, I’m exhausted. Can we talk in the morning?”

He nods, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

You shoot up from the couch, ready to get out of this tense atmosphere. “I brought out sheets and blankets. And there’s a stack of pillows there. If you need anything else, you know where everything is.”

“Y/N.” Yoongi’s hand reaches out, maybe to stop you or grab you. You just dart a few paces away. You had no resolve left and you were pretty sure if he touched you at this point that would just crumble.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Yoongi.”

His sighs and it ruffles your hair, sends a shiver down your back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next morning, as the sun shone brightly through your curtains, you were praying for a sinkhole to open underneath your apartment building and swallow you whole. Or maybe like a stray asteroid could come in through your window. Less casualties that way. Anything to get you out of this conversation with Yoongi.

You hadn’t slept all night, trying to decode Yoongi’s words and your own feelings. You’d been squashing them down for so long, trying to make them as small and inconsequential as possible.

It was sometime after the sky started to turn pink that you truly allowed yourself to accept how much you love Min Yoongi. How much you always have.

For as long as you can remember, you have cherished every moment with him. Your movie nights. When you could bring your laptop to his studio and listen to him produce music while you worked. Getting late night coffees at the same cafe you first met.

The list goes on.

Now it was just a matter of figuring out if Yoongi really did… love you. You know that saying “drunk words are sober thoughts.” And maybe it was true in this case. But what if he just meant he loved you as a friend?

Really, it wasn’t that far fetched. You have never met a more emotionally guarded person than Yoongi. He didn’t even want to admit to being friends until after you threatened to send a video of him dressed up as his female counterpart “Yoonji” to Dispatch.

In short, you were getting nowhere fast. Which is why you finally kicked yourself out from under your sheets to make some coffee. Coffee always helps right?

A quick peek into the living room and you can see Yoongi curled up on the couch, still out.

You tiptoe past him and into the kitchen. You start to brew a pot of coffee and let the comforting smell wash over you. It seemed to rouse Yoongi as well. Over the back of the couch you see him stretch his arms, groaning as he does it.

You pour two mugs of coffee and give him time to fully wake up.

He shuffles into the kitchen, one eye cracked open and trying to smooth his hair down with his hands. “Morning,” he mumbles.

You wordlessly hand him a mug of plain black coffee. He hums gratefully and takes a large gulp.

Not for the first time you internally coo at his early-morning grumpiness. His eyes are puffy and his hair is sticking up in multiple directions despite his efforts. You sip your own coffee and try to figure out how to start this conversation.

Yoongi leans against the opposite of the island counter and looks at you over the rim of his mug. “So.”

“So,” you agree. And then leap into it. “You remember everything you said last night?”

He takes another large gulp of his coffee before setting the mug down. “I do.”

You lean your elbows down on the counter and grip onto your mug with both hands to have something to ground you. “Okay.”

Yoongi looks at you, eyes wary. You can’t look at him, can’t be the one that says something that ruins this friendship.

“Y/N… can we just forget it?”

Your eyes fall closed. You wonder at the same time if it’s possible for your heart to fall out of place in your chest because it no longer feels like it’s there. “Yeah,” you force out of your vocal chords. “Let’s forget it.”

“I just- it was wrong for me to say those things. To you. While I was so… out of it.” Yoongi sighs. “Will you look at me? Please?”

He’s staring at you, fully awake now. His gaze is imploring, like his words are saying one thing but his eyes are trying to tell you something else.

“Y/N, your friendship is one of the most important things in my life. You found me when I was in a shitty place and couldn’t find any real people to be around. Everyone wanted to know Agust D, they didn’t give a fuck about me. I can’t lose that, I can’t lose you-”

You take another drink from your mug to distract you and to hopefully hide the tears building in your eyes. This was the most likely scenario, you knew that. But you had still allowed yourself to hope for the best.

“I get it Yoongi. You love me, as a friend.”

He makes this noise in the back of his throat and comes around the island towards you.

On instinct you back away, trying to keep the distance. You throw your hands up when your back hits the counter behind you. “Yoongi, please don’t-”

He immediately stops a few feet away from you. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” he says, voice breaking a little on the last words. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

You realize that the tears in your eyes have fallen so you wipe them away hastily. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Yoongi frowns, “You’re crying so it’s not fine.” He looks at you with such concern that it hurts. Like he would do anything to fix it if he could.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” you say weakly.

“Like what?”

You are exhausted, mentally and physically. So your filter is gone. And you blurt, “If we’re going to be just friends, I can live with that but that means you can’t look at me like that. Like you love me more than that.”

Yoongi just looks at you, jaw slack. “Let me be perfectly clear, Y/N. If we’re going to be just friends I am going to be the one living with it. Because…” he sighs and closes his eyes, as if to collect himself. “Because I do love you more than that.”

If your heart hadn’t fallen out of place earlier it certainly did in that moment. “What?” you squeak.

He takes a cautious step towards you. “Last night, I meant everything I said. I’ve never been brave enough to say it to your face, but I have been in love with you for the better part of three years. It wasn’t fair of me to say all of that to you or to show up here and have you take care of me. And I mean it, we can be friends. Because I’d rather be friends than nothing at all. But since we’re here I might as well get it all off my chest, even if it means I never mention it again. At least that way I can finally breathe again.”

Your chest heaves with panicked breaths as you absorb everything he just said. This time there wasn’t any way to misconstrue his words. No doubt about the meaning. Yoongi had just laid himself bare in front of you.

“Idiots,” you mutter.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up past his hairline. “What?”

“We are idiots,” you say and a somewhat manic laugh slips its way past your lips. When you see the hurt cross his face, you step closer and clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Yoongi.”

He pulls back a step and the action sobers you immediately. “We are both complete idiots, Yoongi. Because I’ve never been brave enough either. Brave enough to tell you that you are what kept me sane during my intern year. That getting to see you is the best part of my day. And I’ve never told you I love you because I was terrified of you not feeling the same way.”

“Idiots,” he muses. Yoongi looks at you, eyes darting everywhere as if looking for the lie. His lips slowly curl into a smile when he doesn’t seem to find one. He closes the gap between you, cradling your face in his hands.

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s gentle. The tenderness makes your eyes slip shut, makes every time you’ve ever dreamt about this in the past pale in comparison. You could never have imagined how perfect it would feel when his hands roam the planes of your body, wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him.

The closeness has you overwhelmed, whimpering into his mouth. You find yourself craving even more contact, pull yourself infinitesimally closer by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

Yoongi pushes against you, making you stumble back a few steps until you hit the counter. Without missing a beat, his hands move from your waist down to your thighs. He grips the flesh there and hoists you up onto the countertop.

You gasp at the lift, legs wrapping around his hips for anchorage. Yoongi takes advantage and licks his way into your open mouth. You let him take the lead, feeling wholly overwhelmed by the way he kisses you. Your fingers thread in his hair, tugging on the roots when the sensations become too much.

Yoongi groans, pressing his lips harder to yours for another second before pulling away. He immediately presses another chaste kiss to your lips before leaning his forehead on yours.

You don’t open your eyes right away, almost afraid he won’t be there when you open them.

“Y/N,” he whispers. Your heart flops over, probably somewhere down near your appendix at this point. “We really are idiots.”

You smile, finally looking back at him. You tighten your legs around him, your body’s way of telling him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. Yoongi’s eyes slip shut as he lets out a hiss. “Woman, you’ve gotta stop doing that.”

“Why?” you smirk.

“Because all I’ve thought about for years is being able to love you like I want to. I want to love you in every way you deserve to be loved. But I also haven’t slept in days. I haven’t slept a full night since I was here last, for movie night. If you keep doing that I’m going to take you right here and it won’t be my A game.” He kisses you slowly, making your toes curl in. “I want to give you my A game.”

You smile fondly at the rant but relent, dropping your legs to either side of his hips. Your fingertips trace the shadows under his eyes “I haven’t slept well either. Since that night.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers, slumping into you.

“Don’t be,” you say as you comb your fingers through his hair. “How about a nap? Because I too want nothing less than your A game.”

Yoongi straightens and glares at you. You put a hand on his chest and push lightly. He backs up enough for you to hop down from the counter. You take one of his hands in yours, taking a second to appreciate how easily they fit together.

“What, you’re not going to make me sleep on the couch again?” Yoongi says as you lead him to your room.

“I’m still not fully convinced this is all real.” You turn and pull him close again. “Until I am I need you to stay close to me. So no more couch.”

Yoongi smiles softly. “I can do that.” He kisses your forehead sweetly.

He audibly groans as he climbs into your bed beside you. You roll your eyes at him. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You try sleeping on that couch. Whoever talked you into that couch is a nutjob.”

You smack his chest. “You convinced me to buy that couch!”

Yoongi shrugs, grinning softly. You smack him once more for good measure. Then you give into the instinct your body has been screaming for, which is to snuggle into him. You get comfortable with your head resting on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his. Your fingers fist into the material of his shirt on their own volition.

He pulls you closer with the arm that’s under you, not seeming to be satisfied until every gap between the two of you is gone.

“From now on, let’s be idiots together, okay?”

Yoongi chuckles and drops a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Deal.”

#min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #suga x reader #min yoongi x y/n #suga x y/n #min yoongi #suga #bts x reader #bts #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #min yoongi domestic #agust d #angst with fluff #angst with a happy ending

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hungryflowers · 4 years

Text

I Found (Peace in your Violence)

Title: I Found (Peace in your Violence)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom/Continuity: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel

Character Pairing: Alastor/Husk

A/N: I have been spurred into motivation by my many reviews to make this an ongoing a series. And guess what? I listened. Also, I don’t know what order these go in. so just enjoy them in any way you feel like. Also, also... this is late. Yeah, I meant to do his before the Hazbin Hotel premiere but life looked me dead in my face and said “nah”. And then I decided to do it for Halloween, but life decided to punch me and said “nah”. Any how, thanks for the endless patience with me!

Husker had been behaving strangely as of late, Alastor thought as he twirled his rock glass only slightly filled with his favorite bourbon. It became habitual enough for him to have a drink in the evening to calm his whirling thoughts, yet as of late Husk was all that was consuming his daily mind. Throughout the morning he would wake and see his older partner laying at his side. He looked so placate... even if he wasn’t resting. He would sit up in bed just to watch the cat demon’s chest rise and fall rhythmically. The urge to reach down and drag his clawed fingers through the coarse fur would be strong enough to get the deer demon out of bed to start his day before Husk would wake.

He’d have the cat’s meal prepared on the bedside, grab for his overcoat, and softly peck the cat on the cheek before heading into the carnage of Pentagram City.

Yet Husk hasn’t been the most grateful for these little gestures. The cat would barely look at him. The times when he did, often times signs of his day-to-day drinking was apparent in his features. They would lock eyes with a snail’s pace, the cat demon’s face awash with the telltales inebriation shows; droopy, sleep-crusted eyes, gatherings of slobber that dripped from his jaw, various twitchy muscles including his wings, and a glassy stare.

Alastor began to notice the cat would start his drinking way earlier now that he was waking up in bed with him.

Rarely the duo had sex with one another. When Alastor wanted it, he’d never let Husk know. Where was the fun and spice in that? His urges sprung sporadically and always kept the cat on edge. One such time was when Husk was laid back, relaxing and Alastor came and forcefully dragged the cat demon up the stairs and ravished him before he had anytime to actually stop him.

Alastor had a love-hate relationship with his odd sexual swings. They were sudden, distracting and passionate. Yet so quick, draining and left him hating his own body for wanting another. He called himself disgusting for wanting to fuck his associate the moment he looked at him. He wasn’t even in love with the older cat, his body sure was though.

Even with the normality of their frequent encounters, Alastor could not lie about how the elder cat demon made him feel. Even the first time their eyes met ignited something that could not be put out.

He hadn’t never seen or heard of Husk before. He never found himself invested in wanting to know, or congregate with any other demon in Hell. Neither knew of each other’s existence... Until one fateful night.

‘If I hadn’t looked to the sky that night, I never would have felt the way I do now.’ Alastor would repeat to himself, mainly trying to convince himself that his associate was somehow more special than any other.

‘The cat demon was grateful to me. To have met me.’ He thought to himself as he brimmed the glass with his pointer, slender nail sliding audibly across the glass. And now, if he wanted to remain alive, he would be more grateful for the passion that was shared; sudden or not.

His ear tilted to one side at the loud flapping of large wings. He took down his bourbon in a single gulp and rose to stand from his place in the study. His grin could literally split his face with its riveting delight.

His Husk had returned; and so did the carnal urge.

___________________________________________________

Husk’s landing’s are often harder than his flying. Mainly because he really didn’t get off the ground as much as other demons think. Flying took energy, and he’d rather preserve his energy doing something that wasn’t flying. Today, he couldn’t use any excuse to bail out of using his wings.

Vaggie and Charlie needed a bit of broadcasting help and neither of them had range or ability to get to the audience they hoped to reach. So it only felt right for Husk to be the one to fly above the tall buildings to spread word of the Princess’s monumental undertaking.

The cat demon could really care less as about it as he finally came back down to earth, his wings furrowing to his back, pinfeathers dangling to the dirty ground as he walked up the stairs. His errand complete he became determined to get to the bar, the urge to drown out his day overwhelming. His paw didn’t strike the door as it flew open; showing off the none to pleasant sight of the radio demon leering at him, yet his eyes were portrayed differently. An odd light made them shimmer, his skin crawling grin widened a touch; adding omen to the evening air. The faint ticking of a timepiece could be heard in Alastor’s left pocket. It was an off-putting detail that made Husk aware of a fact: Alastor had been waiting on him, watching his watch for the time when he would arrive.

The taller, stick-thin male made a long stride down the stairs to get closer to the elder cat. Ordinarily, Husk could give less of a shit about Alastor’s odd display’s of affection, but recently they’ve become more a nuisance and frequent. Yet as the radio demon leaned over, Husk realized he wasn’t going to grope him or pull him into an uncomfortable hug; He whispered with a hint of salacious intent “Meet me up in my room” before heading back up the way and disappearing behind the door.

He wanted to whisper back a hissed ‘no’, but wasn’t fast enough. Turns out he wouldn’t be able to drink and unwind after all, but damn would he need a stiff drink after this.

________________________________________________

Uncanny as it would seem, Husk enjoyed a bit of petting every once in a while. Outright admitting a secret like that could happen if he were blackout drunk. Only one person in Hell knows what he knows. Niffty. And why wouldn’t she? She was obsessed with stroking the older cat’s fur. She commented on how it felt like cotton, or wool. How she tugged on it just to see some loose strands come out on her tiny fingers. Then she’d brush him, pet him some and repeat for at least an hour or more. The petting sessions were endearing... dare to say, a delight to Husk.

This petting session however didn’t involve Niffty. The cat demon didn’t feel her thimble small fingers weaving through his coarse fur, or hear her gentle giggle as she snuggled her head in his chest, close enough to feel his feigned, softened, slowed heartbeat. He only felt the skeletal groping of the deer demon’s fingers as they ran deftly through his fur, claws pricking on every other occasion to rouse the cat into responding. Rare as they happened, Husk did react; his head would lean sometimes, teetering to one side as a single bony finger dipped into his fluffed chest.

He found he wasn’t fond of this feeling. It was invasive, unwanted, it never felt right. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d have to deal with this for now; remain as nothing but a slave to his ‘master’s’ whims.

He kept himself mute as Alastor began to mouth at his chest, getting only a face-full of the pristine, pillow soft coat. He moaned, a softened rough noise, into the cat’s chest as he buried his gloved hands into the side’s of the cat, flicking at his wings in the process.

The elder male occupied himself with running his paws through the younger man’s hair, swaying his head from side to side, pulling on his antlers to allow him forward. His head was turnt to the side, eyes tilted to the standing vanity to the far side of the large, stately room. He took a long glance at himself... he could see what he had been reduced to. Hot stones rolled in his stomach as that familiar sense of self-loathing came full force. He couldn’t bear having to watch his reflection, so he turned his eyes down to take in the deer demon’s stubby antlers.

Alastor sat up from the seat he had taken, taking the elder in his lap before throwing him atop his bed. His pupils began to dilate as synapses began to fire, willing his body on the cat’s prone form. His eyes locked with Husk’s before delving in slowly with the first kiss of the night. He started slowly, gradually allowing his lips to lap at the creases and edges of the cat demon, who was trying his best to keep up the kiss. The cat demon’s tongue deftly swished out to lick at Alastor’s, tasting the subtle tang of warmed whiskey coming from the other man. This was about the only taste of alcohol the old cat was going to have for the evening. The younger male’s eyes lit up as he took him in more, hands going everywhere as his tongue raced to ensnare the others. There wasn’t enough air for either of them, Husk becoming light-headed from the inability to catch the breaths that Alastor stole.

The kissing kept going slower and slower until it was evident he wanted to devour the old man; his clothed lower half rocking into the cat’s opened legs with the fury of the passion. Soon, it was no longer his lips he wanted... Alastor dove to the male cat’s neck; licking, tasting, suckling him. Then he went lower, his long tongue winding down the cat’s belly with languid intensity. His eyes darkened, mouth stopping just above the cat’s crotch, tongue lingering like a serpent. Waiting.

The older male started trembling. His overworked nerves forcing small movements of protest but he wasn’t going to stop this. Alastor was capable of much worse if he tried to stop him. He had seen that side before. He opted to closing his eyes instead, paws going over his head, grasping, reaching for surface. Husk knew what was coming yet all of this didn’t help prepare him.

He cut his cry into a grunt as Alastor’s tongue went between his legs, circling around the unaroused sheath of the older male. The deer demon leant back a small bit, to look at his work as well as take in the musk as it rose off of Husk’s body.

Elongated claws wove deep grooves into the headboard as Husk groaned aloud. It felt good. Very good even-- Husk growled deeply, his paws reaching into the silks with fervent strength as his legs and hips started to tingle--Hell, he thought?! This was fucking fantastic! The last thing he wanted to give the bastard were the bragging rights he’d expect. More arching of his slender body, wings pulling up before falling back down, and Husk��s own arousal became apparent. The more Alastor slobbered and bobbed on his dick, the harder he was becoming.

The bastard continued to purposely be sloppy with this. He would hike up slightly, sliding his digits up and down the the cat’s long, supple legs while he delved deeper, the cat’s cock bumping his throat. His long tongue lulled out occasionally, foamy spit dribbling from Alastor’s chin to the warmed silk of the bed.

It was infuriating, toxic, delicious and disgusting all at once. Husk didn’t know whether to be disgusted, his cries and moans coming from him as the deer demon finally swallowed him to his full length, or delighted by the way his muscles tightened as he came close to release. He began shaking his head, not even remotely sure why, as he shamelessly shouted out in reverent pleasure.

“Alastor! Uhhh Fuck...Al... goddamn it!,” The cat demon slurred, saliva he had collected in his mouth, now drooling down his chin slowly, “Don’t you fucking stop, you bastard! I’m close! I’m...”

The snarl that came from Husk could have vibrated the air with its heat as Alastor swiftly pulled off the cat’s dick, not even shocked to see the froth of his own saliva dribbling from his lips. Sitting up now, Alastor took in the furious reaction of his older partner; whom looked as if he’d rip him to pieces. All the better for him. He was determined to drag this out for as long as possible. And no one was going to even bother them.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. No finishing before I do. All those manners I’ve showed you and you think that with sex there’s no civility? Clearly you need a bit more training,” There was no malignancy in the demon’s tone. He was jovial! Absolutely delighted in his torture, “And what a perfect time to re-train you.”

Husk began reaching for him, fiery anger seething forth as a blood-curdling growl, when he realized he couldn’t move his arms. He found--in the heat of the moment-- that his entire upper torso and legs were being bound by thick, oil-darkened tentacles. Another surfaced in front of him and Alastor, said demon swiping his velvety gloves over the obedient tendril.

Husk looked on, gobsmacked as Alastor began to disrobe. The coat slinging off supple, straight shoulders before making its descent in a pile on the floor. From underneath, a scarlet waistcoat and his light red button-down shirt. Very rarely has Alastor been seen without his coat. No associate of his had ever seen him when it wasn’t on. There weren’t enough formals, or familiars that he knew that earned that pleasure. When he removed his coat he made it a provision that he was going to stay, that he was going to be entertained. He wasn’t an easy man to entertain these days.

For Husk, the times he had gotten see Alastor without his coat meant that he would be wherever they were for a while. To entertain. Or else he entertains him. This time around, Alastor was not short on varying means of entertainment. Not to say sex with his older partner was entertaining, but just listening to the sounds of their copulating would make his mouth water; albeit rarely.

Alastor stood there at the foot of the large bed, soft-toned, fitted, curve-shaping dress shirt clinging to his shrunken waist and muscle-laden upper arms. He wasn’t stocky, weighty, or slim by the traditional sense. His shoulders remained upright and square, emphasizing a good posture. The young man wasn’t gaudy, sickly nor appeared sunken in during his time in Hell. Which is a detail Husk expected from someone as terrifying as him. He was a desirable being, and knew how desired he was. A state of mind that wouldn’t be so bad as long as Husk acknowledged that his body was wanted by him.

A low growl bubbled out suddenly as he vainly fought against the strong stretch of tentacles that began to move the cat’s paws upward, above his head. This was not a good sensation by any phase of imagination. Husk was not looking forward to this. And the longer Alastor stood there just leering his apparent lust for him, the more anxious it made him.

“Stop looking at me like that!” Husk snapped, his wings flapping uselessly as the tentacle from behind held them outstretched, the pinfeathers gliding on either side of the bed.

“Like what?”, His eyes going half-lidded, moving toward the cat in deliberately slow steps, “Do you not like the way I look at you? I’ve looked at you like this for years. I suppose you mean that I look at you like I love--”

“Shut the fuck up!! Don’t you even say that you fucking son of a bitch!,” Husk snarled violently, “You ain’t capable of such a thing! Stop fucking telling me that you love me!! The only thing you love about me is how miserable I am whenever I am forced to share a room with you! How sick I become when I’m forced to let you touch me and I can’t fight it! You made it very clear that this never will be about love!”

“Exactly.”

Icy cold blew through the room a short time after. The fire in Husk’s blood, that could have disintegrated the room, froze with the utterance and tone of the word. A sharp stabbing pain accompanied a pressure that felt like something ripped through his ribs and stole the lungs from his body. He stopped breathing as Alastor crawled onto the bed, positioning himself in between the long legs again.

"There will never be love in what we do... You are my vice, my virtue. You are salvation, and sin. I see it all in the reflection of your eyes, feel it in the pressure between your legs. I don’t want to love you. We’re unworthy of that here. What I want is you. To forget about this world as I dive into yours.” Alastor’s voice seemed detached as he spoke, his timey radio voice fading in and out with various words. Absently his hands went deep inside of Husk’s fur. He would lean down slowly, taking his time to take in the deep, intoxicating smell of the older man. His maw opened, giant teeth gnashing...

Husk’s eyes constricted and dilated to the motions of his willful partner as he growled menacingly. He ended up closing them, trying to focus on other things entirely. He nearly retched at the feeling of a tongue pushing against his cheek, those hands working their way down the line of the cat demon’s chest and belly. He almost recoiled at the sensation of heated breath washing over him.

“Alastor...” The first word he could make out from his stupor, and it had to be the Radio demon’s name. The cat’s eyes going half-lidded as he breathed it. The tone vaguely inebriated.

“Husk... my Husker.” The radio-esque noise from Alastor phased out totally, the man’s eyes locking to the cat’s slackened, hopeless expression. He didn’t look away, eyes barely moving as he began to remove his pants; his passion pushing against them painfully. Once he was free-- slipping his long, high-waisted pants down to his knees-- the radio demon shivered in ecstatic delight. The tentacles at the front of Husk ensnared his legs, pulling the older cat towards his nighttime partner.

Oddly, Husk couldn’t bring himself to struggle. Not like the first time he had; that first night Alastor brutally--

The cat demon surged up in spite of the tentacles around his arms and kissed Alastor on the mouth, hoping to kiss the thought, that violently intruded, out of his head. He held himself up before the weight of the tentacles dropped him back down.

