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oliversrarebooks · 22 hours ago

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The Rare Bookseller Part 78: Oliver's Awakening

Previous > Masterlist

tw: aftermath of mind control, discussion of abuse

October 1925

Oliver writhed on the ground, his chest as tight as a drum and tears squeezing from his eyes, as all the fear and pain and shame that had been suppressed the past few months flooded him.

He'd been content, so content to give up his own life to become the servant of a vampire, hardly even struggling as he was taken and confined and ensorcelled. He'd enjoyed the vile feedings, looking forward to the vampire drinking away his blood, pleased to slump over in the vampire's arms as his life was drained, satisfied with the twin scars on his neck. He'd cheerfully allowed the vampire to pass him around like a party favor to his lover, to curl up around him as he slept, to dress him up in ball gowns and take him to vampire dens to show off…

But truly, it wasn't the shame that hurt the most -- that was just the easiest of his emotions to understand. No, the worst of it was the profound sense of emptiness. It was if Alexander's music had filled something within him he hadn't known was empty. It had given him a purpose, even if it was to follow the selfish whims of a monster, and now he was devoid. Knowing intellectually that it had never been a real purpose, just enslavement, didn't ease the sting of his heart.

Vivian crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oliver, I know it's a lot to process. It might take days or weeks --"

"You don't know!" Oliver wrenched backwards to get away from her, furious. "You don't know what you just took. You can't!"

"I know it must hurt --"

"If you knew it would hurt like this, then why did you do it against my wishes?" Oliver demanded.

"Oliver!" Emily was standing nearby. "She was just trying to help. It's not fair to yell at her like that."

"It's not fair that I feel like this!"

"Leave him alone," said Vivian. "Let him scream at me if he wants. He's coming out of a much deeper enthrallment than you were in, Emily. It won't be easy."

"That's not true," she said indignantly. "I could barely talk, couldn't remember my past, wasn't even literate any more."

"Yes, and that's relatively easy for a vampire to do. What's been done to Oliver is far more precise and insidious, to keep him so intact on the surface while bending his desires and loyalties completely."

"Do you mind talking about me as though I'm not even here?" Oliver hated how angry he was, how he couldn't control the harshness of his voice. He was never angry, never so much as raised his voice at a difficult customer, not before he was captured. Even then, his anger had been weak, easily plucked out of his head by that damned Miss Lily. He felt sick to think of himself drowsing in her company, letting her rummage through his very mind, throw out anything she didn't like, and replacing his truth with a pretty painted facade.

"I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I know you're upset with me, but this is important. Can you still feel the connection with your former master?"

"No. It's been severed. I can't hear him anymore."

"That's good. With a vampire that powerful, it's likely that your connection is actually only weakened, not entirely destroyed. He may try to enter your head again, draw you under his sway."

Oliver nodded, ashamed that a part of him hoped he would, that Alexander's music would dull the pain. No, he would have to resist somehow. He couldn't go through all of this heartache for no reason, to go merrily skipping back into the arms of a vampire. Vivian's magic had stripped away the illusion, revealed the monster behind the handsome face.

"I'll try to resist," said Oliver shakily.

"Good, that's good. If you hear his voice, you need to tell me immediately, all right? I can help protect you, or wash out his influence again if we need to," she said. "It's my fault for not killing him when I had the chance. I was a coward. And now I'll have to plan to go after him again, before he hunts me down."

"Don't kill him!" Oliver's fervor surprised even him.

"Oliver, you'll never be safe until I do."

"I know that, but -- I don't want him to die. Maybe I should want him to die, maybe I'm still under his spell, but I can't bring myself to want him to die," he said, not understanding why he felt so strongly about this when he knew Alexander's true nature.

"He took you from your bookshop, remember?" said Emily. "The whole time we were in those cages -- at least, before Lily warped our minds -- that's all you could talk about, was your bookshop and how you had to return there. Don't you want to?"

His bookshop, and the tiny apartment above. His little safe haven, where he'd spent his entire life. The antique books locked behind the counter, the sagging shelves of the history section, the ratty armchair with the throw blankets that might still be waiting for him.

"I can't go back there," he said. "Alexander was one of my customers. He'd find me easily."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Vivian.

Mounting horror dawned on Oliver. "But even if you did kill him, it wouldn't do any good, because his sire would find out and hunt us both down. I'm sure of it."

"His sire? A vampire that powerful, and he's still beholden to his sire?"

"He's a terrifying vampire." The fear, which had been acute before, was now so much more sharp without Alexander's soothing influence. He could remember the feel of harsh fangs in his neck all too well, the panic of being unable to open his eyes. "Far more terrifying than Alexander could ever be. Alexander once told me that if we ever tried to escape him, he'd hunt us both down and make sport of it, and I believe him."

"It can't be…" Vivian muttered. "Tell me more about him, your former master's sire."

As much as Oliver didn't care to recall those memories, Vivian might actually be able to help. "I'll tell you whatever information I have. I'd be happy to see him die, and Alexander would, too. I don't know his real name, but they all call him the Maestro --"

"You've met him?" She gripped his shoulders like a madwoman. "You've actually met the Maestro?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You've heard of him?"

"He took my mother. He's the vampire I need to kill more than any other. You must tell me everything you know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "I can tell you everything I've learned about him, if you agree that you won't kill Alexander."

"Even if I were convinced you truly meant that and it wasn't just residual conditioning, I couldn't agree to that. Alexander is likely to come after me for taking you, and if he does, I need to be able to defend myself."

"I suppose that's true," said Oliver reluctantly. He didn't want to admit to himself that it would be ideal if Vivian were to kill the Maestro but spare Alexander, so that he would have the option of returning to the vampire without the threat of his sire hanging over their heads.

No, he must still be under the spell. He shouldn't return to Alexander under any circumstances, not if he wanted to keep a free thought in his head.

"You need to tell me," Vivian insisted. "Revenge on the Maestro is one of the main reasons I became a hunter in the first place. It wasn't just my mother who suffered. He's killed at least twenty hunters, and he's believed to have kidnapped a number of musicians and stage performers. He needs to be stopped."

"He does." Oliver sighed, feeling that tiny bit of leverage slip. "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

He tried to recall everything he could for Vivian's sake -- everything Lex had told him, and especially recounting his own experiences with the cruel vampire. Emily sat nearby, her eyes going wide with horror as Oliver described his blinding and the painful feeding. Vivian, on the other hand, was absorbing all of Oliver's words carefully.

"So when he controlled you -- was there any sort of induction he had to perform? Any conditions he had to meet?"

"I don't think so, or at least I don't remember any. Alexander didn't mention any either. He was able to puppet my body as easily as if I were a toy, and there didn't seem to be any way to resist it."

"Hm. That's going to be trouble," said Vivian, deep in thought. "And when he stopped you from opening your eyes again -- how long did it take for that enthrallment to wear off?"

"It didn't. The next day, Alexander took me to Miss -- to another vampire's home, one that specializes in hypnotizing humans, and she reversed the Maestro's command."

"A specialist in hypnotizing humans? Lily?"

"You know her too?"

"Yes, I'm aware of her."

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

"I really should, considering how many people's minds she's destroyed -- or are you going to defend her as well?"

"…No." Truthfully, he felt more conflicted about it than he should, given that Vivian was objectively correct. How many human minds had she stolen? How many lives had she cut short, selling innocent people off to vampires with nothing more than glee about her profits? She was the one who had twisted his mind, and all those feelings of comfort and warmth as he slept in her chair were nothing more than lies to keep him docile.

"So do have any idea where the Maestro lives?"

"No, I'm sorry. Those are the only two times I encountered him, and Alexander never mentioned where he lives, from what I can recall."

Vivian sighed. "It's a pity. But even so, you've given me far more information than I had yesterday, and I'm grateful for it."

"You know… both you and Alexander want the Maestro dead. Could you ever consider working together?" asked Oliver.

"Working with a vampire?"

"Only this one specific time, only to kill an even worse vampire!"