Alastor’s grin sharpened as he panted out a laugh. It was a mirthless sound, not the most genuine his laugh could have been. He wasn’t about to find humor in this though. Only self gratifying pleasure. And he wasn’t about to wait longer for it. His velvet clothed hands went to either side of the cat’s head as he rocked his erection into the cat’s open legs, a jolt causing him to quake with want. The old male moaned softly, shivering as well.

“Al! Alastor, hold on--” Husk’s mouth flew open with the rapture of the sudden penetration. The feeling of it was raw, dry and painful. All of the things it should not have been if they were making love. The old male fought against the tentacles briefly, trying to get into a better position which would best inhibit the pain. His jaw clicked shut, nerve-endings singing as he forced himself to take the dry entry.

Alastor, meanwhile, hung his tongue outside his mouth, heavy pants puffing out steam as he inched in slowly. His pre-cum was the only lubricant being offered as he didn’t use any. He pulled out slightly before making himself go deeper. His process continuing until he managed to bottom out, both male crying out suddenly: Husk in sudden shock, Alastor in delirious ecstasy.

Husk was barely given room to adjust as Alastor already began his desired pace; pulling out slowly before shoving himself back in as hard as possible. The cat bit his tongue in order to keep another sudden scream from coming. As much as he wanted to hate this, he wanted to become sick of feeling this, he couldn’t. His hips ground up into each impactful thrust, the hits going up his spine, turning his legs to jelly.

“A-Ala-Al...”, He couldn’t get the demon’s name out of his mouth. Weakly, he fought against the tentacles restraining him, “Alas...tor! More!” He crooned in salacious desperation. He wasn’t going to continue to fight this. He’ll make himself sick later with the drowning of alcohol.

Above him, Alastor growled. He was becoming wild with desire, the pull of chasing his release spurring him insane. He was barely hanging on, drowning in Husk as he humped into him faster. His claws gripped harshly into the fabric as he bent himself over Husk. He no longer was in control of himself. His arousal was turning him into the most dangerous beast imaginable. His grin sharpened, claws going through the silk near the cat’s head as he pistons himself deeper into the cat at his request.

“Husk! Husk!, Ahhh, Husk!” He chanted loudly, the cat’s name becoming his religion, as he comes suddenly. He yells in carnal fervor, body going as tight as a spring as he releases his pent up desire inside of the cat.

Husk winces, the feeling of Alastor pulsing inside of him is unmistakeable. He stays quiet as he lets it happen. Just as he let this happen. It continues for a few seconds longer before Alastor stops moving, his phallus stuck inside of him. This was fast... real fast. Way faster than Alastor has ever gone before. All the better for Husk. He could take a shower, then drink this horrid memory away. Fast was good. It meant that Alastor was chasing his own release and not seeking to see Husk’s.

The cat began to move again, trying to find a way out of the tentacles, before he screams at being forcefully planted on his stomach. Alastor pulled the cat off his cock, flipped him around and shoved his still hardened erection back inside; the first climax offering more give.

“Fuck!! Alastor, No!!” Husk shouted helplessly as Alastor mounted him from behind, pushing into him with more of his weight. Husk could feel him wrap his clawed hands around him as his cock punched into his prostate. These hit from behind caused the cat to see stars, his wings flapping wildly, arms and legs still restrained by the tentacles as Alastor fucked him harder. He moaned, cried, sighed and screamed to the persistent sensations. The radio demon’s pace was unrelenting, loud and incredible. The bed creaked loudly as they copulated, the sloppy noises of Alastor’s cock sliding in and out of Husk was like an aphrodisiac to the both of them. A harsh slam of his hips and Husk mewled loudly, his sore back bending into the bed helplessly with each back shot.

One of Alastor’s hands went from the cat’s slim waist to grab at his extended wing, pulling it toward him as he pulled the cat back toward every blow. Their pelvis’s aligned perfectly, the radio demon hardly needing to bend or twist to emphasize his pleasure. Below him the cat meowed and purred a frenzy, head going back as the fire they made become unbearably hot. He gasped softly as the cat began reaching for his leg, the gesture entirely unexpected yet was allowed by him. The movement in itself was small, but the meaning behind was a bit bigger than Alastor at the moment. His Husk wanted more of him. He wanted to be devoured by him. At this moment, it was the progressive ferality of their coupling that spurred them both on. Whether on not the cat wanted it this way, he wouldn’t say verbally.

The radio demon began to slow his erratic pace, going from fast, sloppy jabs to leaning his weight on the older male as he swayed into him. The velvety touch of his hands fell away from the cat’s wings as they went to the center of his back, the cat reacting as if he had been singed by hot coal. His grin softened a touch as he leant down to kiss the bridge of the cat’s long, tufted ear. He rested back on his legs, drawing Husk back to sit on him as he stopped entirely.

The frustrated growl coming from the old man was much louder than his previous moans. He would’ve wanted to take this time to gather his bearings and attack this asshole for dragging him into this. Yet something in him kept him from doing so. He, instead, re-accommodated himself, pushing back on the cock within him. He breathed raggedly, too tired to do all the work so soon. And Alastor watching as he rode him made things worse. He could feel the pull of the deer demon’s claws as they squirmed down his sides.

“So good... you’re such a good boy, kitten. Ride me. Have me, I’m yours.” Alastor’s tone was wrought with their fiery passion, drawn tight by the sensations spiraling in his guts. His last words sounding as if he was begging for this.

“Son of a...”, A push upwards and Husk’s wings outstretched to nearly his full length. His eyes rolled back, head falling to the side, the weakness in his body making this too hot. The radio demon was beginning to soften him, and he hated every ounce of it. He hated how malleable he was getting after the sporadic months of sex, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” He snarled, saliva dripping off his fangs as he ground on Alastor harder, trying everything to get to his release. And away from Alastor once and for all.

“Husk...Oh my, Husky... Don’t stop.” The younger male moaned in between, continuing to pull on the cat as he started grinding into him again. His pace was slow, drawn out, maddening to the cat as he was yet to climax. He felt impossibly tight, his paws going into the tattered silks on the bed, claws baring their own damage as they tore through the material.

“Alastor! Fuck me!”, He shouted suddenly, his back aching with this position, “Is that what you wanted to hear, asshole?! Fuck me! Goddamn it, fuck the shit out of me!”

Alastor didn’t answer him. He wouldn’t dignify the cat with a heated response, so instead he lifted himself over the cat demon again, teeth going into his nape as he did exactly what he was asked of. He started with a slow grind before his hips jolted to life, his previous pace renewed. His pants were muffled by the tufts of fur in his mouth, hands going over the cat’s as he began to force him down.

The change of pace caused Husk’s body to seize on its own, renewed release just a few more thrusts away. The cat became dizzy, his noises becoming louder as he forced himself to accept Alastor like this. A few more sharp hits left Husk yowling as he reached his peak, not even caring how he was pushed over. His eyes widened, claws deepening into the torn fabric as he continued to scream out his release. His seed jutted out, staining the bed in long, white ribbons. His whole form started to shake and convulse, he closed his eyes as he focused on the sensations. It lasted longer than it normally would, Husk had never reached his own release with Alastor. Moments like this were rare; when Husk would come because of Alastor.

After thirty seconds, the older cat demon could no longer support his own weight, arms going out beneath him, collapsing to the bed. He never hit it though. Blearily, he could feel the tendrils wrapping around him, pulling his strained body up. He thought he could hear Alastor mutter something to him, yet he couldn’t focus on anything outside his climax.

“Ma beauté... Le péché, mon péché. Je t’aime Husker,” He couldn’t say these words in english. They hit too close for him as he kissed the back of Husk’s neck, “But I am not done with you. As much as you want to be rid of me, I will not stop until we reach the heights of pleasure... together.”

________________________________________________________

Husk cried out weakly as he climaxed again. His arms and legs were no longer bound by the tentacles; the appendages were phased out in favor of Alastor wanting to touch him more and more. Even so, with all the heavy petting the cat still came without him. And he was beginning to tire. Husk started sobbing loudly as he begged for this stop. He couldn’t take anymore. He didn’t want to come with Alastor. He didn’t want the radio demon’s cock inside him, his tongue around his dick, the sharp nails in his ass. He didn’t want anymore this.

Alastor grinned a bit more, eyes hardening as he listened to the cat’s weak noises. He watched in disgust as the cat put his paws over his face as he openly wept.

“Is this not what love is to you, my love?” Alastor asked if he reciting a poem. He rubbed his hand through the cat’s dingy fur as the older male broke down, the shame of this making him sick. When he didn’t get the reply he’d be satisfied with, Alastor withdrew. He sat up on the bed, sheets strewn about wildly, fabric ripped beyond mending, their conjoining mess and scents intermingling on the spreads.

A feeling surged from him just then; It tasted like tar in his throat, burned inside like a wild kerosene fire in its bitterness. He got to his feet swiftly, pulling up his stained, messy pants as he stomped into the master bathroom. Husk jumped with a start at the sound of glass shattering to the floor, as well as something heavy and blunt accompanied the mess. Then the roar. Unbridled. Unabridged. Animalistic with its sound.

Husk curled in on himself as he waited for the radio demon to return. He knew what he was going to do to him. He was going to keep him locked in this bedroom with him all night until they climaxed together. He couldn’t. He barely had the strength to move, let alone endure more of the licentious act. Silence prevailed for a few moments longer. It was beginning to become jarring. He opened one of his eyes and looked toward the bathroom, wondering when Alastor would return.

After about ten minutes, Alastor returned. He looked exhausted, beaten and battered. On his left arm, Husk could distinguish deep gashes and bite marks on the lower bit. His face was downcast, yet his grin was still evident. His right arm, the one not damaged yet had traces of something black and stinky on his gloves, was covering the younger male’s face. Deep red and hazily troubled eyes looked the cat demon over before he sat down, his back to him.

“Don’t leave. I don’t want Charlie and the rest to get suspicious of us,” He sounded as he looked, the radio tone in his voice fading in and out, “Get some sleep.” The last word was soft, croaky like even. As if the man had been crying.

In spite of those words, Husk didn’t sleep. He stayed curled up at the corner of the bed that was not ruined by their sex. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. He began to pray. Not for redemption. He was in this place for a reason. Some creatures just can’t be redeemed. He began to pray for a nightmare. His eyes stayed closed so that it would be easier to be tormented by the monsters in his mind, than the one sitting mere inches from him.

A/N: Surprise bitch! Thought you had seen the last of me?!! Muhahaha! *clears throat* Anyways! Here’s another Alastor/Husk tale of woe. I’ve gotten such great reviews and I’m honestly surprised!! Love ya’ll always!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel husk #husk #nsft

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bri-rog-deak-fred · 5 years

Text

The Night Comes Down

@mirkwoodshewolf said to bri-rog-deak-fred:

Hi-hi! So I've been binging your series love it btw. And I can't wait for more. So I noticed you have requests open so I thought I might give you a prompt. How about reader is the 5th member of Queen, it's during their first tour and while she does like seeing new places, she can't help but feel homesick while on the road. She tries to put on a brave face but our guitarist sees right through her (she could've been with Smile b4 Fred joined) and he goes to talk to her. And since he's been in(love with her from the beginning, he tries to help her out as best as he can with comforting her. Even tells her that there is one thing from home that she'll always have which ends up being his way of confessing his love (cheesy and kinda stupid I know but call me cliche) and reader (who has loved Bri as well but never though he'd go for her) admits her feelings for him. Hope you can do this my darling, if not it's fine. Keep up the good work and can't wait for the next update of good company

Note: I loved this!! Thank you for the brilliant request! I hope I did it justice! I just love love confessions so badly ugh. Anyways, enjoy! There’s some smoking mentioned and swearing but eh, it was the 70’s!

The tour was fantastic. New cities and faces every night, loads of fans and crazy after parties. Wild wasn’t even close to explaining it for you. It was a dream, touring with your band, Queen. Even before Freddie had joined and taken over, it was just you, your friend Brian and his close friend Roger.

You had met Brian through auditioning for his band, Smile. One night while you were trudging back to your dorm room after studying all day, you noticed a paper stapled to the wall outside the dormitory door. It was a band audition slip, saying they had a good sound and wanted like-minded people to play some rock and roll for fun. You stopped and bit your lip, thinking about your guitar back in your dorm. You quickly yanked the paper off the wall and shoved it into your bag. Though Smile had a guitarist already it said, you thought maybe you had a chance. Music came easily to you, so maybe you could easily transfer to another instrument if need be.

The day came, and you were quite nervous, not knowing a thing about who would be there or about the band. You gathered your guitar case and your song book and made your way across campus to a building you hadn’t been to before, and found the room that auditions were being held in. A boy with shaggy blond hair stood outside the door of the empty conference room, holding a pair of drumsticks. You swallow hard, suddenly more nervous than before. You crack your knuckles, hearing a quiet laugh and a “Tsk” You look up and see the boy looking at you and your guitar case. “Nervous?” He asked, voice a little gruff but higher than you expected. His baby blue eyes were entrancing and you had to literally shake yourself out of staring.

“Oh… uh, a little.” You say sheepishly, readjusting your guitar case, clearing your throat.

“I heard he already has someone playing guitar.” He said, eyes looking to your case.

You shrug, feeling more anxious by the moment. “I sing too.”

The boy seemed satisfied with your answer before sticking out his hand, free of drum sticks. “I’m Roger. Roger Taylor.” He introduced himself with a wink and a devilish smile.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart lurch a little. “Y/N L/N.” you took his hand and shook it, before the door to the auditioning space opened. A kid with a wearable piano left with a rather upset face. A very tall boy with dark curly hair that you could tell was partially straightened, followed after him with a little clipboard. You watched as the piano boy left, huffing as he scuffled passed. You felt your mouth open a little, forgetting why you were there or who the beautiful boy with the wave brown hair was. He looked up and his hazel eyes found yours, before he looked to the boy known as Roger with the drum sticks.

“Roger… Meddows Taylor? You’re next.” He gave him a kind smile, before he looked to you. “You’re up after Roger.” He said politely, before both of them had gone into the room, closing the door. You let out a slow sigh and felt yourself sit against the wall, practicing some vocal warm ups, heart panging wildly in your chest.

You nailed the audition, of course. When you met Brian May, you felt nervous at first, unable to get over his charming crooked smile and how kind his voice was. After you introduced yourself and joked with him for a moment, you relaxed completely. He was a little worried, since you also played guitar and he was the original guitarist, but once you sang for him and told him you could also play some piano, he didn’t seem all too worried. He even had you harmonize with him, and found that your voices sounded great, almost ethereal together.

From then on, you, Brian, Tim, and Roger were the faces of the band Smile. After sometime, Tim left, leaving you all bass less and without a lead singer, which is when your friend Freddie had come along and upturned everything. You had also found John Deacon, a shy boy who was at least a year or two younger than you, playing a very funky bass, leading to the birth of Queen.

Now here you all were, a major success and touring across the country, heading to reaches of the world you never thought you’d be able to see. Thrilling, to say the least. But it was a long journey and you had longed for your quiet room and your own blankets and some alone time. You missed being able to take a break and sit back and breathe, but the tour was so fast pace, your feet could barely touch the ground.

It was late, the road seemed never ending. You couldn’t seem to sleep, feelings of home lingered in your mind and wouldn’t let you rest. You got up from the side couch you were trying to sleep on and began to pace quietly, mind over thinking. You rub your eyes and decide to grab your journal to write and doodle, hopefully getting your mind off of it all.

You sat and began to write your feelings out on the page, feeling your demeanor slip. Tears filled your eyes as you wrote “I just want to go home” on the page. You bury your head in your arms, being as quiet as you could so you didn’t wake the four sleeping boys who were mere feet away from you. You fell asleep at the table, tears drying to your cheeks.

You suddenly felt a hand touch your shoulder and you jumped, quickly slamming your notebook closed. You looked around, seeing that it was dawn and the sky outside the window was a light purple, graduating down to a warm tangerine orange as the sun began to make its presence known. You felt your back ache and you yawn, looking up to see who had woken you. You look up and see a very sleepy Brian, eyes droopy and hair a wild mess. The longer you all were on tour, the longer his hair got and the more curly it seemed to get as well. You thought that maybe it was where he hid all of his creativity.

“Y/n, what are you doing over here?” He asked, yawning. You look up to him and wipe your swollen eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, thought maybe I would try to work on a few songs but I guess I fell asleep.” You let out a soft giggle. Brian smiled to you, noting your red rimmed eyes. Even now, half asleep and startled did he think you were beautiful as ever. “Why are you up so early?” You ask. “Road got bumpy and Roger was snoring too loud.” He shrugged and yawned himself. He sat down across from you at the table. “Excited for tonight?” He asked. You had forgotten that you were all still touring and playing your music for a moment. Your heart jolted at the idea of playing on stage, reminding you why you had begun all of this in the first place.

“Yeah, as always.” You answer honestly, but your voice sounded not so enthusiastic.

Brian bit his lip, hoping you were just tired. “You okay, love?” He asked. He could sense your uneasiness and hoped to pry an answer from you. He hated seeing you so melancholy. Lately, it seemed that’s all you ever were when you thought he wasn’t looking.

You meet his eyes and then you look back out of the window. “I’m fine, Bri. Sleeping on this bloody bus is going to be the death of me though.” You say, rolling your eyes. You didn’t want Brian to get worried about you for anything. Brian quirked an eyebrow and played with his white painted nails, seeing right through your lie. He didn’t want to pick an argument though. Not this early. “I know what you mean.” He let out a hollow sigh. “It’ll be over soon. I hope you’re having fun with us though. I know I’m really happy to have you along. We couldn’t have done this without you.” Brian admitted. “Sorry we haven’t been able to talk, just us.”

“We’re talking now, Bri. Besides, I’d much rather talk to you alone at my flat or at that book shop you like. Some place other than here. Right now, we’re ‘Working’. It’s hard to get a minute to yourself even.” You look to your note book, secretly wishing you were alone with Brian back at home, and not on a crowded, semi-over heated tour bus full of stinky boys and the occasional groupie or two.

You shake your head. “You’d all be fine without me here.” You chuckle and roll your eyes,

“Not true.” Brian shot you a glare and you stick your tongue out at him, before laughing quietly.

“SHUT UP YOU WANKS!” You hear Roger shout from under the blankets he was currently pulling over his head.

You snort a little, looking over your shoulder, watching John stir a little, his face contorted from Roger’s yelling. Freddie was still dead asleep, leg sticking out in the middle of the aisle. You watch as Brian gets up and stretches his arms above his head. “Since we have down time, I’m going to read that book you gave me. You know, you can always talk to me…about anything. Right?” Brian’s face was solemn but his eyes were kind and inviting. You almost wanted to break down and cry right then and there, but you smiled greatly instead. “I know, you dork.” Your cheeks find the peachy color of a blush and you look away, butterflies churning in your stomach from Brian’s friendly kindness. He ruffled your already messy hair as he stiffly walked back to where he had been sleeping. You look to your journal and feel the longing feeling pull at your chest.

For a moment, you look to where Brian was laying, watching him as he lazily turned the pages of a book you gave him right before you had left on tour. A warm sense of home came over you as you watched Brian and yet again, you felt sad. You wished it could be just you and Brian in that bed, talking nonsense for hours like you had at home.

Domestic, you thought and scoffed. Besides, you knew Brian only liked you as a friend and band mate. And he had a girlfriend, you only had to assume. How could he not? You shuffled back to your little bed area and laid down, pulling the blanket up to your nose and you watched the sunrise as the dull movements of the bus rocked you back to sleep.

The show that night was fantastic. Everyone was dazzling as always. You had even found a few peanuts in your hair from Deaky throwing them at you and Brian from across the stage. While the boys hung around back stage, talking to groupies and fans, you sighed and quickly got your own things packed up, feeling rather drained and exhausted.

You were in the middle of brushing out your hair inside your shared dressing room, when a knock came from the door. You turn and saw Roger with a girl in short blue jeans and a bikini top hanging around him. “Y/N, love. We’re heading out. Get your jacket on, let’s go.” He said, closing the door before you could even tell him no. You wished you could rub your eyes, but now that you were all covered in stage makeup, you couldn’t. You tossed your hair back, plastering a fake smile on your face and decided to go with them.

In the smoke filled room of some club Freddie had gathered everyone at, you sat, jacket still wrapped around your frame. God, how you wanted to be at home sleeping. You sat in a booth with all of your bandmates, watching as they all had their drinks and slowly got more and more drunk, laughing and smiling with each other. You sat quietly, nursing a beer.

You played with the rim of the bottle, resting your head back and closing your eyes, feeling your lip quiver.

“Fuck this.” You whisper and suddenly get up, feeling a tug to your hand. You shot a nasty look to whomever was touching you, before your gaze softened. Brian looked to you, confused and worried.

“Sorry, I thought you were some random person… I’m getting something stronger. Want anything?” You lie, wishing to shake him off so he would have fun.

“What? No, I’m good. Are you alright? Is something wrong?” He asked, getting ready to stand.

“Yeah, I’m great Bri!” You smile a little too hard. He noticed and began standing even more. You pushed his shoulder down, causing his tipsy self to sit back down. He furrowed his brow at you, but you ignored the look. “I’ll be right back! Promise!” You smiled to him, squeezing his hand before you let it go and walked towards the bar.

After you knew he wasn’t watching you, you made a b-line for the back door. You walked out into the alley way behind the bar, smelling foul garbage and vomit and maybe a splash of gasoline. You pull your jacket tight around you, thankful no one else was out there. Once the door fully closed, all you heard was the pulsing beat of whatever music was playing inside mixed with the sweet atmospheric silence of a chilly night.

Your hand shook as you dug around in your pocket, finding a box of cigarettes and your lighter, pulling the white fiend from the box and holding it with your teeth as you flicked the flame and inhaled until it was lit. You took a few puffs before you lost your composure, feeling your walls crumble to the ground as tears and absolute dread came from within.

You try to stay as quiet as possible, leaning back against the wall, hand covering your eyes as you cry and hit your cigarette. Suddenly the door you were standing next to opened and you jumped, almost dropping your cigarette. Brian had followed you to the back-alley and now here he was, watching you sob.

“Y/n?” He asked, rushing to your side. You knew you couldn’t lie now. “Oh, love. What happened? Did someone hurt you? Are you okay?” He asked, checking you over for any injuries or cuts before pulling you into his chest, hugging you tightly. You cried for what seemed like ages, unable to find the words in your throat.

“I’m just a little tired.” You say softly, voice breaking a little. You take a long drawn of your cigarette and extinguished it on the side of the building, before you out int back in your pocket.

“Y/N, I know you better than that.” Brian said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” He asked again, voice gentle. The silence of the world around you was enough to suffocate you.

“I’m just… I-I wanna go home. I want to go back home.” You began, feeling your breathing grow heavy as more tears flowed from your eyes. “I’m done with the tour… I can’t do this anymore, Brian I have to go home.” You say against the fabric of his shirt, face pressed to his chest. You felt bad for getting it wet with your tears.

“The tour will be over before you know it, and then we’ll be at home. I know how you’re feeling.” Brian tried to comfort you, his skilled fingers rubbing your back gently as you slowed your breathing.

“I sound so selfish.” You laugh a little. “This is our dream. My dream. Why do I hate it so much?” You hiss.

Brian let out a sigh, feeling sorry for you, wishing he could take away all that was troubling you. Minutes passed before you settled to a point where you couldn’t cry anymore but you still felt so lonesome and homesick.

“Think of it like this.” He began, standing you straight in front of him. His thumbs gently rubbed the tears and makeup running down your cheeks. “You are home. With me and Fred and Rog… Deaky. We’re doing what we normally do, right? Play music, goof around, talk nonsense. Just all in new places.” Brian smiled a little, causing you to do the same.

“I do like the change of scenery, sure. I just… I don’t know why I feel so anxious.” You shake your head.

Brian’s eyes look over your face again and again trying to take away all the hurt. “As long as you’re with me, you’re home, alright? You’ll always have one thing from home, no matter where you go and that’s me. I’ll always be here for you, sweetheart.”

You felt a rush of relief, not noticing how much Brian had actually cared for you. I could be anywhere in the world, millions of miles away from my flat, but as long as I’m with you, I feel at home, Y/N. You’re a great comfort to me and your company is truly the best I’ve had.” Brian began to blush and your hands shook. Maybe you were dreaming.

“Truth is… I fancy you, quite a lot actually. But you’re also my best friend. I wouldn’t want to be so forward as to say I love you, but Y/N, I love you. When I’m with you, I’m home.” Brian says, gaining all the courage of a lion, perhaps.

You felt your cheeks burn and your eyes tear up again. “Oh… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean… I’m sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean to upset you even more. A complete idiot I am.” Brian began to panic, seeing your tears again.

You chuckle, wiping the underneath of your eyes. “No Bri, shush.” You pull him into a hug again. You could feel his hesitation, so you grabbed his arms and wrapped them around your waist for him. You held him so tightly, closing your eyes. “I love you too, Brian May. So so much.” You say, fingers gripping his shirt. You sniffle and smile up to him.

“Oh god… You don’t have to say it because you feel bad or-“ He began before you tugged on his shirt collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed into yours. For years you had wondered what it would be like to kiss him, but never had you thought it would be as amazing as it was.

Even the Big Bang was small compared to the feeling of kissing Brian. You pull away after a few moments, cheeks burning bright. Your hand found Brian’s cheek, holding his face for a moment. “Thank you.” You whispered and hugged him greatly again. You felt him laugh under your head as he rested his face on the top of your hair.

“I’m always here for you, my love.” He said sweetly and held you tightly as the night fell down around you, feeling more at home than you had all tour long.

#brian may #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #gwilym!brian #queen imagines #roger taylor imagine #john deacon imagine #freddie mercury imagine #x reader #request #response #borap #bohemian rhapsody #brian may fluff #brian may one shot #brian may drabble #i love brian may

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thevideonastiest · 4 years

Text

The Most Beautiful Creature - Part 1

Based on an idea by @thatnerdgirl7, and she deserves very much a lot of the credit, especially for giving such a good idea and for the big ol’ line! ❤️

To summarise, Rat’s recovering from an injury and Chloe the bun-bun is looking after him . . . not on account of the injury, just in general. But being serious, things get a lil surprising and tension occurs, read on to find out!

And thank you again @thatnerdgirl7 for the idea and inspiration, part 2 should hopefully be soon!

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Rat arched his back up off the floor and hissed in pain. As he soon recovered, emitting a long grumble of annoyance, he began to settle back down onto the blankets below him. While the roguish rodent had started to become a bit more comfortable with having the bite on his side tended to; no longer flinching or hissing angrily while his friend would clean the wound, it still hurt like hell at the touch.

As for the little rabbit, kneeling at the rat’s side and applying to it a fresh piece of gauze, Chloe was just glad he did trust her to take care of his injuries in the first place. It was a nasty bite he got, fighting with the neighbour-farmer’s top hunting beagle. Of all the bloody animals to brawl with. Though Rat had insisted as she first had hurriedly tended to him, that he was simply retaliating in order to save Chloe from a bloodthirsty beagle. It was suspicious however, she thought, that she had never heard nor saw the pup start an attack in the first place. After these last few months of visits back and forth with Rat, she did really grow to like her new fiery-tempered friend, but it was often very 50/50 concerning whether he was telling the truth or a lie.

Still, it wasn’t really the time to prod at all. While his wound was healing fairly well since the incident, Rat still looked to be feeling the effects of it. The fur showing where he wasn’t clothed was wet with sweat, and he could barely put the energy in to move around very much, especially where his wounded side might end up feeling the pain. To Chloe, the early days where she was afraid of Rat and of his slimy nature seemed so far away. Right now, all she wanted to do was take care of and comfort him. Though, she also knew too well by this point, that Rat would find the ideas in her head very condescending and absolutely hate it . . Maybe.

However though, it didn’t seem right now like he’d be in the spirit at all for any fighting or arguing. Ever since the incident, he was noticeably a lot more lax and a hell of a lot more sleepy. The empty cider jars in close proximity to the spot where he currently rested, looked to be a probable culprit of his tired spells; his alcoholism now being mixed together with his body working overtime to recover. As absent-minded as she could be, it certainly wasn’t hard for Chloe to notice this too.

“I know it’s habit, but,” she fumbled, trying to get her opinion out, just as she would wrap the bandage over Rat’s wound; as gently as she could, “But . . . I think the drinking a lot, with the . . . the injuries you have, might be making you more tired.”

Rat just continued to lay back and rest his head, although moving his eyes up to stare at Chloe. He took her words in, but he could feel his brain stop to a halt as he instinctively refused to process anything said that would talk badly of his greatest love and biggest habit. “I’ve had a lot worse happen to me.” He confidently responded as he had a big stretch of his long body, able to relax as Chloe finished taping up the bandage. “And I ain’t dead yet.”

Chloe could only shrug, she knew Rat was very stubborn and wanted to end the subject as quickly as he could. If he wouldn’t budge, then for now as long as he was feeling better still, it was best to leave it. She put the remaining spool of bandages and the medical tape back in her bag, before turning back to Rat; thinking of how to continue the overall conversation without nagging him. “Still,” she started hesitantly, “If you start to feel worse, we’ll sort something out.”

Rat hummed in response, a note of annoyance and amusement both equally present. “I’ll be upright in no time at all.” Rat stated to her, with utmost confidence. Which wasn’t without reason; he meant it when he had spoke of some near misses, really there were too many to count. Still, while Rat figured she’d quiet up on the subject pretty soon anyway, he still decided to distract her from her fretting. He turned his head and smirked up towards Chloe, ready to apply some flattery. “‘Specially when considerin’ how I got such a fine lil’ nurse like you.”, he continued on.

Chloe again shrugged, but far more sheepishly this time. She never felt very comfortable with compliments, even the just-slightly-less flirty ones Rat dished out. “Ahhhh, it’s nothing.” She smiled shyly down at her lap as she continued to kneel beside him. Looking back to Rat, she continued on. “Just . . . make sure you look after yourself, love.”

Rat chuckled to himself, she must have been half his own age, and yet she acted near enough like a mother to him. “Well, I’m afraid that’s now your job, cher.” He responded as he had another stretch, before cheekily raising his brow up at Chloe.

The little rabbit was ready to give Rat a playful tap on the shoulder in response to his quip, but even that she worried would somehow end up bringing him more pain. However, she couldn’t stop herself from sticking her tongue out at him and laughing at his comeback.

As Rat continued to look up at the giggling bunny, he suddenly started to feel so light all over. The delirium from his drowsiness was more than certainly enhancing some more-than-a-little-bit repressed feelings right then and there, for sure. But the rough rodent just felt himself becoming so euphoric as he looked up at his little friend, and took in how playful she was with him. It was only a short giggle, but that face of mirth she had was making his heart thump right out of his chest, all the same.

A creature of impulse, Rat suddenly found himself reaching his bony hand up, and cupping Chloe’s round face. The rabbit’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden touch, and her stomach was buzzing as he began to gently stroke her cheek with his thumb.

“Y’know, you are, without a doubt” he paused as he tried to keep his half-lidded eyes open, his dopey smile still prevalent as he continued to gaze up at the girl he had grown to secretly adore, “The most beautiful creature in my world.”

Chloe’s eyes were as wide as ever, her cheeks crimson red, and her heart right up in her throat as she took in Rat’s sudden sweet praise. She didn’t know how to react, she wasn’t sure what would come next. But that sweetly dopey smile and those droopy eyes should have been a giveaway, as Rat then immediately let go of her face, and fell into a sleeping spell, head turned sideways on his pillow, snoring loudly.

The shock of the tender gesture wearing off, Chloe looked down to investigate the sleeping beauty in front of her, just to make sure he was alright still. His heart was beating steady, his chest was moving up and down, his eyes were tightly shut; those were sure enough signs that the poor guy was just catching up on some much needed sleep, and so Chloe felt comfortable taking her leave and heading back to her burrow home. At least, after she had kneeled down once more to give Rat a gentle stroke of his sleepy head.

#fantastic mr fox #self insert #fic #rat #willem dafoe

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ouroboros-panacea · 5 years

Text

Stone [石头]-Enigma-[3/?]

Summary: [JJBA x HNK] "Phosphophyllite, my name is Phosphophyllite." Such is your useless life, no matter how many changes you make, how strong you become. Your life will still simply be a tragedy, and you, forever useless. The tale of a gem who suffered because of change, and an ancient being who wanted to change. An odd friendship it'd be. Rebirth seems more like a curse than anything. It would be nice if this didn't end with tragedy. {Disclaimer- I don't own hnk or jjba}

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Smashing onto hidden pebbles and rocks, Phosphophyllite broke apart into both large and small parts, arms and legs fragmenting into twos and threes. Her crystalline body was fractured, shards of herself scattering across the grassy forest floor. Facing down on the ground, her face split apart, her eyeballs clinking against the remains of her face. Yet part of her segmented left arm stayed in Kars' strong grip, his fingers still curled tightly around her wrist.

"Hm?"

Kars, hearing the sound of and feeling a tugging sensation through the singular arm he held, turned around to look at her. His violet eyes widening at the unusual-abnormal-sight of a shattered gem-like body. Hands instinctively twitched at the surprise, the strength of the young pillar man making visible indents in her wrist-Little pieces dropping down and littering the earth with her "flesh". He had expected her to have fallen earlier, due to how much effort it took her to keep up with him. Yet he didn't expect to see the masses of mint green gems spread around-each of them resembling a part of human limb like a morbid jigsaw puzzle.

Was she dead? Kars thought so for a moment, until something else came to disprove that thought.

In a desperate attempt to glue back her body, golden alloy leaked out of her body once more. Almost like blood, pouring out in copious amounts, it flowed down from invisible spaces to form a shapeless puddle. Then thin tendrils rose from it. From there, it started to blindly claw the ground for the other body parts.

Kars silently stared, face now holding an expression of interest. The rest of the environment around him ignored in favor of recording even more information about this..."newcomer". It was now a deeply ingrained fact in his mind that Phosphophyllite was neither part of humanity or his race. This only cemented his desire to know everything possible about her.

The more he got to know about her, the more he found himself becoming even more curious about her.

Which was expected, seeing as she was like a breath of fresh air-a ray of false sunlight suddenly shining down onto his dull, mundane existence. A challenge he would most definitely solve, no matter how long it took him. It gave him that welcomed feeling of having to go through an actual struggle to get to the 'prize'.

Kars then held up the piece of her arm in his large hand to study. It was split off from the rest of Phosphophyllite with a clean break. Her hand had the normal five fingers, nails a basic mint green (Strange that her nails weren't the "normal" transparent pink peach)-Overall plain and exactly like the hands of his kind and the humans. Nothing notable other than the small detail concerning the color of her nails.

Turning it upside down to look at the insides of her limb, Kars saw exactly what he expected-after the initial shock of seeing her scattered body parts-a crystalline interior, glinting in the moonlight and faintly reflecting a green tinted kaleidoscopic version of his deep violet eyes.

'It's a beautiful colour.' Kars thought with the sort of admiration one has for natural beauty. 'Like clear sea water.'

But a small thought nagged at the back of his mind as he turned his head to look back at the ongoing search for green gemstones.

'Why is she not dead? But assuming death for her was breaking apart, I believe she would have died much longer ago. With how brittle her body is and how clumsy she is from what I've seen, that's a given fact. Could it be that she doesn't die from that?'

That would mean the closest to death she would get was if she was entirely turned to dust without any chance of being pieced back together.

If Phosphophyllite was entirely made up of mineral on the inside and did not "die" if broken, then did that mean that they were technically immortal? Seeing as there was no organic material inside her to rot up until the day she died-much like the short lived humans he saw that usually passed by within a blink of an eye.

If there was no decomposition, no aging, then-?

Was she immortal then? Unable to die no matter what, unless her body was unable to be put back together?

How...interesting, yet, unnerving. To know that there were people out there whose's ability to stay as a part of the living were far greater than his kind, who suffered from such a simple thing.

The sun.

He'd have to study this (her) more.

The puzzle that Phosphophyllite gave him was, suffice to say, complex. But definitely intriguing.

Perhaps, through her, he could find a way to combat the weakness to the sun that his species possessed. Then he'd finally, finally be able to feel that warmth on his skin, the pure light that was so, so very different and new and absolutely wonderful.

His head spun with the possibilities, eager to build upon those ideas and fantasies like a dog with a bone. (His body ever so slightly jerked, as if remembering the severe harm sunlight could do to him-admonishing him for even thinking of going under the sun.)

He stopped that train of thought as it threatened to spiral further down. It would do him no good if he went ahead of himself because of his emotions without a plan (Like his Father said he always did).

'Breathe, in and out. Calm yourself. Remember what Mother and Father always said. Don't just focus on possibilities, if you want to make it happen, you must plan to do so first.'

A thin string of metal coiled around his wrist-interrupting him-and on reflex (and out of surprise) he yanked his hand away. The metal snapped from the burst of energy, pathetically flopping around on the floor like a blinded man, searching for a larger pool of alloy to be a part of. Kars' impassive face was broken in that instant, violet eyes narrowing, teeth sharply clicking together as his mouth closed with a "clack".

Why was this... anomaly giving him such trouble? He was supposed to be in control of himself.

Kars wasn't sure about the answer to that question-It wasn't like one of those questions where he'd simply have to look up to know. It was... different. (He didn't like that).

He glared even more at the alloy, tiny waves of annoyance washing over him. Kars wanted to do something to it to make it pay for interrupting him. But he squashed down those feelings-How could he let such small things annoy him so?

Kars looked back the slowly working puzzle, he wondered if it would be better to carry all of her pieces back home, or would it benefit him more if he'd help her. On one hand, he'd get back quicker, yet if he did help her, there was a chance of her trusting him more, and making it easier for him to "observe" her with less repercussions.

After all, people let their guards down more if they were around someone they trusted.

Kars started to move towards the body, all the while his eyes scanned the forest floor for the shining gem pieces, picking them up as he went closer and closer. Soon his arms were full of the roughly cut jewels when he finally approached Phosphophyllite's still body. He slowly knelt onto the plants, looking down carefully as to not crush the fragile things-his arms tight around the mass of mint green mineral. When Kars settled down, he gently placed down his load-Kars didn't need to waste even more time by breaking her in even smaller pieces, he wasn't sure how long this night would last. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck under the sunlight.

Kars took a piece from the pile and offered it to metal tendrils, who quickly snatched it away from him and went back to work. When they ran out of pieces to put, they turned to Kars for more. Soon they ended up just taking parts from the pile itself.

This cycle went on for a bit until larger parts of Phosphophyllite were fixed and Kars himself could start doing something instead of kneeling until his legs went numb.

"Thanks for fixing me back together." Phosphophyllite said, droopy eyes staring up at Kars. His own narrow eyes looked back at her in a silent of gesture of acknowledgment.

Well.

'Obviously he wouldn't respond.' A familiar voice echoed in her head again. 'He's kind of a stoic and serious type, don't you think?' It gained a rather teasing tone as it said this, making Phos unconsciously frown.

"I guess..." Phos mumbled as she watched him repair her body.

Kars heard that sentence, but chose not to comment.

It was a peaceful, yet awkward silence that enveloped the atmosphere around the two. That was promptly broken by Kars' curt words of "I'm finished." and his body rising up from it's previous kneeling position.

"A-ah, really? Um, thanks again for helping me."

It took a brief period of hesitation, but Kars answered back with a polite "You're welcome."

Phos smiled brightly at him in answer.

Inwardly, Kars imagined her to be like a flower and somehow...

His lips lifted into a small smile as well.

"You're smiling!" Phosphophyllite cried out in childish surprise, snapping up into a seated position as she pointed at the normally stoic boy.

At this, Kars' smile instantly returned to his original impassive expression.

"Damn it."

It was a while after they started their journey back to Kars' home (This time at a much more leisurely pace) that they had their first, real conversation together. It was nothing much, merely small chit-chat to help pass the time and to alleviate the slightly tense silence that hung in the air.

After all, they were still knew next to nothing about each other.

"So...how are you feeling?" Phos asked, her shiny green eyes gazing up in curiosity at the taller boy as they continued walking (To who knows where).

He glanced back down at her and answered in return with, "Why do you ask?"

"Well I was just curious, plus you don't seem like the type to say anything unless I start the conversation or something." She replied.

Kars blinked and said, "You don't need to concern yourself with such things."

"Well, maybe I don't need to, but I want to. Besides, you don't seem all that bad yourself. I mean, you helped fix me, right? That means you're a nice person!" Phosphophyllite cheerfully stated, her hands clasped behind her back and head slightly tilted as she smiled at Kars.

"It was better than waiting for you fix yourself and wasting away time that could've been used for better reasons. Like our little walk." Kars flatly responded back at her.

Phos cried out in mock hurt, "Ouch!" She slapped one of her hands on the left side of her chest, fingers lightly touching the black fabric.

"Your feelings have been noted." Kars wryly smiled, his tone dry like an arid desert. It would be a lie to say that he did not find some sort of amusement from Phos' rather expressive actions.

"Hmph," Phos crossed her arms in indignation. "On second thought, you're just a meanie!"

Kars raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Am I now?"

"Yup."

Without any of them knowing it, their friendly banter slowly melted the previous tension in the air, and somehow, Kars managed to let lose (even if only slightly) with someone-A near stranger, nonetheless.

It was strange how easy it felt being with Phosphophyllite.

It was when they'd moved on to commenting about the scenery around them that Kars realized they were nearing their (his) intended location.

"It's literally just green" stated Phos, gesturing at the varying shades of said colour that the forest came in as they moved. Even though it all looked the same to her anyways.

"It's not 'just' green, every plant or tree here has their own unique shade." Kars shot back, frowning.

"Whatever you say~" Phos airily replied, eyes lidded whilst waving her left hand at him.

As they passed by a large, large tree, Kars noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A faint symbol, spiraling and curved like air, twirled around like a silent indicator.

It was at this moment, when all of a sudden Kars turned to Phos and with arms outstretched, swept her off her feet into his muscular arms.

Phos cried out in surprise, "Wha-? W-woah!" Her arms flailed around and her eyes widened in shock.

"Don't ask."

Phosphophyllite silently nodded at Kars, her mind rolling around in confusion.

'What is he doing?!' One voice yelled out.

'Wait and see.' Said another.

'...ah-'

Kars bent his knees slightly, getting ready to run.

In his mind, he counted, 'One, two, three', and started running through the forest, keeping an eye out for more symbols on the trees.

Closer and closer they went towards the rabbit hole.

In front of them was a large cave, tall and imposing. If one were to look closely though, the rocks were decorated with detailed carvings of nature and such, becoming a large masterpiece in itself. But if one were to only look in front, all they would see was never-ending darkness greedily sucking in the moonlight that strayed into the dark.

Phos did the former. Kars did neither.

But at last, the both of them had finally reached their (Kars') intended destination, the entrance to the underground civilization of the Pillar race.

Kars slowed down to walking pace whilst still clutching onto Phosphophyllite, and in he went into the entrance, down into the winding maze that led to home.

His home.

-Chapter three end-

#houseki no kuni #kars #part 2 #battle tendancy #wammu #esidisi #santana #phos #phosphophyllite #hnk #hnk phos #crossover #fanfiction #jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #fanfic

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make-it-mavis · 5 years

Text

A Million Dreams (1998)

A NEW YEARS’ FLUFF FIC -- MAV/TURBO IN SUGAR RUSH ERA. 2718 words, rated E for Everyone thanks to @nerdygalaxy-p for suggesting “sentimental, sweet and fluffy new years” shitgoblins content (although i chose to write it)!

Summary: Turbo and Mavis (King Candy and Pyrite) ring in the new year for the first time since they “took up residence” in Sugar Rush. Read in Google Docs here!

The first hours of 1998 crashed onto Sugar Rush with all their might. It was the first New Years’ Eve that the game had seen since it was plugged in, and it was certainly not going to be forgotten any time soon. All the stops had been pulled out for the merriment that hit when the clock struck midnight. Food, games, music, dancing, fireworks -- oh, so many fireworks. They simply could not have had any less, not for the magnificent new beginnings waking in the year to come. Most beginnings of which the Sugar Rush racers and citizens were completely blind to, but all the same, they celebrated with almost enough jubilee to cover them all.

Almost.

But how could they ever be expected to fill such a quota? Could one night alone truly hold a celebration worthy of the things to come?

After all, 1998 would be Sugar Rush’s first year under its new, far more qualified management. It would be the first of what was sure to be the best years any racing game had seen for over a decade, and it was all thanks to him. He had finally taken his hard-earned place on the sugary throne, and he would lead the kingdom into greatness. This time, it really was his to hold, defend, and command. This time, it would not go down the tubes. It was more than just a trophy, and certainly more than mere refuge.

It was his home. At long last, he had a home again.

Most would argue it was a step up, disregarding any sentimental value that his original game held in his heart. A kingdom stretching for miles in each direction was better than the tiny, boxy map he started life with. And a castle with a labyrinth of chambers, corridors, and dungeons was undeniably a step up from his tiny trailer. It was big enough, even, to drive around inside it, which was all for the better, because the trek from the castle doors to the royal chambers would become tedious to walk again and again, especially after a night of vigorous partying.

So, nearly four hours past midnight, his muscles aching from all his silly jumping and bouncing, and his throat raw from all his laughing and shouting, “King Candy” drove through the castle halls with reckless speed and uncanny precision. Even in his growing exhaustion, the speed stirred a tickled thrill in his stomach, and he could not keep from cackling out loud at the distressed gasps and grunts of his right-hand-man (or ball in this case) desperately holding onto the crown of his seat behind him.

When the royal chamber doors came up on their left, King Candy slammed on the breaks. There was a hard thump against the back of his seat, and a miserable groan. He shamelessly chuckled.

“Sour Bill,” he commanded firmly, exaggerating his natural lisp as far as it would go, “get off my car and open the doors, if you please.”

The little green ball, with his strange jelly bean limbs, grunted in agreement and dropped to the floor. It took a whole-body effort for him to push the doors open individually, because they were entirely too tall to be necessary for any creature in the entire game. Once the way was cleared, King Candy cruised inside, parked at the foot of his massive canopy bed and hopped out.

“Now, I believe, by now, you ought to know the drill, Sour Bill,” he chuckled at his own rhyme as he strode back to the doors. “A king needs his beauty rest -- not that I need much help with that, hoo hoo -- and a well-rested king is a happy king. So I am going to lock these doors, and you are to ensure everyone knows that I am not to be disturbed. Yes?”

Sour Bill looked as if the words turned to mush the second they reached him. Eyes downcast, he grunted, “Mmm-hmm.”

“Hey,” the king snapped his fingers. “Listen with your eyes, mister. Turn those emerald greens up here n’ try that again.”

With a short sigh, Sour Bill lifted his droopy gaze.

“Without the attitude,” King Candy said sharply.

“Apologies, your majesty,” Sour Bill droned.

“That’s quite alright, just don’t let it happen again. Now, let’s review -- I am not…?”

“To be disturbed,” Sour Bill finished promptly.

“Under any…”

“Circumstances.”

“Except…”

“A glitch emergency.”

“And even then…”

“Knock first.”

King Candy chuckled in approval and pat Sour Bill’s rock-solid head. “Now, that’s a good ball. Goodnight, Sour Bill. And a happy new year!”

“Happy new year,” he replied morosely, “your highness.”

Once the doors were closed, and after he listened to make sure Sour Bill’s footsteps really disappeared down the hall, the king locked the doors and leaned his back against them with a sigh. At last, it was time to unwind, and his bedroom scarcely looked more inviting. The game’s inhabitants had been lucky enough that the rare phenomenon of a Sugar Rush nighttime fell on New Year’s Eve, so the room was lit only by cool, sleepy moonlight pouring in from the stained balcony windows. It was all too tempting to just cross right to his needlessly large bed and curl up in a nest of silky blankets, but in truth, his night was not entirely done. He had to wait up just a while longer.