"I can't do that," said Vivian. "Even if we do have the same goal. Fighting a vampire as formidable as the Maestro would leave me vulnerable, and I can't trust that this Alexander wouldn't simply enthrall me afterwards. In fact, he'd be stupid not to, lest I kill him."

Oliver wanted to protest that Alexander wouldn't do that… except that Alexander might actually do that. After all, he had no qualms at all about buying a human at auction, even a human he previously knew as an equal. Why would he hesitate to enthrall a hunter?

"Come on," said Vivian, helping him off the floor. "We can talk more about this later. You've been through a lot tonight, and need more time to shake off the spell you've been under. We have a room that you can use, but I'm going to have to lock you in, and keep you under surveillance for now, at least until we're sure that your vampire isn't going to try and push himself into your head again."

"Fine," he said, accepting that Vivian didn't trust him. He didn't even trust himself. "Why can he still do that, if you've undone the enthrallment?"

"There's a psychic connection established when a vampire drinks your blood. It's not quite the same thing as enthrallment, and it can be very strong. It fades in days or weeks, but until then, you'll still be vulnerable to the vampire's influence."

"I see." He wondered if that applied to any vampire which had fed from him. If it did, that meant -- "But the Maestro, he…"

"Yes," she said grimly. "Has he ever entered your mind before, when he's not there in person?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"I hope not either. I'm not prepared to fight him just yet. If you sense anything, you need to tell me right away."

"Yes, of course."

Vivian led Oliver out of the attic and into a room little bigger than a closet, with a cot and a small chest of drawers. "You should get some rest," she said, herding Oliver inside. "You'll feel better once you have. Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water, please?" asked Oliver, sitting on the edge of the cot. "And if you have any interesting books…"

"Certainly. I'll see what I can do."

Oliver waited patiently for Vivian to return with the water and a couple of old magazines. As soon as she left the room and he heard the lock click shut, he fell back onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to concentrate on reading, not with all the thoughts crowding his head.

He was free.

Wasn't he?

It was terribly hard to feel free when he was locked into a small room, the threat of his vampiric master and his sire still hanging over his head like an executioner's axe. The confinement was for his own safety, and he understood the reasons, but he wouldn't actually be free until both Alexander and the Maestro had ceased to walk the earth.

He was frustrated with himself. He shouldn't care so much about the well-being of a vampire who had literally purchased him at auction. And yet…

Now that the initial shock and fear had worn off, he was finding himself gripped by a deep and profound sadness. The cot he lay on was hard and cold, and he couldn't suppress his longing for his bed at home -- no, Alexander's bed. It wasn't ever his. He'd been hypnotized to share it, to cuddle up with a monster.

He'd been hypnotized into affection.

And it was really the only affection he'd had since he was a child, wasn't it? He'd lived such a solitary and quiet life, spending almost every night alone in his small apartment with books for company. Even the simple pleasure of curling up to read next to someone else had been foreign to him until he came into Alexander's possession.

And it had all been a fabrication meant to keep him compliant, hadn't it? He shouldn't miss it. He should be glad to be rid of it.

But the thought of returning to his solitary life, of never experiencing actual tenderness, was crushing him inside. He'd been starving for so many years, but it had been bearable when he didn't know what he was missing. Now that he knew that his choice was between actual loneliness and false companionship, he could only be ashamed at the parts of himself which preferred the lie.

No, he had to press on somehow. He couldn't return himself to a monster, no matter how charming. He should be happy to be freed. He could have his own life back. He could sleep during the night and wake during the day, and walk in the sunshine, and choose to go wherever he pleased.

He could take what little money he had stashed in his bookshop and take a train out of town, or a boat overseas, see the new places that he dreamed about but never got around to visiting. He could start his life over, do something else with it. Live a fuller life in the here and now rather than wait in his lonely little bookshop, wait for something to happen to him. Something had happened to him, and it should have taught him a lesson about choosing what he wants before it's chosen for him.

It was exhilarating. But…

For all his newly gained freedom, he still had no idea what he actually wanted. The desire for fangs in his neck was fake, but at least it was a clear desire. What did he want before, apart from books and safety? And who was he now, now that he knew the dangerous world of the supernatural lurked just behind every streetlamp, just waiting to pull him into it?

Previous > Masterlist

Next week: Oliver is not as free as he might have hoped.

I'll also have a Christmas-adjacent self-indulgent vampire story up tomorrow, so please keep an eye out! And vote in the holiday edition of Sedation Vending Machine!

Thanks for reading this story another year, and happy holidays!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly @ium1naryy @wumpbean

#whump #whump writing #vampires #mind control #vampire hunter #vampire whump #rare bookseller #oliver #vivian #emily

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catsannie · 3 days ago

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IM JUST EMBARRASSED

SYNOPSIS~ when your friends reach out saying you need to be more “social” and need to talk to more people, your friend tells you she “knows a guy” for you to get aquatinted with, what she didn’t tell you is he’s in another country and doesn’t speak the same language. will this work out?

AUTHORS NOTE ~ heyyyyy guys im starting to get back into writing this again, ive just been so busy 😔 but i hope yall enjoy this chapter! i apologize if its boring and if its ass😭, im still getting back into the hang of things

previous | masterlist | next

Putting down her phone defeated, y/n looks over at the character that has been idling on her island. ‘why did i have to say i only knew animal crossing, i could have lied. or tried to change the conversation to something else.”

As she was about to turn off the switch a buzzing came from the couch. Looking towards the phone, it was yeri.

“Hey yeri, what’s up?” Y/N asked while trying to put everything away.

“you’re never going to believe who i got a message from!!” she squealed. Knowing yeri it was either a new guy she was talking to, or seunghun and yonghee trying to get her help on something.

“i don’t know yeri, was it seunghun telling you he got his foot stuck in a pot again?” Y/N asked. Knowing seunghun it was a possibility. “cause i can’t deal with having to put butter around his ankle because he’s too afraid to break the pot.”

“uhhhhh no, it was San!” Yeri exclaimed. “ he felt bad with how the conversation went and wants to try again!”

With a sigh, Y/N sat back down on her couch, ‘San? feel bad? why would he feel bad?’ does he just want to feel bad cause he can? or is there another reason. “Yeri, why does he feel bad? i should be the one feeling bad, cause clearly animal crossing wasn’t the greatest answer to give him.”

It was embarrassing. Since he clearly didn’t play the game or possibly like it. But there are more conversations to have that does not involve video games that neither of them play… for certain reasons.

“It is just who he is as a person Y/N. He feels bad that he asked a stupid question and didn’t ask a more straight forward one. He was also nervous.” Yeri Added. Y/N could hear some shuffling from the other end of the phone, yeri was either fidgeting because she’s nervous or getting onto her couch.

At this point, she was willing to play the long game. Test out the waters with San and see where things go. It could either go good and she learns the language, or it goes bad like all the other men she’s talked to in the past.

“Fine Yeri, if that’s how he feels about it i’ll send him a message tomorrow. I just want to turn off my switch and watch some tv. My brain is fried.” Y/N chuckled while picking up the switch controller.

“Your brain wouldn’t be fried if you went outside instead of playing animal crossing all day. But anyways, i’ll talk to you later i think seunghun actually got his foot stuck in a pot.” Yeri sighed while abruptly hanging up.

It was a normal occurrence for their friendship, Yeri being the sweetheart of them all. She sees the good in everyone, it doesn’t matter if you screwed her over in the past. If there was one person Y/N could trust with her life it was Yeri.

Looking at the time on her phone, Y/N stands up and cracks her back.

“yeah it’s about time i get my ass off this couch and do something.” Y/N mumbles while turning off the console.

Tomorrow will be the day she reaches out to San again to have an actual conversation.

TAGLIST~

@tiddygang2020 @1lovejinki @astrid-potato @potatos-on-clouds @staytinyluv

#ateez scenarios #ateez smau #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #choi san fanfic #choi san scenarios #choi san smau

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smittenmeraki · 3 days ago

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I am currently laying in bed with a fever unable to sleep and Jerejean is haunting my brain...