That little while dragged on longer than he would have liked. He wandered around the room, straightened trinkets on the dressers and paintings on the walls, opened up the hood of his car and marveled at the candy machinery for the hundredth time. He was lying on his bed staring at the canopy and trying not to slip out of consciousness when he finally heard her voice begin to sing from the balcony.

“Ev’ry night I lie in bed,

The brightest colors fill my head

A million dreams are keepin’ me awake…”

He knew that song. It was one of the oldest ones she ever wrote, and hearing it again sent such warm nostalgia washing over him that he could not even be annoyed at the long wait. The fact that she was finally there was suddenly all that mattered.

Swiftly, he strode to the door and cracked it open. There she was, lying on her back across the balcony rail, fully disguised, yet unmistakable. On the outside, she was Pyrite, the whimsical and admired ring master, with her rainbow ringlets, swirly eyes, top hat, and swallow-tailed coat that was most certainly just a rip off of his own. Even her brush had been modified, looking more like a staff or a slick, silky broom, lying on the floor next to her. But that twang in her voice that she was no longer hiding, the way she held her guitar like a loved one, and the arrogant way she let one leg dangle over the edge as if telling gravity itself to shove it, were all a dead giveaway. That was the girl he spent nearly his entire life alongside.

Without a glance his way, but a growing smile, she continued her song.

“I think of what the world could be

A vision of the one I see

A million dreams is all it’s gonna take

A million dreams for the world we’re gonna make…”

Fondness swelled in his chest. She had to have chosen that song specifically, and the thought of it brought to him a sort of contentment that he had never quite experienced until he entered Sugar Rush. The feeling that they had really, truly, made it.

He breathed a short chuckle, and spoke the last line to her. “The world we’re gonna make.”

Finally, she turned those mismatched eyes his way and lit a spark of that signature naughty grin. “Hey, Sugar,” she said lowly.

“Hey, Cherry Bomb,” he replied, falling into his natural, deeper voice that undoubtedly looked weird coming out of King Candy’s mouth.

Pyrite swung her legs around to solid ground, and King Candy crossed to the ledge to stand with her. They leaned against the rail, surveying the kingdom below, all the frosted peaks of truffle mountains and lollipop forests glinting in the moonlight. It was beautiful in the most unexpected way. Partially because of the way it looked, but mostly because it was his.

Well, it was theirs.

He glanced over at her. She gazed down at the world below with admiration in her eyes, a depth of which he rarely saw her give anything. She was absolutely in love with this new world, that much was certain. But something about her silence felt a bit uneasy.

“...’98, huh?” he prompted her casually.

“Ninety-freakin’-eight,” she chuckled in that accent he had not heard in so long. “What a night. What’s your verdict? Did I ring it in right?”

He scoffed. “You?”

“Yeah, me,” she grinned. “I planned the party, the fireworks, the decor, the food--” “But I planned the games, and the prizes, and led the entire event,” he interjected.

“Come on, T, you might be king a’ the world, but I’m still the queen a’ fun.”

“Only ‘cause I let you have fun in my world,” he nudged her.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she slapped the rail in light protest. “Let’s cut the playful circling short, huh? What’s your verdict on our team effort?”

He looked back out at the forests and roads, off to the soft glow of distant merriments still dying down. As exhausted as he was, there was only one answer. “It wasn’t nearly enough.”

Pyrite was not offended. She merely hummed in agreement next to him. “Yeah. But I don’t think we could have done enough.”

He watched her again. Her face was still happy, even lit with a glow of awe. But when she spoke again, her voice, while soft and sincere, was weighed down with anxiety.

“I’ve loved this place since the day I set foot in it,” she confessed. “But tonight… Ringing in the new year together, I just… I’ve never felt this way about any place I’ve been in my life. Tonight, for the first time in my life, I… think I’m ready to call this place home.”

He was glad to hear it. He had beat her to that one, but he knew it was a much bigger deal for her. Once upon a time, he had a game he considered home. She never really did.

“It is your home, now,” he agreed. “This is where you ought to be.”

Pyrite tried to smile at him, but her face fell troubled again a second after.

King Candy waited, but when she did not continue, he prompted, “What’s the deal?”

“I just…” she shook her head. “I expected it to feel better than it does. It’s a lot to handle. I love this place enough now that I couldn’t stand to lose it. Even more so than before. I don’t like feeling that way. It freaks me out.”

He tapped his finger thoughtfully. “We were never going to lose it in the first place. We swore to that already.”

“I know, but…” she looked at him, her eyes painfully vulnerable. “Swear to me again. Say we won’t lose this one. Please.”

His smile pulled into his cheek and he placed a steady hand on her wrist. “I swear we won’t lose this one. By the Devs, by Litwak, by the very Eight Bits, I can promise you that. Nothing’s gonna take this game from me, now. And I know nothing’s gonna take it from you.”

The anxiety in her eyes dissolved into affection, and she gave a single chuckle. “And let’s swear right now… 1998’s gonna be the start of the best years of our lives.”

“The start of the rest of our lives,” he corrected with a grin.

In silent, but whole agreement, she held out her pinky finger. “Swear on it?”

Scoffing at their age-old dorky tradition, he hooked his pinky over hers. “Swear.”

He had to resist the impulse to kiss her. Kissing Pyrite was strange, and she was never shy about how gross it was kissing King Candy.

There was real warmth in her smile for a moment, but that look of mischief made a sudden reappearance. She glanced out at the kingdom, then to her brush lying at her feet. Releasing his finger, she said, “Okay, okay, now watch this--” and took up her brush in her hands.

With a single slash across the air, she sent a crackling red firework hurtling into the sky, where it exploded into glimmering crimson embers. It was pretty, but it was nothing he had not seen from her before.

He looked at her quizzically. “I don’t get it.”

“Wait,” she held her hand out.

After a moment passed, he began to hear distant, muffled whistles, and with a great chorus of cracks and booms, the night lit up with fireworks scattered across the world below. The rainbow of lights shimmered off the shapes of hills and trees otherwise hidden in the dark. Just when he expected them to stop, the brilliant explosions kept on coming. It took him a shameful amount of time to realize the significance of the sight. He had seen her fireworks hundreds of times. But this time, she was not the one lighting them off.

When he looked at her again, she was grinning with a wicked sort of pride. She did something.

“What…?” he squinted.

“I taught the kids to use fireworks,” she shrugged with a smile.

“You taught the kids,” he echoed slowly, “to use fireworks.”

She just nodded.

At that, he could not help but break into laughter. That was so quintessentially her, it just filled him with so much affection that he could barely stand it. “And you had them on standby?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, “I told ‘em we had to give the king a proper goodnight to thank him for the awesome party.”

That just tore it.

Disguises be damned, he pulled her into a hug hard enough to squeeze a squeak out of her and gave a swift spin. Apparently, hugs were still okay, because she squeezed back just as hard, laughing all the while. He wheezed against her shoulder, “You’re just somethin’ else.”

Before too long, he pulled back enough to look at her. He was just about ready to go inside and finally slip out of their disguises, but the song she sang was stuck in his head, and it stirred up a pressing question.

“Hey,” he raised a brow.

She scoffed. “What?”

“How many a’ those million dreams does this place check off, huh?”

Pyrite looked caught off-guard, but to his surprise, she looked out at the night still sparkling with her lights, and pondered. Then she looked at him again, with a peculiar shine in her eye. Before he could respond, she pulled him away from the ledge. Her body crackled with red binary as she willingly glitched away her disguise, revealing that beautiful blue-eyed devil he fell in love with. Make-it Mavis.

Her hands raised to his face, and she sent a jolt of glitching through him to tear his royal disguise away. Finally, it was time to be Turbo again for a while.

“One,” she answered, smiling coyly.

He scoffed. “One?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, brushing her gloved thumbs over his cheekbones. “Just the one.”

With a firm tug, she pulled him into a real kiss, the sort that they had gone far too long without. The whole night’s joy swelled up in Turbo’s chest and he crushed her to him, lifting her toes from the floor just the slightest bit.

“Happy new year, loser,” she said once her lips were free.

“Hey,” he flashed a grin, tugging her along back into the royal chambers, locking the doors and pushing her back against them. “Night ain’t over yet.”

The fireworks outside still pounded jubilantly as they held onto each other. They were both exhausted, but could not bear to sleep and waste the time they had to be themselves, to be alone. If ‘98 was truly going to be the start of the rest of their lives, they had to keep doing everything they could to begin somewhere good.

‘Together’ was the best place they knew.

#wreck it ralph #turbo #make it mavis #king candy #sugar rush #oc #gayyyyyyyyyy #fanfiction

38 notes · View notes

taesbetch · 6 years

Text

02|Murderous;

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst Murder!AU

Summary: People can be deceiving; People lie every day. When murder is the new talk of the town and everyone seems like a suspect; the truth seems to slip further and further away every second. Everyones on edge, as they should be. Wrong things happen when you trust the wrong people.

Word Count: 7.1k +

Previous | Next

Your ear was pressed to the door of your dad's bedroom as he spoke to his colleagues about what happened yesterday. There was a cold cover that hugged the door tightly, but your ear could handle it as the information you were receiving was worth it.

"His throat was cut so precisely, we're definitely dealing with someone who knows what they're doing" you heard him say.

Someone with experience? Like a doctor or a biology major maybe?

"Do you think it's the same killer?" He asked the other person, his voice low and concerned.

You listened to him hum in agreement before he sighed deeply.

"Alright, I'll call you later" you heard him say before you heard the clicking of the call ending. Hearing another sigh escape his lips you awaited patiently for what he would do next.

A couple shuffles and a few squeaks sent your body racing with adrenaline. He was moving. You quickly ran back into your room and as you flung yourself into your rollie chair you flicked your books open to make it look like you were studying.

"Hey kiddo, I'm heading down to the station real quick ok?" He stated as he leaned against the door frame, His eyes were droopy and the purple bags under his eyes were evident. This case was probably killing him and the police force, the town is slowly gaining interest and the negative coverage wouldn't reflect well on the police force.

It was night time so you were close to insisting that he leave it and get some rest, but you knew he wouldn’t agree to any of that.

"Y/N" he said as his eyes narrowed in your direction.

"Mm"

"Be careful, okay, I don't think that taehyung kid did it either...but just be cautious?" he said causing you to nod along before he stared at you for a moment and turned back around to leave

As he left the house you sighed deeply, resting your arms behind your head you sat back and had a little recap of previous events.

So, the first victim was daehyun...the killer would have had to be someone she knew.

And with this second killing, it would have to be someone who knew what they were doing.

So lower high school students are out, maybe just graduated and older... that still leaves a bunch of suspect groups you would have to search through.

You decided your brain needed some fresh air, stepping outside you noticed how dead the street was, it was only 10pm but the people who lived around you were mostly elderly, so you would expect nothing less.

As you zipped up your hoodie you weren't really paying attention to the cold that was nipping at your nose, More the eerie vibe that coated the neighbourhood.

You could literally hear yourself breathing and the small noises of crickets. It hadn’t concerned you before but after remembering there was a murderer on the loose your heart beat started to speed up.

Before you could decide to turn around the sound of screams of horror and sirens captured your attention. Your body was almost frozen in place as your brain thought about what to do.

Turn around Y/N...go home....

AH fuck it.

running towards the sudden sounds of distress, you of course knew it was a free pass to get killed but the thought that you could help someone overcame the fear of it.

Your heart pounded loudly as you cut through an alley way to enter a short cut. The cold that had once nipped at your skin was now abusing it.

The back entrance was narrow and dark, but you could see well enough to know where you were going. You could hear your footsteps hitting the ground hard as you run.

As you heart pounded against your chest you took a brief break, so you could catch your breath. However, you could still hear the sound of running footsteps.... you weren’t alone.

You freaked out for a moment as you realised the sound of footsteps was coming towards the front of you. The person was running away from the commotion.

You were about to turn around but hearing how close they were you knew it was too late. You pressed your back against the wall waiting for the person to run around the corner.

Hearing the way your heart beat sped up you tried to cover your mouth to control your heavy breathing. Your eyes flew to ground and flickered up and down constantly, wondering if the first thing you would see would be their foot or their arm.

As you saw a foot enter from behind the wall you closed your eyes and threw a hard punch in the direction of the stranger.

"Y/N!" The stranger yelled as he caught the flying fist.

Opening your eye’s, you saw Jeon Jungkook.

His eyes were wide his breathing was staggered and all colour had been drained from his face. As your first swivelled in his hands you realised they were wet.

As your eyes scanned down his body you realised he was covered in blood.

You pulled your fist back quickly as you stepped back from the boy.

"W-what happened?" You asked softly as you fully took in his state. He was a shaking mess, he kept looking behind him and big blots of purple were forming on his face.

"You need to help me, please" he begged as he pushed you backward lightly his head turning around constantly in fear that if he waited a second longer whoever he was running from would get him.

He shuffled his feet getting ready to run again as he looked at you for approval.

You hesitated but eventually nodded your head as you realised now was not the time to think things through, you had to leave right this second. He grabbed your arm before sprinting back the way you came.

"what happened?!" You asked as the both of you were full on sprinting down the street. The stinging of your feet was pushed aside as the fear of possible death kept them going.

As the two of you approached your house you chucked him the keys and you both ran inside.

"You have 5 minutes to explain what the fuck is happening because I’m freaking out" you said as you tried to catch your breath.

You flicked on the light and locked the door as Jungkook paced back and forth.

"My whole family....M-my whole family...he killed them all" he stated his eyes grew wider and his hands shook vigorously.

"What?! Jungkook why did you run! You realise you can be cast as a suspect now!" You told the freaked boy as you started freaking out more and more as time passed.

"I was the one who called the police! I had to run because he found me hiding in the closet! I only had enough time to get him off me and run!" He yelled at you as tears were making their way down his face.

Staring at the panicked boy you took a deep breath as you raked your brain for a solution.

"Okay, that's okay, I’m calling my dad" you said as you brought out your phone, frantically searching through your contacts list for your dad’s number.

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

"Explain what happened" your dad said as the three of you were sitting in the lounge; you and Jungkook were sitting on the couch and your dad was in front of you on the table.

"I had just come back from Yugeoms house, the door was open which was weird for that time of the night...when....when I opened the door I had found my two sisters on the floor...the-they were dead...I heard screaming from upstairs so that's when i hid in the closet and started calling the police but he found me...i swear...it was like looking in the eyes of the devil...we got in a physical fight, he was taller and stronger than me... i had crashed something over his head and it worked enough for me to get him off me and run" he explained as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"We're going to need you to evaluate the crime scene to see if anything is out of place, we're going to need to call yugyeom and confirm your alibi, the door shows signs of forced entry so were also just going to need a list of people that may have hated your folks " your dad said emotionless as he scribbled in his notebook.

"Dad" you said softly as you watched Jungkook stare at the floor in shock.

We personally knew Jungkook. The boy has been home schooled all his life, so he would walk around the neighbourhood looking for friends.

"I’m sorry son, i was in cop mode" you dad sighed as he put his notepad to the side.

"You don't have to go back if you don't want to" he added as he patted Jungkook’s shoulder.

"I'll go...but...what’s going to happen to me?" Jungkook asked as he looked upwards to meet his gaze with your dads.

"You can stay with Y/N and I for now alright?" Your dad asked as Jungkook continued to shake.

"Thank you" he whispered as you placed your hand over his.

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

As we walked towards Jungkook’s house the number of cops in the area was insane.

You could feel the aurora of the house radiating through the streets.

Jungkook clutched you hand tightly, the blood was still present, but you ignored it as the three of you approached the house.

"Are you sure you want to do this" you whispered to him as you stopped following your dad up the stairs for a second.

"Positive" he nodded before motioning for you to keep moving as you were in front of him.

The feeling of vomit climbed your throat, as soon as you enter the house you saw his older sisters.

The first one was face down on the ground, multiple stab wounds were dug into her back, her blood was splattered all over the walls in the same manner in was splattered all over Jungkook.

Some of her hair had been pulled out, it lay beside her body, half dipped in the pool of blood oozing out of her.

The second sister was ten times worse. Her left arm had been removed from its socket, the only thing connecting it was a string of skin.

Shivers spilled down your spine as you saw the gaping hole in the middle of her head.

"This requires crazy force...the murderer must have been extremely angry" your dad noted quietly.

"Do you see anything?" I asked him as he tried not to cry again.

He looked around the room getting ready to shake his head, but something had caught his eye.

"It's gone" he whispered

"What’s gone?" You asked as your dad tuned into your conversation.

"My sisters boyfrie- well not even really a boyfriend more like a constant stalker, he bought her a painting that mum liked so she hung it up...but it’s gone" he explained as he stared at the space on the wall.

"Your sister was 18, right?" Your dad asked as he ferociously wrote things down.

Before you could ask why Jungkook pointed outside. "Why is he here".

You looked outside to see a man in his early 20s staring into the house.

His hood was zipped up and placed over his head. His hands found their way into his pocket before eventually, he walked away, his tall and lanky figure causing you to squint in suspicion.

"Who was that?" Your dad asked quietly before Jungkook turned back around.

"The boyfriend i was talking about"

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

For the rest of the night, you tossed and turned around in your bed trying to think of why the whole family was killed.

The boyfriend would make sense.

Either he was annoying the girl too much, she told him to go away and he killed her and her family out of vengeance.

Maybe the family didn't approve of the relationship, so he killed all them out of vengeance.

Could have been she was in love with someone else he didn't like that, and the rest of the family just happened to be there.

You sighed before staring at your ceiling, maybe it was the same guy who killed daehyun, at least you'd finally have a suspect to get the town of taehyung’s back...

But no... the way of killing was too different. Daehyuns was clean, planned precisely...this one seems like a passionate killing, the murderer truly had something against his victims.

The boy in the music rooms was similar to Daehyuns…no idea what the motive was but still…

Jungkook didn't want to see his parents, understandable so...especially seeing how the killer killed his sisters...

There was a quiet knock on your door before Jungkook poked his head through the door.

"Hey, can I come in?" He asked sheepishly.

"Sure" you said as you shimmed over, giving him room to lie down.

"I’m sorry, I tried going to your dad's room, but he snores" he said as he wrapped the cover around himself.

You let out a chuckle as you nodded your head.

You had been friends with Jungkook for approximately 12 years, you weren't close friends, but you knew him well enough.

"I still don’t know what’s going to happen to me...i usually go to my sister for stuff like this...she always knew what to do" he whispered

"Don't think about it, we'll figure something out" you said as your eyes drifted shut.

Thank god it's a Saturday tomorrow... --------------------- "I didn't know you were allowed boys in your bed"

You groaned as your body told you to go back to sleep, but the talking voices kept your brain active.

You turned around to see Taehyung and Hana staring into your soul as a sleepy Jungkook started waking up.

"Hush ok, it's a long story" you said as you sat up in your bed, stretching your arms.

"Yer well ya know what else is long" Hana said as she wiped out her destroyer.

(A/n:.....yall are nasty)

"This fucking essay, so wake up and let's get going" she said before storming out of your room.

Taehyung eyed Jungkook suspiciously before walking out to join Hana downstairs.

"Your friends?" Jungkook asked as you got out of bed, his hair tossed and eyes droopy.

"Is that what they're called?" You asked as you slipped on a jumper.

"I'm going back to bed" he said smashing his face into your pillow. You laughed before heading out, closing the door behind you.

As you strolled downstairs you watched as the two of them were whispering intensely on the couch.

"What the fuck are you guys doing" you said as you joined them on the couch.

"Were figuring out how to connect Daehyuns murder on this new murder suspect" Hana stated as she turned on the T.V

"The murder of the Jeon family has a prime suspect known as Kim Namjoon, the man had been stalking the youngest female in the family; sending her threatening texts and explicit images. The man was known to be in contact with various teens and is a suspected drug dealer. There are no further updates"

Damn this town moves quick.

"He was in contact with various teens...one of which could be daehyun?" Hana suggested. You nodded along with them, it was a good plan...there was just one problem.

"As far as we know, as far as anyone knows daehyun was an extremely clean-cut girl. She only did things with people that she trusted and even that was a stretch...but if they had been in contact for a while..." you trailed off as the both of them nodded along.

"If we just had her phone, ya know to figure out what kind of conversations she was having with people. This would be so much easier" Taehyung said.

"...i think we can get it..." you said as a really bad idea popped into your mind. As you pondered the idea more youwatched as taehyung and hana watched you attentively, hoping to get the answer out of you.

"Don’t ask...Hana, ask her friend for some more information. Taehyung I’m going to need your help" you stated as you scooted closer.

Before you could reveal your plan, you heard the door of your bedroom open and close.As Jungkook trotted downstairs Hana flipped open her books and Taehyung place a pencil in his mouth as if he was thinking.

"Hey guys" Jungkook said scratching the back of his head nervously.

You knew Jungkook was shy around people he didn't know; the boy was home schooled after all.

"Hey Jungkook! This is Hana and taehyung" you said introducing the as the three of you made space between you and Hana.

"Hi...sorry for your loss" Hana said hesitantly as he sat down.

He nodded his head unsure of what to say. A silence set itself over the four of you.

You leaned back and locked eyes with taehyung on the other end of the couch, motioning for him to turn the TV on. He quickly understood your hints and turned it on. Of course, we forgot that we had previously been watching the news channel.

"The suspect for the Jeon murdering has gone on the run-"

Taehyung quickly changed the channel, but the awkward tension was hard to avoid. You bite you lip as the cringe was hard to ignore.

"I... think I’m just going to go back to bed" Jungkook said slowly as he rose from the couch.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach. Fuck…the poor kid.

"I'll come up with some food later" you said softly but he just shook his head and dragged himself back upstairs.

The three of you gave each other guilty glances before returning your attention to the T. V -------------------------------- It had been a good 2 hours and Hana had left. She said she was invited to a frat party and was going to use the invite to find out some more information.

"Hey, can you show me some of your brother's shoes, you said they might fit?" Taehyung asked randomly.

You nodded your head before the two of you skipped upstairs.

As you made your way up the last couple of steps you stopped in your tracks as you heard a rustling of paper coming from you dad’s office.

You and taehyung connected confused gazes before the two of you slowly approached the office. As you quietly pushed open the door you were met with Jungkook’s back, his hands were deep inside your dad's case cabinet.

"Aye" Taehyung said in a low voice.

The boy jumped in a fright before turning around to face us.

There was a brief moment of silence as he tried to find the words to say. The both of you glaring down on him with questionable looks.

"I... I’m sorry...it's just, the news said he had run away and I know there are other cases on him...so I just thought I could find something" he said sadly as he played with his hands.

Your hardened expression softened as you nodded your head in understanding.

Taehyungs eyes narrowed before he spoke. "Don't you think you should leave that to the police".

Like we can talk.

Jungkook nodded before he cleared his throat nervously. "I think I’ll just go for a walk" he said as he moved past the pair of you.

Before you could follow behind Jungkook taehyung stopped you; you looked at him confused but you knew he would explain once the boy left.

"I'll see you tonight!" you shouted downstairs to Jungkook.

"okay! I'll bring you some food!" he shouted back, you heard the door close and looked towards taehyung.

"I don't like him" he stated suddenly "something about him...ugh it just seems like he's faking it" taehyung stated as you leaned against the door frame.

"well, of course, he's faking it. his whole family just got murdered, he probably doesn't want to be breaking down crying every 2 seconds" you explained as you rolled your eyes.

"no Y/N, I mean...I don’t know what I mean, there's just something off with that kid and i don’t like him" he hesitated.

"taehyung, I've known him for 12 years, he's a little off putting at times yes I’ll admit and i know he genuinely has some type of mental illness but i also know he's on medication" you stated.

"illness?" taehyung asked intrigued.

"yer when he was 10ish he was diagnosed with a mental illness...I can't remember which one, but I know he's on medication and its fine" you shrugged.

taehyung was quiet for a moment before nodding his head "alright, fair enough, if you don't think anything’s wrong..." he trailed off before sighing.

"anyway, stop focusing on him and focus on yourself. Lisa’s having a mini party at her house tonight and I think you should go, even if it’s just for an hour" you stated as he started to whine at the mention of Lisa.

"she's so happy, so happy! like all the time, Y/N don't make me do it" he pleaded as he took your hand into his.

"to bad, you're going. And try and initiate some physical contact, like a hug or something" you said as you thought more about how to up taehyung’s image as a genuinely good person.

"her parents might be there! even better" you said as you nodded your head at the prime opportunity in front of you.

Taehyung groaned and continued to beg but you both knew it would be good for him, especially compared to a runaway suspect.

There had been two more murders in the time frame of 3 days. The town had shifted its accusations off of taehyung and towards Namjoon; the runaway suspect.

Jungkook was packing his stuff up and getting ready to move in with his grandma, he was a little reluctant at first, but it was this or his aunt in Mexico and he hated her.

You were currently in the library trying to study for your upcoming Physics test, but it was a little hard with Lisa hardcore trying to stick her tongue down taehyung’s mouth.

"Hey" lucifer said as he seated himself beside you.

"Hey, do you think you could help me, I don’t understand...like...anything" you said as you slid him your book.

"This is why i told you to do biology, its way easier," he said as he shook his head.

"Look ok, not everyone is a science wiz like you, you do all three! Biology, physics and chemistry!" You whined which caught taehyung attention.

He turned his body fully in your direction, blocking Lisa out of the conversation.

"What’s she complaining about this time?" He asked causing Lucifer to chuckle.

"Go back to your girlfriend" you sneered causing him to smirk smugly.

"Why, you jealous?" He asked.

"I’m your girlfriend?"

There was a pause of silence before all three of you turned to the hopeful girl.

"No" you all said in unison. ------------------------------ You knew the town would rejoice at the fact they think they know who the killer of all these people are, but you know you have two different killers on your hand.

As you reorganized your locker your head went back into thinking mode.

The killings that have happened recently have all been older woman during school time.

And the killings before were high school students after school time.

The killings as of recent would be understandable if it were Namjoon...but still, there's pieces missing and pieces that seem like they are being forced to fit.

"Hey, you're gonna wanna see this..." Hana said quietly as she dragged me away.

Yesterday you had given Hana Daehyuns phone; she’s really good with all that tech shit that no one really understands.

"What, what’s up?" I asked worriedly as she dragged me into a classroom and locked the door.

"Look, at the messages between Jimin and daehyun" she said as she scrolled through their chat.

'Am i meeting you tonight?'

'What time do i meet you there?'

'Remember not to tell anyone about this okay?'

You stood there shocked as you scrolled through the messages sent from Jimin. You didn't even know the two of them knew each other well enough to actually talk let alone have secret meetings.

"But...it doesn’t make any sense, when was it sent?" you asked as you tried to connect the dots between Jimin and the killing of daehyun.

Hana paused for a second before taking a short breath "twenty minutes before the apparent murder time" she said.

"Go back, let me see who else she’s talking too" you said as you scooted closer to your friend, it didn’t make sense to you why Jimin would kill her but then again you only just found out they even spoke to each other.

"There was one person that confused me. They were nicknamed as God of destruction like that could be anyone, these were sent the day of the killing" Hana said in frustration as she showed me their messages.

'I think I’m in love with you'

'Stop meeting that Jimin boy, I’ve been watching you'

'You can’t hide from me'

"Could this be the runaway suspect?" Hana asked as you scrolled some more.

"It’s possible, really possible actually" you said as Hana tucked the phone back in her pocket.

"Where is Jimin now that I think about it?" You questioned as you remembered him rushing off in a hurry.

"I don't know...he hasn't been here for a while" Hana stated as the two of you exchanged looks.

"Find him okay, I’ll find out more about Namjoon from Jungkook" you stated as you watched more students fill the hallway.

You nodded before going your separate ways.

As you rushed down the school stairs to go home, you tried your best to avoid the talkative students who you knew would try and talk to you.

"Hey Y/N wait up!"

Fuck. You knew that voice all too well.

As you stopped in your tracks, you turned to face up the stairs you had just ran down to see angel skipping down to you.

"Ah, Angel...what’s up?" You said trying to be as nice as possible.

"I just haven't seen you around lately! I was just wondering if there was something going on?...like a secret club that i wasn't invited to" she asked quietly as she looked around.

...what.

"Sorry what?" You asked in utter confusion as she twirled her hair.

"All of you keep going missing! First Lucifer stops hanging out with me and goes who knows where, then Hoseok keeps ditching me for that home-schooled kid, now you’re going missing. Plus, just yesterday I saw that sin of a human being Jimin sneaking around the abandoned factory yesterda-" she said but something caught your ears.

"Sorry what? What was Jimin doing?" You asked curiously as she continued curling her hair.

"Oh, yesterday i saw him walking around suspiciously so i decided to follow him. Not the first time this has happened but anyway-" she started but you interrupted her.

"Not the first time? When else has this happened?" You asked intensely.

"Like...three weeks ago maybe? I’m not sure" she stated as she scratched her head.

"Where a bout’s was this?" You asked her with the same intensity.

"You know the abandoned factory next to the primary school...odd place for a school but yer he was there...why? Is there actually a secret club?! Can I join!? Of course, it would have to be after my volunteering at the chur-"

"Yep! There’s a meeting on Monday at subway! Be there or be square!" You chirped loudly before rushing away from her.

Three weeks ago,...that’s around the time daehyun was killed...and so were those text messages.

But why would he have killed her? What was their relationship?

You knew Jimin would have been able to overpower her, he maybe be shorter than others but his previous fights at school confirm his strength.

As you ran home different theories and thoughts flowed through your mind.

Firstly, you know for a fact the killings that have been happening lately are different from the first one.

They're messier, more passionate. The first killer was clean, every move was almost planned...

You still had no idea why the boy in the lower grade was killed but you figured it would come to light if Daehyuns was figured out.

Secondly, Kim Namjoon, otherwise known as the runaway suspect was in possible contact with daehyun. Again, this wasn’t confirmed, who knew how many stalkers you had in this town.

Thirdly, Jungkook’s whole family had been murdered by this guy, would he come back to finish the job?

And lastly, you would not be meeting angel at subway on Monday.

As you ran through your door, you ignored the fact that Lisa was straddling taehyung’s lap on your couch and ran straight up stairs to Jungkook.

all his shit from his house had been transferred to yours and with the amount of shit he had, you knew he'd still be packing.

"Hey Y/N" he smiled as he taped his final box.

Sweat covered his forehead as the light glistened over it, giving him a sparkly overcoat over his entire body.

"Hey, are you done packing?" You asked as you tried to catch your breath.

He nodded before standing up and making his way over to you.

"Have you been running?" He asked as a cheeky smile graced his face.

"Er yer, anyway...are you sure you’re alright going to your grandmas? Like...I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind you staying a bit longer and, its...probably safer...over here" you tried to say subtly.

However, your attempt failed as Jungkook quickly picked up what you were trying to say.

"Don’t worry about it, he'd be stupid to come back" Jungkook stated as wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his palm.

"Mmm okay, only if you're sure..." you said hesitantly.

He chuckled before abruptly stopping when his eyes connected with something behind you.

As you turned around taehyung let out a grunt before extending his hand out to Jungkook.

Both you and Jungkook looked at taehyung in confusion before he spoke.

"Good luck" he said quietly as his eyes were glued to jungkooks face.

Jungkook smiled brightly before shaking hands with him.

"Why is lisa here?" "Dont worry about it"

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

As you and taehyung helped Jungkook pack his boxes into the removal van you felt a strange vibe... almost as if someone was watching you.

You looked around slowly; the green bushes in the neighbour’s yard started to rustle but you brushed it off thinking it was the wind.

"Tell your dad i said thank you" Jungkook smiled before pulling you into a hug.

"I will...but i just have one question before you go" you asked slowly as you both pulled away.

He nodded his head signalling you to ask it.

"Do you know if Kim Namjoon had a nickname in your sister's phone? Or one you maybe just heard before?" You asked curiously.

Jungkook furrowed his brow as he thought hard about it.

"I think...i mean I’ve only seen it pop up a couple of times so I’m not sure...but I think it was like destruction something" he said as he scratched his head in deep thought.

You heart skipped a beat before you corrected his mistake.

"Do you mean...God of destruction?" You asked slowly.

"Yer that’s it!" He said as his face lit up with recognition.

You paused for a moment before continuing your goodbye.

"I hope everything goes good for you" you said sweetly as you watched the boy breathe in happily.

"You too Y/N" he nodded before getting in the van, ready to drive off.

You sighed before walking back into the house.

"Is he gone?" Taehyung asked as he raided your fridge for food.

"Yer...why was lisa here earlier? And what were you doing?" You asked as you stood behind him, his back turned to you as he picked up various items from the fridge.

"Theres no need to be jealous" he smirked as he turned to face you.

Rolled your eyes as you rested against the counter behind you.

"Why would i be jealous?" You scoffed as you folded your arms; His smirk grew as he walked closer to you.

"Awww, you know your my one and only" he teased before tapping your nose.

"Lisa asked if she could come and do her homework with me, and like hell I’d take her back to my place. I don't know how she ended up on my lap, but honestly i didn't mind" he said before sending a wink your way.

You fake vomited as his arms came around you, trapping you against the counter.

"Mmm wait until she finds out what a phony you are" you said as you poked his stomach.

"Oh well, at least I’m getting information out of her" he shrugged as his eyes bored into yours.

"Like?"

"That guy, the runaway suspect. Was really into teenage girls, he gives them fake IDs and stuff like sexual favours" he stated as he removed his arms from the counter.

"He also was very attracted to how you say....the innocent ones" taehyung said hoping you would catch on.

"Daehyun" you stated as he nodded in confirmation.

Before you could ask him any questions your phone started ringing.

"Its Jimin, he’s being all suspicious, meet me at the cafe near my dad's work. Hurry" Hana said as she breathed harshly.

"We gotta go" you said quickly Hana hung up the phone.

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

As the two of you of you ran towards the small coffee shop you watched as the sun started to set and people started to clear out from the streets.

"Where is he?" You huffed as Hana’s eyes were glued in one direction. The hospital

"Why is he in the hospital?" Taehyung asked in confusion as the three of you stared down the hospital doors.

As you questioned it too, a figure dressed fully in black snuck out holding a beige file holder in their hand.

"That’s him!!" Hana whisper-shouted as you watched him walk at an incredible sped down the street.

"Quick follow him!" You said as the three of you split up, trying to find subtle ways to follow him.

You followed Jimin for seemed like a solid hour until you reached the destination; The abandoned factory.

"Do we go in?" Hana asked quietly as you watched him sneak inside, his body was tensed and every moved he made seemed to have a purpose.

"I think we should" taehyung stated as he looked around for any other followers, aka angel.

The three of you quietly snuck into the abandoned building, you headed in first than taehyung, then Hana.

It was incredibly dark but a gleaming light snuck its way around a corner, so you guessed that’s where Jimin was.

You slowly approached the light as soft murmurs could be heard.

As you peeked your head behind the wall, you saw Jimin standing in front of what seemed like boards of evidence and theories. In shock, you slowly walked towards him, your mouth was hung open as you examined then.

Suspects such as Namjoon and Daehyuns best friend were placed on the board, even taehyung was there.

"Jimin" Hana called firmly yet shock still evident in her voice.

Jimin quickly turned around, his eyes scanned all of our faces before he slowly removed his hoodie from his head.

"What are you guys doing here?" He asked in discomfort as his eyes wandered the floor, his amrs went up to hide the boards but after realising it was no use he gave up.

"It’s hella complicated, but it has something with that" taehyung said as he pointed to the stuff behind Jimin.

Jimin looked behind him before turning towards the group again. "You guys are trying to figure out the murders too?" He asked as he eyed you.

"Well at first it was to clear Taes name...but now I think it’s more than that" you said scratching your head.

"We actually...thought you could be a possible suspect...we saw the text messages the night daehyun asked...what happened?" Hana asked as Jimin stuck his hands in his pockets.

Jimin sighed before dipping his head down to the ground. "She was actually my best friend..." he whispered.

"Being gay isn't an easy thing, especially when your parents are hardcore Christians and bitches like angel are running around" he started.

"Daehyun was my excuse, i would tell my parents i was going studying with daehyun, or I’m going to hang out with her but...id be doing other things if you get what i mean" he explained.

You nodded you head as dots started connecting.

"Why did you run out of class so quickly that one time?" Hana asked softly.

"I remember daehyun telling me about this guy she was meeting, he was older than her and richer than her...but she would never tell me who. She had told me when and where they were meeting so i was hoping to catch him...ya know maybe he was the murderer" He answered quickly.

"Namjoon? Was she going to meet Namjoon?" You asked as interest peeked.

"No, she told me about Namjoon, she would say his name, but this one..." he said before pointing towards a picture with a question mark on it.

"She never said his name" he said in frustration.

Hana grunted before running her hands through her hair.

"Looks like daehyun wasn’t as innocent as everyone thought...does this our suspect range rises?" She asks nervously.

You nodded as your eyes stayed connected with the question marked photo.

I guess Jimin’s not the killer...

Before you left you took down Jimin’s number and set a time for you all to meet up so you could discuss everything you had found and re-group.

----- it had been a long fucking day it was around midnight and as you dragged your body up your driveway you regretted a lot of life decisions…It was cold, and you were exhausted; thank god your dad was out, otherwise, you would have had a lecture about the dangers of the night.

As you yawned you heard heavy footsteps behind you...

Your heart skipped a beat as you approached your front door, you were so close. You quickly whipped out your keys for protection, but your stranger saw it coming.

In an instant, his large hand wrapped around your mouth as he pulled your body into his with his other hand.

You wiggled and tried to shake him off you as he breathed harshly into your ear and tried to grab your keys off of you.

It was hard to breath as his hand pressed hard against your mouth and was large enough to block your nostrils.The man managed to rip the keys from your hand; with a harsh bang, you were slammed against your door before he managed to unlock it.

As he pushed you inside you managed to remove the hand he held against your mouth by shaking your head unexpectedly but he was too occupied by closing the door to care.

You pushed away from him harshly as you fell to the floor. The main goal was to provide oxygen for your lungs; as you slowly crawled away from the direction of your intruder he flicked the lights on. Your face was still facing the opposite direction and your willpower was failing.

"Stop!"

An arm reached around your crawling body as two feet were set beside you.

You screamed out as he flipped you around to face him.

"I’m not going to hurt you!"

You gasped as you now faced Kim Namjoon.

A small tear dropped down the side of your face as you stared up at him in shock.

He had kneeled, so his body was trapping your body, so you wouldn't move.

"Are you going to kill me?" You whispered as your breath started shaking, not knowing which one was going to be your last.

"No-i...i didn’t kill anyone" he said as frustrated groan filled your ears.

You looked at him in confusion before he rose off of you sitting on the floor next to you.

"W-what do you mean?" You asked quietly as he looked down at his hands.

"I admit...I’ve done some shitty things, but...I’ve never killed anyone" he stated as you slowly sat up and crosses your legs.

"What about daehyun...we saw those texts" you stated firmly as he shook his head.

"I was in love with daehyun, I only wanted to scare her- i....I would never" he started as tears welled up in his eyes.

"I don't know if I believe you...the Jeon house showed signs of forced entry..." you said slowly as you tried to read his face.

"I swear it wasn't me! Yes, I fought with their family and maybe I was obsessed with their daughter...but I swear, it wasn't me" he pleaded as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Why did you run?" You asked curiously.

He laughed as he shook his head "Y/N, I’m a drug dealer who has had sexual relations with minors in return for fake IDs and alcohol" he said as he looked at you like you had asked a dumb question...which you had.

"Yer well now, you're on trial for murder...but they haven't found any evidence yet" you said more to yourself.

"Because I wasn't there, and I didn't do it!" He exclaimed.

"Go back to the crime scene, you're smarter than you think you are...you can figure it out i know you can" he said in a serious tone.

You stared up at the ceiling before sighing deeply. Maybe...he's onto something...

"I don't trust you"

"You don't need to"

"Stay away from Jungkook, the last thing he needs is knowing that someone else may have killed his family" you said sadly. He's finally on the track to recovery...

"Don't worry...that kid scares me" he said as he shivered.

"Scares you?" You asked in confusion.

"Yer...don't worry about it. Just find the real killer"

you didn’t know why but you felt like more people were about to die but the murder of the Jeon family. The silence of your first murder sent chills down your spine but for some reason, this new murder freaked you out even more. the feeling of time running out was not a good one. You had to find this killer…you had to find him now.

186 notes · View notes

kaoruyogi · 7 years

Text

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 18)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 18: The Blood of the Wicked

Hauling Samson from the Arbor Wilds to Skyhold was proving more problematic than Cullen had anticipated. The first problem was the limited cadre that would allow them to travel fast enough to get to Skyhold before any of Samson’s information became useless to the Inquisition. Due to their diminutive ranks, the soldiers alternated watch and guard shifts with the members of the inner circle who had not gone into the Temple of Mythal with Max. Not only was it a logistical complication, but Cullen was constantly forced to intervene when Sera decided she was going to kill Samson after he ran his mouth during her guard rotation.

And Samson did run his mouth. That was the second problem. It was all too likely that the man sought to get himself killed by one person or another before reaching Skyhold where his knowledge of Corypheus’s plans would be plucked from his skull by whatever means Max deemed appropriate. Samson pecked and gnawed at everyone around him, and was spat on an punched more than once for his efforts.

He focused particular attention on Cullen. Samson knew Cullen could hear the red lyrium running in his addled and glowing veins. Samson knew it sang to Cullen in tones that were less dulcet and inviting than they were cloying and demanding. Samson knew Cullen had stopped taking any lyrium altogether. Samson knew too much, and it took every ounce of patience Cullen had not to engage him. Samson’s presence exacerbated Cullen’s withdrawal symptoms. This made that every ounce of patience that much harder to muster. Had Cullen been in the earlier phases of his withdrawal, he might have punched Samson, might have killed him for all he had done. Had he been in the earlier phases of his withdrawal, he might have killed Samson just to suck the lyrium from his marrow. It was a notion that plagued him day and night.

Samson’s harassment doubled when he realized Belle was Cullen’s romantic partner. Samson leered and made obscene gestures and catcalled her. Much of the time she seemed too lost in her own mind to notice. She would stare at nothing, unblinking as they rode and as they ate and as they dressed and as they undressed. She would find her way back to Cullen when he touched her, and she would smile as if nothing at all were amiss. She would laugh if someone said something humorous, and she would engage in conversation to add her perspective, often redoubling the laughter in the air. To the casual observer, Belle was relaxed and normal, jovial and unabashed as ever.

Cullen was not a casual observer. He had held Belle under his magnified scrutiny since the day she fell into Thedas. He noted the way her brow furrowed and her jaw canted after she laughed from time to time, pensive as she chewed the tip of her tongue between her back teeth. The frequency of her sighs after she spoke had increased from her standard brief periods of agitation. Her hands had ceased their fidgeting, instead floating about her face to rub her eyes beneath her glasses. She stirred more in the night, her sleep restless and fragmented.

His attentiveness to her subtle shift in behavior drew his eyes away from Samson more than he should have allowed. On their second to last night on the road, Cullen watched Belle smile while Josephine told a story he could not hear next to a campfire he could not feel. It was his time to guard Samson, which drew him away from the pleasant dinner he might otherwise have been enjoying with Belle and the other advisors and members of Max’s inner circle. Samson had to be kept away for the sake of everyone’s sanity, they had all decided.

“You don’t deserve her, you know,” said Samson, leaning in close enough that Cullen could smell the ancient rot in the man’s mouth.

“There are very few things on which I would find myself inclined to agree with you. But, in this case, you are correct. I don’t deserve her.”

“You don’t deserve any of it.”

“Right again.” Cullen was loath to continue his concessions. He was loath to continue this conversation. Every time Samson opened his mouth, Cullen’s nausea grew. The scent of dead teeth and dying organs wafted out on Samson’s breath, mingling with the screeching song of the red lyrium that seemed to grow louder in an attempt to drown out his words.

“I was a better man than you, Rutherford. I am a better man than you.”

“For a time, you were a better man than me, but I did not poison and kill hundreds of Templars and bind them to a darkspawn magister simply because I was disillusioned with the Chantry and addicted to lyrium I could not obtain by other means.”

“No. You burned mages souls from their bodies, instead. You followed the Chantry like a blind, dumb dog. You enjoyed the hateful shit they fed you. You gobbled it down. Even after you claim to have turned your back on the Chantry, you stayed their dog. Helping Hawke stop Meredith and leaving the Order didn’t change a thing. You joined the Chantry’s Inquisition so you could keep mages locked up forever. That you travel with them and that you work for one of them must really twist your guts.” Samson’s voice had an edge and a viscosity to it. Every word he spoke was like a venomous and creeping ooze. The chains around his wrist jangled with his every weak gesture.

Cullen turned to look Samson in his jaundiced red and blue eyes. “I will not continue to argue with you about the quality of our characters. My reasons for joining the Inquisition had nothing to do with locking up mages. I sought to stop a war I helped start. One that threatened to destroy Thedas. You have chosen the wrong side, Raleigh, and you took good men and women down with you. I am proud of my work with the Inquisition, and I am proud to call the Inquisitor—a mage, as you so thoughtfully mentioned—my friend.”

“Hey.” Belle’s voice rang like a soft chime from nearby. Cullen turned to see her approaching with Sera by her side. The campfire behind the women made Belle’s long curls glow around her shadowed face like the sun eclipsed by a moon. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that she wore a strange kind of smirk that pinched the left side of her face together, marking the equal measures of her concern and amusement. “Don’t feed the trolls.”

She came close enough to put her cool hand on the back of Cullen’s neck. Sera stayed a bit further away, squinting at Samson with her arms crossed. Belle’s fingers pressed and massaged Cullen’s tightened muscles, and he felt his fists relax until they were hands once more. “I just wanted to let you know I’m headed to bed. I know you have a couple hours left on douche duty.” Cullen nodded.

“I bet your cunt tastes like cherries,” said Samson. Cullen’s hands became fists again.

Belle’s eyebrows lifted and she shook her head. “And I bet your dick tastes like a dead man’s toe cheese, but some questions will just never be answered.”

Samson let out a dark chuckle. He must have been quite committed to dying before reaching Skyhold. In all the time Cullen had known him, and in everything he’d ever heard about him, Raleigh Samson had never been a lecherous or prurient man. Despite his blatant self-interest when it came to his lyrium addiction, he was not the kind of man to hound women. Before he had been removed from the Order, he had always been respectful toward women, mage and Templar alike. Even as they removed him from the Temple of Mythal, several women lay among the dead and defeated Red Templars around him.

“Anyway,” said Belle, “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in a bit.” She left a brief kiss on Cullen’s forehead before walking away. Cullen watched her hips sway as she went. Her waving curls had grown down to the inward curve of her back, and her longer hair swung the opposite direction of her hips, like a pendulum.

Sera stayed behind, arms still crossed over her chest. She jerked her head toward the campfire. “I need to talk to you, Commander Fuzzy Shoulders.” Samson snorted, and Cullen looked from Sera to Samson and back. He could not leave their prisoner in favor of a private conversation. She sighed. “Right, you listen, Crotch Rot.”

“I’m all ears.” Samson’s sneer was audible.

“No horses near you. Nothing ‘round for a hundred miles. Try anything stupid, we catch you. And you’ll get an arse full of arrows. Just your arse. Won’t kill you, but will hurt. Lots.”

Cullen watched as the sneer melted off Samson’s face like ice in the spring. He said nothing in answer, but it was clear that he understood. Cullen stood to step away with Sera. The two of them both stood with Samson in their periphery. He was a nebulous cloud of red and black and sickly flesh out of the corner of Cullen’s eye. “What is it?”