I can play this lil scene in my head where Jean has been kinda off all day. Flinching away from everyone, hesitant to look anyone in the eyes, nearly shoved Jeremy to the ground because he accidentally snuck up beside him. After they get home Jean goes straight for his room, not bothering to turn on the light, he just hides away behind a mostly closed door. Jeremy notices the crack letting a little light in and takes it as an invitation. 'He cant really want to be alone if he didnt lock us out, maybe I can do something' so Jeremy creaks the door open and Jeans sitting on the floor, back against the bed with his head on his knees.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He doesnt respond "I cant help if I dont know the problem." He stirs a bit at this but doesnt move.

"This. You, the girls, I dont know how much i can handle" Jeremy barely hears him, he doesnt ever actaully open up, not fully. The panic sets in because Jeremy cannot mess up this opportunity, hes letting him help. But he doesnt understand what he means, so he walks over and sits across from him.

"What did we do wrong, so we can fix it. The last thing we want is to hurt you"

"Thats it, you haven't. I keep waiting for the other foot to drop, for someone to snap. I am Jean Moreau, I have never had...this. Kindness, the feeling of being..."

"Loved. Jean you are loved. By me, by Cat and Laila and Kevin. The pretty girl in the picture and I'm sure so many more. I know that must be terrifying given what you have endured, but that doesn't mean its bad. We will teach you how to be loved." Jeremy reaches out to him, gently making him look up. "You are going to be okay. Maybe not now, but one day" Jean looks up at him with tear filled eyes, so close to breaking. Unable to think of any other proof he could give him, he gives him a soft kiss on top of his head. Jeremy doesnt miss the jagged breath Jean takes and for a moment he thinks he messed up, but in the quietest voice hes ever heard from him, Jean asks "again?" So he does, he kisses his forehead, then his temple, his cheek, the other cheek, then he pulls his hands up and litters kisses over the scars on his knuckles.

"You are Jean Moreau" another kiss to his left hand "and you do not have to be scared." He leans forward and kisses his nose, "You are my Partner," the scar on his eyebrow, "you are Cat and Laila's roommate," The tears fall, "you are not a raven," he kisses those away, "and you are not what they did to you." Holding his face in his hands Jeremy makes him look him in the eye, "You are Jean Moreau and you deserve to be loved." To this, he lets it all out, breaking into a silent sob and he wraps himself around Jeremy, so he pulls him closer, puts a hand in his hair and whispers "I got you" over and over until he falls asleep.

I don't even know of this would be in character, I am not lying when I say I am delusionally sick, but I really hope we get another, more in depth moment of Jeremy conforming Jean (or vice versa 👀) 19 was a rough age for me and I didnt go through a quarter of the truama he did, he honestly needs so many more hugs.

#jean moreau #jeremy knox #jerejean #aftg #tsc #im cryin #i feel sick #like literally

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yncoreee · 6 hours ago

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CEO PHAM. Hanni x reader

Synopsis: you’ve had enough dealing with Hannis cold and unbothered attitude, you think it’s finally time to resign but the problem is….she won’t let you

Warnings .ᐟ ummmm hello! It’s been like a month since I last uploaded a fic!!! Angst (?) idk but it’s not fluff, mentions of over-working, dark circles, taking sleeping pills, Hanni is described as a cold hearted, cruel, and mean person in this story, more parts for sure ( I lit have 7/8 other parts TT)

It was no secret that Hanni was described as a cold, cruel, ceo.

Rumors circulated the building the first few weeks before you officially became her secretary generating a sensation of fear in you.

But those rumors were proven to be true the moment you became her secretary.

She was nothing but cold and cruel. Giving you paper works that could take almost a whole day and give no sign of sympathy of mercy. The more and more days that passed on the more and more you got tired of being her secretary.

The last straw broke when she added a ton more to your work at 2am when you were about to be done with your previous work.

Your eyes twitched at her as she stepped out of the building right infront of you. Due to frustration you grabbed a huge chunk of your hair, your head unconsciously falling on top of the desk.

You woke up at 4am, looking around only to find yourself still in the office building and still in your yesterdays outfit. “Huh? I must’ve slept here last night”

Your hands unintentionally found it’s way, digging into your purse and bringing out your handy mirror. Your eyes widening in horror as you examined your present state.

A shriek escaped your lips as you noticed the dark circles below your eyes. If a child saw you they would mistake you for penny wise.

Your eyebrows furrowed with anger as you realized the reason for all this happening.

“Pham Hanni!” You spoke through gritted teeth. You dig into your purse one more time to bring out a sheet of paper you knew would be handy anytime soon.

You signed below the paper, the only thing remaining was her own signature.

Getting up from the chair, you headed to a nearby bathroom to give your make up a light touch. No one must see you looking like this.

—

“Good morning Ms.Pham!” You greeted plastering on a fake smile across your lips. “Uhhh I hope you’re not too busy, I have to talk to you about something” you deliberately emphasized on the word something.

“Something?” Hanni raised an eyebrow at your statement. “I’m not too busy, so sure. Let me hear this something” she leaned forward motioning for you to take a seat opposite her.

With clear hesitation, you sat infront of her pulling out the resignation letter placing it clearly in front of her.

“What is this?” She furrowed her eyebrows taking a closer look at it, “letter of resignation” she mumbled to herself her eyes widening in clear realization.

“What?! What makes you think I’m going to sign this?” She huffed folding her arms above her chest.

“Umm sorry but you have to, it was literally in the contract that I could resign whenever I wanted” you gave her judging stares.

“No I’m not signing it, you’re staying with me forever—“ you raised an eyebrow at her sentence causing her to stop midway. “wait hold on that sounded weird but yeah! Get the message I’m not letting you resign”

She’s behaving oddly strange.

“Why?” You asked staring intensely at her.

She sighed, leaning against her chair her shoulders hanging low. “Is it because of how I treat you? I promise I’ll treat you more nicely and humanly. I’m sorry for whatever harm I must’ve caused you” she apologized her eyes and tone softening which almost led you to buying it.

Wait! She was aware of what she was doing all these while and didn’t do anything about it??

“I’m so sorry but there’s nothing I can do right now, I’ve already came to my final decision” you spoke through gritted teeth. Your eyes narrowing at the ceo.

“Fine then. I’ll sign it” she grabbed a pen, scribbling hee signature below the paper. “But just know that because I’ve signed the paper doesn’t mean I’ll let you be just like that” she added with a teasing grin.

“Ummm ok whatever, that’s weird” you shrugged it off.

The intense atmosphere in the room caused you to immediately leaving the room. “I swear that woman is on something”

—

Ever since you’ve resigned from your “toxic” job. You’ve been living the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Your parents promised to take care of your finances, taxes and bills after you told them about it. They told you they weren’t going to let stress yourself about working.

Everything was all going fine and perfect. That was until…… someone had to spoil it.

#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans fluff #newjeans hanni #hanni x reader #Hanni fluff #fluff

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lunarmothim · 1 day ago

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shadowbound- john price x reader

part ii: soon - the truth comes out.

word count: 4.5k tags/warnings: language, abduction, canon typical violence.

It's quiet. Too quiet- all you can really hear is the creak of footsteps against the flooring downstairs, a small indication of your captors moving about. If they speak they don't do it at a volume you can hear no matter how hard you strain your ears.

It's fine. This is fine. You've gotten out of worse situations, haven't you? You were supposed to die in Al Mazrah, a bullet in your head while the Russians made off with your cargo. You didn't. You were supposed to die back in Texas, locked in a cell deep underground with no hope of escape. You didn't.

You can make it out of this.

Your options are limited, though. Breaking out of your zip cuffs would require an injury, something that would require medical attention and slow you down, and that's not even considering your chances of making it past the four men downstairs. Talking your way out of it is even less likely especially now that they know you're a former Shadow, something they don't seem to like all that much. So what's left?

You don't know. You've been in survival mode the last few months, no time to plan or prepare- not that you have that luxury now, but it's still a situation that requires some thought, and that alone gives you pause. What do I do? Figure a way out of here, obviously, but you can't quite figure out where to start, not when every thought you have has a counter-plan staring right back at you.

Well, when in doubt do what you know.

It's awkward, the shift to shimmy your wrists down to your ankles, bringing your bound hands in front of you, and for a second you worry your hips won't allow you to move your arms the way you need to. You make it somehow, immediately reaching up to yank the bag from your head.

Which brings you to the next step you're not a hundred percent sure of. You have your sight back but limited use of your hands- do you run? You're fast enough you could make it, but your mobility could present a problem until you're able to get the cuffs off. The city would be easy enough to disappear into until you could get new documents, but how hard would it be for them to find you? The military has resources, a lot more than you do at this point, and you imagine it would take them no time at all to locate and apprehend you again.

So what the fuck do you do?

You have no fucking clue, and you're not given a lot of time to think about it. The door slams open and you're looking up at the captain again. He doesn't look entirely surprised by the state you definitely hadn't been left in.

"We're moving," is all he says, stalking forward to yank you up out of your chair. Think. Think. Formulating plans on the go is your specialty, but everything you'd ever been taught is a vague memory on the edges of your subconscious, just out of reach, as he leads you through the house, down the stairs and out the front door. He doesn't bother with a blindfold when he throws you into the back of the van again, at least, nor does he change your cuffs to rebind you behind your back.

You're not sure if you should find that comforting or not.

You decide on not when it's Ghost that climbs into the back after you, his dark eyes boring into your soul.

"So," he says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, lurching slightly when the van starts moving. Your patch is in his hand, the worn edge peeking between his fingers. "Wanna tell us what you did to Graves?"

Oh, you're not fucking ready for that. The silence between Ghost leaving you and you being dragged out to the van clearly hadn't been empty- they'd dug, found something you weren't entirely prepared to address if they know about Graves.

"Dunno what you mean," you croak out, voice breaking slightly on the syllables. He doesn't look like he believes it.

"Try again." His hand catches you by the jaw again, refusing to let you look away, refusing to give you even a second to gather your racing thoughts. They know you're a Shadow, they know about Graves. What else do they know? Do they have your file? His fingers tighten when he says your name- your full name, not just the first name you'd given the captain at the train station. They have your file.

Graves burned the files of anyone he lost. He clearly hadn't burned yours.

There's no use pretending anymore.

"You're taking me back to him, aren't you?" you whisper, staring up at him. If he's going to lie to you, you're going to make him look you in the eyes while he does it. You think of your last interaction with the commander, the barely healed scars scattered across your body. The days spent in a cell before he'd released you with the false promise of safety.

"It's just how we have to do things, doll," he drawled, dragging his palm over the deep cut on your shoulder even when you flinched away. "Gotta make sure you know how not to talk, no matter the circumstance."

You knew how not to talk. He knew that you knew how not to talk. He chose to torture you anyway.

So if this group is taking you back to Graves, you'll find a way to make them kill you along the way.

And if they won't? You'll just do it yourself.

You lunge before Ghost can react. The knife strapped to his thigh is in your hands, slicing through your cuffs in one fluid motion. In the same breath you have the back door of the van open, tucking in on yourself as you roll out onto the street- you can hear the screech of the tires, the van jerking to a halt, but you pay it no mind, leaping to your feet and sprinting back down the road. It's lined with sparse trees on either side and not much else, not a lot of options to hide.

Don't hide, your brain chides you, urging you on. Keep running.

You'd run track in school, a sprinter through and through. Always the fastest, taking first every time. It's been a while since you've needed it, but it's easy to fall back into old habits, keeping your elbows close to your body and your frame tilted slightly forward, your center of gravity kept low. Keep it close, keep it tight. Sprint like your life fucking depends on it.

The tree you pass catches the bullet shot after you. You hear it thud into the wood seconds after you duck around it, inches from your head. Too close. Keep running. There's a wheat field in the distance, tall golden stalks swaying in the breeze. Make it there and you can disappear into them, hide until they pass. Find your way back to the city, find your way out.

If only things were that simple.

A heavy weight strikes the center of your back, driving the air out of you as you crash into the ground. Your stolen knife tilts up, digging into flesh that doesn't even get a reaction beyond the hot spurt of blood across your knuckles before your arms are wrestled behind your back again. You feel the scratch of his balaclava against your cheek, his weight pinning you to the ground with ease.

"Makin' my job fun," he pants low in your ear, a hint of amusement in his tone. You struggle against his hold when he stands, hauling you up to your feet, but his grip is unrelenting. "C'mon then. Let's go."

The van is waiting in the same spot you'd left it. This time, after zip-cuffing your hands behind your back again, Ghost keeps hold of you.

"Slippery little minx, isn't she?" The captain's voice as you're shoved into the back of the van again has you bristling, wanting to rip free and strangle him with your bare hands. "You good?"

"M'solid," Ghost grunts, and you hiss when he brackets your shoulders between his knees. "Sit fuckin' still."

"Fuck you," you can't help but growl, wrenching forward until your shoulders ache. "Let me fucking go-"

"Not a chance." His tone brooks no argument, and you almost howl when he grabs you by the back of the neck, fingers digging into the sides of your throat. "Sit. Still."

What else can you do but obey? You don't relax against him, body tense against his calf and ready to run again- not that his hold on you would let you.

"Talk." It's the captain that speaks, and when you look up at him he's twisted in his seat, staring back at you.

"Eat shit, captain," you spit back, and his eyes narrow in response. "I'm not goin' back. Just fuckin' kill me."

That, it seems, gives him pause. Narrowed eyes widen slightly, really taking you in for the first time. The defiant set of your shoulders, the way you're ready to spit acid despite your captivity. He sees you, sees the way you're ready to run again, how you're ready to die. His voice drops.

"What happened." It's no longer a question, his hand twitching toward his gun. You're out of chances.

What can you do but tell him the truth?

DELIVERY ROUTE AL MAZRAH 12 AUGUST 2022, 0300

The road is dark, quiet. Not uncommon in the deserts of Al Mazrah this time of night, but still unnerving as you navigate toward the drop off point. The SUV follows a large cargo truck with a blue shipping container on the back, two more with similar cargo in front of them in the convoy. You don't know what you're transporting, but a nagging feeling in your gut tells you it's big. Important. Behind the wheel, Erikson seems to think the same.

"What are we carrying this time, Graves?" he asks, glancing at you in the rearview when you make a small noise of agreement, slightly narrowed eyes telling you to keep quiet. One curious team member asking questions is one thing, two becomes an irritation. No one likes it when Graves gets irritated.

The radio crackles with static, followed by that smooth southern drawl that to some is probably charming, but to you just feels slimy. "If I told ya, I'd have to kill ya."

"I bet he'd do it, too," Vance mutters, and you hum in agreement as you flick your gaze between the two men in the front seat and the truck in front of you. Of the members of your team Vance is the one you're closest to, the one who shares your whispered concerns about what the hell it is you're even doing these days and why you seem to be so far up Shepherd's ass you know what meal he's currently digesting. Concerns he'd only brought up to you over a stolen bottle of whiskey on the HQ rooftop, the haze of a shared cigarette hanging between you.

He's a good man, a little softer around the edges than the rest of the hardened soldiers that make up the Shadow Company. He'd told you once that he'd wanted to be a teacher, before a terrorist attack had taken down planes in New York. That he'd enlisted the next week and before long his hands were so bloody he could barely look anyone in the eye. To this day, he refuses to tell you why he decided to go private, how he'd ended up on this dark desert road transporting who the hell knows what to who the hell knows who.

Classified, Graves had told you all at the meeting before you'd shipped out, with some vague story about delivering some aid to your allies in the area. The rest is need to know.