“You noticed Belle being all…droopy, yeah? She’s laughing and happy, but it doesn’t get in. Doesn’t get to her eyes.”

Sera’s observation left Cullen taken aback. “I have noticed, yes. I had not realized anyone else had.”

“Pfft.” The blonde elf rolled her eyes and her head in unison. “Course I noticed. Dorian too. Josie might, hard to tell. She’s good at playing her cards close. Leliana definitely. If Bull or Varric were here, they’d see.” Sera took a breath to squint at Samson again before continuing. “She won’t say what’s wrong. If I ask, she smiles and pretends right’s right. You’re her Cully-Wully. She’ll tell you what’s got her all floppy when she thinks we’re not looking, yeah?”

“You know as well as I do that Belle cannot be made to do anything. I have two hours left on my guard shift, in any case, and she’ll be asleep by the time I can speak to her.”

“I’m taking over for the rest.” Sera tapped her foot in the tamped down grass beneath their camp. She reached into one of her pouches and withdrew a weathered and perforated sock. “Got a gag for Crotch Rot, so don’t worry about me killing him. More fun to aim for his arse if he does something stupid, anyway. You ever see a grown man with an arrow in his arse? Good for a laugh, that.”

Cullen’s stare was circumspect. He scanned Sera’s body language for signs of deceit or mischief and saw none. Her blue eyes, ever alight with a thousand simultaneous ideas, were at once clever and troubled. She held his gaze for as long as she could stand before rolling her eyes and her head in unison again. “Go on.” She clapped a hand on his arm and shoved him as hard as a person that much smaller could shove a person that much larger. He abided, listening to her soft footsteps and her sunny voice saying, “Open your mouth, Crotch Rot,” as he made his way toward the tent he shared with Belle.

She had her back to him when he entered, her long fingers plucking away at the laces on the back of her pale gray corset. The wings of her shoulder blades jutted out from beneath her dress that was gauzy and blue as the pre-morning sky. Were it not for the red curls draped over her shoulders and the harried manner in which she tugged at her corset, she would have looked to him as the skies over Honnleath while he fed his family’s livestock as a boy. She would have been the nimbus fog and the crisp, wet air that dampened the barley just so, the way the sheep and horses liked it best.

Cullen had not startled her. She peered over her shoulder and around her firestorm of loose curls, and he saw her eyes smile at him. “I should have known I would spend two hours futzing with this corset,” she said as she turned away. “Out of the seven fucking hundred million I have, I had to bring the one—” She held up her index finger, then brought it back down to the tangle over her spine. “—that doesn’t have clasps along the side.”

He tugged his hands free of his gloves, tossing the soft leather onto the table he installed every night in every one of his tents by sheer force of habit. As the cool evening air hit the sweat on his naked palms, he thought of how feckless that small table was with all its ungainliness and parts and pieces. Purposeless so much of the time. A waste of space.

Belle had managed to loosen the knot for the lower half of the corset, and had moved onto the upper knot. She spat out a fricative half syllable that might have been a curse when her finger was ensnared by the mess of cords. Cullen joined the fray, working faster in light of his clear view of the battlefield and its gangly soldiers. “Sera took over the rest of my watch.”

“That’s weird. You’re not worried she’s going to kill Samson?”

“She brought a sock.”

Belle’s responding laugh was like a spring. It had a bouncy quality to it that very nearly made Cullen forget the reason Sera had relieved him. The fabric of Belle’s corset sighed open when he loosened the final knot. “Ahh, thank you. I could feel the bones digging into my ribcage. Riding in a corset sucks a bag of dicks. I should have brought better clothes.”

Cullen doffed his mantle, speaking as he unfastened his pauldrons from his cuirass and his cuirass from his breastplate. “Sera is worried about you.”

Belle still had her back to him. She slid the corset down past her hips, stepping out of it and setting it on the table beside his gloves. Her bare toes flexed in the grass beneath their feet. “Why’s that?”

“I have been worried, too,” said Cullen. Belle slipped out of her breeches, finally turning to help him with his breastplate. Her lips pursed and moved to the left side of her face. “You have not been yourself since we left the Arbor Wilds.”

“Oh? And who have I been?”

“Maker’s breath. Please don’t be glib.”

“Then you don’t be precious. Tell me what you mean.” She took his breastplate from his chest while he held the backplate.

“You have been…pensive.”

“I’m usually pensive.” Belle turned away again. She pulled her dress up over her head, revealing her shimmering scar and a myriad of red indentations from her ribs to her hips. She ran a finger up one of the painful-looking marks and hummed out her displeasure. Her nightdress covered everything in short order. “I think a lot. For example, right now I’m thinking about what you’re trying to ask me. But you’re being oblique and it’s making deciphering your meaning difficult.”

Cullen crossed their tent in one stride. He spun to sit on the bed so he could look her in the eye. “Please don’t be so evasive.”

“I’m not being evasive.”

“You are. You have been distant and silent at the oddest moments. You’re being combative with me, and I’m only trying to figure out how I help you feel better.”

Belle sighed through her nose and leveled her gaze with his. “I’m fine. That’s what’s bothering me. Okay? I fucking killed a guy. A guy was alive and now he’s not, and I have absolutely no qualms with that.” Her voice wound itself tighter and tighter. “I’m just one hundred percent fine with the fact that guy is dead. I’m really fucking struggling with that. Like, does that make me a stone cold killer? Am I just…” She threw her hands up and shook her head. Her eyes went wider and wider. “Like, am I just totally cool with killing whoever now? Am I evil now because I don’t care that that douchecanoe is dead? Am I going to Hell? Is there a Hell here? It’s a lot to process. I get quiet when I’m processing. So, yeah, I’m fine, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.” She became more and more animated right up until her mouth clapped shut. She sat down beside him with a thud. Her head came to rest on his shoulder. “And now I’m getting even more confirmation that I’m a terrible person because I snapped at you for asking me what was wrong.”

Cullen looked down at her. The pin straight part in her hair was all he could see. “You are not a terrible person,” he said. She looked up at him, her neck contorted in a way that must have been uncomfortable. “You’ve given your good nature away simply by asking these questions of yourself.”

“I tried telling myself that. I can’t convince myself to believe me.”

“Can you convince yourself to believe me, then?” He ran his hand from her alabaster part to her alabaster chin. He let his fingers splay over her crooked neck. “I have known every type of person. Some days, I’m certain I have been every type of person. An unscrupulous killer, while she might not concern herself with the fact that she had taken a life, would also not concern herself with the morality of her actions. She would not have to find a way to justify it to herself because she would not give the virtue of her reasons a moment’s thought. The killing would be right to her simply because she had done it.”

“Well, that’s a whole lot of circular reasoning.”

Cullen twisted at his waist, holding Belle’s face in his hands. “Precisely. And you are not a woman who indulges in circular reasoning.” He knew she hated circular reasoning. She’d once ranted about it for fifteen minutes after a meeting with a very self-indulgent Bann.

Belle puffed out a laugh. “Uh uh.”

“We can then surmise—” He kissed her left cheek. “—that because you ask yourself these questions, and do not engage in circular reasoning—” He kissed her right cheek. Her nose scrunched up when she giggled. “—you are not an unscrupulous killer, correct?”

She beamed at him, and the heart she made beat for her warmed in his chest. “Have I ever told you that you’d have made a great attorney?”

“I don’t believe you have.”

“Well, you would’ve. Except the kissing. Can’t go all kissing on your clients and your jurors and shit. That’s fraternization. It’s frowned upon.” Belle’s moon face always looked so small in his hands.

“I suppose I should be happy that you’re not one of my clients or jurors, then?” Cullen kissed her smiling lips. A brief thing, like a punctuation mark.

“I suppose you should.” She dropped her forehead against his chest. “I concede. I’m not an unscrupulous killer. That’s not going to stop me from dwelling on it for another tiny eternity, mind you. But I’m really tired, my spine has turned to gel-oh, and my ribs feel like they’re going to cave in.”

Cullen focused his hearing outside their tent. Several soldiers chuckled and whispered around the nearby fire. Night birds and insects chirped far from the circle of tents and carts. Sera was not murdering Samson inasmuch as she was talking mindlessly at him. Knowing her, she was simply trying to yammer him into submission. Talk him to death.

Gently, Cullen laid Belle down on their cot, taking his place beside her in the manner he determined least likely to jostle her tired body. Her back was flush to his chest, her head resting on her pillow and his bicep. From where he lay, he could just make out her eyes. He watched them blink and roll lazily in every direction before they closed. Her breathing was deep and even the moment her lashes grazed her cheek.

Cullen’s eyes remained open for a time. His mind remained active. His ears remained vigilant. He could not name the moment he fell asleep, though he would later recall drifting off to the sound of Sera mulling over the intricacies of raisin use in cookies.

*****

Cullen may have given the appearance that he was working when the guards brought Samson into his office. He had certainly been attempting to work. Knowing that he was expected to extract information from his former cohort—the man with whom he had once shared a room—made the words on the reports before him impossible to decipher. It was one thing to ask Cullen to capture and transport Samson. It was something else entirely to ask him to rekindle an obliterated relationship under the misbegotten pretense of mutual civility and humanity. Samson had been correct during Max’s judgement. Cullen did not believe there was anything worthy left in the man.

The former Templar and former Red Templar both had their heads down when the door opened. They looked up simultaneously, each catching flashes of contempt in the other’s eyes. This would be no easy task. Samson was unchained, though he was flanked by two rather large Inquisition soldiers. He squared his shoulders before walking through the door. The soldiers saluted and closed it behind him.

“Cullen.”

“Raleigh.” Cullen stood at the curt greeting. The first way he could think to remind Samson of his humanity was to remind him of his given name. He told Max that he was willing to give the Inquisition his knowledge, but from one look at him in this moment, Cullen doubted whether that would happen. “Are your quarters sufficient?”

Samson took another step forward as Cullen rounded his desk. “Better than a jail cell. Not by much.” He shrugged toward the door.

“Surely you can understand why we need to keep you under guard until—”

“Until you’ve got everything you can get out of me.”

“Until we can trust you,” said Cullen. “Once I can report back to the Inquisitor that you and I have built a good rapport, we will decrease the guard.”

“And how do you suppose that’s going to happen, Commander?” Samson stepped forward again. He had learned long ago that proximity an intimidation were among the best weapons at a Templar’s disposal, as had Cullen. Again, Cullen could smell the formidable reek of decay. “We never built much of one, even before I was cast out of the Order.”

Cullen stood firm, unyielding even as Samson loomed before him. The bedraggled man was two or three inches shorter than Cullen, but he continued to wield menace like a blade. He would have been ominous to someone who did not know him so well as Cullen once had. Samson’s prolonged proximity did, however, set Cullen’s head and gut to spinning. It was all he could do not to back away to evade the wailing emanating from Samson’s blood.

The sound of a door opening might have startled them had they not been fighting a silent battle of stony stares. “Hey, Cullen, how many sol—Oh.” On the boundaries of Cullen’s vision, he saw a mass of red hair and ivory skin that could only have been Belle. “I didn’t realize you were…doing this right now. I’ll come back in a bit.”

Samson broke his gaze, turning to look at Belle. “My lady.” There was a slowness to the way he said it. A thickness. A sludge. He pivoted to aim an exaggerated bow at her. “The Commander and I were just getting started.”

Cullen’s eyes flicked to Belle, who stood expressionless just inside the doorframe. The natural downturn of her mouth gave her a sternness that perpetually walked the line between anger and annoyance. She glanced at Cullen before fixing her glare on Samson.

Samson took her silence as invitation to continue. “I was just about to ask the Commander what he already knows about Red Templars. Perhaps I should ask you, my lady. What do you know about Red Templars?”

“Enough.”

“Is that so? I wonder, what constitutes ‘enough?’ For instance, did you know that ordinary lyrium is essentially a poison that Templars build a tolerance to?”

“As so many narcotics are.” Cullen could hear Belle let out a slow sigh through her nose. “I also know that red lyrium is worse, before you feel the urge to ask me about that, too.”

“And did you know that red lyrium attacks the blue stuff? Tries to destroy it in order to replace it?” Belle remained silent. “You didn’t know that, eh? It’s like a sickness destroying another sickness. It burns up the lyrium in your blood. Boils it till it’s gone.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Oh, it’s excruciating. If a Templar gets it on his skin before he has his first philter, it’ll try and burn right through to get at the blue stuff. Would you like a demonstration?”

In an instant, Samson reeled back and spat in Cullen’s face. In an instant, the bridge of Cullen’s nose and the top of his cheek were set aflame. In an instant, Cullen cried out his agony. He moved quickly, using his sleeve to wipe the tainted blood and saliva from his skin.

“Hey!” was bellowed from where Belle stood. Where she no longer stood. She appeared through Cullen’s blurred vision as fire and ice carried toward him on the wind. But she was not coming for him. She grunted as she swung her crooked arm at Samson’s face. The bony blade of her lightly clothed elbow connected with his nose, and it was his turn to cry out in pain as fresh blood poured from within and without. She rocked back, fist poised to strike the bleeding man again.

Cullen snatched her up before she could swing. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he tugged her back. Her feet lifted off the floor. Her whole body lurched and flailed. He worried for a moment that she might escape his grasp.

“I’m gonna fuck you the fuck up! Piece of fucking shit!” Belle’s leg swung out, narrowly missing Samson’s head. She spat at him while Cullen hauled her out of the open door. “Fuck you! Motherfucker!” The adjacent door opened to reveal the two guards just before Cullen shut himself out.

Belle groaned and hollered and thrashed until they reached her doorway. She began to fidget and ramble through her adrenaline surge the moment he set her down. “Fucking asshole. Are you okay? Holy shit. I actually connected. I didn’t think I would. I only ever went to that one Krav Maga class. But I watched a shitload of Muay Thai and Em-Em-Ay. Maybe that’s why. Are you okay?” She was all but vibrating.

Cullen’s anger bubbled deep in his chest. He held her arms to still her. “Why would you do something so reckless?”

“Reckless? I’m fine. It’s okay, he wasn’t going to hurt me.”

“You might have destroyed any chance I have at getting information about Corypheus’s plans. Why would you let him provoke you like that? Why would you hit him?”

“What? I might what?” Belle’s brow furrowed in confusion and in fury. “He attacked you! He hurt you! So I hurt him back! He knows the fucking score.”

The anger bubbling in Cullen’s chest rolled up and growled through his throat. “He was testing me! He was testing you! He is testing everything!” His voice left his lips loud and harsh. Her eyes that were like armor and like the sea went wide. “He wants his last chance to die fighting. The red lyrium is killing him. He wants to die before it can. I will not have you or anyone else giving him the idea that he is entitled to that kind of relief!”

Belle looked as though she wanted to hit him or scream at him or cry. She shrugged his hands from her arms. She turned and walked through her door, closing it behind her. He heard the door to the other side of the battlements open and close, and saw her march off toward the kitchen. Her head was down and her hands were clenched tight into furious fists.

With yet another reason to despise Samson tucked away his mind, Cullen re-entered his tower. Samson sat in a chair that had been dragged from beside the wall into the center of the room. Two large hands belonging to two large men rested on either of his shoulders. Cullen dismissed them, reassuring one of them that he would be fine and reminding the soldier not to question orders.

“She’s a spitfire, your Belle.” Samson chuckled that dark chuckle. His tongue darted out to stop the blood running out of his nostrils and over his lips and down his chin. He winced when he sniffed, and he chuckled again. A serrated cut over the bridge of his nose gushed more blood. Even the man’s blood looked viscous and heavy—too thick for human veins.

“An interesting choice of words.” Cullen perched himself on the edge of his desk. His hand found the pommel of his sword, and he was grounded by the cool metal and rough cord there. Has skin felt raw, but there was no need for a healer. The red lyrium in Samson’s blood had not been as concentrated as that of the Red Templar Cullen slew at the Shrine of Dumat.

“I can’t help but notice I’m still alive. Even after attacking the Commander of the Inquisition in his own quarters. Your lot must be desperate.”

“Not as desperate as you, apparently. Do you want to die so badly that you’re willing to throw away any chance at redemption?”

Samson scoffed. “There is no redemption for me. There’s only madness or the end of a blade. Both, if your Maker sees fit to cast me out in the most fitting way. The longer I wait to die, the more the red lyrium kills me. As I said on my knees before your Inquisitor, Corypheus could only delay my corruption.”

“And as I said, you were part of something larger than yourself once. Why did you become a Templar?”

“Same as you. I wanted to help people. Just not the same people as the Chantry wanted me to help.”

“Do you think you’re helping anyone right now? The bulk of your Red Templars have been wiped out. The Templars left alive and untainted by red lyrium have nevertheless been tainted by your actions and by your leadership under Corypheus. Do you honestly believe that the mages would benefit in any way from his success?”

“I don’t believe anyone can benefit from anything happening in Thedas right now. The Chantry’s in chaos, looking for anyone they can blame for all of it. Templars have become just as hated and distrusted as mages. No one can seem to stop killing each other. At least Corypheus was able to unite Thedas, even if it meant uniting against him.”

“If he wins, everyone will be subjugated. As I recall, that was one of your—how did you put it—your ‘philosophical differences’ with the Order and the Chantry. If you help us defeat him, the Inquisition will have sway with the Chantry. We could have a say in the selection of the next Divine. The world can change, if you help us keep it alive. Men can find redemption. Perhaps even some of your own men.”

Samson went silent for what seemed like a lifetime. His head hung looser on his neck, much of his will to fight having fled his body. He was exhausted. Cullen understood that kind of exhaustion. It was the kind that left a man feeling less than a man after fighting for too long for a cause he knew she should not have supported. Cullen felt it in Kirkwall. Each night, he sat at the edge of his bed with his head hanging loose on his neck, his body protesting every move he’d made throughout the day, his mind praying for the clarity and the strength to understand and to do what was right. The weight of a thousand lives crushed him, as it crushed Samson now.

“Alright.” All the viscosity and sliminess had left Samson’s voice. All that remained was the same voice that had once asked Cullen about what it was like in Honnleath before the Blight. It was the same voice that had comforted mages and Templars on their worst days, and it was the same voice that decried the Order’s treatment of its charges. “What do you want to know?”

It was deep into the night when Cullen called the soldiers in to escort Samson back to his quarters. The former Templars made arrangements amongst themselves for the timing of their next meeting. Cullen made no promises of a merciful death to Samson, and Samson made no promises to remain alive until the madness ripped his mind from his will.

It was too late to approach Belle that night, and Cullen was still vexed at her rashness. He wished he had not shouted at her and he wished he had shouted louder. He had been unable to compose himself enough to find the words to make her understand. He resolved to find those words before he slept as he ascended the godforsaken ladder into his loft. He could no longer think of the word “ladder” without his mind adding “godforsaken” in Belle’s voice.

His ire faded as he lay over the blankets on his still tidy bed. It faded into gentle sorrow at his inability to hold her close and murmur his explanations and apologies into her hair. He would speak with her the next day, though it may very well have been the next day by the time his eyes drifted shut. The Fade was cruel and unmerciful when it finally took him, and in his nightmares his own cruelty was reflected on the backs of his eyelids.

The blood of the wicked would always flow through his veins, refusing to be forgotten, refusing to release him, refusing to allow him to be a better man.

*****

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x belle #belle dolan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #mgit #modern girl in thedas #self indulgence au #htwwain

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fruityfang · 7 years

Text

— ★ ; the peach project

— ★ part two.

— ★ a fine commander is dead. his son, kylar, looks for answers to his own question, but instead is brought to answer an enemy organization’s call with questions.

“When are they going to put him in the ground?”

“They won’t baby, they’re going to put him in a wall, since it’s winter time.”

A pause, then a continuance with a quiet voice. “Won’t the church smell like a dead body then?”

“No, little Mariana. The church will not smell like a corpse, it will smell of freedom. Because that is where he is going.”

“Daddy will be free?”

“He will be free, his mind broken of the chains of this world and will be a new virgin mind while watching over us. I assure you.”

Calles never liked the smell of death, she silently thanks she won’t have to smell her husband’s death.

“That means he’s going to make sure you brush your teeth every night.” A joking taunt had Mariana gasp and cover her mouth.

“But I don’t!” She shrieks. “You better start then.”

“Deraido was a man you heard of in legends, in stories, he was a hero. He helped this world from The Venolas, he was an officer dedicated to his job, he was harsh on the new recruits but was there if they needed an ear lent to them.” The speaker pauses, not for a choke or to sob, simply to look at the audience attending her husband’s funeral. The four beautiful children they created together sits in the front row, dressed in the color of death to mourn the death. His sister sits behind them with her own young son, three of their mutual friends that they both served with sat behind them. They offer sympathetic eyes and comfortable silence.

“He.. saved my life, twenty years ago.” The memory flashes into her mind, in small fragments, the memory also welcomes itself into their three friends’ minds, who were there for the life changing accident. “We were… on a tough mission, he called us to retreat. I had gone in solo since I was the stealthiest, and I remember saying…”

“Negative sir. I’m close to the target, I’m going to finish the job.” Deraido hisses, curses as he gives another harsh order. “Valerie.” He never spoke her first name, not in front of other soldiers under his command. “You listen to me, retreat now. I will not have a soldier die today.”

“And you would have the president die today?”

“They want him alive. A dead hostage is no good for them, they lose all they’ve negotiated for.” Valerie continues crawling through the vents, careful to avoid creaks. “He... has health problems, his implant hasn’t been online in a week, that helps him survive. If it isn’t online his body fights all the problems alone, sir, if we don’t get him now – we may never get him.” `

A plea for her to come back – that he couldn’t lose her, stays behind his teeth and down his throat. He shakes his head and switches his implant to private and grabs his gun. “I need more ammo, James, pass me some.”

The soldier who Deraido calls James hands him more ammunition and raises an eyebrow at the sudden request. “Are you going after Calles? The retreat shuttle will be here any second.” Deraido reloads his weapon and nods. “None of mine are dying today, get on the shuttle when it comes. I’m going after Calles and we’ll get back.

“Calles. I’m going to your position. Stay where you are.”

Red glows from her hand as she moves her hand in a circle motion in front of the vents that were identical to cell bars, and watched as the metal slowly slipped away. “Negative sir.” The whisper agitates him and makes his adrenaline pump faster. “CALLES!”

She ignores him, crawling through the new hole she created and rolls out, hands grabbing at the edge of the vents. She grabs a rope from her back pocket and throws it at a wall across the room. Calles’s eyes dart to below, guards surrounded the president who was covered in bruises and cuts. He wouldn’t make it if she didn’t get in now.

Her fingers fell from the edge of the vents, and her body swung across the room with the help of her rope that stuck to a wall. The swoosh alerted some guards who glanced around the room like scared puppies. Before she could do anything to put the guards’ tortures to a permanent halt, there were sounds of loud gunfire.

Calles’s eyes dart, and she sees her boss shooting at the guards, watching their bodies drop one by one.

“Boss!” Calles shouts, throwing her rope to a wall near where Deraido stood and swung there. “Calles, we aren’t clear yet.” He hisses. Calles whispers. “I’m going to check out the other side of this room, stay with the president.”

Deraido’s eyebrow rises at the request. He points a finger at Calles. “Do you know how crazy you sound?”

“If the President sees you with him, you’ll be rewarded after this.”

“Calles… I don’t give a fuck about the president.”

Calles scoffs.

“Apparently you did because you sent us all on this suicide mission.”

He shakes his head in annoyance.

“Vance sent us here, he’s the one who deals with the political part of the Vertenels.”

“Then why are we here, rescuing the president if he deals with the political issues?”

“Because politics are about negotiations, framing your opponent, have you forgotten about the recent election? Everyone fought dirty. We, however take care of the missions that get our bodies dirty, minds traumatized, kidnappings, murders all that crap.”

Calles sighs. She doesn’t have an opportunity to speak before Vance interrupts.

“I’m going to search. You stay with the President. Make sure he doesn’t die, y’know.”