Need to know always raises interest, makes you speculate when there's little else to focus on but making sure you aren't being followed. You can't speak for the dozens of Shadows that make up the convoy, but you know for sure that you and the other three in this SUV are all wondering what's so important that you have to transport it in the dead of night through hostile territory.

"This's nothing but a milk run, boys," Graves answers after a moment, sounding a little too smug as always. He enjoys having the upper hand, knowing things that others don't. He does throw you a bone though, edged with warning - "Guns for the good guys - you'll be back at HQ for breakfast. Don't shit the bed and there'll be bonuses all around. Find me when you're back."

While the other three answer in the affirmative, Vance and Erikson bumping fists, you stare out the window at the black windows of the abandoned buildings you're driving past, eyes scanning for anything out of place. Something about this just isn't sitting right with you, even more so when the radio crackles again and Graves informs you that Shepherd's waiting for a sitrep.

"Three containers..." Vance muses, and when your eyes shift to him, his own gaze is fixed on the shipping container in front of you, contemplative. His face is obscured by his balaclava and shadows, but you can see the corner of his jaw working behind the black fabric, slowly clenching and unclenching. He's on edge, too.

"That's a lotta fuckin' milk," Dipaolo agrees from where he's sitting next to you, and you can see his wry grin bunching up the balaclava at the corners of his mouth.

"Thirsty friends," Erikson responds with a slight shrug, radioing in to Shepherd with the sitrep, who warns them much like Graves had not to fail. That alone rings alarm bells in your head, but before you can voice them Vance beats you to the punch.

"Do not fail...? Told you this shit was important," he says, and when his green eyes meet yours in the rearview, you can see the worry buried in the furrow of his brows. You're sure his mouth is pressed into a tight line beneath the balaclava.

The cargo truck in front of you comes to a sudden stop, drawing all of your attention forward. You weren't supposed to stop, had been ordered to keep moving no matter what. Doesn't matter if there's a civvy, just drive through them, Graves had said. Fucking sick, you'd muttered under your breath in response.

"What's this?" Dipaolo asks, his grip tightening on his rifle as he glances between the stopped truck and Erikson, white-knuckled on the wheel.

"Three, this is Erikson, what's up?" the driver demands into the radio, fingers of one hand loosening to twitch toward the sidearm strapped to his thigh. Nothing but a crackle of static for two very long seconds, before 3-1's voice comes back.

"Got a vehicle in the road," he reports, followed by voices calling out loudly in Arabic.

"Stand by, comin' to ya." Erikson spins the wheel and carefully pulls around the cargo truck, and if the alarm bells weren't sounding before, they're practically screaming now - it's only you and the SUV behind you bringing up the rear of the convoy, and all of this feels like a trap. But Erikson is the superior in this car, it's his call. Still...

"Is this the best idea?" you ask quietly, shifting your rifle in your lap as you creep up alongside the stopped convoy toward the commotion at the front. "Weakening the rear like this?"

"Not your call," Vance warns, a flash of green in the rearview again. You can see the same unease you feel reflected in what little you can see of his face as he picks up the radio. "Graves, Vance - be advised, we're held up, sortin' it out now."

"Handle it - keep the line movin'." The look Vance gives as he acknowledges Graves' response says see? We're solid. You don't feel solid. You feel like the earth is about to open up beneath your feet, even more so when you reach the front and see the brake lights of 3-1's armored truck, doors open as he stands in the road trying to coax the driver of the heavy cargo truck blocking the road at an angle out of the way in broken Arabic.

"I don't like this," Erikson says quietly, glancing back at you. For the first time since the convoy had stopped, you can see a hint of unease in his brown eyes.

"Something's wrong," you murmur in agreement, fingers tightening on your rifle as your wary eyes stare ahead at the vehicle blocking the road, the lone Shadow trying and failing to convey the urgency with which he needs them to move. His Arabic is atrocious, an obvious fact that probably isn't helping matters, but even his bastardized accent and butchered words are clear - the person in the vehicle needs to move, and move now. But he doesn't, and that alone has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

"Dipaolo, Harbinger, lean out and cover him," Erikson orders, and without hesitation Dipaolo hauls himself up into the open window, leaning out to raise his M4 at the situation in front of them. You mirror him on the opposite side, staring down your sights as the people blocking the road continue to refuse to move.

"We need a 'terp out here, what's the call sir?" 3-1 asks, sounding frustrated as another yelled order goes ignored. Your finger shifts off the trigger guard, wary eyes taking in everything - from the lone man standing near the tailgate of the truck, his two friends peering casually over the back to the man in the road... wrong. Something's wrong. Your instincts are screaming at you, but you tamp them down as you wait for orders.

"Vance, Dipaolo, go help him out," Erikson orders, gesturing to 3-1, who's yelling again. "Harbinger, cover from here."

"Aye sir," you answer, tensing as the door starts to open - and then gunfire erupts. You can barely tell up from down as you return fire, zeroing in on a man who's emerged from a hatch on the top of the body of the truck. 3-1 goes down in the mayhem, and several more enemies pour out of the surrounding shadows.

You barely hear your teammates yelling around you over the rush of blood in your ears, the explosive sound of gunfire echoing off the nearby buildings. The muzzle flash has a strobe-like effect, making you nauseous as you duck back down into the SUV to reload.

"Back up, back up!" Vance is yelling. His voice distant, like it's coming from the far end of a long tunnel. You can't focus on it, can't focus on anything but slamming the magazine into your rifle and leaning out the window again to cover your retreat from the truck that had driven into the road in front of you, full of enemy reinforcements.

Above it all, two voices stand out - Graves ordering you to eliminate the threat, and Shepherd... prioritizing the cargo. Something is wrong.

And then everything explodes in a spray of metal, fire and blood and body parts. Ears ringing, you throw yourself back into the vehicle as Erikson tries to maneuver you out of there. You can see the muzzle flash, your team's mouths moving, but all you hear is the ringing. When you reach up to touch your ear, your gloved fingers come away bloody.

Your eyes meet Vance's when your escape route is blocked off, the car jolting as Erikson throws it in reverse, and the last thing you see is Vance's masked face as the flare of the RPG lights the interior of the car, sending it end over end.

141 TRANSPORT PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC 06 DECEMBER 2024, 1830

"I was the only survivor," you tell the Captain quietly. The van had been silent as you told your story. You hadn't wanted to share it at all, but now that you had, it feels almost... cathartic. An outlet for the trauma of what had happened then and what had come after. "I woke up at a field hospital in Urzikstan two, three weeks later? Still not sure, it's all pretty fuzzy. Graves was there, which seemed pretty normal at first. He's a smarmy asshole but no one can say he doesn't care about his team. He was livid with Shepherd for not sending backup. We lost a lot of good men that day.

It wasn't until we were back on base that things started to change. He got quiet, even more secretive than before. Had a lot of closed door meetings with Shepherd, and one fine Thursday morning, he called me into his office. Wanted to hear again what I remembered about the attack. About the cargo. I, like an idiot, voiced my suspicions. Earned myself a one way trip to a cell for it. He did fight Shepherd about killing me, but in the end Shepherd won. In his words, I knew too much.

While the rest of Shadow Company headed out for a mission in Mexico, a dozen of them stayed behind to deal with me. I killed them and dragged their bodies into his office before I escaped. Little message for him. If I had to guess, he decided to just kill me in retaliation. Knew he'd never be able to find me, so he sent someone else to do his dirty work."

Wringing your hands, you stare out one of the two small windows set in the back doors of the van, watching a middle-aged woman in the sedan behind you yelling into her phone, swerving slightly in her anger. It seems so... normal. So mundane. You wonder what has the woman so pissed.

"Why give us so much attitude then?" It's the Captain that speaks. You glance over at him again, note the way his brow furrows as he studies you from beneath the brim of his boonie hat. You can't read his expression fully, but he looks conflicted.

"Don't know you, don't trust you," you answer simply, holding his gaze steadily. Your fear from the train station is long gone, and now you're just tired.

His expression flashes with understanding before smoothing into something unreadable again. "I see."

"Yeah." You study him for a moment, watching the corner of his jaw twitch, the way he rubs at his beard. "I'm not your enemy, you know."

"Do I?" His eyes are exhausted, deep blue staring into yours.

"You should." You want to go home. You want to sleep for a week, take a second to gather your thoughts before you have to move again. You can't help the way it bleeds into your words. "I'm fuckin' tired, Captain. I miss home."

"Where is home?" It's an innocent question, innocuous. It's a window into your soul.

"I don't know anymore." It comes out a whisper, a quiet breath. You haven't had anything to call yours beyond a small room on base in a very long time, the Shadows the only home you'd cared about. You rip your gaze back, staring out the window again. "Born in Minnesota, moved around a lot growing up. Had an apartment in Texas, near Dallas. Didn't much care for it, if m'honest."

"That why you joined the military?"

"S'pose." You don't want to answer the captain's questions but his voice makes it hard, deep and gravelly and demanding answers. "Family's more likely, maybe. Dad was a Marine, made me want to be one too. Went through MARSOC training with Graves. Fuckin' asshole, if m'honest-"

"We know." The Scot is the one to reply, surprisingly, and you glance up to find icy blue eyes staring back. "Nearly killed us." "Bit of a habit of his, isn't it?" you muse, glancing back down again. You hadn't been expecting to find a kindred spirit in this, spewing as much vitriol as you already felt toward Graves. You almost wonder what they'd say if you told them what Graves had threatened to do to you. "Heard he went a bit nuts after Mexico."

"My doin'," the Scot murmurs proudly, and your eyes track over to him once more. Up close like this you can see a scar on his head, the starburst of a gunshot wound. "Blew 'im up."

"Shame it didn't stick," you reply quietly, and his grin drops. They obviously have some kind of connection with Graves too, just as contentious as yours. You won't question it, but you're glad for that little bit of camaraderie. "Next time."

"Next time," Mohawk agrees, and you can't help the tiny smile that splits across your lips at the promise, vague as it is.

It's a flicker of hope. You can't help but latch onto it.

"Can't keep callin' you Mohawk," you murmur out loud, glancing between him and the black man sitting next to him opposite you, your shoulder still pressed into Ghost's knee. "You know my name, sems fair I know yours."

"Soap," he answers after a moment. You don't miss the way his eyes flick between Ghost and Mutton Chops up in the driver's seat. "Captain Price, Gaz, Ghost." You catalogue the names with the men- it's easy with what you know already. Price. The captain's eyes meet yours in the mirror, stormy blue.

"Harbinger," you reply quietly, drawing your legs in. They know it already, if they have your file. It still makes you feel at least a little better, makes you feel like you have even the smallest iota of control.

You keep your hold on the captain long after he's looked back at the road. He looks like he's in charge, turbulent eyes and tense shoulders. If you have even a chance at freedom he's probably the one that will decide, the one that will either order his men to kill you or let you go. You're not holding your breath either way.

"I'm not goin' back." You don't mean it to be rude, but it's true. "Graves can eat a bag of dicks."

"Not takin' you to Graves," Soap tells you, and you almost believe it. Almost.

"Then where?" They won't keep you in Prague. You know that, know the playbook they're working with. Their base is the most likely option, or some kind of middle ground with the agencies that wanted you in the first place. So where? Their accents scream UK.

The van stops. Ghost confirms it, his hand tightening on the back of your neck several minutes before he hauls you out of the vehicle and on to the tarmac. You see the plane you've been brought to, small and private, and it brings you back to the thought of who'd brought you here- you're a hot commodity and you know it, but the question is which three letter agency wants you the most?

They don't tell you. You're given no idea of your destination, no clue who blocks your path. All you know is the firm hold on the back of your neck, Ghost keeping you close. You want to throttle him for it.

Soon.

part one - masterlist - part two

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! :) top/bottom divider by: me line divider by: @/saradika-graphics

#john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #ktwrites #shadowbound #:D

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gejo333 · 6 hours ago

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Under the Mistletoe with You

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Enjoying the holiday market with Miguel.

Enjoy!🎄

Wc: 1.2k

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You breathe warm air into your hands, trying to keep them warm as your worn-out gloves are not helping. You happily listen to the holiday tunes playing, people watching in Columbus Circle at the holiday market, and feeling jittery from the cold and the butterflies in your stomach waiting for Miguel to arrive. It has been over two months since your first date, and everything has been perfect. Even though neither you have declared to make it official, you have high hopes of it leading in that direction soon.

A sense of comfort and warmth washed over you as strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you into a broad chest. You felt a pair of lips against your cheek as he gave you a hello kiss.

You turn around in his embrace as you get on your toes and return the sweet gesture on his lips. "Hi, mi amor. I'm sorry I was running a few minutes late. I hope you weren't waiting for me too long in the cold."

Your cheeks redden from what he called you. He had never called you anything except your name before now. You notice the grin on his face as he notices your reaction to his words.

"No worries. I only got here a few minutes ago. But I didn't realize how cold today would be, so I'm a little underdressed."

You notice his concern as he takes your hands in his large hands and blows hot air into them to help keep you warm. He frowns when he notices your worn-down gloves.

"How about we go to one of those igloo tables at the bar to warm up? I reserved one for us. And then we can walk around and look at the shops?"

"Sounds perfect!"

He smiled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as you headed to the bar.

As soon as you entered the igloo, you were relieved to be wrapped up in the heater's warmth.

"Feeling a bit warmer?" He smiled as he sat down next to you and brought his chair closer to you.

"Much warmer. It feels nice. Thank you, Miguel." You lean forward and kiss his cheek in thanks, but immediately, his fingers gently move your chin as his lips meet yours. Once you pulled away, you couldn't help but feel your heart pound out of your chest as you saw his loving and slightly lustful gaze with a wide, happy grin.

After stealing a few more kisses from each other, you choose your drinks as Miguel goes back outside to get them.

It took him a bit longer to get your drinks, which worried you, but your relief rushed through you once you saw him come back with them. When he entered, you noticed a small bag hanging from his wrist. Sitting down, he passed the bag to you with a happy expression.

You return his smile with an added confused expression. "What's this?"

"I saw something at a stand while waiting for our drinks and wanted to buy it for you." You smile as you open the box to reveal beautiful black leather gloves. Your heart glowed from his sweet gesture. You put them on and were instantly comforted by the soft cashmere against your skin.

"I love them, Miguel. They're beautiful. Thank you." You give him a kiss, which he happily returns.

After sharing sweet sayings and catching up about each other's day, you decided to leave the warmth of the igloo tent and enter the slight chaos of the Christmas market.

One of the first stalls you visited was handcrafted ceramic china from Spain. A row of colored bowls caught your eye as you stared at them in awe. After checking the price of one bowl, your excitement lowered when you realized how expensive one bowl was. You still had to buy gifts for your family and friends. And Miguel. With how tight money has been lately, you knew getting it wouldn't be wise. You sighed sadly as you set the bowl gently back in its place before thanking the store owner and leaving.

"Everything ok?" Miguel looked at you with concern as you saw your slight frown. You smiled up at him in reassurance. "Yeah, I am. I was just a little bummed that those bowls were so expensive. They were so cute. Maybe I can get them next year if the shop is here again."

As soon as you finished your sentence, you were whisked back to the booth by him as he was holding your hand. You stood there dumbfounded as Miguel told the shopkeeper that he wanted to buy one of the bowls in every color you liked: four different bowls. When you came to your senses, you walked right up to Miguel's side.

"Oh, Miguel, you don't need to buy these for me. I'll be ok. You don't need to spend any more on me."

"Nonsense. You liked these bowls. And I want to buy them for you. Especially if I get to see that amazing smile that captures my heart." Miguel handed the shop owner his credit card before smiling lovingly at you.

"How did I get so lucky finding such an amazing man like you?" You wrap your arm around his bicep and hug him. You get on your toes and kiss his cheek.