He sounds so casual. Calles finds herself thinking.

“No. You stay.”

Deraido growls but stands beside the president, he’s seen better days. He thinks.

The rest is a flash,

Calles is shoved to the ground following a series of loud beeps, then a large blast of flames surrounds the building, Calles and Deraido were trapped between it. Calles shoots up, covered in bruises and coughs, covering her mouth so she doesn’t inhale smoke. She looks over for Deraido, and sees him fallen to the ground in a pool of his blood.

His arm was beside him,

Calles gasps in horror and runs over to him, and gathers him in her arms. “Come on, use my body as support – Come on,”

“Calles…”

��“Valerie, commander. And lets go!”

She shoots her rope up, attaching it to the ceiling and it shoots them both up. The flames barely swallows them.

The red tattoo engraved into Calles’s skin glows red, a small piercing red fills her eye and she notices the harsh concrete ceiling begins to melt, and is melted by the time they get up, and she uses all of her strength to kick them both up to the roof.

One of Vertenels’s doctors, specifically assigned to the critical task group walks out.

“He lives, lost an arm – but he’ll be okay.”

Calles nods.

“Thank you, doctor.”

The doctor turns on her heels and walks towards the room again, she barely hears a whisper Calles says.

“He saved my life.

If you want information on what truly happened to your father, come to this location.

Kylar rereads the letter only once before arriving to his conclusion.

He goes, in hopes of finding a truth about his father’s death.

He finds nothing about his father’s mysterious death when he arrives.

Only darkness and a sharp sting in the back of his neck, an overwhelming weight filling his blood and a sharp burn where his tattoo is engraved, it’s angered – it is overwhelmed and can’t find back the mysterious weight injected into Kylar’s body.

Everything – aches.

His vision is heavy, eyes strained with ache.

Agony runs through his bones.

Sleep threatens to execute his eyes – but he stays awake,

with droopy eyes.

“Is the subject awake?”

“He is.”

His head lifts, it’s a boulder. He shudders as a hand runs over his dark brown skin.

“Soft…”

A voice whispers, shivers run down his spine. His ear tingles, a light tickle flutters his neck.

“You’re going to be easy to break, like one of your mother’s glass figurines shattered on the ground.”

Easy to break. Easy to create.

Kylar remains silent, silence is key – his mother told him. The less noise, the more noise your enemy makes, the less you speak, the more your enemy speaks, the more they speak, the more advantage you have.

A sudden sting blooms from his skin from the soul of his cheeks and lips, duct tape is slowly peeled off then ripped off at the end.

He bites down the urge to curse.

“Were you the family prodigy? Supposed to train, perhaps become a commander like your father?”

Father’s dead.

His position no longer matters.

Kylar’s lips seal remains.

“Fine. Bring him in for interrogation.”

“Kylar…”

Calles – Valerie – rests her head on her hand and stares out the window where a sunrise was beginning to bloom, but it all looked grey for her.

“Calles…”

Calles turns her head, seeing one of her oldest friends – Malano – standing there with two white cups of something steaming. Coffee, she predicts.

“He hasn’t come home…”

Calles announces, a crack crawls through the wall that’s her voice. She hasn’t cried since Deraido’s funeral. Malano sits beside her, slides the chair closer and slides her over the coffee.

“The kid will come home. He’ll be okay. He’s the child of two of Vertenels’s finest commanders. He has your and Deraido’s blood, he’s a fighter.”

Comfort does little to help Calles as she begins to weep, loud sobs kick down the door of her lips and come out. She rushes to hide her face in her hands, tears stream down.

“My… My baby.. He – He never did training…. Oh my stars…. Oh stars..”

Malano reaches an arm out to comfort his old friend, she falls against him and begins to sob, tears stain his shirt.

“What if… W….W-What if… He doesn’t come….”

She stops.

Then continues.

“…Home.” The sob is muffled into her friend’s shirt who pats her back in sympathy.

Six months pass, agonizingly slow some days and painfully fast other days.

Kylar hasn’t come home.

Calles stares out the same window, watching the sunset.

What if he never comes home,

Two years pass.

Kylar is dead,

Kylar is born.

“Test his abilities.”

An order comes down, an order is followed.

A blindfold blinds Kylar, who stands there dressed in the color of innocence. His hair is the color of snow now, the color drained from the tattoo that rests on his shoulder. The only thing left connecting him to his family.

One director nods to the other, and small sounds of multiple knives ejecting pierce the air.

They all fly out, one by one towards the newborn assassin.

He jumps, one leg rises higher than the other and his hands raise within a second. His back arches, and his hands fall against the concrete floor, little ache runs through. His leg kicks a knife to the ground, he spins himself while balancing his weight – and kicks three more knives.

The newborn assassin bends his arms, then jumps back up and sends knives flying away in the other direction.

Two loud bangs are heard – and his head whips around to serve his attention, two robot targets roll out of the doors in the room and Kylar’s eyes widen.

A knife flies into his cheek, tearing through the brown skin and penetrates mouth. His tongue tastes silver and small trails of his own blood. He hisses out of pain and ducks to the floor, to avoid further knife wounds, he rips the knife out and holds it in his hand. His eyes dart up, and he sees the robots come closer.

A smirk crawls up his lips.

He brings his arm out, the white armored sleeve decorated with black diamonds – blooms three turrets, sensing the robots, three red beams shoot out of the turrets and with careful angling – slices both robots in half.

“Halt.”

The knives stop, the robots sounds of screeching is replaced with a small beep and silence – that’s all Kylar hears.

He no longer hears his heart beating,

“He is ready.”

A deep voice announces.

“Send him on a personal shuttle towards Calles’s home. Inform him once more of the assignment.”

Two years and six months later, Kylar returns home.

Lakes of blood paint the floors, eyes travel around the floor at the three bodies that lay on his family home’s floors. Two of the bodies’ chests no longer rise.

He doesn’t bother to feel for a pulse.

He’s confident his siblings were dead.

The siblings he had grown with, laughed with, cried with, yelled at – yelled with, played with, teased. The siblings that had watched his milestones, to grow from a child who was called a little girl for years, to a young man who had a future.

The siblings that now laid dead, by his hand.

One of his siblings struggles to breathe, a large hole gapes through their stomach.

A small pang of remorse intrudes his head, shoot them.

They’ll die quicker – and be happier.

But he doesn’t,

He walks off, through a secret entrance to the house that his mother showed him and his siblings, should they need to get in – or out, a secret way.

Calles returns from a police station, from a mission to infiltrate a warehouse that had an anonymous tip, saying Kylar was there.

She hoped on the ride there that it was her baby, that he would be bloodied and bruised but was okay,

And he would come home.

She didn’t know he had come home.

She enters her home.

The home she got with Deraido, a secret lovenest for the longest time. Where they welcomed their first child, then second, then third then their final one. They would’ve welcomed a fifth one, but a miscarriage struck them.

Instead of one of her four kids greeting her, it is their blood that greets her.

She doesn’t gasp, stays silent. And draws out her weapon.

She steps through the puddles of her children’s blood – and hears a small gasp. Alive.

She runs through her house, and enters the hallway for the bedrooms. Her eyes widen, nearly pop out of her head as she sees two of her children dead and one barely clinging to life. No screams leave, she instead drops to her knees in front of the child that still breathes.

Calles calls Malano through secure communications.

“Get an emergency shuttle here NOW! My house. NOW!” She’s frantic, but her commander voice stood strong. She strokes her child’s cheek.

“Stay with me, baby, please.” Tears fall, her child doesn’t respond.

The surviving Vexons sibling is sent to the best emergency care at Vertenel. Calles stays behind to stare at her dead children that rest in their own blood. Her knees smash against the floor, blood splatters against her red uniform and sobs begin to leave her.

“No.. NO!! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!!”

She screams, and her hands shake. Calles presses a shaky kiss to both her dead children’s foreheads, letting her lips linger longer then they should’ve against the cold skin – then she lays between them, sobbing.

More screams leave her as she sobs and shakes.

“WHY! WHY! What did I do…. They’ve done nothing wrong…”

“PLEASE! PLEASE NO! Please no… Please no….”

“WHY THEM! Why them… Why my babies…. Why.. WHY!”

“Please be a nightmare…. Please be a fucking – horrible, cruel, nightmare…”

Kylar has come home and Calles smells death.

#original writing #ocs #oc #dystopia #authors on tumblr #x: the peach project #the peach project

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deepseawritings · 7 years

Text

I wrote a random short piece to unstuck my brain from the knot in the story I’m currently working in. It’s about Lefty and Mouse, the Freedomers who met Shovel and nobody remembers

Everyone had told her it was a waste of her time, yet Lefty was sure they'd change their tune when the vegetables started to grow. Who wouldn't want some potatoes? Either to eat or to distil some moonshine. It didn't matter much that Lefty had no idea of farming. If she had kept her mother's ferns alive back home, growing potatoes couldn't be that hard.

She was oh so wrong. Preparing the little parcel she had cordoned to be her vegetable garden was exhausting, even with Mouse’s help. Then she threw in the furrows pieces of a pair of inedible potatoes she found somewhere and kept stashed for this very purpose.

Nothing grew in her garden. The potatoes she tried to sow were too deteriorated to be anything but worm food. So she went to Ashot to acquire more potatoes. Her request raised some eyebrows and a few jokes, but Lefty was determined to show them all she could do anything she set her mind to do. And in this case it was to grow potatoes, damn it!

Her second try was more successful, even when she discovered the fruit of her labour was radioactive. Turns out the water she used to water them came from a flow of water coming from the acid lake itself, and was therefore highly radioactive. Mouse proposed to turn them into vodka since everyone knew vodka neutralized the radiation. However, distilling them didn't solve the problem, and she and Mouse nearly killed themselves with the radioactive moonshine.

Their brew was a smashing hit amongst their fellow freedomers, though. Perhaps this vodka didn't eliminate radiation, but just a swig of it was as intoxicating like drinking half a bottle of the normal vodka. Ideal for when you wanted to get really wasted. Chekhov wasn't amused by how the use of anti-rads suddenly skyrocketed, but Lingov gave his A-ok to the production of the radioactive vodka, so everyone happily adhered to his words.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when Ganja approached her, asking for a favour. It was just a small thing, he assured her, nothing she couldn't handle. And after a lot of praise for her skills and her inventive, Lefty found herself with a handful of mystery seeds she had promised to grow alongside her new batch of radioactive potatoes.

It was weed, of course it was. What else could one expect from Ganja? There had been dudes at her institute who were less obsessed about weed than him.

She had no idea how to properly grow a plant, and while it didn't matter much with the potatoes, her newest additions were a sorry sight. The marihuana plants were slender but lacking in the leaf department. The few leaves they had were droopy and yellowed. And to top it off the snails were eating them. Would the radiation from the water kill the snails? Or would she unwittingly create a new race of mutated snails with an insatiable appetite for weed? She shared her worries with Mouse and he laughed himself sick at her expense, until she informed him he just lost his chance to ever get into her pants.

In the end the plants were true survivors of the Zone. They endured a blowout without much damage, and as a bonus the emission wiped out most of the snail plague. The plants even survived being trampled by boars when one night the mutated beasts burst in the courtyard while one of their lookouts took a nap. It would be a lie to say the plants turned out fine, misshapen and yellowed as they were, but they lived. And Lefty counted it as a great achievement.

Her garden also attracted other animals, like crows and wild cats. Most of them skittered away as soon as someone approached. Except for Felix. The cat was skinny and patchy, with mean eyes and quick claws. Hated everyone but refused to leave. Not even the sounds of shooting practice spooked him.

And then one day Mouse gave him half a can of Tourist’s Delight and the cat fell in love with him, following Mouse everywhere and rubbing against his legs. The bastard even let Mouse pet him and purred happily. All he did when he saw Lefty every morning was to hiss at her. She only watered him once, and it was a mistake, honestly! She had no idea the cat was napping between her plants.

Mouse named the cat Felix because of his colouring. He sometimes carried Felix in his backpack and, if someone got too close, Felix would stick his paw out and claw the poor unwary soul who hadn’t noticed the eyes peering from under the backpack’s flap.

Once the harvest was done, Lefty kept a couple of the marihuana plants for herself. She and Mouse wanted to try making weed infused radioactive moonshine. It sounded badass. The rest she gladly gave to Ganja, who nearly kissed her in his excitement.

It took longer than usual to make their new special vodka, but the results were certainly amazing. There was actually a queue of brave souls volunteering to be the first to try the stuff, which suited Lefty fine because she refused to intoxicate herself again like the last time. The liquor was strong enough to turn your throat numb, and the weed flavour was actually fucking disgusting, but her fellow Freedomers liked it.

Oh well, everyone needs something strong enough to melt their brains once in a while. She preferred to stick to the “normal” moonshine, or better yet, the really normal cheap vodka that could be found everywhere across the Zone.

Little did she suspect than in a few weeks she would be the one looking for something strong enough to melt her brain.

A very aggressive group of mercs had settled on the other end of Dark Valley, and they wanted to kick Freedom out to control the whole area.

Lefty was now almost constantly out on patrol, sometimes just with Mouse, sometimes with someone else tagging along. And all days everyone that left for patrol knew some of them wouldn’t come back to the base. Lefty wasn’t much of a believer, but she still prayed it wouldn’t be her group. She supposed her selfishness should horrify her, but she cared more about living another day to be horrified later.

One day she was out on patrol with Mouse and Pavlik, and they were telling him about the rookie they one found near this very same spot, defending herself from a pseudo-dog armed with a broken shovel. Pavlik laughed at Mouse’s description of short woman whacking a mutant hard enoug to break the shovel, and a shot rang in the air. Mouse stopped gesturing and fell backwards dead. Two mercs hopped into view from between the trees and Lefty screamed in murderous rage.

She and Pavlik survived to drag Mouse’s body back to the base, but everything is foggy in her memory. Lefty has a vague recollection of how the mercenaries ended being a red pulp stuck to the asphalt, but she’s happy not remembering it properly. Ever. In fact, she wishes she could erase this whole day from her memory, she decided sitting on her bunk while looking blankly ahead.

It feels surreal to think that just a week ago she finally had sex with Mouse in this same bed, and while it wasn’t spectacular, it was leagues better than her last fling. Even when Felix attacked her feet and they had to stop to bandage her bleeding toe. And now Mouse was getting cold and stiff in a hole in the ground. She needed a drink, the strongest she had, so Lefty got out her special moonshine and drank until she retched and passed out.

She woke up to a splitting headache and a small weight settled on her chest. The sight of the damned cat curled on top of her was what finally made her cry. In that moment Lefty wished she had never left her home, despite her overbearing parents and the law breathing down her neck after that small robbery. But at least she wouldn’t have seen Mouse die, and she wouldn’t have turned into a bloodthirsty monster that savaged two men until they were paste, and she wouldn’t be pondering on the slim possibilities she had to even reach twenty. Fuck, she should have never left Bratislava. Except that she had always wanted to get out of her city and go adventuring around. Precisely that was why she got into the Zone.

Eventually she composed herself under the judging stare of the cat. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. Her faction was her family now, and they needed her more than ever, since they were at war with the mercenaries. And she needed to have her feet on the ground if she wanted to have a shot at surviving. Alright.

That night she left half a can of Tourist’s Delights for Felix, and for the first time the cat let her pet him while he ate. She still hated his judging stare and he still hissed at her on a daily basis, but Lefty liked to think they tolerated each other to honour Mouse’s memory.

Author’s note: I wrote this in a rush, hope it doesn’t have too many typos. Fun fact of the day: in an early draft Shovel was supposed to join Freedom and befriend Lefty while teaching her how to garden/farm. But somewhere along the line Shovel got attached to Evgenii and decided that joining a Faction she knew nothing about was stupid.

#S.T.A.L.K.E.R.#fanfic #OC

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munkustrap-on · 7 years

Text

Fancy That (Tugger/Misto)

"...'So I know we've been friends for a while, and I wanted to inform you-' ugh, that won't do."

He straightened up in the mirror, looked himself dead in the eye...and then deflated. "Who 'informs' people anymore? Munkustrap maybe." Actually that might have been an idea; he could tell Munkustrap who could then inform Tugger of his longstanding crush-turned-unrequited-love. Yes...that was a good idea; he'd keep that in his back pocket.

In the light of some strange cosmological event, Mistoffelees had found his best friend lying out in the sun, alone, and looking blindingly dazzling. As usual. Perhaps it was a sign...or a trick. It wouldn't be the first time Everlasting Cat had him biting his own tail.

Still, he took a shaky breath for confidence and leaped up onto the shipping crate, greeting his dozing friend with an unexpectedly exuberant "Tugger there's something I need to tell you!"

"Need you say? Then I suppose I should pay attention." He stretched in the most endearing and erotic way possible. The sound of a dozen jaws dropping was deafening. Tugger looked up at him expectantly and…oh wow, was it warm outside today!

"I've..." cue inner turmoil, strum up self-consciousness, pound away at the self-sabotaging bongos. "Noticed a piece of fluff in your mane." With a strained laugh he reached out and picked at an invisible ball of fuzz and threw it over his shoulder.

Tugger's brow furrowed, not bothering to inspect his now pristine mane. "I... thank you. That was very important and pressing."

Misto took in a quaky breath, quelling the sudden urge to run away to Germany and change his name to Bernard.

All he needed was to get his foot in the door. Once he peeked around the threshold he could count on Tugger to drag him in kicking and screaming. What could he say? "I fancy... someone." The last bit was quiet, almost imperceptible even to himself. But damnit he said it and that was something!

Tugger's whiskers twitched and he peeked an eye up at him. "You're fancy? Aren't you just full of surprises today," he laughed, nudging Misto's thigh for good measure.

"It was a verb," Mistoffelees murmured.

"A what?"

"Verb. An action."

"You're acting fancy?"

"I fancy someone!"

The floodlights in Tugger's mind went off, nearly blinding him with a devilish grin as he rolled onto his stomach. "You fancy someone! The ever vague and aloof Magical Mr. Mist-"

"Yes yes, it's hilarious," he grunted. Let the kicking and screaming begin.

"Not hilarious, just…curious." Tugger eyed him anew, a thousand questions lining up. "So...who is it?"

"Must you be so impudent?"

"I'm a very busy tom, Misty, I can't afford to beat around the bush."

"Clearly."

"So...?"

Mistoffelees felt his throat dry up and close. He licked his lips with a papery sound. Tugger quickly got the hint and sat up.

"Twenty questions," Mistoffelees croaked, avoiding his gaze.

"Sure. Number one: who is it?"

Mistoffelees tossed him an exasperated look.

"Okay, fine. Is it a Jellicle?"

"Of course. Who else-"

"Tom or Queen."

He swallowed thickly, glancing at Tugger who gave him an encouraging nod. "Tom."

Immediately the coon's face crumpled up in distaste. "It's not Asparagus, is it?"

Mistoffelees licked at his paw, trying to calm the twist in his stomach. At his silence Tugger's cheeky teasing evaporated to mildly disturbed concern, "...Is it?"

"No!"

Tugger shoved his face in Misto's looking him dead in the eye. "Are you playing with me?"

"I-I...I- uh. Munkustrap!"

Tugger pulled away, bemused and visibly skeptical, "Munkustrap? I don't think you're his type..."

At hearing his name, Munkustrap looked up from his inspection of an old wood burner. "I need to speak with him, excuse me. We'll talk later!"

"If you say so," Tugger shrugged and flopped down for some much needed sunbathing on his deprived belly. Mistoffelees leaped from the shipping crate and trotted over to the tabby, who smiled and greeted the tux with a nuzzle. Neither he nor Mistoffelees aware of the coon's lingering gaze.

Later Tugger had paid Munkustrap a visit- now the tabby may not look it but he was a lucrative gossiper. Tugger himself may be reputed as being artful and knowing but he'd admit in a heartbeat that Munkustrap knew so much more. To Munkustrap, all gossip was worth knowing; Tugger drew the line at recipes, mild illness, and anniversary plans.

All this knowledge, and still his lips were sealed when it came to Mistoffelees and the topic of their urgent conversation. While Tugger left with a few juicy tidbits on Admetus and Tantomile's failing relationship- wouldn't you know Coricopat was too clingy- he came out even more confused about his tuxed friend.

"He was acting real strange," he'd told Munkustrap, "Like someone was holding a bucket of ice water over his head." The tabby had simply nodded and continued his crocheting.

But that couldn't just be that; there had to be more. Mistoffelees had to have told the tabby something about his secret facy-ee to have been sworn to secrecy.

All he knew was that it wasn't Asparagus... Probably.

Or what if it is Munk? Oh…

That knocked quite the wind from his sails. To think that all this time he'd been teasing and bothering the winsome Mistoffelees and the tux had been looking to Munkustrap the whole time. Tugger couldn't exactly blame Misto for looking elsewhere; he kept a lot of cats around and it was clear the tux had a penchant for monogamy. And Munk was nothing if not shrieking 'dedicated life partner for one.'

Tugger sniffed. He could be monogamous... for the right cat, of course.

He could be monogamous for Mistoffelees.

Maybe if he knew Tugger could still have a chance.

Genius!

There was no time to waste on thinking his plan through, much less to come up with a plan. Tugger had to find Mistoffelees and let him know that he could be monogamous, he could be a dedicated mate, and that Tugger could very possibly fancy him.

The 'very possibly' was in case things started to get ugly.

It had been an hour of searching, but Tugger eventually found the tux in the first place he should have looked: his den. Mistoffelees answered the door half-awake. "Tugger, what-"

"Remember when you said you fancied someone?"

"...Okay, yes."

"I was thinking about it and I think I fancy someone too."

"You think you fancy someone," Mistoffelees said, incredulous.

Tugger nodded, "Yes, and I think I'm going to ask them to be my mate. For life."

Either sleep had delayed the frequency or Mistoffelees had bet money he'd never hear the words 'mate' and 'life' in the same sentence (That wasn't 'I will never take a mate in my life.') because he stared at him like his fur had turned hot pink. Eventually he shook himself awake. "Then I guess congratulations are in order."

"Not yet, I've... ah... not asked them."

"Right. I wish you luck then." They stood awkwardly a moment, staring out into the space between them. "...Is that all?"

Hmm, maybe he should have reworded his proclamation a little differently. Then professing his affections for Mistoffelees wouldn't be an unsolicited proposal to a lifelong commitment. "No."

The tux quirked an eyebrow and leaned against the frame of the door, looking up at him expectantly. His eyes still a bit droopy and his fur mussed up in all the right ways. Times like these it was always so hard not to touch. "I might want to start with telling them how I feel first. Before all the mate stuff."

"That'd be wise," he said with a dainty yawn. "Tugger, I'm really not the best cat to be asking about things like this."

"Why not? Are you afraid that-"

Mistoffelees frowned and slumped off the jam. "I'm closing the door now, Tugger."

"No, Misto wait!"

"Mistoffelees is going back to bed now," he called from inside the den. From outside the door he could hear the tux flop onto his nest with a tired groan. For a long moment he waited; any second now the door would open and- "I know you're still there!"

With a growl Tugger stormed up the path. Mission failed. If anything, he'd probably managed to make Misto like him less. He almost entertained the thought of going back to explain his sudden lack of...a brain.

He couldn't help himself! This tux was all wrapped up in his thoughts now and he was at the mercy of those enchanting blue eyes and the way his nose twitched whenever the breeze tickled his whiskers. Hell, he dared say even the way the tux hyper-critically picked apart his mouse before eating it was in its own way endearing.

Bastet what was he doing?!

Mistoffelees slept in fits until the sun was low on the horizon. By tea time he was up and about, unable to fidget in his den any longer. Instead of going to the clearing, he found himself ambling to the back of the lot, one cat in particular on his mind. "Tugger," he groaned, hopping up onto a decayed printing press. "You make a terrible stalker."

Peeking out from around the pile of photo albums was Tugger's guilty face, dressed up in a sheepish grin. "I make up for it in other ways."

"I can imagine." Looking away he blushed. He shouldn't have assumed Tugger was being lewd but his mind couldn't help but wander.