Miguel leaned down to whisper in your ear."I'm the one who got lucky in finding someone as perfect as you."

As you walked around more of the market, a random man in an elf costume shouted happily at the two of you. "Pucker up, love birds. You're under our surprise mistletoe!"

You and Miguel stop before looking up and seeing the over-the-top mistletoe hanging above your heads. You look back at each other as your cheeks redden from Miguel's smirk.

"I guess we should appease the elf." He chuckled.

"I guess we should." You giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his warm chest before capturing your lips into a sweet, loving kiss.

When your lips separated only centimeters apart, he said, "I love you, y/n."

Your eyes widen in surprise at his words, and your smile widens before you capture his lips again and say, " I love you, too."

3 years later

You chuckled at the framed photo of the two of you from that day at the Christmas market on the bookshelf. Then, you glanced at the adjacent picture from your wedding day, captured just two months ago.

You felt strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a warm body as you felt lips on your neck.

"Dinner is almost ready. Can you help me with bringing the dishes to the table?" He mumbled against your neck as he kissed you.

"Of course." You giggle at him, tickling your neck with his stubble. As you walk toward the kitchen, Miguel grabs you by the waist and stops you right under the doorway as he points up. You look up to see a mistletoe in the middle of the doorway's frame. You smile at him with an arched brow as he sends you a mischievous smirk before dipping you and giving you a passionate kiss.

"Merry Christmas, mi amor."

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I hope you enjoyed it!🎄

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel x reader #oneshot #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x y/n #oneshot requests #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel spiderverse #holidays

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kurominiiiz · 2 days ago

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🖤 Bad Romance 🖤

“ Cafe Amor “

Now Playing:

Bad Romance - Lady Gaga

0:13 ─❍─────── 4:55

↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺

Volume: ▁��▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

“Caught in a bad romance.”

ׂ╰┈➤ Synopsis : The gang meets Crimson Veil in town and they get her number

ׂ╰┈➤ Content Warnings : None

Suguru sat at the cafe table, absentmindedly stirring his coffee as Satoru’s voice filled the air.

“I’m just saying, Midnight Lament was the best performance of the night,” Satoru declared, waving his hands for emphasis. “She nailed that high note like—”

“Like you didn’t scream and scare half the crowd?” Shoko cut in, smirking behind her drink.

Suguru barely listened, his focus pulled by the familiar figure across the street. It was her—Crimson Veil’s lead singer. The idol Satoru had been raving about all night.

Before he could look away, she spotted him.

To his surprise, she smiled slightly and crossed the street, heading straight for their table.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice soft but distinct. Her gaze flickered to each of them, lingering on Suguru for just a moment longer. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Satoru nearly choked on his drink. “Interrupting? You’re a legend. You can interrupt any time!”

The reader laughed lightly. “Thank you. I just wanted to say hi. It’s rare to see fans so close without the usual chaos.”

“You’re talking to *the* biggest fan,” Shoko said dryly, gesturing to Satoru.

“Guilty,” Satoru said, beaming. “And this guy—” he pointed at Suguru “—was totally starstruck at the concert.”

Suguru shot him a glare. “I wasn’t starstruck.”

“Sure,” Shoko muttered.

The reader tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “Were you there last night?”

Suguru met her gaze, calm despite the slight buzz in his chest. “I was. You’re... talented.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was softer now, more personal. “It’s always nice to meet people who appreciate what we do.”

Satoru, ever the opportunist, leaned forward. “You know, if you ever need a local guide or someone to hang out with while you’re in town, we’re available.”

Shoko rolled her eyes, but the reader chuckled. “That’s generous of you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Satoru immediately pulled out his phone. “Here, let me give you my number.”

Suguru felt a nudge from Shoko, who muttered, “You’re hopeless if you don’t do the same.” Reluctantly, he handed over his phone when the reader glanced at him expectantly.

She typed in her number, then smiled at the group. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you all. I’ll see you around.”

As she walked away, Satoru turned to Suguru, wide-eyed. “Do you even realize what just happened?”

Suguru leaned back in his chair, staring at the contact saved in his phone.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I do.”

A flicker, a spark,

a breath caught in the wrong rhythm.

It isn’t real—

just the play of light,

a trick of the moment

cast by time’s unsteady hand.

They say hearts can stumble,

but mine knows its pace,

measured and sure,

immune to the sway of passing shadows.

Still, something lingers.

A glance misplaced,

a weight I cannot name.

It must be a mistake,

a fracture in reason,

nothing more.

But why, then,

does the thought remain,

whispering in the quiet corners

of a mind that should know better?

@love-me-satoru @kidd3ath @inthedarkshadows000

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girlyrafe · 5 hours ago

Text

ice skating.ᐟ

ʚɞ a december to remember

𖢔 notes: this is the last of my Christmas series + hope you have a good Christmas if your celebrating

── .✦ advent .ᐟ

summary: your so excited to go ice skating with Rafe but he’s hesitant, of course he is

ᯓᡣ𐭩

It’s a perfect winter afternoon—one of those that makes you feel like the world is wrapped in a soft, frosty blanket. You’re practically buzzing with excitement as you grab his hand, leading him toward the ice rink. You’ve been planning this for weeks, talking about it every time the temperatures dip below freezing, and now here you are, about to glide across the ice together.

But as you reach the rink, you notice the way Rafe's shoulders tense, the uncertain look in his eyes as he glances down at the smooth, glimmering surface. His lips twitch into a half-smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s clear—he’s nervous.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze, a soft, reassuring tug. “Don’t worry,” you say with a grin. “It’s just for fun. No pressure, I promise. You’ll be fine.”

He nods, but you can tell he’s still not convinced. His boots crunch against the ice with every step, like he’s testing the ground to make sure it won’t betray him. You can almost hear his inner dialogue—he’s probably wondering how he’s going to keep from slipping and turning into a human snowball in front of everyone.

And you can’t blame him. Ice skating can be intimidating if you’ve never done it. But you? You’re already feeling the thrill. The rink is sparkling beneath the low winter sun, the scent of fresh snow and pine filling the air, and you can already imagine the smooth glide of your skates carving through the ice. The freedom, the fun—it’s hard to contain your excitement. You just want him to share in that feeling with you.

You squeeze Rafe's hand again, your fingers warm against his, and give him a playful wink. “Look, I’m not going anywhere,” you tease, hoping to ease his tension. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time. Promise I won’t let you fall… well, I mean, I’ll fall, but I’ll catch you.”

He looks at you, amusement creeping into his features despite the anxiety still tugging at him. “I’m trying to be brave here,” he admits, his voice tinged with humor. “But this ice feels like it’s made of glass. What if I faceplant in front of everyone?”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Everyone falls at first, trust me,” you reply with a wink. “When I started, I spent more time on the ice than standing up. But you know what? It’s fun. And that’s all that matters.”

His brows furrow slightly. “I’m serious, though. I really don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

You know exactly what’s going on in his head. He’s trying to keep it light, trying to make it seem like he’s not nervous, like he’s got this. But you can see the little cracks in his armor. You smile at him, reaching up to gently tap his cheek. “No one’s watching,” you say. “We’re just here to have fun. Not win any trophies.”

He chuckles, but still takes each step like he’s walking on eggshells. His grip on your hand tightens, but that’s okay. You’re in no rush. You gently nudge him forward, taking the lead, letting him follow you as you glide a few feet ahead. You can hear the sound of skates scraping against the ice, the buzz of happy chatter all around, and in the distance, a group of kids whizzes by, their laughter bright and carefree. You wish he could feel that same excitement.

You glance back at Rafe, raising an eyebrow with a playful smile. “Come on, just try it,” you urge. “Trust me, it’s easier than it looks. If you fall, I’ll catch you. I’ll be your personal crash test dummy.”

He gives you a wary look, his body tense as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, still unsure. “I don’t know about this…”

But there’s something in his eyes—something like determination. You can almost see him making the decision to try and not let his nerves hold him back. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to disappoint you, or maybe it’s because he’s finally starting to trust the ice (and you) a little more. Either way, with a deep breath, he bends his knees, shifts his weight forward, and takes his first shaky glide.

You can’t help it—you burst into a laugh, but it’s not at him. It’s with him. His movements are adorable, like he’s testing the ice with every step, unsure whether to commit to the glide or retreat back into the safety of the rink’s edge. It’s so endearing—the way he’s trying so hard to stay balanced, the way his arms flail like windmills.

“Hey, you’re doing it!” you cheer, your voice light and teasing. “Look at you! You’re practically an expert.”

He gives you a nervous grin, his arms still wild, as if he’s waiting for his body to betray him. “Yeah, I’m sure I look super graceful,” he says, but it’s clear he’s feeling a little better, a little less stiff.

But then, just as you think he’s found his rhythm, his skate catches in a divot, and with a comical gasp, his feet slip out from under him. His arms flail for a split second before—wham—he’s flat on his back, staring up at the sky like he’s trying to figure out where the universe went wrong.

You can’t help but laugh—loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that fills your chest with warmth. You skate over, leaning down with a teasing grin. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

He groans dramatically, but there’s a twinkle in Rafe's eye. “Okay, okay. You were right,” he admits, taking your hand as you pull him up. “But I swear, this ice has it out for me.”

You smile at him, shaking your head as you help him regain his balance. “It’s not the ice; it’s that you’re overthinking it. Come on, let’s go slow. I’ll stay right with you.”

The two of you begin skating side by side, moving a little smoother now, though his movements are still cautious. But something’s changed. He’s not holding on as tightly; his shoulders are a little looser. With every glide, he’s growing more confident. And, before you know it, he’s teasing you back, skating just a bit faster, pretending to show off, making you laugh with his goofy little ta-da spin. You can feel his joy seeping in, and you’re so glad you stuck with it.

By the time you both decide to leave the rink, his nerves have melted away, leaving behind nothing but the glow of a successful first skating adventure. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, his smile wide and genuine. He may not be a professional skater, but he did it—and that’s enough. You know this moment, this laughter, this fun will be one of those little memories you both look back on with fondness for years to come.

As you walk off the ice together, hand in hand, you glance over at him, feeling a sense of triumph and affection. Rafe might have been unsure at first, but now—he’s grinning, his heart light, and the world feels just a little brighter. And you know this winter adventure is one neither of you will ever forget.

©GIRLYRAFE

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obito-in-disguise · 1 day ago

Note

Hi there!! I absolutely adore your headcanons and scenarios with the hashiras. Could I possibly request how the hashiras navigate a relationship with a partner who struggles heavily with dissociation? 🥺

Hello anon! sorry this is coming late, I've been taking my time with this since it's a really emotionally packed prompt. Dissociative disorders are a spectrum, so I did a different one for each Hashira. I hope you like it!

| How they deal with a dissociative partner |

Featuring: Tomioka Giyuu, Shinazugawa Sanemi, Iguro Obanai, Kyojuro Rengoku, Gyomei Himejima, and Uzui Tengen.

Tomioka Giyuu: Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder

He wasn't quite sure what was happening at first, so he decided to sit back for a while an observe you before reaching a conclusion.

After doing his research, the pieces all came together. The way you always zone out, movements slowing, never fully being present in a conversation, you were feeling detached from your environment.

He senses it's something you don't want to talk about instead and finds quiet, thoughtful ways to support you through his actions.

He's not big on physical touch (or so he says) but will slide his hand across the table to gently intertwine his fingers with yours when he notices you've slipped into one of your episodes.

The simple gesture grounds you back in reality, giving you something to focus on something instead of your wandering thoughts. He would strike up further conversation, engaging you more.

"Want to go for a walk..."

Shinazugawa Sanemi: Dissociative Amnesia

By his nature, Sanemi’s initial reaction to your forgetfulness was frustration. He’d grow irritated, wondering why you couldn’t remember things you should’ve had no trouble recalling.

When you do however explain how you feel in a jumble of words and emotions, it clicks for him that you may be struggling with something.

He cares for you after all, so his approach changes.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” he’ll say, keeping his tone gentle but firm.

He starts jotting down shared moments in a notebook, handing it to you when you feel lost.

“See? This is us,” he says, showing you drawings of memories you’ve forgotten but can now hold onto.

You start looking forward to his little drawings, the terrible scribbles becoming a lifeline, offering comfort and reassurance in your blank spaces.

Iguro Obanai: Post-Traumatic Dissociation

Obanai is well aware of the things that you've been through and how they often plague you so much, you wish to escape reality.

He's fiercely protective of you because of this, absolutely ripping apart anybody that dares to poke fun at you or make you feel bad because of this.

He's there for you throughout all your episodes, handling them with the utmost care and observance.

When your triggers pull you into vivid flashbacks, leaving you frozen and disconnected from the present, Obanai notices the tension in your body and the way your breathing changes during these moments.

He keeps his distance at first, speaking softly to let you know he’s near, so as not to startle you. Kaburamaru often plays a pivotal role, curling against you to offer a grounding sensation.

“You’re safe now,” Obanai murmurs, his voice steady. He helps you find the present again with patience and quiet reassurance, ensuring you never feel rushed or cornered.

Kyojuro Rengoku: Dissociative Identity Disorder

In the midst of your struggles, one thing is for sure. Kyojuro absolutely loves.

Living with multiple distinct identities, you often feel overwhelmed by the transitions and the uncertainty they bring. You're worried at first that this would scare him away, but in true Kyojuro fashion, he surprises you pleasantly.

Kyojuro embraces all parts of you with his trademark enthusiasm, learning the names and needs of each identity with respect and care.

When you’re struggling with confusion or distress, he’s a grounding force.

“I’m here for all of you,” he says warmly, his gaze unwavering. Kyojuro ensures each identity feels valued, creating a safe environment where you can exist fully without fear of judgment.

Gyomei Himejima: Dissociative Trance Disorder

For obvious reasons, Gyomei is extremely observant of any shift or slight change in your behaviour.

So he becomes concerned when he notices that for some time at a stretch, you don't respond to him or any stimuli for the matter, don't move and in the most extreme cases, lose consciousness.

His enquiry into your these symptoms lead him to your disorder. He learns everything he possibly can about it, its symptoms and what he can do to help.

The next time you slip into a trance-like state, unable to move or speak, as though you’re frozen in time, Gyomei notices this immediately and springs into action.

He carefully moves you into his arms, ensuring you don't get hurt if you lose consciousness or suddenly come to.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly, his hands caressing your skin softly.

He never rushes you, sitting with you in silence until you’re ready to return. Gyomei’s hold creates a safe space for you to process and reconnect, his presence alone a grounding force in your moments of stillness.

Uzui Tengen: Fugue States

He always sleeps with his arms wrapped around you, like a python suffocating its meal.

So when he wakes in the middle of the night with you not in his arms, and quite frankly nowhere to be found, he panics.

He searches the house first then its environ where eventually finds you in the woods, looking utterly confused with no memory of how you got there.

He embraces you and takes you home, keeping an eye on you with extra concern.

Tengen’s initial concern shifts to proactive care as he learns to navigate these episodes with you.

He keeps a bright scarf or bracelet with your name embroidered on it to help others return you home if needed.

“You’ve had another grand adventure,” he’ll say with a teasing grin once you’re back home safe and sound, his humor never masking his genuine concern.

Tengen ensures you feel safe, no matter how far you wander, grounding you in his love and constant devotion.

Dissociative disorders aren't limited to the ones here, there are tons and tons more.

That being said, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, everybody say thank you anon for requesting this. Also, I wrote a poem a while back that captures the experience of the Giyuu one for anyone interested.

Enjoyed the story? check out more of my other Demon slayer fics and more stories! Requests are open! and don't forget to like, reblog or leave a comment pookie♡

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