"And what are you seeing?" came the saucy bravado as he regained his confidence and swaggered forward. Mistoffelees steeled himself and looked back to Tugger, watching him carefully but not trusting himself enough to keep from throwing his hand at the Coon's feet. Tugger was, after all, pursuing his life-long mate. The smouldering look lifted and his eyes hardened. "You said we would talk later."

"I don't feel much like talking."

"I'm excellent at charades."

Mistoffelees jumped down from the press, walking up to Tugger and sitting on his haunches.

"...You want to hit me," Tugger guessed.

"Hardly."

"Well you're going to have to give me another hint then, because I'm getting a lot of mixed-"

In the time it took Tugger to chaff his charades skills the tux had reached up, wrapped his fingers around the coon's collar, and reeled him in for a kiss. Just as quickly as it happened Mistoffelees pulled away to stare at the ants marching by his tail.

And, to his surprise, Tugger did not. "...I think I'm going to need another hint."

The moment he felt hot breath on his ear he reared up and met the coon halfway, anchoring his claws into the long tresses of Tugger's mane and kissing him for all he was worth. If that wasn't enough of a hint he might actually consider giving him a good box to the ears.

Tugger released him with a deep rumbling laugh, tail thumping the ground. He looked happy, and not in the cheeky mischievous way that forecasted a raging Jennyanydots. This smile was kind and beaming.

"Would I be wrong if I guess that I was the one you fancied?"

"Not at all," Mistoffelees breathed, kneading the mane beneath his paws. "Would I be wrong if I guessed I was the one you were going to ask to be mates with? For life?"

In a flash Tugger's happy smile was gone, his tail falling limp at their sides. Brow furrowed, he looked about ready to make a dash for the hills. Disappointment weakened Mistoffelees' confidence and his paws soon found their place at his side. "Tug, I wasn't-"

"No," he said evenly. "You wouldn't be wrong."

After a long pause Mistoffelees reached out and gently took Tugger's paw in his. "So, where do we go from here?"

"I know a place in the city that has the best curry… We could start there."

With a shy nod the tux flattened the fur still standing on the back of his neck.. "I'd like that."

#Ewwww kissing!#Rum Tum Tugger #Mistoffelees #cats the musical #cats #fanfiction #CrazyIndigoChild #munkustrap #SFW #Tugger #Misto #Tugger/Misto

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fruityfang · 7 years

Text

Fang

chapter four.

kiss her goodbye.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

A slam echoes throughout the hallway leading into the house. A voice calls out, “And who is my new guest?” A gentle voice calls out, belonging to somebody who would not hesitate to murder an unwelcome intruder. “Just me,” Aria calls out. She hears Alyson’s footsteps shuffling around upstairs. “Would it be a bother if I asked you to grab a hair tie for me?” It’s a simple favor, even with the reassurance it didn’t halt the wave of anxiety that rushed over Aria.

“It is a bother, sweetheart but of course, since you are my associate, I suppose a small favor like that wouldn’t hurt. Unless I twist my wrist in the process.” She jokes then lets out a small giggle. Aria forgets Alyson can’t see her and nods. Her back rests against the dark bricks constructed to be a wall. Her eyes glance around the large aging mansion.

Alyson always moved around, never stayed in one place for too long. Her style of places she would hide was diverse, sometimes it would be tidy hotel rooms in the middle of a city, other times it would be a shack in the woods. She’d destroy them all once she was done with them, either burning them or simply leaving reminders of the horrors she had constructed there.

Except this house. It had to have held some sort of significance for her if it hadn’t been destroyed yet. Aria learnt to not ask questions long ago, yet that did not halt her thoughts.

The stairs creak, they’re old. Aria steals a quick glance and sees that walking down the stairs is Alyson. She steps down to the aging wood floor and approaches Aria with a pleased look on her face, the ends of her lips were tugged into a small smile. The black hair tie hangs in front of Aria’s face. “Here is your hair tie, sweet Aria, and judging from your… looks..” She pauses for a quick minute as she steals quick glances at the blood stains that stained her matching black shade shirt and jeans, her eyes flow down to her running shoes and down to the bloody footprints the vampire left behind. “Remind me to ask one of my – guests to clean that later.” Aria softly bites the black hairtie while she pulls her hair back, fingers running through to comb out the top for any hairs that would stick out.

Alyson continues. “As I was saying, I trust you deliver a death verdict?” Mostly, Alyson had trust in Aria, more so because they shared the same goal - to find Vincent.

“Yes. Every person in that apartment complex is dead.” Answered without hesitance. Alyson didn’t hesitate with her next question. “Including the child?”

A gulp sneaks down Aria’s throat, she hopes Alyson didn’t notice. She feels the child’s fingertips graze against her skin when his grip let go, she feels the child’s body become lighter by the second. Aria whispered a soft goodbye to the child and an apology, she had no hatred towards him. She was just told to do it.

“Yes.. He died along with his parents.” The confession burn her throat, almost felt like somebody was slitting it. It must’ve stung the little boy much worse when her fangs slit into his body and rid him of his blood.

She killed a child.

“I terrorized an apartment complex and murdered people. Can I please be told how this has anything to do with Vincent--” Alyson’s body spins around in a second and glares daggers, delivering shivers down Aria’s spine. Her hand trails up, resting against Aria’s chin, her red nail scratches softly at Aria’s brown skin. The terrorizing silence breaks from her voice.

“Are you stupid, Aria?” Goosebumps rose from Aria’s skin. Alyson spoke a cold tone. Her hand went from holding her chin to hugging her throat, nails scratching against her skin.

She delivers a strained answer. “No.”Frustrated, Alyson’s hand tightened its grip. “You know that apartment complex belonged to Elise Fenderil. That bitch is his best friend, she means everything to him whether he would admit it or not.”

Despite the tight grip around her throat, Aria nods. “This was a huge step for us, Elise always stays in that apartment. Even if the bitch vanishes for months at a time, she’s always there. That means she is close with the people in that complex. If we manage to completely get to her core, then we get Vincent. You know how much I want him.” Curious, Aria was. Yet – the confidence Alyson had almost was inspiring.

“How..How do you know everything about my brother?” The hand leaves Aria’s throat and instead becomes a single finger that strokes the younger vampire’s cheek. “He and I were in love, many years ago. I read him like a book, he was at my fingertips. I was a god in his eyes, he worshipped the ground I walked on. When you love someone like Vincent loved I, you will understand.”

A left eyebrow raises, the other pressing down over the other eye. “What is confusing you now, Aria?” It took a simple stolen glance for Alyson to have an idea what they were thinking, she didn’t even require to delve into their thoughts to read them, which was a solution most vampires would use. “I did love somebody, perhaps more than you did Vincent, or Vincent did you.”

Alyson’s eyebrows rose for a second before making a ‘tsk’ sound, stepping back from her ‘protégé.’ “Yes. The poor woman Vincent murdered and left her for dead, in your own backyard.”

The new protege shakes her head and bites her tongue. She is careful not to let any angering words leave her. Whenever the death of her lover, the way she was left to rot in the dirt, how her body wasn’t discovered for a week slipped from anyone’s lips, it erupted Aria’s bones with one of the emotions she feels more often than others - Anger.

Despite Aria’s unimpressed face, the taunt continues. “How you didn’t discover her for a week..”

Her eyes roll back. “It wasn’t my fault.” Was all she said. The one who spews the taunts turns her body around, no longer facing Aria. “I never did say it was, did I?”

“You damn well implied it, unless I read you wrong.”

“Your brother was the reason. He left her body in that yard to taunt you, when you found her body that satisfied some sort of feeling in him. Perhaps hatred.” Alyson glances over her shoulder, auburn eyes glaring daggers towards the younger vampire. “He wanted you to suffer. You just weren’t smart enough to see what he was doing this whole time. But, if you read into it that it was your fault. Maybe it was”

Aria’s throat is scratched by the taunting words. The ache to strangle someone, punch a wall, break something were all too strong. Her composure to stand there and remain calm had to be stronger. “I was smart enough-” Her defense is broken down by a single question.

“Then why didn’t you save Sarah?” She bit the inside of her cheek, running her hand through her raven black hair then slid her hands back into her bloody pockets. Her brain asks the same question, less often nowadays. Aria spent long nights staring at the ceiling with droopy eyes, hands that held the week old corpse rest against her chest and her thumbs twiddle, asking that goddamn question.

“Because you aren’t simply smart in that way dear, are you?” A rhetorical question that Aria answers anyway.

“I suppose I’m not.” She sheltered away, voice going softer. Taking the blame was easier, it makes the situation go away faster. She liked easy. Alyson’s face lit up, as if she was a student who had gotten a question right in the middle of a class. “But you are intelligent with… what did your family call it?” The curious tone is mocking, yet had the vampire swinging her body around and placing both hands on hips, clearly interested.

Eyes widen, eyebrows raise and panic waves over Aria. She couldn’t recall a time they had spoken about the life changing, life threatening game. “The game.” The answer was confident, unlike back in the day when she actually played the game.

“And didn’t you kill innocents with "the game?” Didn’t you end their lives as if you were stomping on a defenseless bug?“ The older vampire speaks with calmness, her hands went travel behind her back to rest there.

Excuses. Aria needed one, desperately. "I- They were vampires!” Alyson’s eyebrow rose, adding to the mocking curiosity. “And aren’t you a vampire? Shouldn’t you kill yourself then?” Aria protests. “I’m not one of those vampires.” She turns around and lifts her hand lifts to the doorknob, she would leave and go straight home and read the verses of Mercy and Namira’s story then lay her head on the floor and if she could, sleep.

“You are no better than Vincent, Aria.” The taunt had Aria’s hand gripping the door. Instead of responding to the taunts, a large surge of adrenaline broke through Aria’s bones and flooded her veins. A second later, slivers of wood from the front door came off as it was aggresively ripped off and whipped across the yard.

Her eyes look over her shoulder and delivers a cold lookt. “Also. Insects aren’t defenseless, there are lizards that can camouflage themselves from the enemy, there are bugs who will bite you if they feel threatened by you. Then poison would inject into your veins and perhaps you’d die.” She shrugs. “But what do I know, I’m not smart.”

You are no better than Vincent.

Vincent.

Her older brother. The one who for years, was suspected and did, kill Sarah.

The one who ended your father’s life with no second thoughts, claiming it was because he was “protecting” Ian and I. The one who turned Ian with no second thoughts, being truthful when he said it was for his own selfish benefits.

“Vakaras!” She curses, then swipes up a bottle and lightly grips it, making no commitment to hang on to it as she twists her body and throws the bottle with as much energy as the vampire had. The glass shatters and a concerned meow is echoed. Near the glass, is a black cat with an identifying white patch of fur over their eye. The cat sits and glances over to Aria.

The meowing – turns to human words. “I hope that wasn’t aimed towards me.”

Aria shakes her head no. “Never in a million years.” She confirms while walking over and kneeling in front of the cat. “You’ve been gone for two days, where were you?”

“Curiosity killed the cat you know.” The pun earned a scoff and flattened ears. The cat licked her paw, wiping one of the flattened ears with it. “I don’t appreciate your crappy puns.”

The curious cat lays one of their soft paws on Aria’s bloody pants. “Look, I smell blood. I know you’re a vampire but you’re usually good at cleaning yourself up, can you just tell me what you’re up to so I don’t nearly kill myself looking for you again?”

If I could tell you buddy, I would.

“Neil.” A warning shot. A warning that Neil, the cat who had been Aria’s closest friend for a long while should stay away. For now, because Neil may have been a cat who could talk, but he could never understand her actions from the past two days. “I’m fine… I just got.. I just got a new lead on Sarah’s death.” Neil rubbed his head against Aria’s leg. “Everything will be okay, just don’t do any suicide missions for this.”

Neil understood quite clearly that Aria’s unsolved death had haunted Aria for centuries and continued to torture her. The vampire never gave up the hope of finding Sarah’s murderer - or murderers - and leave their bodies in the mud, decomposing for weeks to come, forgotten - just how Sarah was.

He accepted the answer, no longer pressing Aria for answers about the past two days. A feeling of relief blesses the vampire.“Go take a bath or something, I don’t want to sleep on a bed with a bloody vampire in it..”

“You could sleep on the floor, you know.”

“Do you know who I am?” Neil challenges, Aria softly chuckles and stands up, leaving to have a long deserved bath.

Warm. Goosebumps bloom up from Aria’s brown skin. She splashes her skin where the water didn’t reach to grant it warmth. She dips her head back, letting the raven hair soak in the water to wash out the splatters of blood, wash away the last part of her victims lives. Her mind wanders, she thinks of everything and everyone. A name that haunted her for hundreds of years intruded into her head.

Sarah. The name of her dead girlfriend bullets into the head, and suddenly she was cold again. Strongly, she grips the edges of the bathtub and her nails, almost with minds of their own scratch at the bathtub. She didn’t want to remember Sarah. It was too painful.

Aria loved her dearly, loves her dearly. Yet the memory of the lovely human was too much for her to bare and only allowed her to enter the home of her mind on lonely nights where she wished Sarah’s hand would grip her hip, assuring her all would be fine.

“I would’ve married her if we didn’t move, father!” The pain and anger was clear in Aria’s voice as she pointed her finger at her father. Nathaniel’s brows were arched down, rested on top of his eyes and another one of his countless stressed sighs left him. Clearly, very annoyed with his only daughter’s constant protesting.

“Aria, love,” He begun, turning his body around to give her his attention. That’s what she needs, he thinks. Attention. “You did not love her like you believe you did. Moving away was best for you three, you know that.” He drips poison into her mind, with a desperate attempt to get her to stop yelling about Sarah.

The poison slips out of her ear, she was untouched. “It was not for us three, Kavasoth, your truth is the GAME!” Nathaniel’s impatience increases. Tapping his fingers on the oak table, he continues. “You seek for a fault against another. Stab it with me if you suppose, but you will be bound to a good hearted man. Just like Namira and Selen.”

Loving a man. Being bound to a man. The thoughts made Aria ache to scratch at her skin till it bled, to rip her hair out and throw the dark strands of it to the floor. She wanted to touch a woman’s skin for the rest of her life, feel her lips on her forehead when the morning sun swims into their master bedroom, wants to hear her wife’s sweet words throughout the day. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes, pushing her to make the confession to her father. “F-Father… A man is not what I wish -”

“Hush, Aria.” He held a finger up to her plump lips. There was an overwhelming temptation to bite and rip the skin from his finger off and spit it to the floor, she kept a calm composure. “The ache to feel a woman is a temporary demon. Your mother went through -”

“I’m not mother. Mother’s been dead for 15 years.” She harshly interrupted, Nathaniel’s jaw clenches hard. His teeth slowly start to grind. A hand is raised in the air, but is frozen when a third voice joins the two arguing. “Father.” It was a warning. Aria and Nathaniel turn their attention to the youngest Caslova child. His dark eyebrow rests on one eye while the other raises. “Please aid my intelligence, how would slamming your hand against my sister’s cheek prove your point, when in everyone’s pupils it would prove you are a low patience father.”

Nathaniel slowly steps over to his youngest child who stands there with long hair tied back into a loose bun, pale stomach exposed with the only thing covering his torso being a tool to bind his chest. It was multicolored, a few shirts sliced apart with a knife held together with the similar material to the tightness of a corset.

He greets his youngest with a cold dismissal. “You may walk off, your sister and I are engaged in a conversation. Your involvement is not existed here.”

“I witness you raising a hand to meet her cheek with your palm, my involvement simply is more than existing.” The vampire hunter’s jaw slowly unclenched, his arms uncross and rest at his sides. In defeat, he sighs and dismisses himself. “Acceptable. But I do not want Sarah dripping off your tongue and tainting your thoughts, she was a demon infested soul and tried to bring demons into yours. You left your soul’s door open.”

“Vemenies, nomeries nata.” Common tongue drips off of her tongue, Nathaniel hears it clearly. “That tongue is no longer common, darling. Focus your eyes and mind on the history of this family and the tongue we let slip now.” Right after he finishes, he leaves. Aria’s fist shook with rage. A few hot tears spill down her face, then whips her body around and lets the wall meet her fist.

A sharp ache trembles her fist. “He compares you to a woman you barely even know.” A small groan Aria lets out. “To make his heart feel better, brain at ease. He compares you to a woman who he did not love.”

“Your suggestion is he does not love me like he didn’t mother.” The younger nods. “Your birth was not the one who killed mother. But you are identical to her, that angers him. Mother angered him.”

“He hardly is a father to us at all. He has adoration for Vincent.” Vincent was the prodigy, he was supposed to make it. He was supposed to be the one that succeeded instead of being the falling of the Caslova empire. “Brother serves father, confirms his needs are aided too and doesn’t let the truths of his dangerous Vampire hunting slip from his tongue.”

Ian continues with his explanation. “You are an ill amount of stubborn, to Father’s eyes.”

Her curiosity rises. “So why does hit hatred seem to be stronger towards you?” His shoulders rise then slump down again. “Intelligence is a factor father has, but he also has a strong hatred that addicts him. I remind him it is unhealthy, I remind him of somebody he could be. But chooses not to be, or perhaps it is because he pinpoints the fact Mother is gone on me.”

The Caslova daughter goes and wraps her arms around her brother, pulls him into a tight hug. He is shocked at the contact at first, not being used to any sort of physical affection. Awkwardly, he wraps an arm around her in return and hugs her with almost a tight grip. “You are a smart man, Ian.” She unwraps her arms and steps back. “Keep pissing him off.” The tears sink into her skin, leaving behind sticky dry marks.

“I’m going back to see Sarah.” It’s a decision she was positive with. There hadn’t been any contact between her and Sarah for the past while, she worried.

Ian’s concern “Are you sure that’s such a good idea, sister? Father may be angry-“

“To Ceren with father. I leave at dawn; you may tell him what you wish.” After announcing her plan to her younger brother, she turned around and left.

“She’s going to get herself killed.” Ian looks over his shoulder to the unexpected voice, standing there was his older brother, Vincent.

Ian shrugged. “Let her do what she will, if this will bring her peace then it brings her peace. If a blade meets her throat or an arrow in her stomach then may she lay in peace.”

“Sister will not be laid in the ground so early.”

“We will see.”

An aching long two days it took for Aria to reach Venwell, the town she used to live in. She swiftly brought her one leg over the brown steed and jumped off. Mud splatters and stained her dark boots. Softly, she pats her brown steed and looked over her shoulder at the town. Loud booms of thunder echoed from the skies, rushes of heavy raindrops fell and soaked the earth’s grounds and the young woman.

She approached town, the markets she had become familiar with were open, there was a father pulling his child by the wrist to hurry out of the storm, there were an elderly couple shuffling over to the nearest food market. The taller elder placed a hand on his husband’s waist to help support him. Aria walked with a good speed through the marketplace with a usual large attraction, passing through a row of houses of people she once called neighbors and finally approaches a small cabin. It was an unusual piece for the town, but little question arose.

Aria knocked once, waited three seconds and knocked twice more. It was a secret code that Sarah had insisted on having, Aria didn’t question it. She went with it, whatever made Sarah comfortable.

Five minutes passed, Sarah hadn’t answered. She usually was always alert, would answer the door within seconds. Aria was worried but knocked once more just to see, perhaps Sarah was asleep. Another two minutes pass, Aria opens the door cautiously and slowly, Sarah had warned her when they first came in this house together never to go into the house alone.

Aria would pay the price later.

A cold feeling intruded the house, watering Aria’s skin to have goosebumps bloom as she removed her hood. No blankets in front of the windows to shield the house from the rain, there was a dead rabbit on the floor, it had been abandoned there for at least a week. Why didn’t Sarah eat this? She was a skilled hunter who had the curse of being poor, making her hunt for food.

Sarah never wasted her hunted targets, even if they tasted of absolute filth. On the floor, beside the rabbit was a knife. Aria crouched down and grasped the knife. Her finger traces over the ‘S’ carved into the handle, this was Sarah’s hunting knife.

There was no blood on it, no hair from the rabbit, she never carved this rabbit. Sarah didn’t touch this rabbit at all.

Aria’s concern rose. “Sarah?” Desperately, she calls out. With the knife still gripped in her hand, she stands and walks to the open room where she and Sarah had spent many nights together. Fond times were spent in here, where Aria would brush some of Sarah’s hair behind her ear and press soft kisses to her shoulder, promising she was perfect and an eternity together, Sarah teaching Aria how to hunt and properly cook animals (since neither of them were witches, it was up to them to get bloom a fire from sticks.) Other times were miserable, Aria threatening to leave the town for good because of her father, Sarah distancing herself to the point of causing Aria physical misery, despite those times the two were determined to have an eternity together.

The house was small, there wasn’t much to search. Aria leaned against the wooden wall and lets out a stressed sigh. Blood rushes to her head as she bends over, holding her head in one hand. The questions intrude her head, thumping until her head begins to hurt.

‘She’s always here…. Where is she?’

‘Did she search for me?’

She stands straight up, sharply inhaling as she predicts Sarah’s location. Her house before she moved.

In her mind, perhaps Sarah went back to Aria’s old mansion to seek her out, or made it into a small home for herself. It certainly did beat this cabin and Sarah had no luxuries in her house, being abandoned in the forest by her parents and raised by a poor widow, she took her blessings where she could.

The door to the back is shut, Aria opens it and steps outside, yanking her hood over her head to shield it from the rain. She walks through the field of the dead grass, and without noticing accidentally kicks something that was slightly heavy. She stops her tracks and kneels down, seeing the mystery item she kicked, she gathers it and gazes at it.

It was a knife with a tall blade, blood was painted on the blade. In shock, she screams and drops the blood. Her mind raced to multiple possibilities, but two had her heart racing. Sarah used this knife. Whether it was in defense or to harm someone...

What if Sarah was on the run?

‘No, she’d leave a note for me. And she’d come back for me.’ She tells herself, some nerves rest while others continued screaming. Cautiously, she continued to walk. She scanned the yard, seeing the aching familiar sights of dead grass and trees.

She only had to walk a little further to discover the gruesome answer to her question. Where was Sarah? The answer laid in front of her, the body of Sarah Williams. The woman she had loved with all her heart, the one she wanted to spend eternity with. Her tracks stop in shock, her body paralyzes. The rain rushes down harder, her tears begin to form and spill, Mercy and Namira and their angels cried with her.

“No… No… NO!!!” The screams of denial were grave, would make any ear bleed. She runs, knees buckle and collapse in the mud which dirty her clothing. Her jaw drops as she gazes at Sarah’s body was painted in dry blood, and left to soak in mud. Dark bruises intrude her skin, on her wrists were red ligature marks, bruises danced on them. She was tied up.

“Mercy…. Mercy’s tears...” With caution, she gently placed her hand on Sarah’s pale cheek. Her finger shook as they grazed against the cold skin. Her lips trembled, more tears spilt down her red cheeks. “Why…. Why...WHY! WHY! WHY!” Her arms wrap around Sarah’s bloody, bruised body and hugs it. As if she was still alive.

“Sarah… Sarah….” Her name broke out with sobs. Cradling her dead lover, she held her closer and gripped tighter, as if that was the key to bringing her soul back somehow. When she reminded herself Sarah wasn’t coming back, her eyes clenched tightly and sobbed louder.

“I…. I-I…I am s-s..so..” The sobs blocked her words, as an alternate she just somehow got a tighter grip and hugged her lovingly so her body would at least leave with some love from the person that loved her most in this world.

And that’s exactly what Sarah felt when she died, Aria’s love. But when Sarah died, Aria felt guilt.

Eventually, no more tears fell, her face was dry and nose sniffled. Aria slowly brought Sarah’s off of her shoulder and gazed at her face, she gently removed the strands of red hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear. “I…. love you… so much…” Aria kept the ache for revenge a secret, not wanting the last words she’d ever speak to Sarah be of how she would get vengeance for her. Sarah’s life had always been about vengeance, never of love.

Aria refused to be the very thing that Sarah wanted to escape in her short lived life.

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